Endurance: The Complete Series

by Amy Spahn

  Thomas studied the wall. “I don’t know. But this has been coming since we first left the solar system. I can’t help but feel partially responsible.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Why?” Then her mouth opened. “Oh. Oh. Withers. You’re the captain of the Endurance.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Look, just because your ship found the Haxozin ...”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s my fault they tracked Earth down, I know, but I doubt everybody else will be that understanding. I wouldn’t.”

  Nandoro folded her arms. “I know Endurance has a bad reputation in the fleet.”

  Thomas laughed humorlessly.

  “I used to make fun of it with everybody else, but you should know, the last year changed some things. The suits at Dispatch and O&I might still see your crew as a liability, but out here, on the fringes, some of us are impressed by everything you accomplished. You don’t hear much joking when you mention Endurance here anymore.”

  Thomas blinked at her. “Really?”

  “Yes. In fact, that desk officer who showed you in wants to transfer aboard your ship someday.”

  “Wants to? My ship? Why?”

  Nandoro chuckled. “Asked the man standing here on a mission to save the world.”

  Thomas lapsed into silence. He’d focused only on Dispatch’s opinion of his crew. He’d never given thought to what his fellow officers might think of them. Of him. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” Captain Nandoro moved behind her desk and pressed a button to slide out a drawer. She retrieved her service belt and buckled it around her waist, then stocked its holsters with her service weapon and pocket comp. “Once we’re done here, I’ll begin organizing a rendezvous for survivors.”

  Thomas nodded. “Don’t start trouble with the Haxozin. They’re big, and there are a lot of them. Without some strategic advantage, we don’t have a chance.”

  “Understood. We’ll pick an empty spot in space. Probably somewhere in Mars’s orbit, so we’re not too far from Earth when we’re needed. When you get back, look for us there.”

  Thomas had time to give Nandoro a brief analysis of the Haxozin star ships’ capabilities and the tactic for overloading their circuitry with EMPs. “It’s hard to hit them when they’re moving around, but it’ll buy some time. Use that if they find you.”

  “We will.”

  “Tell the civilians here not to resist. If they don’t fight, the Haxozin will leave them alone.”

  “Got it.”

  Thomas glanced toward the door. “That kid really wants to serve on my ship?”

  Nandoro smiled. “After today, I’d bet more than ever.”

  From the desk, Archibald made a hacking sound. “That guy. I know him.” He pointed at the computer screen.

  Thomas and Nandoro moved in to look. “Destrier Michaels,” read Thomas. “Nicknamed Disaster?”

  “I know him,” said Nandoro. “Lives in one of the suburban tunnels. Calls in every couple weeks to complain about his neighbors. No recent criminal record, though.”

  “He used to be Uprising,” said Thomas.

  “He served ten years,” Nandoro read from the screen. “We’ve never had real trouble from him. You think he has the information you need?”

  Thomas looked at Archibald.

  Archibald nodded. “I got a feeling.”

  “His feelings have an eighty-six percent accuracy rate,” said Thomas.

  “Eighty-six point one five one,” muttered Archibald. “Not just eighty-six.”

  Nandoro gave them a bemused smile and gestured to the door. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. You too.” Thomas let Archibald precede him into the hallway.

  Just before he left, Nandoro’s voice stopped him. “It was an honor to meet you, Captain.”

  He froze. The words sounded foreign, like they were directed to someone else. Yet they also felt like a welcome home. He turned and smiled. “Likewise.”

  They exchanged a salute.

  He left her to organize the beginnings of human resistance against the Haxozin. If he did his job and brought back some way to defeat the enemy, they might eventually stand a chance.

  If he didn’t, every one of them would die.

  * * *

  “Disaster” lived in one of the sleazier areas of the colony. No picket fences here, and the cave roof had only been carved to the minimum height necessary to accommodate houses. In some areas it dipped so low, Ivanokoff would have been able to reach up and touch it. Only half the artificial sunlamps worked, and the bumpy street was marred by multiple ditches from hovers that landed too fast. Disaster’s house was dropping shingles and had lost half its paneled siding, but the lush lawn was trimmed and lined with varicolored blossoms.

  A block from the house, a musclebound man whipped around the street corner, riding a bicycle three sizes too small for him. “Move it, loons!” the man yelled, and Thomas had to pull Archibald into the street to keep from being run over. The man flipped them off as he passed.

  Thomas thought about drawing his badge and pulling the guy over, but he had no time. He contented himself with a snide comment. “Tough guy. Bet he knocked over a whole lemonade stand to afford that bike.”

  They knocked on Disaster’s door. The bony stack of wrinkles and liver spots that answered lived up to his name. “Birds orbit my ass, will you kids stop bothering—oh.” The aged Uprising agent looked Thomas up and down. “You’re at the wrong door, Officer. The punks who keep squashing my flowers live two houses down.”

  “It’s captain,” said Thomas, “and we’re not here about your flowers.”

