by Gregg Vann
“Yes,” Barent agreed. “I’d say the level of success I’ve seen speaks for itself. Despite the catastrophic crash of the Olin, and its separation from the Le’sant, life has managed to thrive on this planet.”
But as incredible as it all was, Barent realized it wasn’t just the plants and animals that had adapted to the unforeseen circumstances on Torvus. The people had also been fundamentally changed by the colony’s disastrous beginnings. He looked at his three companions—all born and raised within a few hundred kilometers of each other, yet all from very different backgrounds. They were products of distinct communities shaped by disparate experiences, and each of them was driven by a unique set of priorities. Their mindsets had been forged long ago; their ways of life based on the resources their respective societies possessed. But in some cases, Barent recognized, it was the things they didn’t have that ended up being the primary impetus for transformation. That was hardly a surprise, though. In matters of survival, scarcity and adaptation were often inextricably intertwined.
“This…” Barent said. “All of this. Is a testament to the ingenuity of humanity. When everything went wrong, as it did with this colony, we still found a way to survive. Your ancestors overcame tremendous odds to create three entirely different societies, and none of them are even close to what the original colonists envisioned for Torvus. For someone like me, who was there at the very beginning of it all back on Earth, it’s rather amazing.”
“We should go back now, Barent,” S’to said, his voice empty of emotion. “The tribe will be ready to depart soon.”
“He’s right,” Renik agreed. “By the time we get back to the Olin, everything should be ready to go.”
“Very well,” Barent said reluctantly.
If any of them understood the importance of what he was trying to say, they didn’t show it. But maybe that was because Barent had a singular perspective, one they couldn’t possibly appreciate. Sergeant Barent was the only person on this entire planet—the only one still alive—who could comprehend the enormity of what happened to this colony. And he realized with a small degree of sorrow that it was something he alone would ever understand.
“Let’s go,” he said.
When the four of them stood up the caribou alerted to their presence, and the animals bolted in the opposite direction as fast as they could run. The group began making their way back to the horses, waiting patiently about a dozen meters away, and Barent turned to take one last look at the caribou, now galloping full out across the open plain.
Just remarkable.
They hopped up into their saddles and then Renik and S’to rode ahead, allowing Tana and Barent some privacy as they fell in behind them. It was a beautiful, sun-filled day, and Tana gazed around at the landscape appreciatively as they set off on their mounts. Despite the cold, she dropped her hood, basking in the abundant light as they trotted along. It was a rare experience for Tana.
Le’sant received sunlight, of course. But on the crater floor, it was always diffused through the omnipresent mist drifting through the air, or blocked by snow flurries clouding the sky. Here, Tana could feel the sunlight on her face. It brightened her mood considerably, but not nearly enough to make her forget what was coming.
“We’ll be back in Le’sant in a couple of days. Can you believe it, Barent? It’ll feel strange being surrounded by walls again.”
“It will,” he agreed. “Just remember that we’ll be using those walls for cover as thousands of people try to kill us.”
“Well, yes. There is that.”
Tana’s gaze drifted down to her horse, unable to believe she was actually riding the animal. But it had been much easier to learn than she’d first thought possible, and despite her initial misgivings, Tana discovered that she really enjoyed the experience.
She watched the horse’s shoulders rocking back and forth as it trudged deeper into the thickening snow—the gentle motion lulling her into a sense of calm. But the feeling was short-lived, because the closer they got to the crater, the more familiar the terrain became.
Snow and ice.
“Barent… We don’t have to go back, you know.”
“I have no choice,” he replied. “You know that.”
Barent guided his horse over closer to Tana’s. “Part of me wants to stay here and build a new life—to forget all about Le’sant and its problems. But the people are counting on me, Tana. And I helped make this mess they’re caught in. My biggest regret is that it’s taken five hundred years for me to get a chance fix it.”
“The Collective isn’t your fault,” she replied. “And how can you be so certain that you’ll succeed? If you can fix it, Barent. If you survive. There are far too many ‘ifs’ for my liking.”
“Well, if I’m being honest with you, Tana, and I always promise to be, the odds are not that great. Even if we can gather up a decent amount of support in the city, the Collective army still has us heavily outgunned.”
Barent reached over and placed his hand on Tana’s cheek. “And if you want another little bit of honesty, I’d rather you stayed behind.”
“Like hell,” Tana snapped. “If you go, I go. We’re a team now, Barent.”
“A team, eh?” he said, smiling broadly.
“Don’t get cute with me,” Tana said. “You know damn well what I mean.”
“I feel the same way, Tana.”
“Good,” she replied.
Tana fought to hide her own smile but it was entirely impossible. “So now that we’ve established you’re hopelessly in love with me, Barent—now what?”
“I suppose we could spend a lifetime together.”
“And what about your wives?” Tana said sarcastically.
