Endless Blue

by Wen Spencer

  Turk had just turned five, and instead of a tutor like Mikhail, he'd gotten a "trainer." Mikhail hadn't bothered to find out what the man's job entailed. He'd only focused on the fact that it was yet another way that Turk didn't have to shoulder the same hardships that Mikhail did. He'd even taken some comfort that Turk obviously didn't like his time with his trainer.

  Much as Mikhail disliked his tutors, they never made him scream for hours on end.

  "Tell the trainer to stop whatever he's doing," Mikhail ordered.

  The tutor made noise of disgusted irritation. "I know it's annoying to listen to, but it will be over in another hour or so. Just go to your room and ignore it."

  Mikhail stared at the man. Annoying? Turk's endless screaming was annoying? Mikhail glanced back down the stairs, at the florist and maid and guards all ignoring the screams. He knew from experience that if he started to scream, everyone reacted. It never occurred to him that there was a downside of not being Mikhail.

  He started for the nursery, his tutor trailing after him.

  "Misha, just go to your room. Put on some music to drown out the noise. This doesn't concern you."

  "This concerns me." Mikhail snapped.

  Mikhail jerked open the door and the smell of blood, urine, excrement, and burnt hair hit him. Turk's trainer was a large, burly man. The trainer was kneeling on the floor, one beefy hand keeping Turk pinned to the floor. In his other hand, the trainer had a shock stick. Turk was naked except for fur and restraints. Bleeding. Covered with his own shit. Screaming in a voice worn ragged. As Mikhail stood stunned in the doorway, the trainer pressed the shock stick to Turk, and there was a terrible silence as his tiny body went rigid from the electrical shock.

  "Leave him alone!" Mikhail cried.

  The trainer looked up at Mikhail, and then past him, at Mikhail's tutor. "Take him away."

  "I said leave him alone!" Mikhail locked his jaw against his own fear and marched into the room. "Stop hurting him. Take off those restraints and let him up."

  The trainer glared at Mikhail from his kneeling position. "I am not taking them off. It's part of his training. You have no say in this."

  "He is mine." Mikhail borrowed one of his father's more forceful tones. "I got him for my birthday. If you don't take it off, I'll have you arrested for tampering with private property."

  "Don't be ridiculous," the trainer said.

  "I mean it. I won't allow this," Mikhail said.

  "Misha," his tutor pleaded from the doorway.

  "Look little boy . . ." the trainer started.

  "I am Mikhail Ivanovich Volkov, and you will obey me." It was the first time he'd ever tried to use his position as his father's son.

  "You're nothing but a clone," the trainer growled.

  Mikhail lifted his wrist and pointed to the panic button on his security band. "Should I summon the guard and tell them that you threatened me?"

  The trainer knew better than he did that the guards would act first, ask questions later. It was how they were trained.

  The trainer scowled, produced a remote and keyed in his security code. The restraints on Turk snapped opened. Mikhail snatched the restraints off Turk and flung them at the trainer. Turk scrambled up to wrap himself around Mikhail, burying his face into Mikhail's side, seeking protection.

  "You're fired," Mikhail told the man.

  "You don't have the right to fire me," the trainer said.

  "I forbid you to ever touch Turk again, which means you can't do your job. If you can't do your job, my father isn't going to pay you. You're fired."

  The man glared but gathered up items that looked like torture equipment and took himself away. Mikhail tutor continued to hover at the door. Turk, who was never scared and who never cried, still clung to him, trembling, and a damp spot was growing on Mikhail shirt as it absorbed silent tears.

  "Misha, your father will only hire another trainer and they're training methods are going to be all the same."

  Turk whimpered at the news.

  "I won't allow another trainer," Mikhail promised, even though he wasn't sure if he could keep that promise. But he had to try. Apparently, no one else in the whole palace would try if he didn't. Obviously no one cared what happened to Turk except for Mikhail.

  He came out of the memory feeling like he was going to be sick. Seeing the abuse leveled on Turk had been worse as an adult than it had been when he was child. At the time, Turk seemed like a rugged powerhouse. Now he seemed so, so small and Mikhail could see the lingering effects of the torture in his brother's psyche. Mikhail had made sure there were no more "training sessions" and Turk had never been abused again, but there, fresh before, was the reminder that he had been resentful of Turk's lesser status and careless with him.