  Archibald poked his head around Thomas. “They do look nice, though.”

  Disaster adjusted his thick glasses. “You look familiar.”

  “Archibald Cleaver. From the old days.”

  “Oh no.” Disaster glared at Thomas and began to shut the door. “The Uprising can rise up somebody else’s nose; I’ve kept mine clean. I did my time. You leave me alone.”

  “We need your help,” said Thomas.

  “That’s police code for ‘putting me in hot water with old buddies.’ Nope.”

  “If you don’t help, you’ll have alien invaders tramping across your petunias by tomorrow morning.”

  The door stopped closing, screeching to a halt across misaligned floor tiles. “Hah?”

  “You heard me.”

  Disaster scanned the street, then slid the door back open. “You better come in.” As Thomas and Archibald passed him, he added, “And they’re chrysanthemums, idiot.”

  Thomas didn’t sit down. He stood between a cheap broadcast screen and a cheaper sofa and faced Disaster. “Has anyone from the Uprising contacted you in the past year?”

  Disaster shuffled to the couch and seated himself with the creaking of several bones. “On the record, no.”

  “Off the record.”

  “Promise nobody’s gonna knock on my door and arrest me for this?”

  “I promise I won’t tell anyone you talked to us.”

  “Off the record, then,” said Disaster. He began picking dried leaves off a plant on the side table. “I hear from Killian and his crew pretty often.”

  “Did they say anything about their current operations?”

  “Oh yeah. Couldn’t stop talking about how they were gonna contact the Haxomen, use them to teach United Earth a lesson. ‘Strike like a hammer,’ all that stuff.”

  “What about in the past few days?” Thomas asked. “Did anyone tell you what was coming?”

  Disaster’s hand trembled, and a few dead leaves slipped and tumbled to the floor. “You need to understand, son, Killian talks a lot. Never shuts up about this plan or that plan. Most of them? They go no place. So I didn’t think anything of it when he started talking about the Haxomen.”

  “Haxozin,” said Thomas. “What did he say about them?”

  “That they’d agreed to help. That in their messages they all wore these red suits and he had no idea what they actually looked
like. He didn’t like that they hid their faces. Made them hard to read.”

  None of this was helpful. “Did he say anything he could read?”

  “Not a lot. It was odd, though. He spoke directly to their leader.”

  Thomas stiffened. “Are you sure?”

  “Yup. Killian thought it was strange. Bigwigs don’t like to mingle with the masses, yeah? Leave that to their flunkies.” Disaster adjusted one of the green leaves to receive more sunlight. “Actually, that’s something. Killian thought maybe they had a personnel problem. Like there weren’t that many of them. He said he only ever saw two or three at a time, and their boss never mentioned troop numbers. Just ships. ‘Our fleet’s full strength will be at your doorstep.’ That kind of thing.”

  “Full strength,” said Thomas. “Are you positive that’s what was said?”

  Disaster shrugged. “I’m hearing it from Killian, so I don’t know. But that’s what he said the bigwig said.”

  “That’s good. That’s very good. Is there anything else?”

  “Sure, but jump my flowerbeds if I can remember.”

  Thomas stood. “If you remember anything else, contact Captain Nandoro in Portsmouth.” He programmed the appropriate information into Disaster’s wallscreen controls.

  Disaster crunched a fistful of leaves as he watched them head to the door. “Can I ask you something, Officer?”

  “Captain. What is it?”

  “Are we all gonna die?”

  Thomas stopped with his hand on the knob. “Not if I can use what you just told me.”

  “Ah.”

  “If anyone asks questions, deny you talked to us.”

  “I ain’t stupid.”

  “Never said you were. Thanks for your help.”

  “Don’t step on the chrysanthemums on your way out.”

  “We’ll be careful.”

  Thomas let himself and Archibald out and picked his way back toward the street, giving the flowers a wide berth.

  “Did that help?” asked Archibald.

  Thomas thought over what Disaster had said. “Yes. I think it did.” He turned his steps back toward the city tunnels. “Come on. We need to get going before—”

  A burly young man stepped out from behind one of Disaster’s well-pruned bushes. Then three more large individuals emerged and took up positions flanking him. One of them pushed the tiny bicycle that had nearly run Thomas and Archibald over earlier. Bulges beneath their jackets warned Thomas that they were armed.

  Thomas halted. Archibald retreated behind him. “Hi there.”

  The lead figure advanced. “First cop I’ve seen in months. What’s the UELE doing around here?”

  “Business. Back off, kid.”

  “One officer, all by himself? Heard rumors about some shit going down on Earth. You part of that?”

  “No.”

  “Prove it. Tell us why you’re here.”

  “There are aliens invading Earth.” Thomas saw no reason to hide it. The more warning people had, the less panic the Haxozin would cause when they eventually made it here.

