Resurrection Dawn

by Marc Secchia

  Alodeé blinked. That percentage meant … Class 2 or 4 mother or father, if she had her basic classogenetics calculations right?

  Winking one pink eye in their direction, Tamanzi murmured, “So-called accidents happen more often than people think.”

  “Gorgeous … accidents,” her father croaked.

  Whoa, racking up serious points there, Dad!

  The Medic turned as pink as her hair. “I, um … so? Alodeé. May I – vitals?”

  After swivelling her gaze to check in non-verbally with her Dad, Alodeé nodded. “Please go ahead, Medic Tamanzi.”

  Pulse 411, dropping. Blood pressure 320/197. Blood composition all over the canid-sucking shop. Sugars almost non-existent, which made Tamanzi wonder if she had diabetes, only to discover that her blood contained zero insulin. A full medbot scan revealed no signs of severe internal bleeding, but the tissue and internal organ bruising was neither a delight nor a joy to anyone.

  “Pain level out of ten?” she inquired.

  “Seven.”

  “Think you’re tough stuff, eh? I’d prefer to have you in the Infirmary for overnight monitoring, but that’s problematic from a security point of view. I’ll leave Fred here, if it’s all the same with you?”

  “Fred?” Dymand chuckled.

  “Full Rendition Exotics Data-Medbot. Fred-M.”

  Alodeé said, “Would Fred know if something went wrong?”

  “He’d know if your heart stopped,” Tamanzi said mildly. “Let’s customise a few additional parameters for reasons I shall never admit to. I’ll set him to auto-alert only. I’d also like him to deep-treat your tissues again with ablar rays, which worked with your Mom. That’ll take all night and you’ll definitely need painkillers before we start that treatment.”

  “Lovely,” she smiled.

  Tamari peeled a medpatch out of its wrapping and pasted it on her neck, above the jugular vein. After a soft hiss, coolness spread into her bloodstream as the nanotransfer took care of sedation.

  The Medic flipped her hair back with a motherly gesture. “Sleep tight, Alodeé.”

  Not when you do that to me, she almost wailed aloud. Soft voices retreated to the far side of the room. To kiss or not to kiss, that was the question …

  * * * *

  Medics were Mean People.

  Firstly, the clock display read Standard 1301.05.07.08 Cal Week 17, which meant that five days of her life had just vanished in a dreamless, drug-induced stupor.

  Secondly, the Medic sat at the breakfast table with her Dad.

  Thirdly, both adults were ignoring delicious-smelling heaps of breakfast in order to focus on smooching one another’s faces. Honestly. Plus, Dad should not be doing that with his left hand. He had taught her better. Clear case of, ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’

  Parents! Parent, singular.

  Fourthly, that smell threatened to drive her insane! Starving carnoraptor here!

  Alodeé considered snapping something petulant. Nah. Instead, she shut her eyes again and then moaned and stretched luxuriously, which did not hurt nearly as much as she imagined it should. This gave father time to return his hands to where they belonged and Tamanzi time to pretend to be scooping up her healthy, medically-approved standard yoghurt. Nobody liked that gloop. Everybody ate it twice a week, or Resurrection Dawn’s bugs started doing laughably unfriendly things to peoples’ digestive systems.

  “Dawn’s fires, sweet Alomonster,” her Dad sang out.

  “Dawn’s fires to you, father dearest,” she cooed back. Ah, warning shot delivered, eh? He’s sharp this morning – guilt maketh the man twitchy? “Dawn’s fires, Medic Tamanzi.”

  “Dawn’s fires, sleepy sloth. How are you feeling, Alodeé?” Tamanzi smiled. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you – you slept for days.”

  Oh, nibbling my Dad’s lip counted for keeping an eye on the teenager?

  Gentling her voice, she said, “Could I try some breakfast? Got a few calories to – ha ha!” They all chuckled as her stomach voiced a prolonged howl of discontent. “See? Dragon in the stomach.”

  “Going all Oraman on us, daughter?”

  “Oraman?”

  “They believe in Dragons,” Dymand explained. “It’s one of those myths that date back, we think, all the way to the dawn of civilisation – it predates the First Expansion from Earth, anyways.”