  When I'm Tsar, I will protect all the Reds. I won't let that happen to other children just because they're adapted.

  If the seraphim were picking memories to communicate something, perhaps they'd chosen that one in order to tell him to protect the people of Georgetown Landing. But they had done what he wanted. He was in the Georgetown's engine housing.

  Alone.

  Not exactly what he had in mind.

  Two of his replacement Reds were there, looking at him in surprise. One was Tricks, which would have succeeded Butcher as Top Cat. The other Mikhail couldn't pull up a name on, nor was it important. The tom would do whatever Tricks told him. Both were in combat armor sans helmets.

  "Tricks, I'm taking control of this ship." Show no fear.

  "So you can kill me like you killed Butcher?" Tricks punched him without warning.

  Mikhail went to his knees, his head ringing, blood pouring from his nose. He sensed Trick's kick before the Red followed through and rolled with it.

  And then Coffee was there, appearing out of thin air. The seraphim were moving them one by one!

  "Tricks!" Coffee roared and leapt at Tricks and they went down snarling. The other replacement waded in, trying to help Tricks. Other replacements came around the corner, summoned by the noise. Who knew how long it would take the seraphim to carry others across, or even if they bring another Red across? Mikhail aimed for the replacement's unprotected head and shot him. The Red went down in a spray of blood.

  Then Smoke was there. He reacted instantly to the confusion, attacking the oncoming replacements. Bolt arrived, and Pancakes after him. The small corridor filled with bodies, dead and alive, and the smell of blood.

  And then it was over.

  Pancakes been killed. Smoke was wounded. But they'd killed half of the replacements. Mikhail had to walk on the dead to reach the end of the short corridor, his boots covered with blood.

  So much for protecting Reds , he thought bitterly. Eleven dead.

  Georgetown 's housing was warren of twisting catwalks and corridors. The control station was at the very heart of the housing. They'd have to work their way cautiously in. Around the next corner was a long narrow catwalk. At the far end, a Red was tucked into an alcove.

  Mikhail ducked back into safety of the hallway.

  "Kill him?" Coffee looked unhappy with the idea.

  "Wait." Mikhail realized that the Red hadn't taken a shot when they'd turned the corner. "Did you see who it was?"

  "It's Trigger." Coffee said.

  "Trigger?" Mikhail called to the Red.

  "Captain Volkov?" Trigger sounded young and unsure.

  "You shouldn't be fighting us, Trigger. I'm your Captain, not Hardin. He stole you from me but he doesn't rightfully own you. Stand down."

  "He said you'd be angry."

  "No, I'm no angry. This isn't your fault. And Hardin can't take you back with him. You're registered for to me. If he goes back with you, everyone will know that he's a thief and traitor. He will have to put you down."

  No answer.

  "Trigger? Put your weapon down and come here."

  No answer.

  Coffee glanced at Mikhail and then growled, "Trigger, get over here you idiot."

  Trigge
r came scrambling down the catwalk and Coffee hauled him around the corner into the corridor with them.

  "I'm your top cat," Coffee cuffed Trigger, reestablishing dominance. "You obey only Captain Mikhail and Ensign Inozemtsev from now on. Understand?"

  Trigger nodded.

  If they could talk down one Red, they might be able to talk them all down. Mikhail ran a patch line to Trigger's suit. The suit's chatter was encrypted. The only way to quickly link up with their comline was to hardwire.

  "This is Captain Volkov. I'm in the engine housing with you. Coffee is here with me. Hardin is not your legal owner and he can not take you back to Plymouth Station with him. He will put you all down, probably by depressing the housing once you've jumped. I'm furious with Hardin, but I'm not angry with any of you. This is not your fault. Come to the L32 access hatch. Disarm any traps you've set as you come."

  He waited, trying not to dwell on having to kill them all if they didn't obey him. Some of the veterans had been with his crew for years. He knew them as well as Tseyltin and Kutusov.

