Burning Eagle

by Navin Weeraratne

  “Chocolate?”

  Pablo tore at the wrapping and took a bite like a lion. He grinned at Meena and chewed noisily.

  “Thank you,” her voice softened. “Thank you so much. For all this. I'm Meena.”

  “You're welcome, I'm Koirala.”

  “How did you hear about us?”

  “I heard,” she beckoned to Pablo, who's urchin followers had now appeared. The children squealed and ran to the truck. Some strained with rice sacks, but persevered boldly. Others climbed the truck and jeered at each other.

  “Are you from UNAID?”

  “No,” she handed Meena a heavy first aid kit. “I'm from - well, I'm just a soldier.”

  “You're more than just a soldier. Will you and your friend like to come inside?”

  “Sorry, we have a schedule to keep.”

  “Oh. Is there some way we can stay in touch?”

  The soldier stopped and seemed to ponder.

  “Yes,” she said finally. “Just let me know when you start to run low on food or medicine. I can get UNAID to come out here.”

  “Thank you. It would be nice though, if that was possible, to see you. I think the children would love it.”

  The soldier shook her head.

  “Sorry, but I won't be coming here again. Not unless I'm here for another year.”

  “A year?”

  “Yes. Today is a special anniversary.”

  “To do with children? Maybe your own?”

  “My parents. It's their death anniversary. It's the custom in my religion to give alms at a temple on this day. I'm not big on your temples, though. I figured my parents would be happy with an orphanage instead.”

  “I'm sorry about your parents.”

  “Yeah. So am I.”

  “It's very brave of you to come out here like this. This area is not the most UEF friendly. You do know about the orphans here, right?”

  “War orphans, I know,” she nodded. “Parents were insurgents.”

  “We get help sometimes from - benefactors. But never before from the UEF.”

  “This orphanage has more relevance for me than most.”

  “Were you also a war orphan?”

  “Yes, but that’s not why.”

  “Then, why?”

  She gave out the last bag of sugar, and climbed back into the truck. “I made these kids, orphans. Enjoy the war.”

  The truck drove away.

  Sun Tzu IV

  “August Sovereigns,” began Sun Tzu. “Please forgive the intrusion. But you owe me, as the baselines would say, some fucking answers.”

  The towering jade giants frowned.

  “You forget yourself,” said Nuwa. “As has become your pattern. You are ungrateful for what we have done for you and your species.”

  “If I appear ungrateful Mother Nuwa, it is because I am. You have lied to us, and squandered many human lives. I would have you explain yourselves.”

  “This is an outrage,” the captured flames of the Big Bang flared in Suiren’s eyes. They beat against the glass and made spider-web cracks. “Why did Kublai Khan even admit you past the gates?”

  “Kublai was happy to admit me. I told him, you see, about who the Invaders really are. About what happened to the Hedron builders. About the Old Ones. He and I both agree, you must have known all about this. That you must have known for millions of years.”

  The Sovereigns of Heaven were silent.

  “So you do know,” Sun Tzu’s voice fell. “Why did you not tell us?”

  The jade giants looked at one another, like guilty school boys.

  “Difficulty at the beginning,” said Fu Xi, the Architect of Changes.

  “You are correct my child,” said Mother Nuwa. “We did know. We encountered these beings in ages past. We received them openly in friendship, and they destroyed our civilization, utterly. They left no graves to honor, no towers to remember. We three only survived because we fled. We left the dense, galactic core and climbed down this thin, spiral arm.”

  “We did not think they would find us here,” said Suiren. “We thought that that their reaver fleets would starve and freeze if they made the journey.”

  “Well they didn’t, and they are here. Why didn’t you warn us?”

  “It was our ancient past,” said Suiren. “An irrelevant past. Every parent wants their child to grow up free of their burdens and mistakes. Why should we be different? We wanted you to follow your own path. We did not want dreading our past to be your future.”

  “Did you not realize it was them when Saraswati encountered them?”