“All kidding aside,” Barent replied, “I have no idea what to do about them. I can’t just send them away; it wouldn’t look right to the Exiles. They might see it as a sign of weakness, or a rejection of their customs.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Nothing, for now. I’ll focus on this war we’re planning first. And then, if I survive, I’ll figure something out.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Tana said. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, Barent. And if you don’t, I will. It would be a shame if the Great Betrayer lived through four wars just to be taken down by a lowly dagger-wielding thief.”
“Actually, I think this will make five wars.”
“The threat still stands, Barent.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He laughed.
“See that you do.”
* * *
The sight of a massive caravan greeted the group when they arrived back at the Olin.
In many ways, it reminded Barent of a travel formation nineteenth-century armies might have used to trek to the battlefield—minus the cannon and other artillery trailing behind the horses, of course. But those ancient armaments would have certainly been welcome additions for the battle ahead.
For the last two days, the Olin had been breaking down their camp and getting prepared for the long journey to Le’sant, all while the Exiles brought in their own materials from encampments out on the plains. Barent saw many more people here now too, as every one of the Exiles from Astok’s tribe—from his tribe—came in from the surrounding countryside to join the expeditionary force. He even noticed a few children interspersed throughout the Exile ranks. But as Barent watched them sharpening their knives, and deftly controlling their mounts with near-expert prowess, he realized that they were children in name only.
Many more Olin had taken the field as well, and more still were filtering out from the ship—carrying supplies, or leading their horses to empty spots in the formation. But regardless of the amount of ongoing activity, Barent could tell that his army was almost ready to depart.
He was amused to see the two camps still maintaining a healthy separation from each another, forming two long columns positioned side-by-side, as if each group were unwilling to cede the lead role to the other.
As long
as they fight the Collective military when we get to Le’sant and not each other, Barent thought. That’s probably the best I can hope for.
He and Tana hopped off their mounts, and then Barent addressed Renik and S’to jointly, pointing toward the route he’d travelled in the snowcraft when they first discovered the Olin.
“Just keep heading in that direction,” he told them. “It’ll probably take you less than two hours to reach the passage we used to exit the crater.”
“We know where the passage is,” Renik said. “But we also know that the canyon is impossible to traverse, on foot or by horseback.”
“As I explained earlier, Renik, we’ll go ahead of you and prepare the ground. I’ll use the plasma rifle to burn away the ice, and that should rough up the rock underneath it as well. With any luck, I’ll be able to gouge out a fairly decent trail right down the middle of the canyon—one that will make the passage much less treacherous. But it still won’t be easy, for the horses or their riders, and reaching the crater floor will be a slow and dangerous journey. But it’s the only way.”
“Understood, Barent,” S’to announced. He jerked the mane on his horse and spun around to leave. “The Exiles will be there.” Then he rode away without saying another word.
Renik looked at Sto’s departing figure and shook his head. “We will also meet you on the crater floor, Sergeant Barent. As long as we don’t have any incidents with the Exiles along the way.” Renik frowned in resignation, and then he gave the reins a light tug and rode off as well.
“What are the chances of war breaking out between those two before they even reach the rim of the crater?” Tana asked.
“Hopefully poor,” Barent replied.
He saw an Olin warrior approaching their position with the plasma rifle, holding the gun carelessly in his grip with the barrel pointed in their direction. Barent knew the trigger was broken, and that in its current state the weapon was probably harmless, but the sight still made him nervous. Before he had a chance to caution the man two women dove out from the Exile formation, knocking the Olin to the ground, and kicking the gun away from him. One of them pushed a knife up against the man’s neck, pinning him to the snow, while the other jumped back up with her own blade bared, daring anyone to interfere. Barent observed a third woman—a girl, really—run out from the mass of Exiles to stand at her side, drawing her knife as well.
S’to’s voice rang out loudly, “Hold!”
The Exile Second had ridden toward them as soon as he heard the commotion. “What is this?” he demanded.
“He was attacking the Alpha,” one of the woman answered, pointing down at the Olin soldier. “We are within our rights to protect him.”
“Release him,” Barent said forcefully. “He was only bringing me my weapon.”
“Yes, Alpha,” the Exile on the ground responded. “As you say.”
She dropped the knife from Olin’s throat and pushed the man away. Then she got up to join the other two women, and all three turned to face Barent.
“These are your wives,” S’to informed him. “And they are correct. They do have a duty to protect you, even though their own lives are already forfeit.”
“Forfeit?” Barent repeated.
“They exist only as long as the Alpha they serve. When Astok died, they lost their right to live. And after they’ve finished moving your household, I will kill them myself. But as Alpha, they still belong to you, Barent. I would never do it without your consent first.”
“You do not have it,” Barent stated coldly, making no effort to hide his disgust.
“But—”
“I said no!” Barent thundered.
His right hand drifted up toward his knife—a movement he didn’t even realize he was making.
But S’to saw it.
“As you say, Barent,” S’to replied. Then he pointed at one of the women and the fear on her face intensified. “Even the old one?”
Old one? Barent thought. They’re all just girls.
He looked at the woman S’to had singled out. “How old are you?” Barent asked.