  They came to him, though, one by one, looking sheepish as they joined the growing pack. Coffee cuffed them all and repeated his reprimands. Not all of them were veterans either, some were the replacements. He'd lost twenty-nine Reds. They'd just killed ten of them. He thought he'd counted nineteen slinking back, but they were all mixed together now.

  "Anyone that hasn't come?" Mikhail asked to be sure.

  They looked at each other, taking account, and then shook their heads.

  "We're all here," Trigger said.

  Hardin would only have his own people now.

  * * *

  The last defense of the warp drive was the innermost chamber. Made of clear plasti-steel, it locked the jump controls away from all but the trusted few. Unfortunately, it was in that fortress that Hardin had barricade himself into.

  "Hardin, give it up, and come out."

  "Mikhail, leave now and I'll give you time to save your ship and your people."

  "Either way you'll level this settlement just like you leveled Fenrir."

  "They're all adapted, Mikhail."

  "I'm not going to let you kill them all. I'll sacrifice my ship and its people to keep this settlement safe."

  "I'll just jump with you on board then."

  "Hardin! Destroy this landing and I'll utterly erase you! I'll see you court-martial, executed, and once you've been thoroughly humiliated for the brief time you're alive, I'll have the records sealed and every bit of evidence that you ever took in air erased. I'll make it so you've never even been born."

  "You don't have that power."

  "I'm Tsarovich Mikhail Ivanovich Volkov. If I bother to bend my will to destroy an insignificant piece of trash like you, I can."

  Hardin wavered, hand in place, considering.

  And then he shook his head. "I'm done here. My only hope is to jump and for once in my life, God smiles on me."

  "Hardin!" Mikhail leapt forward. "Don't . . .."

  And the seraphim flooded into the chamber with them. They blasted over Mikhail and all the horrors of flashed to life . . .

  . . .they were still covered with blood. Mikhail had blood on his shirt . . .

  "Oh, no, no." His father cried in a tone so hurt and broken that it tore Mikhail's heart. His father took his brother from Nyanya, his body bowing as if receiving a massive weight instead of the slight body. "Oh please, god, no . . ."

  . . . Mikhail pulled his side arm, placed it Butcher's head and pulled the trigger . . .

  . . .As Mikhail stood stunned in the doorway, the trainer pressed the shock stick to Turk, and there was a terrible silence as his tiny body went rigid from the electrical shock . . .

  It was a deluge of ugliness and pain that tore through Mikhail. All awareness of the room around him was blasted away by the flood. He existed only in his memories, his real body lost to him except a faint awareness that he was howling in pure wordless misery. Every moment of misery washed fresh through him. Every heartache and sorrow.

  Oh God let it end! Let it end!

  He had a pistol in hand. It would be simple to stop it all. But then Hardin would destroy Georgetown. Mikhail couldn't let that monster win.

  And the thought brought a less painful memory . . .

  " . . .in this world, the only thing you can control is yourself," Eraphie had said to him. "I don't want to be a mindless monster that concerns itself with only feeding its belly. Fix that firmly in your mind. To be is to be and no storm can change your course."

  'I've never been the mindless monster,' Mikhail clung to the realization. 'I have never allowed my moral compass to be corrupted. I have not let myself be swayed into evil. This hurts, but it did not destroy me then. I can't let it destroy me now.'

  Old wounds opened and bled. Sorrows he'd long forgotten made him weep. But he found solace, again and again, that he had never swayed. Never compromised.

  Finally it was over. His people were backed up into the corridor, staring at him in surprise and horror. Coffee was curled in a ball beside him, weeping. The Red must have tried to pull him away from the seraphim and gotten caught up himself.

  "It's all right, Coffee." Mikhail tentatively placed a hand on the Red's shoulder, aware that if Mikhail startled him, the Red could kill him. "They're gone. They were bad times, but they're over."

  Only then did Mikhail remember Hardin. He turned and found the man sprawled inside the warp chamber, dead. Hardin had shot himself; he couldn't bear looking in the mirror that the seraphim held up to him.

