by David Ryker
“I know what scavengers are, Vanis.” Cavs didn’t have the time to be annoyed. “I want to know why they’re out near the Pale.”
He watched the scavengers move across the map, still some distance away. They had to pass through the First Fleet before they’d reach any aliens.
“Plenty of scrap out there, I reckon.” Vanis wandered up to the holo-plate. He wouldn’t have dared do that if Loreto was here, Cavs thought. He thinks we’re still in the gunnery room. “Probably plenty valuable… there was just a battle out here, after all.”
Plenty of wreckage, Cavs realized. The burned-out husks of alien ships. Federation ships, too. That kind of tech would be priceless on the black market. The Federation would fight a war to keep it out of certain hands.
“That stuff’s probably worth a fortune,” he said aloud. “How long till they reach anything?”
“How long?” Day repeated. “Jimmy, they’re already in range of the debris. See, they’ve stopped to collect something.”
The rest of the crew returned to their positions. Someone kicked Day from the console he’d occupied and he stumbled down to the holo-plate and joined Vanis. Rucker appeared on the far side, looking up to Cavs in the pulpit. They’re watching me, he thought. Waiting to see how I react. At least my people trust me.
“They’ve paused, sir,” an unseen crewman announced.
The scavenger ship began to plough the debris field, harvesting debris.
“Why’s there so few of them?” Rucker asked, pointing at the map.
Good question, agreed Cavs. Less than twenty ships to clean up after an entire battle? These scavengers couldn’t possibly know anything; the Federation would have kept that information locked down. These guys are about to have the best day of their lives, he thought. Or the worst.
“Can’t get through to them on comms, sir.”
“Nothing?”
“Must be the systems, sir. We’re been having trouble for hours.”
That damn codex. Cavs thumped the pulpit. What would Loreto do? No, that doesn’t matter. The man made terrible choices. Ever since that pilot kid died, he’d been a different person. Either he’s emotionally ruined, he thought, or he wasn’t all that to begin with.
More and more, Cavs was realizing that Red Hand might not be the role model he’d imagined. All that anger turned to disappointment, in his idol and in himself. So, what do I do?
“I want to pick them up.” Cavs leaned forward from the pulpit. “Send the Argo and the Suhail and outflank them, bounce an internal message off the Sirens. Wisps above and below. I don’t want a shot fired, but I want you to box them in.”
The usual chirping and footsteps stopped as they listened. After a moment, Vanis talked for the room.
“You want us to bring them in? Is that wise?”
“You want to blast them out of the sky?” Cavs turned to the man. “Comms are down, we can’t just start shooting right away. What if they shoot back? Round them up.”
“It’s just…” Vanis was a hesitant man. “Is that… what the admiral would do?”
“Loreto isn’t here.”
“Oh, I know.”
“I am.”
“I… I know.”
“Then why aren’t we doing as I say?”
“It’s just… Admiral Loreto said to wait for his orders. What if he’s trying to contact us? What if he comes back… what if he finds that we’re chasing civilians? We ain’t just on the guns now, Jimmy.”
The last word stung. No one would dare call Loreto by his first name, Cavs thought. They’re all too wrapped up in their admiration for that damn admiral. I’m the only one who can see that he’s past it.
“To hell with what Loreto thinks.”
Cavs regretted his words. The pulpit surged up through the soles of his feet, the blood had been rushing, he hadn’t been thinking.
“What I mean is”—he spoke slowly—“Admiral Loreto would want these scavengers dealt with, by me or you or anyone else. He left us in charge. We should act.”
Vanis didn’t do anything but stare, his face lit up by the blue glow of the projection. Cavs shook his head and turned back to the map. The scavengers were closer now, too close.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me they were still moving?” he called out.
No one answered. He felt increasingly desperate as the scavengers filled their ships. Soon, they’d vanish into the hinterlands between systems, chancing it in the unregulated space between the trace gates. The space of smugglers and scavengers and all sorts of criminals who risked obliteration rather than letting the Federation know where they were. They’d have their priceless cargo into the hands of a buyer in no time.
