Defy the Fates

by Claudia Gray

  Finally the Genesis ship takes one hit too many. A faint wobble shakes the Persephone, which Abel instantly recognizes as the tractor beam’s release. As the Genesis ship retreats, he takes his position at navigator, ready to set a new course to—well, he’s not sure yet, but absolutely anywhere else.

  Before he can do more than put his hands on the controls, another tractor beam seizes the Persephone.

  Remedy has freed Abel from Genesis only to capture him in turn.

  This is troubling, but also confusing. Remedy cannot be taking Abel captive for the same reasons the Katara did; they, too, have an alliance with Genesis, but if that was the Remedy ship’s motivation, they would simply have left the Persephone under Genesis control.

  Abel activates comms. “Persephone to Remedy vessel,” he says, keeping his voice neutral. “Please state your business.”

  A visual signal appears on the viewscreen, revealing a face Abel knows. “I suspected we might meet again. I never suspected it would be like this.”

  Abel greets this man in turn. “Captain Fouda.”

  Fouda led the terrorist cell of Remedy that attacked the Osiris and forced a crash landing on the surface of Haven. Remedy didn’t yet know that Cobweb treatments were necessary to survive on that planet, which meant that most of Fouda’s people died within days—including Riko Watanabe, the member of that cell who came closest to being their friend.

  (Abel never condoned Riko’s actions, but he understood the deprivation she’d come from. Her sense of justice had become warped, but she sincerely believed she was doing the right thing.)

  But Fouda ought to feel some loyalty toward Abel. “Noemi and I negotiated with Gillian Shearer on your behalf,” he says evenly. “We made sure the Remedy survivors would be welcomed into the Winter Castle. If Gillian failed to honor her end of the bargain—it would be unjust to blame us.”

  “Shearer followed through,” Fouda says heavily. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Abel, which under the circumstances is rather strange. “I blame you for nothing. But there are other members of Remedy who need homes on Haven—those our doctor friends look down upon, and are reluctant to welcome to Genesis.”

  By this Fouda means other terrorists.

  “She released me,” Fouda continues, “and promised to give Cobweb treatments to all the Remedy members who need it. Her only condition was that I… run an errand for her.”

  There’s no need to ask what that “errand” is. Abel has already run through forty-one potential scenarios, and needs to run no more, because the most probable answer is clear. “Gillian bargained with you for treatments for the others,” he says. “And I’m the price.”

  Fouda nods. “It’s one I have to pay.”

  Both Fouda and Krall have thought of their people and not themselves. This should seem admirable, utterly benign.

  Instead, in the name of what these people consider to be the common good, Abel has to die.

  They make it through the frenzy at the Haven Gate swiftly; Earth seems almost to have given up trying to police the area. Fouda’s ship tows the Persephone back through the Gate, through the system, into the atmosphere of Haven itself.

  Abel could attempt to free his ship from the tractor beam, but Fouda’s vessel has a far stronger tractor than most. The stress levels could well shatter the Persephone. Better to wait, and see if another opportunity arises.

  So he simply watches their journey via the viewscreen as they arrive on Haven. On the horizon he sees the outline of the Winter Castle. Its pristine walls and many defenses have only slightly protected it from the enormous wave of change sweeping over Haven.

  All around the Castle is an enormous bustling settlement that he can only think of as the “suburbs.” These newcomers must originally have hoped to be taken inside, counting on a level of generosity Gillian Shearer doesn’t have. That, or they hoped to conquer the Winter Castle for themselves, which means they weren’t counting on a level of defense Gillian Shearer does have.

  Since both those efforts failed, they’ve done the next best thing, and the smartest: They’ve completely surrounded the Winter Castle, so that anyone from the inside who wants to travel over ground will have to go through them. Going through them will mean getting permission. Getting permission means negotiating for some of the assets inside.

  No matter how well provisioned or insulated they are, the residents of the Winter Castle can’t stay within its walls forever. Someday they’ll have to deal with these people; they’ll have to rejoin the greater human society they tried so hard to reject. The few survivors of Remedy within the Castle must already be pushing for it.