  “Well, I’m sure they don’t sound anything as scary as my stomach. Could we – oh.”

  Alodeé sank back on her pillow as the medbot started deftly removing the monitor buds from her neck, forehead, wrists and chest. In a sec, she was grateful for Tamanzi’s hand to steady her as she sat up, settled her whirling senses and made the short hobble over to the dining table.

  Sausage. Meat. YUM!!

  5 mins later, she coloured at the sight of both adults staring at her with identically flabbergasted expressions.

  Dymand reached over. “No need to eat the plate, Alomonster.”

  “What the –”

  Suffering lumoslugs, I just took two large bites out of an organo-ceramic plate!

  Certified insanity.

  “Might as well let her finish it,” the Medic smiled. “It’s done for, anyway and she evidently requires some nutrients we’re not aware of. Excellent set of teeth you have there, Alodeé.”

  “Anything else around the house you’d like to eat, dearest? Couch? Comms console?”

  She blushed furiously. “No thanks, Dad, but if there happened to be another helping of sausages within a thousand kloms …”

  “I’ll have to dial the canteen.”

  “Better still, have them send a whole capybara –” she clapped a hand over her mouth. Oh no. I’m not actually joking, am I?

  “Can I have a salary raise?” he begged Tamanzi.

  “I’ve a budget for recuperative nutrition,” she offered, eyeing Alodeé in a way that suggested it might just be demolished by the person nibbling around the edge of her plate. “My treat. Refill your prep unit while we’re at it?”

  “Brew, Alodeé?” Dad sighed. “Juice, water – Essbark root beer?”

  Her stomach placed an order with aplomb.

  “Root beer it is,” Tamanzi chortled. “One barrel or two?”

  Yep, because I love having my Medic slaver over me like I’m a scientific marvel.

  On cue, she said, “I wish I knew where you were putting all those calories, Alodeé. Your stomach doesn’t even get bigger while you eat.”

  “How are all my friends?”

  “They’ve been calling for updates every day,” Dymand said.

  “Dad, you know Oraman culture, right? Something’s been bothering me,” she said, and explained about the inadvertent butt-slap.

  He said, “Oraman relationships can be complex, Alodeé. Do you know if there’s a formal family contract between Ashamixx and Tomaxx? It could be first intention, promise, or binding …”

  Shoulder shrug. Research needed, she supposed.

  “Neither of them has called since your accident,” he added, “which 99.9 percent for certain means there’s an honour issue at stake. Thank the stars above that as outsiders to the culture, who don’t know the rules, we can often make amends without going through the whole marvellous Oraman honour-restitution process. That can take years.”

  “I need to take the first step and go apologise?”

  “Yep. Sounds very much that way. The honour code will not allow them to initiate an apology.”

  “Apologise to him?”

  “Her,” Dymand and Tamanzi agreed.

  “I suppose I am … close to him,” she admitted, choosing her words carefully. “Maybe that’s an implied threat despite the obvious Class difference? I’ll have to be careful. More careful. I – Dad – anything I do from now on would be illegal.”

  “Your Mom and I found a way.”

  Bolted for the farthest colony world from Galactic Central? Yep, my future just took a dive into a slime pit. I can’t date anyone, legally. Ever. Unless I fi
nd another Mister U? How common is Class U? This is ridiculous. Worse still …

  Even a cursory honest glance at her heart must betray that she had feelings for Tomaxx, didn’t she? More than she should.

  Girl likes boy. Story as old as time itself.

  No matter how normal that might be, it was also wrong. Deeply wrong.

  Chapter 5

  Standard 1301.05.09.29 Cal Week 18. Dinner.

  SHE LEFT A CRYPTIC message for Ash on her home Comms unit, which she did not return. Since they had only known each other all their lives and attended the same classes since they were drawing nursery pics of Resurrection Dawn’s nebulae-filled night sky – yep. Subtle hint, eh?

  Seven days after the accident, she was up on her feet for a few mins at a time, but in a strange side effect, perhaps of all the drugs and other sludge mucking up her bloodstream, she had severe vertigo. Her feet kept feeling as if they were floating above her head. Wonky and not funny in the slightest. That also meant Dad sent her off with strict instructions to use her Comms bracelet if anything happened. Like if one of those foot-long grasshoppers sneezed in a field 10 kloms off. She strongly suspected he planned to use the Residential cameras to monitor her progress the min she left their front airlock.