Why didn’t you stop them? He could already hear Loreto’s voice booming through the hallways of the Vela. Because you left me with a crew of idiots and a broken ship, Cavs told no one. Loreto had chewed him out in front of the crew, hadn’t listened to him on the codex, had sent him down to Olmec to chase the dead, and then he’d marooned him on the Vela, sticking him in charge–Why? As a joke? As a test? As a way to apologize?
“No comms?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Nothing, still, sir.”
Now or never. You wanted to be an admiral. You wanted all this responsibility. Deal with it, Jimmy. Deal with the situation. Make Loreto proud. No, make him embarrassed. Pick a situation and make sure you’d do what he wouldn’t ever think of doing. You’ll show him for leaving you behind.
“Fire a warning shot.” Cavs surprised himself. “Just off their Earthside. Make sure they know how close we came.”
“S-sir?”
“Just do it, Vanis. Get down to the guns, now. I’m in charge.”
The gunnery crew ran down to the forward guns. Cavs puffed out his chest; no one knew the Vela’s guns better than him. Those were his men down there with his cannons. Vanis, Rucker, and Day were family to him, he told himself. Battle brought them closer than blood ever could. If I say miss a target by millimeters, I know that they can do it.
Already he had the image in his head of Day and Vanis manning the forward guns, zeroing in on the target, boasting to one another about their talents. Damn, I’d love to be down there. Not stuck up here. He waited, allowing his team to reach their positions.
“Fire!” Cavs shouted.
One of the projected scavengers turned and began to move. Full of stolen treasure.
“Fire!” Cavs spat and saw the spittle flying through the projection. “Stop that ship!”
“Firing now, Jimmy!” Rucker called over the comms. “Trust us.”
The Vela trembled, and Cavs nearly fell from the pulpit. Is it always like that? That powerful? Something’s not right. He gripped tight and steadied himself.
“Fire again,” he said. “Don’t let them get away!”
“Aye, sir.”
And the Vela quaked again.
21
Loreto
“It’s incredible, sir, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
They walked through the Exile ship toward the shuttle. Loreto hadn’t heard from the Vela and it began to grate against his otherwise sunny disposition. But Cele danced back and forth in the corridor, examining every tiny detail of the alien ship. She thrust her head through open doorways and ignored any sense of decorum. The Exiles followed at a distance, watching.
“Is it?” he said disinterestedly. “Found any more science experiments?”
She ran a hand through her buzzcut hair. Even as a junior analyst, she was one of the best on the Vela. No one knew the individual cultures out near the Pale anywhere near as well. Whereas the pip in her neck would keep her out of the officer class on most ships, Loreto knew talent where he saw it.
Loreto thought about his ship. After the difficulties on Olmec, he’d decided to leave Cavs in charge. The kid had so much promise but he desperately needed discipline. By putting him in charge of the Vela while the higher-ranking officers were away, the admiral had hoped to win th
e kid back over, to give him a taste of the future when he would have his own ship or even his own Fleet.
But he didn’t have time to think about Cavs. The guilt of mistreating the kid was dwarfed next to the myriad other shames in Loreto’s recent past. Eddie Pale, Olmec, even the failed message to Fletcher. Then, there was the broken oaths, to his Fleet and to his wife. Winning back one junior officer wouldn’t fix everything but it would be a step in the right direction.
“It’s more what they told us, sir,” Cele admitted, her voice tinged with worry.
Loreto looked over his shoulder. Behind his crew, the Exiles followed them. One of them raised up a hand, holding it over the considerable form of Captain Hertz. They’re scanning, him, he realized. We’re all just one big science experiment for them, us and the Symbiot.
“That folding space trick?” Cele continued. “I don’t think I got all the science, but it’s incredible. So advanced. We can’t even keep the rust out of our ships!”