  “Perhaps we should have,” said Nuwa. “But we expected others. Other refugees. Others who had developed safely, away from the wars of the core.”

  “There is drinking of wine in genuine confidence, no blame,” said the Architect of Changes. “But if one wets his head, he loses it, in truth.”

  “How come we have not encountered them before? The Hedrons are scattered about the galaxy.”

  “They destroy Hedrons,” said Suiren. “Any that would lead to their depredations, are no more.”

  Sun Tzu shook his head. “I have seen their technology. They cannot destroy the Hedrons, anymore than we can.”

  “Do not underestimate your foe,” said Nuwa, “there are more ways than one to close a Hedron.”

  “How do I fight these Old Ones? How powerful are they?”

  “We do not know how much they have grown,” said Suiren. “They do not know how much you have grown. You do not fight an entire civilization, prodigal Sun Tzu. You fight a single, hungry, splinter fleet. It is they who are fighting a civilization. They will always come at you in shards, never a full blade.”

  “The Superior Man sets the calendar in motion,” the Architect closed his trigram-lidded eyes, “and thus makes the seasons clear.”

  “If that is so, August Sovereigns, then how is it that they defeated you?”

  The gods locked him in place with their gaze. Then, they spoke in unison.

  “It was us who broke their blade into shards. We are the Hedron builders.”

  Line in the Sand

  The Geneva. The most posh city in his known universe.

  Anton Blanc watched the people passing in the pedestrian zoned street. Young girls with perfect teeth and genes, laughing and swinging designer bags. They enter outdoor bistros with tables under oversized umbrellas. Custom tailored suits sat drinking lattes costing more than his lunch. They scan newsfeeds on their sunglasses and mutter nodding on their phones. Boutique stores and law offices preside from brick and ivy street fronts. Manicured trees dot the street.

  Real trees. Thought Anton. Damn.

  “You look lost.”

  A fat man in police blue. The cop wore smiles and sunglasses – everyone wore sunglasses on the Geneva. They could afford to run their sunlights so bright that they warmed.

  “Actually yeah. I’m looking for Ill Camparee.”

  “Il Compari is right across the street, Sir,” he pointed. “Have a nice day!”

  Anton crossed and walked down into the basement restaurant. Inside were brick oven smells and wooden tables with red checked table cloths. The walls had black and white pictures in the faux proscribed-past style. In them a family tree of aprons smiled with celebs over the years. A suited man sitting alone by the entrance looked up. He looked like he could spare twenty minutes before his one o clock.

  “Anton Blanc?” he asked.

  “Hi. Good to meet you James.”

  “Jeff. How is my brother?”

  “Rex is going to be okay. He discharged himself from the infirmary yesterday.”

  “He’s okay to leave?” he poured Anton a glass of water. “I heard it was pretty serious.”

  “He could certainly stay a few days longer, but he wouldn’t sit still.”

  “Sounds like Rex. I appreciate you coming by and meeting me to talk about him.”

  “He had a message for you. He’s too busy right now to give it to you himself. He
really wanted to, but he just can’t.”

  “Oh? Why couldn’t he just email me?”

  “He wasn’t comfortable with that. It’s not – necessarily secure.”

  “Alright,” Jeff Havelock laughed. “What’s so big and serious?”

  “He wants you to take your wife and kids, and get off the Geneva.”

  “What? This is our home! Why would he want that?”

  “Sir, it’s not safe here anymore.”

  Jeff stared for a few moments.

  “I’m sorry Anton, but that’s ridiculous. This is the safest ship in the fleet. Crime is at an all-time low, all the police deal with are pets stuck up trees and kids skipping school.”

  “That’s not what he’s worried about. He’s concerned that – he’s concerned that they’re going to start deporting people from here.”

  “They already are. It’s on hiatus right now.”

  “And if it starts up again, it will primarily be from places like the Geneva. This ship is stable, Sir. That’s going to work against it.”