  Maybe there’s no poetic justice for Abel, but there will be for the passengers of the Osiris.

  Fouda drags Abel’s ship well into the zone around the Winter Castle, very nearly to its border, where a checkpoint has been set up. As the Persephone settles into the snow, Abel heads down to the launching bay, preparing himself to fight if given the chance.

  But he isn’t.

  When the bay door pinwheels open, a flurry of snowflakes swirl in on the chilly breeze. Through that scattering of snow, Abel can see six Remedy members, each armed with blasters pointed directly at him. Behind them stands Captain Fouda, who looks unhappy but even more determined.

  “She’d prefer to have you undamaged,” Fouda says.

  “I’m sure she would.” Gillian needs to bring her father back into a body that’s in perfect working order. For 1.13 seconds, Abel considers rushing the soldiers, forcing them to fire on him. Maybe he’d take so much damage the transfer would be impossible.

  But Gillian would only repair him. There are disadvantages to being so hard to kill.

  So Abel steps forward, allows his hands to be put in energy cuffs, and is led onto the surface, into the checkpoint zone.

  Stretching out around this area, in every direction, is a vast camp composed of small ships, makeshift tents, temporary shelters being adapted for more permanent use, and dirt paths tramped down from the snow, in some places lined with stones on either side.

  Fouda’s team leads him toward the largest structure nearby, one situated near what looks like the primary entrance to the Winter Castle. This is more than a mere way station, however; the tented structure is bustling with activity. They step through the heavy, transparent tent flaps that serve as a door, and at one glance Abel recognizes this as a field hospital.

  “We need more plasma in quadrant C,” calls someone in the distance, which sends a woman hustling in that direction with a heavy crate in her arms. Makeshift bunks, seemingly created from former benches pulled out of their ships, lie in long lines under a thin roof supported only by poles. It looks flimsy at first. But the snow walls around the perimeter effectively cut the wind, and small solar energy pods have been distributed to ensure the entire building is reasonably warm.

  “We need to bargain for a Tare,” huffs the man who appears to be in charge, to his assistant. “We’ve been able to estimate the pediatric doses so far, but the tinier babies—we have to be precise, which means we need a Tare.”

  “More than one, if we can get it,” pipes up a girl—no, a woman, albeit one so small, with such a high-pitched voice, that she could easily be taken for a child. Unlike the Vagabonds, who are wrapped in bulky patchwork coats sewn from various blankets, this woman is wrapped in a padded cloak of silvery velvet. “Shearer’s got plenty of those, and she can spare a few. The only reason she hasn’t traded them already is because she wants to break us down.” Then she sighs. “I guess she probably still wants to break us down. But she needs supplies, and access, and sooner or later, something’s got to give.”

  The man in charge—a doctor, it seems—stares at this young woman with her halo of dark curls, then nods. “I hope we can trust you, Ms. Ondimba.”

  “You can,” she says. “You’ll see.”

  The name Ondimba is familiar to Abel. He pulls up the reference within 1.102 seconds: Noemi mentioned a Delphine Ondimba among t
he passengers on the Osiris. Most of those passengers were pampered and coddled, and thus useless when Remedy’s terrorist wing attacked. According to Noemi, Delphine Ondimba had been the exception. She’d kept her wits about her, even devising a clever way to track their ship’s journey from within a cargo hold.

  “What is a passenger from the Osiris doing outside the Winter Castle?” Abel asks her. Fouda’s men stare at him, but they don’t try to stop the conversation.

  “How did you know—oh.” Delphine answers her own question by holding out her velvet cloak sleeves. “Only a couple dozen of us have left so far, but trust me, there’s going to be more. Life in there is—it’s unbearable.”

  “A life of unending elegance and privilege has become unbearable?” Abel stifles a smirk. It sounds as though Gillian Shearer’s best-laid plans have gone awry.