  Sweet. Neurotic, but sweet.

  Very well. Off she zipped on her not at all zippy or nippy medical skimmer chair. Said chair, she was convinced, would also be reporting to Medic Tamanzi should her pulse hit … right. Never mind.

  Gorgeous evening. Thick beams of mauve-white sunshine radiated between a thick cluster of islands floating high in the West; the mining town of Brakooni Station, if she was not mistaken. Another hub of glorious Humanoid civilisation, this one popular with the Class 5 and 6 crowd, who enjoyed the creature comforts of a nice cavern more than most.

  Earth’s legends of dwarves and goblins, historians specialising in pre-Expansion myths and legends generally agreed, must have arisen from interactions with a local Class 5/6 population. They had also been the only ones smart enough to flee before things got really bad.

  The sun was a main-sequence star of spectral class B1V, relatively hot but distant, with a distinct bluish-mauve tint. It turned a huge wall of thunderheads away to the south an ominous, charcoal-grey-purple colour. What Alodeé loved was the way its clear light picked out and highlighted the vegetation of the many floating islands around theirs, called Settlement Central – truly, it needed a far better name – and the hours when, as it set, the light would play through the three massive major planetary rings in spangling displays of rainbow brilliance.

  Home was beautiful, but she longed to travel more. Dad had been to so many planets during his time as a – cough, cough – glorified mercenary. All she had ever known was Resurrection Dawn. The lost world. A corner of the galaxy so remote and weird that it had scrambled every sensor they had on approach, forcing the damaged colony fleet to make a hasty crash landing. As if scenting disaster, great swarms of carnoraptors had descended upon the damaged vessels, killing thousands and decimating the herd animals brought as food sources. The colonists had organised themselves and fought back, finding the best way was to use the downed ships for protection until they were able to establish a defensive perimeter.

  Since then, it had been one battle after another – Wheep! Wheep!

  Warning sirens sounded just as her chair turned onto the path toward Residential 22-C. Crimson flashed in the corner of her eye. Carnoraptors! Low, sleek and insectoid, their physiology did indeed resemble artworks she had seen of mythical dragons. These creatures measured 3 to 5 mets across the wingtips. Their hide was a smooth, segmented carapace, a head that appeared to be half jaw welded to a brawny chest that supported the wing musculature, slimming down to the long, serpentine tail. Hooked hand-like appendages dangled from the leading edges of their leathery wings, while a powerful set of hind legs carried a pawful of talons each that no-one wanted to argue with. Living swords.

  She had half a sec to think, Where are the auto defences?

  A cannon boomed from farther away along the outer defensive perimeter, sweeping three carnoraptors away in a shocking explosion of carnage. Green ichor and body parts splattered the bushes nearby. One beast made it through. She jerked in shock as it speared directly toward the girl sitting like a petrified rodent in her chair.

  I’m lunch!

  Mid-scream, black tore across her vision. A volley of monstrous barks stunned her. Two canids leaped forth to pluck the carnoraptor out of the air as if playing fetch. The animals tore through the low undergrowth, ripping into one another with breathtaking savagery.

  Got to help them!

  Suddenly she was up, her aching body doing things her mind insisted must be impossible, but instinct took over. That crimson beast, slicing into a canid’s stomach with its talons, was the enemy! Plucking up a green, mossy boulder half the size of her head from the roadside, she charged into the fray with some kind of primitive battle cry.

  How she kept her balance, she had no idea.

  “Take that! And that! Leave my dogs alone!” she screamed.

  Fangs flashed before her eyes. She caved them in with the boulder before one of the canids chomped deep into the neck, killing the creature instantly with a spine bite. She shoved it away with a visceral shudder.

  Never been so close to one of these things.