He avoided the trap, not leaping to the Vela’s defense. With a clear mind, Loreto took the time to examine the interior of the Exile ship. He had spent so long running through it with his mind in tatters, he hadn’t stopped to notice the details. Never had time to smell the roses, he joked with himself, humorlessly.
A fine mist covered the floor, never rising more than ten centimeters unless it was summoned. Cold and dense, it hid where their feet fell. The walls were arched and ribbed, as though Loreto was stuck inside a huge, hideous whale. Gray and black, all the colorless colors; the interior curved slightly at the point where wall met ceiling, giving the impression that each room was underground. A ship made of charred bones, trying to escape death.
Lighting came from pockets of radiant substances lodged into the roof. They were scattered randomly like frogspawn on the surface of a pond and emitted a light like a distant sun. Unlike the human ships, the glow felt natural. But after spending so long on the Vela, Loreto missed the artificiality. He felt like this light was lying to him.
That was it, Loreto realized. The strangeness. The sense of being studied, as though he was under a microscope. As though he was one of the plants or animals the Federation scientists sent to every new colony to make it feel more like home. Everywhere he went, he felt as though the Exiles watched every step, testing his every reflex. He wanted to be back on his ship. He was a military man; he needed orders, he needed structure. Sure, he might need these aliens to help him win a war, but they didn’t seem like potential allies right now.
“Hey,” Loreto called back to his crew, “let’s get moving.”
As they passed through the museum of conquered species, through the corridors which curved this way and that, it felt familiar. Like the alleys in Providence, Loreto decided, only the ancient statues and holy relics were replaced by dead spaceships. He hated that city. The only thing worse than being stuck on Earth was being stuck under it.
Loreto heard the sound of heavy footsteps and turned to see Hertz approaching at a slow jog. The Exile behind lowered its hand, its scan complete.
“You think they’re going to help us?” Hertz panted between his words.
Even the coldness of the Exile ship couldn’t keep the ruddiness from his cheeks.
“What do you mean?” Loreto asked, his voice quiet. “Do I think they’re up to something?”
“Those copies of the codex, sir. I know you want them, but–”
“You’re just going to have to trust me, Hertz.”
The pained look in the captain’s eye told Loreto everything. The man was a seasoned veteran; he’d been there on Breton. Hell, he’d hauled a collapsing steel beam off the admiral’s chest. But he was a conservative man, always leaning toward the side of caution. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve got a wife and kids waiting at home.
“Noam.” He laid a hand on Hertz’s shoulder. “Trust me on this, please? I’m looking out for everyone here, and I mean everyone.”
“I know, Richard.” Hertz winced as he faced up to the idea of questioning his CO. “But it’s just… you know… since that pilot kid died, you haven’t been the same…”
Eddie Pale. Loreto purposefully repeated the name.
“That was the start of all of this,” he said quietly. “I don’t think any of us have been the same since.”
Hertz scratched at his red beard and his shoulders sagged.
“I trust you, sir. I do. Let’s just get those bastards.”
Loreto slapped the captain on the arm.
“Exactly!” he said. “The way I see it, Hertz, we’re got one mission. A simple one.”
“Pretty difficult one, sir.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Pretty damn impossible.”
“We need to contact the Senate. Find out our orders…”
“I don’t know.” Loreto watched as his crew halted, waiting for him. “Do you trust them to deal with this?”
“The Senate?” Hertz was nothing if not loyal. “What other choice do we have? They’ll give the orders and we’ll...”
“I don’t know.” Loreto could talk freely with his friend. “I don’t trust them to understand what just happened with Fletcher. We haven’t had a real war for centuries. They don’t know how badly they just got beat. They’ll just want more ships and more people to throw into the meat grinder. They won’t know how profoundly screwed we actually are.”
They had stopped halfway through the catacomb hangar, filled with crusted relics of dead races. There was still half a hangar to cross. So many dead. Loreto gazed around with awe. And not just individuals, entire species. These Exiles, they must have seen so much death. If I’m this messed up after a kid and a colony, how the hell can their species even cope? We must seem like a speck of dust to them, barely even worth considering. The thought humbled him and he watched his crew waiting impatiently.