  “Awful,” Delphine says with emphasis. She sits on the edge of an empty cot, looking slightly shell-shocked by the enormity of misery and want that surrounds them in this hospital. “Some people became disillusioned as soon as the Osiris crashed. I mean, after that, nobody was under any illusion that Mansfield or Shearer were as infallible as they claimed to be. We thought we’d be ushered in here by mechs ready to pamper us after the trip, you know? Instead, we had to hike here through the snow, four whole kilometers. We had enough mechs to carry the injured, but that meant we had to tow our possessions along with us—at least, the ones that survived the crash landing.”

  Only someone who had led an extraordinarily easy life would consider “walking with luggage” to be a great travail. Abel says only, “And after you reached the Winter Castle?”

  “That’s when the real problems started,” Delphine says. “We were supposed to sit back and relax! Amuse ourselves all day long! Eat gourmet delicacies at every meal!”

  “This is not what most people would describe as ‘a problem,’” Abel replies.

  “It isn’t, for the first couple of days.” Delphine sighs. “After that? It’s just boring. I wanted to do something interesting—something useful. So did most other people. I thought I’d like simple food to eat, at least for a meal or two. I wanted to feel like I could touch something without leaving fingerprints all over it. The existence Mansfield dreamed up for us… it wasn’t a life. Honestly, it felt like we were his pets in some enormous terrarium.”

  Abel’s not surprised. “His psychology sometimes suggested that Professor Mansfield thought he was the only real person in the world, and the rest of us are only… puppets. Mechs and humans both.” His own place in Mansfield’s psyche is unique, Abel thinks, but perhaps not so different from the man’s general attitude toward others.

  Delphine gives him an odd look, perhaps wondering how he knows Mansfield that well, but she continues her story. “Then the Vagabond ships started landing, and people began getting sick. We wanted to help them, but Gillian absolutely wouldn’t allow it. I mean, how cold can you be?”

  “You were going to keep Haven a secret from the rest of the galaxy,” Abel points out. “How different is that from what Gillian has done?”

  This earns him a scowl. “Maybe Mansfield and Shearer thought they could keep a planet secret forever. Me? I figured there was no way we wouldn’t be found eventually. Most of the others did, too. We just wanted a head start, you know?”

  Abel doubts most of the other passengers’ intentions were so benign. However, Delphine Ondimba seems sincere.

  She continues, “Well, anyway, a bunch of us decided we’d had it. When we saw the Vagabond towns forming, we figured, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.” Delphine gestures around the field hospital, her smile tremulous. “Not that I have any idea what I’m supposed to be doing. Or where our food is going to be coming from. But—but we can make Shearer negotiate, and we’re damn sure going to!”

  Fouda finally speaks. “Now we have something to bargain with.”

  All the other Vagabonds in the field hospital seem to notice Abel’s energy cuffs in the same instant. Some of them look alarmed; others look angry. “You said you were joining us!” Delphine cries. “That you’d come out to join forces with us—”

  “Which in a sense I have.” Fouda remains undaunted. “Gillian Shearer is no friend of mine. If she were, I’d have walked Abel straight in there. She’s already offered me Cobweb treatments in exchange for him—but I see no reason not to up the price.”

  The man in charge of the hospital huffs, “If you think we’re about to start trading human beings to Shearer—handing over our own—”

  “This is no human,” Fouda says. “It’s a mech, and Shearer wants it.”

  Delphine Ondimba gasps in recognition. “I thought you looked familiar! You look like Professor Mansfield. So much like him! You have to be the mech Mansfield and Shearer were so desperate to get their hands on right after the Osiris crashed. What did they call you? Model One A?”

  “I prefer Abel. And I suggest you negotiate with Gillian for whatever it is you need most. Ask for a working Tare model, and doses of the Cobweb protocol, and anything else you can think of.” Abel squares his shoulders. “Trust me. She’ll make the trade.”

  He accepts where he is, what’s going to happen. What other option does he have? To run away, setting up a pursuit that would probably get many Vagabonds killed? To escape this planet and system, only to have the Krall Consortium drag him back here again? It appears that the fate Burton Mansfield designed for Abel is finally at hand.