  “Look, I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here for this. At least let me buy you lunch.”

  “Sir, I don’t believe your brother is exaggerating the threat.”

  “Exaggerating the threat? Come on! You guys are Human Affairs, you see threats everywhere! It’s your job!”

  A waiter brought over slim black menus and a basket of steaming bread rolls.

  “I’m sorry for snapping at you. That was uncalled for. I appreciate what you guys are doing out there.”

  “It’s alright. I know this sounds like a crazy message, but I believe your brother is right. He’s trying to warn you because he’s very concerned about what’s going on – so are a lot of people.”

  “I appreciate that. But there’s no evidence to suggest that we’re going to be in any danger, and until there is I’m not uprooting my wife and kids to go – where the hell would we go? There’s nowhere to go.”

  “This was part of the problem. He just really wanted me to impress on you that you’re not safe here.”

  “Where does he think would be safe?”

  Anton paused. “The slum ships.”

  “Great,” Jeff threw up his hands. “Let me just tell my wife that we’re moving to the slums, for a better life. You should try the Romagna, it’s pretty good. You ever had pizza before? It got taken off the proscribed list recently. It’s good stuff.”

  Outside there was a thunderclap. Walls shook and pictures rattled, plaster dust fell in Anton’s hair.

  “What the hell was that?” Jeff’s eyes were wide a saucers.

  Another thunderclap. The sound of screaming. People ran past the restaurant, looking back over their shoulders.

  “Stay inside,” Anton threw down his napkin and ran outside.

  Down the street, black smoke fountained out the windows of several bistros. Nearby people lay in the streets, their bodies twisted. A woman who had lost her shoe, ran right into him. She bounced off and fell sliding on the ground.

  “You okay?”

  She was up and running again, not even acknowledging him. Anton looked back towards the fires.

  Black quadrupeds stalked out of the smoke into the street. They had spindly torsos mounting fully-loaded weapon racks. Cables snaked out from their bellies, poking at the still bodies. A man came round and began groaning. Several quadrupeds stalked over and huddled around him, poking. He began screaming, his arm bent unnaturally. A cable wrapped around him and held him aloft. He was still screaming as he was carried back into the smoke.

  The fat policemen emerged and stomped over to the quadrupeds. “Now just what the hell,” he drew his stunner, “is going on here?”

  A blue laser sight found his forehead. He was punched backwards, crashing into a lamp post. Black smoke poured from the hole in his skull.

  “Oh my God,” Jeff had come up behind Anton. The blood was gone from his face.

  “It’s already started. You need to get to your family.”

  “What’s started?”

  “Those are Fractal Worm cataphracts, front line assaulters. Those weapon racks are grenade launchers; they’re ready to level the whole street.”

  “Fractal Worms? How do you know?”

  “We’ve trained with them. But not for this,” there were screams as more survivors were dragged away. A woman got loose and started running. They shot her right through her back.

  “Anton, we got to go! We can’t stay here!”

  “You can’t stay here. Go,” Anton drew his pistol. “Go!”

  Jeff started running. He never saw him again.

  Jahandar V

  The rogue blue gas giant tumbled into eternity, thousand-year orbits at a time. No one ever visited.

  It was eighty thousand times further than Paradiso from its sun. To it, it was just another cold, white, star in its sky. It wasn’t an ice plain monastery where old gods went to die. Instead, it was a carnival of thousand year methane storms. They could flash freeze a man in one instant, rend him to dusts the next. Ammonia ice bergs swelled up from tiny crystals to become as large as mountains. They cracked and boiled apart by coreward heat still rising since the world’s creation.

  In its sky, moons like colored gems arced across the horizon. Some it stole from the Oort cloud, plucking them as they spilled out. Others had been with it for eons: old rivals and friends. Those it defeated and cheated and grew at their expense. No one ever visited.