  25

  Out of the Blue

  Once the modifications had been removed from Georgetown's warp engine, its power was reestablished to the crèche. Mikhail sent the Tigertail off to pick up Turk, Captain Bailey and the elusive Ethan Bailey. Tseytlin started work on modifying the Svobada's engines. As his crew worked, Mikhail made plans on how they would return to normal space. With all he was recovering from the Sargasso, he didn't want to jump back to Plymouth Station at the heart of the United Colonies' power. But after the seraphim's attack in the Georgetown's engine housing, he didn't want to jump to the heavily populated Volya at the heart of the Novaya Rus.

  He was overseeing the reduction of mass on the Svobada when the Tigertail returned. Lieutenant Belokurov must have told Turk some version of what happened as Turk came and gave him a bear hug in greeting.

  "What have you been doing?" Mikhail laughed. "You're filthy!"

  "Digging with my bare hands." Turk let him go to show off fingernails caked with black dirt.

  Mikhail laughed. "I think it's a prerequisite of visiting the Sargasso: you must at least once dig without shovels."

  "At least you haven't had to fish." Turk gave a mock-shudder.

  "Did you find it?" Mikhail asked. "Whatever it is?"

  "Yes, we did." Captain Bailey came up behind Turk carrying a plastic orange storage crate. Turk must have been worried about Mikhail if he left her holding the crate. Captain Bailey carefully put the crate down at Mikhail's feet. "This is it."

  Turk settled on the low seawall as Mikhail knelt and opened the crate. Inside was a cube. It was black and slick as things that the nefrim built tended to be. Gazing at it, however, reminded him of how he felt looking at the Hak. The sense of glory.

  "I've talked to Ethan about what the angel told him," Captain Bailey said. "With what the Hak told us, I think I understand now what happened. I'm not sure if the nefrim are naturally telepathic, but they're all linked in some way. I think the linking device is the Shabd. In normal space, it was slowly moving them all toward transcending. But out there, the voice of God is muted, just echoes. So when the Shabd got lost here, two things happened. The first was that every nefrim that came to the Sargasso found itself connected to the pure voice of God and instantly transcended. It was like getting ripped out of your body because you were hardwired to this thing. Nefrim became seraphim with no ability to return the Shabd to normal space. And back in normal space, the time dilation
of the Sargasso was transmuting what the nefrim were receiving. It's what been driving them mad."

  "Do you know why the nefrim attacked us?" Mikhail asked.

  "The seraphim encountered humans and guessed that they could help, but their focus on us here made the nefrim focus on us out there."

  "If we take it back and give it to them, will they stop attacking?" Mikhail asked.

  "I think so," Captain Bailey said. "If nothing else, the seraphim will stop focusing on humans and there should be nothing to drive the nefrim mad."

  Turk whispered something to Captain Bailey that made her blush.

  "Shush you," she whispered back.

  Turk gave her a smile that filled his eyes with laughter. He pulled her into his lap and nuzzled into her neck. Obviously the riff between them had healed since the two had left Ya-ya. Bailey put a hand up to Turk's hair and touched him with loving tenderness.

  Bailey glanced up and saw Mikhail watching her. Her eyes filled with sadness and she looked away. She knew that Turk would be leaving.

  "I get first dibs on your shower," she slid out of Turk's hold. "That puppy is yours to guard."

  "I'll get you some clean clothes too," Turk stood up, hands still outstretched to her. They called her back to him and she kissed him again.

  "Thank you." This time she slid free and went.

  Mikhail studied Turk as his little brother watched her go. Turk was clearly head over heels in love. And Captain Bailey obviously loved him back. Was Turk going to give her up just to protect his suicidal older brother from himself? Did all the times that he protected Turk make Turk feel like he owed Mikhail to the point of self-sacrifice?

  "Turk, you've found something good here," Mikhail said. "I don't want you to give it up because you're afraid that I'll self-destruct. This has put me through hell, but it's taught me to stop picking at wounds until they bleed. The only thing that could hurt me now is to someday realize that I've destroyed your only catch at happiness."

  "You, you, you, its all about you," Turk growled but hugged him hard.

  Mikhail expected Turk to let go after a brusque show of emotion. That was his normal way. Turk continued to grip him tight, almost as if he was afraid to let go.