  This way, he’ll be able to save lives. There will be those who’ll remember him as a hero. At least his death will have some meaning.

  If Noemi ever comes back here, Delphine will tell her we met. She’ll say that I went to Shearer bravely, that I prioritized the welfare of others above my own. Of course Noemi knows Abel would do this. But he likes to think of her hearing it, of his courage being revealed to the one person who matters most.

  Even that doesn’t take away the sting of knowing that Burton Mansfield has finally won.

  25

  THE AUTHORITIES DO THIS MUCH FOR A SOLDIER OF Genesis who’s seriously, maybe fatally, ill: They send her a transport to the nearest spaceport and give her a few hours to leave her homeland forever.

  Noemi slowly walks across the tarmac. Balance requires concentration. Her bones ache as though someone had injected liquid oxygen into her marrow to freeze it solid, and the buzzing in her head is somewhere between “sinus infection” and “swarm of bees.”

  Look on the bright side, she tells herself. You own absolutely nothing but the clothes on your back. So at least you don’t have to carry any luggage?

  She sighs. Looking on the bright side isn’t one of her core skills.

  The landing pad designation on her dataread takes her to a small, unfamiliar vessel, one she’s never seen before. It’s about half the size of the Persephone, a sloping gray oval of a ship with a tiny cockpit. To judge by that and the modest engines, Noemi would guess that this ship is mostly meant to ferry cargo from deep-space ships to planets and back again—not to travel through multiple Gates to various worlds.

  But the Apollo Acestor is the only ship Remedy could spare, and she knows she’s lucky even to get that.

  As she approaches the Apollo Acestor, Ephraim steps out. He’s still wearing the pale blue robes of a Genesis physician, but he’s got a rucksack over one shoulder that she’d bet contains spacefaring gear. When he sees Noemi, he hurries to her side. “What are you thinking? I told you I’d come by the hospital and get you.”

  Noemi sighs. “I decided to go ahead and take the transport the Elders offered me, before they thought better of it and banned me from public transit. Then you might’ve had to carry me piggyback all the way here.”

  “I could handle a piggyback ride!” he insists. “You have to be careful not to push yourself too hard.”

  “I’m just walking.” She doesn’t say that “just walking” takes all her effort. Ephraim already knows. “Did you get all the permissions you needed from the Council?
You’re sure you can return to Genesis whenever you want?”

  He grins. “The Council said they’d ‘leave it up to Remedy leadership’ to decide whether I should be allowed back after helping an ‘enemy mech.’ The way they said it made me think they wanted Remedy to be the bad guys who’d tell me never to come back. Apparently they forgot that I kind of am Remedy leadership—as far as we have any.”

  The loose web of rebel cells that comprises Remedy includes people from several different planets and with many different philosophies, from humanitarian physicians to violent terrorists. Nobody’s in charge. When their spacecraft came together to defend her planet from biological warfare, their spokesperson was chosen almost at random—but Ephraim Dunaway’s the guy they chose.

  More gently, he adds, “Don’t worry, okay? I can return if I want to.” His tone of voice tells her that he does want to—soon, and maybe for good. After growing up on cold, hostile Stronghold, then breathing Earth’s smoggy air while living undercover, he must see Genesis as a paradise.

  The thing is, Noemi does, too. Even now, when she’s being cast out forever, Genesis seems to her to be the closest thing to heaven.

  She gazes toward the distance, where the grasslands begin. When they were little, she and Esther would chase each other through the tall grasses outside Goshen, the soft rushing sounds of it broken only by their laughter. Noemi had sometimes imagined taking Abel there; she had a daydream of them flirting, laughing, playing chase. He’d probably ask what the point of playing chase even was, but maybe he’d figure it out after he caught her.…

  Ephraim’s forehead furrows with concern. “Hey. You okay?”

  Noemi hopes he’s only worried about her physical health. The thought of him seeing how sad she is and pitying her—it makes her cringe. “Sure. Well, I’m the same. That’s going to have to count as ‘okay’ for now.”