“I have seen thirty winters, Alpha.”
Thirty?
“Yes, S’to,” Barent said. “Even her. I want all of them kept alive. Do you understand?”
“As you say,” the Exile replied.
Barent shook his head—partly in disbelief, but also in confusion. “This doesn’t make any sense, S’to. If Astok took these women from other chieftains, why weren’t they killed when their husbands died?”
The Exile shifted uncomfortably on his horse. “Only we enforce this law, Barent. No other tribe recognizes the practice.”
Barent raised his voice loud enough to be heard by all of the nearby Exiles. “Then I rescind that custom now, and claim these women as my own. They remain under my protection. And if I die, they are not to be harmed.”
Barent expected an argument from S’to, but instead saw that his Second agreed with the proclamation.
“As you say, Barent,” he replied, and then all of the Exiles within earshot echoed the refrain.
From S’to’s expression, Barent could tell this was a policy he’d disagreed with—just not strongly enough to risk his own life confronting Astok about it.
“Stay here,” Barent said to Tana. Then he stepped over to speak with the three women alone. As he approached their gazes shot straight down to the snow, as if they feared to even look at him.
“What are your names?” Barent asked them.
The oldest—the woman who’d tackled the Olin warrior and drawn S’to’s ire—was the first to reply. “I am called Jezza,” she said. And then she pointed an unsteady hand at the other two. “She is Lole…and her name is Nena.”
“Look at me,” Barent said, and all three stared up at his face. “I am not Astok.” Then he lowered his voice so that only the women could hear it. “I am not Astok. You need not fear me.”
“As you say, Alpha,” they each replied.
The deference they showed—the broken cadence of their speech—spoke volumes about how the women had been treated, and Barent couldn’t imagine what kind of hell they’d been through. He knew he needed to show strength, especially in front of the other Exiles, but Barent wanted these women to understand that the nightmare was over. He softened his voice further, working to allay their fears.
“I’ve already spoken with the Olin about where to place my things. I want them moved from the tent. Find the one named Silleth and she’ll explain everything to you.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Jezza replied. “But aren’t we going with you?”
“No. I want the three of you to remain behind. But don’t worry; everything will be fine. Just speak with Silleth.”
Despite his best efforts, Barent still saw an enormous amount of terror in Nena’s eyes. But that fear was now gone from the faces of Jezza and Lole, replaced by expressions of curiosity.
“As you say, Alpha,” Jezza replied.
“Barent, please.”
“As you say…”
He nodded to the trio and they shuffled away, glancing back over their shoulders several times as they trudged toward the Olin’s entrance. Tana strolled over to Barent’s side with her hands clasped behind her back as S’to rode off to take his position at the head of the Exile column, seemingly satisfied with the resolution.
“Those poor girls,” Tana said.
“I know,” Barent replied.
“Forget about everything I said on the ride back; keep them. Without your protection, I can’t imagine what will happen to those women.” And then Tana grinned. “Just make sure it stays platonic, Barent.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” he replied. “I may have to keep up appearances for now, Tana. But when this is all over, I swear I’m going to find a way to free those girls.”
“You know, for someone who’s about to head off to war,” Tana said, “you sure seem to be making a lot of plans for the future.”
Barent gave her an optimistic grin.
“The moment you stop planning for the future is the moment you guarantee you won't have one.”
The Olin soldier pulled the plasma rifle from the snow and handed it over to Barent. Then he spun around and stalked off to join his own people, regarding the Exiles warily as he made his way back through their ranks.
Barent flipped the gun over to inspect the damage, and then he reached inside the broken trigger housing with two fingers—twisting the exposed wiring together in different combinations to see what settings could be restored. When he was satisfied with his work, he flicked the switch on and the plasma rifle began powering up. But then Barent shut it right back down again.
“We’re good,” he told Tana, and then they made the short walk over to where the Olin had dragged their snowcraft.
Barent activated the exterior switch and the top swung open. Then they both hopped inside and settled down into the comfortable seats. He closed the canopy and started up the engines, turning the heat on as well.
“Thank you,” Tana said appreciatively.
“No problem. I’m just glad the Olin didn’t try to tear this thing apart after they took it.”
“Probably because they didn’t get a chance before the Exiles attacked.”
“More than likely.”
Barent powered the motors up to full and slid the snowcraft into motion, picking up speed as they flew down the length of the jumbled travel formation. He catalogued his soldiers and armaments as they went by.
“Bows, arrows, and knives,” he lamented to Tana. “Against weapons that are probably even more advanced than those I knew.”
“That’s true,” she said. “But your troops are far more accustomed to combat, Barent. Real combat. The Collective soldiers may have better weapons, but they’ve only fought against civilians—disorganized crowds armed with only a handful of guns, at best, and certainly no military training. This fight won’t be so easy for them because your people are tested, Barent…brutally tested.”
“Agreed. So we play to that strength by pushing the fighting in close, hand-to-hand, if we can manage it, negating some of the Collective’s technological advantages.”