  One of these patrolled at its furthest border, a world armored in ice. It had no atmosphere, but beneath its armor tidal forces worked. The gravity of worlds orbiting worked like giant hands rubbing together. Ice gave way to liquid seas of ammonia, and finally water. Once a probe had swum these depths. It tasted them for salt, wealth, and life and found all wanting. Mining hulks and asteroid barges had marked it as worthless. They plunged on through space seeking richer grounds.

  Swimming slowly through the darks was a being. It had swum those oceans alone for so many years, the only mind for light years. There had been others once who called to it from across space. One day though they all became quiet and it was alone again. It knew it had to remain quiet, to hide. So it continued to swim the lightless oceans for years without end.

  Then someone visited.

  “We have a hard seal. Let’s go.”

  The hatchway ground open heavily. Darkness and a blast of cold air swept in and frosted their visors. Suit headlights lit up, a grey corridor appeared out of the dark.

  “The air is breathable,” Saleh held up a scan pad, “but close to arctic.”

  I cracked my visor and sniffed. The air was crisp and I winced as my eyes filled with water. My nose stung. “Given where we are, this counts as a tropical.”

  Koirala cracked her visor as well; it slid back into her helmet. Her face grew pinched but she showed no other discomfort.

  “You want to reseal?” she asked.

  “No. I’d rather use my own eyes and ears here.”

  She nodded. Most of our equipment wasn’t calibrated for such cold. That and the infrared and low light was completely useless.

  “Jahandar with me. Khalid, you stay with Saleh and take rear. Doctor Jovanka, I want you in the middle.”

  An unarmed, white pressure suit turned and nodded its golden visor.

  We made our way down the corridor, rail rifles ready.

  I frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” Koirala.

  “This corridor is not on the schematics. It should be shorter and end in a T-intersection.”

  “It must have rebuilt itself over time,” The speaker feed from the white suit sounded tinny. “It would have iterated a more useful design. This is not unusual behavior.”

  “Hey Doctor,” Khalid walked looking over his shoulder, “wasn’t this thing already a loner when the Calamari struck?”

  “It was. In our paradigms, what it was doing here was closest to a spiritual retreat.”

  “It’s practically in anothe
r solar system. Took us a month in a high speed freezer to get here. This is a spiritual retreat?”

  “Like I said Specialist, it is the closest analogy we have. It is not dissimilar from the behavior of a hermit.”

  “So that’s a good thing, right?” persisted Khalid.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s probably still sane. Right?”

  “There is a very high probability it is still in good mental health, despite such a long period of isolation. To have survived undetected for so long suggests it remained rational, and aware of its circumstances.”

  “Well I think it’s crazy,” said Saleh.

  “The minds of such beings are unknowable,” said Jovanka. “We use terms that we understand, built on human experience, of other humans. Even the term ‘crazy’ is used to describe behaviors that we do not understand even in each other.”

  “Wait,” Khalid help up a gloved hand. “So now you’re saying that it is crazy?”

  “To be honest, I am hesitant to use a label. Using our language to describe Posthuman beings is as pointless as describing emotions. All we can do is name them – but we cannot quantify or reduce them. We cannot understand these beings. We can never understand them. Transcendents are the true aliens.”

  “Shut up,” said Saleh, “You’re creeping me out.”

  “Well, mad or not,” I looked back, “Doctor, if it’s not mad, why do they need us to come out here to get it to talk? We’re just baselines. Why would it talk to us at all?”

  “Because it’s paranoid,” Koirala’s breath formed white smoke. “It’s not taking chances. It’ll deal with us because we’re no threat to it, this is how it’s managed to stay alive. I’m right, aren’t I doctor?”

  “I believe so, yes. Once we have established contact and given it enough information to trust us, that will be enough. We are simply facilitators.”

  “Facilitators with guns,” I said. “That’s a mixed message.”

  “It should not feel threatened on any level by whatever weapons we are carrying with us: it would be like us being intimidated by ants because they have jaws. To run into trouble or interference before I can make contact however, is to risk failure.”