  Carnoraptors were of Resurrection Dawn’s immense insect class, trillions of species strong. Alodeé forced herself to examine the creature, even though she found herself holding onto the ground in case it reared up and swatted her in the head. The body structure was far more complex and sophisticated than any database had suggested insects could be, with ichor composition and internal organs the scientists had struggled to quantify. Three layers of triangular, serrated fangs lined a mouth that could yawn through 190 degrees, allowing a carnoraptor purchase on even the largest prey. Videos showed how they could literally eat their way inside a large victim. They were exclusively meat eaters; the body was hot and armoured more thickly than she might have thought, but the organo-metallic material was different to anything she had examined in Chemistry or Biochemistry. Between the fangs and the ten-inch talons …

  Lick!

  “Boys – ha ha, you alright?”

  The canids whined happily and wiggled their tail stumps, even though one’s intestines had spilled out of its belly.

  “Help’s coming, boys. Lie down. Be still.”

  Where was the help? For that matter, how had the standard fence defences failed?

  Raising her bracelet to her lips, she said, “Paging Dymand, priority critical.” That was a drop-everything alert. Base systems would warn him, no matter what. “Fence breach opposite the path leading to Residential 22-C. Canids hurt. I’m –”

  “Alodeé!” the unit screeched.

  “I’m fine, Dad. Please send a vet, a clean-up crew and maintenance to the fence.”

  “You’ll be the death of me, kiddo. Stay put. I’m coming.”

  “Dad, I need to –”

  “STAY PUT!”

  Anyone would think you do care, she grumbled to herself, secretly pleased. She sat beside the canid, trying to hold his wounds shut until the security detail arrived.

  * * * *

  Dymand grumbled, “One too many malfunctions around these parts for my liking. Makes you director of another vid to scare your old man with, eh?”

  His team chuckled, but Alodeé noticed how they shared significant glances. Malfunction, or sabotage? That was her question, but she resolved to put it to her father later. Right now, she had a terrifying appointment to keep and a white bandage covering ten new stitches on her right forearm, for variety’s sake.

  Since Oraman liked to live in large, mixed family groups, their quarters consisted of tall modular domes connected by short passageways. This made for very flexible living – noticeably larger in all dimensions than the unit she and Dymand called home. The antigrav skimmer made light work of the Oraman-sized steps up
to the front door, which looked heavy and solid enough to put the average dungeon door to shame. It was also furnished with a Dragon’s-head knocker.

  Way to scare your guests.

  Not scared. Just sweaty-palmed, dry of mouth and heartbeat off the scale. Alodeé checked the house number one more time. Ash had better be home. She had fought carnoraptors to get to her friend, after all. That must count for something.

  Reaching up, she knocked much more firmly than her level of courage could possibly justify.

  The murmuring within stilled. Oh. Guests?

  In a moment, the door swung open and a massive, ham-handed Oraman matron swept aside a thick cloth hanging to glare down at her. “What is it?”

  She stilled a gibbering voice in her head. “Is Ashamixx at home, please?”

  “Now is not a good time. Come back tomorrow.”

  “I’d like to apologise –”

  Bang!

  Charmed. What now? Alodeé sucked in a breath and raised her hand.

  “GO AWAY!” boomed from behind the door.

  She yelped, “It’s about honour!”

  The door creaked open again to reveal a huge smile, which did not entirely reach the woman’s eyes. “Why didn’t you say so before, dearie? Come right in.”

  She guided the skimmer chair over the threshold. After shutting the door and rearranging the cloth hangings, the woman led Alodeé down a short corridor lined with dense, slightly musty-smelling carpets and cloth tapestries on both walls and ceilings. Scenes from the Oraman world? She saw blonde-haired tanks locked in battle, smiling, carousing, victorious, majestic … turning, she followed the matron into the middle of a sitting room packed to the proverbial rafters with Oraman. Dozens of blonde and white-haired tanks.

  With a low gasp, she glanced from side to side. Mild panic attack. I’ve just stepped into the middle of a war!

  Close enough.

  Kneeling or seated on immense leather couches, the heavily-muscled Oraman clan wore huge fur leggings and robes, leaving chests bare – both men and women. Their faces were done up in war paint to resemble ferocious beasts, nor were their expressions exactly comforting. In their hands or resting upon their laps, they carried photonic war hammers, nanosteel broadswords and double-bladed laser axes. A brazier smoked in a corner, giving the atmosphere a heavy yet aromatic scent and more than a hint of smoke. She stilled an urge to pretend to swim. Or to bolt for the planetary rings.