“Hey,” he realized, shouting at them. “Where’s Cele?”
“She was just behind us…”
They shrugged. The Exiles, following behind them, occasionally scanning with their instruments and devices, looked vacantly at him.
“Come on,” Loreto said. “She can’t just have vanished.”
And then they heard the shouts and the clattering metal.
Loreto broke into a run. No lines in the mist to guide him, just running toward the sound of her voice. He ran through the calcified corridors, hearing the shouts grow louder, and found an open doorway ahead, the shouting emanating from within. Slowing down as he approached, he knew from the pounding footsteps behind that his crew was following. He heard the rustling sound of the Exiles’ speech and knew they weren’t far behind.
Entering through the doorway, he realized it was a lab. Another one, just as he’d seen through the window next to Cele. Then he heard her scream again and looked around. The lab was twenty meters long but turned around a corner at the rear. Computer screens and tools lined the walls. He ran deeper inside, toward the commotion.
Cele was on the floor, rolling in circles next to a lab table with an Exile on top of her. She screamed out in agony and Loreto saw a scalpel being pressed into her arm by claw-like fingers. He didn’t hesitate. He jumped, turning in the air to hit his shoulder against the alien.
He collided with the Exile and they tumbled together. The creature was lighter than Loreto had expected but the suit it wore seemed to be coated in a grease which made it impossible to grip. He kicked out and knocked the scalpel from its hand as he rolled with the alien across the lab floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cele pick up the blade. Struggling to get a grip on the Exile, he saw her striding towards them.
“No!” Loreto shouted, freeing a hand to try and stop her.
Cele sliced at the air and the Exile leapt up from Loreto and jumped backward, away from the blade. Its skittish movement was exaggerated as it edged into a corner.
“Cele,” he panted, his lungs heaving. “Stop!”
She pressed farther toward the Exile, swinging the sc
alpel left to right. Loreto saw the bloodlust in her eyes. She wasn’t going to stop. He leapt up and grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and lifting her off the ground.
“Let me go,” she growled, the scalpel clattering to the floor. “Let me go!”
“Cele!” Loreto shouted. “Stop!”
The heavy footsteps burst in through the lab and the crew arrived. Hertz and Menels took hold of Cele’s arms and dragged her back, away from the Exile.
“Cele,” Loreto panted. “What the hell happened?”
He was too exhausted to be angry. He just felt confused.
“Battery, insubordination,” Hertz listed her infractions. “Brawling with an officer.”
But she wasn’t watching. Loreto turned to see the Exiles gather around their own. Behind them was a table with something on it, exactly as before.
“Cele”—he took a regretful tone—“not again. Please. We just–”
“Look!” She thrust her finger out. “Look, sir!”
Sighing, feeling the adrenaline sapping out of his tired limbs, he turned and looked at the table on the other side of the lab. The sheet had fallen away and revealed a body beneath. A charred figure. Burned, but different from the corruption he’d seen on Olmec. The mist parted as he crossed the room, his eyes squinting, studying the details.
“They were cutting him open!” Cele shouted from behind.
Loreto felt his stomach drop away as he crossed the lab. He recognized the form. Human. They were cutting him open; she was right. He would have done the same. Those damn meticulous engineers, carving up the dead and measuring every atom. We’re just dust to them. He didn’t need to walk closer, he knew, but he had to.
The cold vacuum of space had killed the fire quick and left the body half burned. They must have picked him up afterward, run an autopsy. Loreto lifted a corner of the sheet; he had to be sure. He looked down.
Eddie Pale looked back.
Take a moment, Loreto told himself. There’s too much at stake.
He looked around the lab. At the walls. The floor. The ceiling. A small window that looked out into space. He looked anywhere but the table. Anywhere but directly at the boy. Anywhere but his crew and the aliens. There was nowhere left to look, so he imagined the world outside the ship. The Federation, all those billions of people. Beyond billions and every one of them a life, held in his hands.