  The burly young man stared at Thomas. Then he flashed his teeth and looked over his shoulder at his buddies. “This loon thinks aliens are invading.” To Thomas, he asked, “Been off the moon too long, loon?”

  “Watch your language, kid. My girlfriend’s from the moon.”

  “I bet you’re not even a real cop. Walking around here with some old geezer and no backup.” The young man shook his head. “Not buying it. What’s really going on? You with the Uprising? Because we don’t want any of that here.”

  “I’m not Uprising.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I could arrest all of you right now if I had time.” Thomas reached for his pocket comp to show his badge.

  The movement startled the young man, and his hand went toward his hip. “Hey, don’t you draw on me!”

  Before the young man could unholster whatever weapon he had under his jacket, a flash of white energy struck the concrete at his feet. He yelped and leapt backward, then turned panicky eyes on Thomas. “What was that?”

  Thomas couldn’t help but smile. “My backup.”

  “I didn’t see anybody.”

  “That’s the point.” Bolstered by the young thug’s retreat, Thomas took a step forward. “Look, kids. I get that you’re scared. You’re hearing strange rumors about Earth, and you’re trying to get a sense of control. But we’re not the enemy. So let us go about our business, and we’ll take care of the aliens. Go home and wait. The aliens won’t hurt you if you don’t give them reason.”

  The young man licked his lips. “I’m not good at waiting.”

  An idea occurred to Thomas. “If you want to help, the UELE’s a little shorthanded right now.”

  “None of us are cop material.”

  “Maybe not, but you could be alien fighting material. If you want to do something, go see Captain Nandoro in Portsmouth City and say you want to join the resistance.”

  A blink. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. It’s dangerous, but it’s more productive than standing out here harassing those of us trying to get things done.”

  The young man exchanged dubious looks with his friends. “We’ll think about it.”

  “You do that. Now, if you don’t mind, my backup and I would like to leave.”

  With a few glances into the surrounding foliage, the young men vacated the sidewalk and let Thomas and Archibald pass. “Loons,” he heard one of them mutter. “Loons, all of them.”

  “But fighting aliens sounds awesome,” said another.

  Thomas didn’t know if they’d actually bother to help. Confrontational bullies tended to be cowards. But even if his words only sent them off the streets, it was worth it.

  He waited until he entered the pedestrian tunnel to Portsmouth to say, “Thanks, Praphasat.”

  “It’s my job.” Her voice came from right behind him. He turned to see her slinking through the shadows near the wall. Over her shoulder was slung a long-barreled weapon of unearthly design, definitely not standard issue.

  Thomas eyed it before facing front again. “In the future, if you want to take one of the bazooka rifles off the ship, let me know first.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Carry on.”

  When he looked back again, she’d disappeared.

  He smiled. Maybe working with his crew did have a certain appeal.

  * * *

  The Endurance left Enceladus’s airlocks with a few hours to spare. In orbit, Captain Nandoro had already scrambled all remaining UELE ships from the moon, and a few civilian ones as well. They exchanged wishes of good luck before Thomas set heading toward the solar system’s edge.

  At the moment, he worried those staying behind would need more luck than he would.

  Matthias Habassa tinkered with the D Drive controls on the bridge. “Where we going, Cap?”

  Thomas settled in his chair. “Our source said the Haxozin sent their entire force for this invasion.”

  Across the bridge, Ivanokoff’s eyes lit up. “Their entire force?”

  “Yup,” said Thomas. “Emptied the barracks, as it were. And since they came to our homeworld, it’s only fair that we go to theirs.”

  * * *

  The last time Matthias had seen the Haxozin homeworld, he’d been fighting half a dozen technical obstacles at the same time. It was hard to sightsee when you were overriding the controls for alien airlocks, calculating trajectories for a crash landing inside a hanger bay, and estimating the warhead yield necessary to blast through a bulkhead without collapsing the entire ship.

  He’d pulled it off, though. The rescue mission worked. He and his engineering team had downed a full bottle of champagne for that one.

  Now, though, he stared out the viewports and finally understood why so many bridge officers had been unnerved by the sight of the Haxozin planet.

  It was dead.

  Not just kinda dried out. Not undead like the planet Th
assis. Like really, seriously dead. Matthias doubted anything had lived down there for decades. Impact craters riddled the dark brown surface. The few structures visible from orbit were hard to make out, nowhere near as prominent as Median City on Earth or the lunar domes. Most troubling, thermal scans picked up not one sign of heat from the entire surface.

  What in the world had the Haxozin done to this place?

  Matthias wondered if it was possible to stimulate plant growth in such a sterile environment and restore habitability. He’d have to add that to his list of future projects, right after disproving Alfson’s take on unified field theory and finding an application for the antiderivative of position. It was neat that math could discover things that didn’t exist, but applying that discovery was a pain.

  Still. All problems could be solved. The obstacles didn’t bother him. Be a duck.

  He wondered, in the back of his mind, if even now the Haxozin were starting their planet-killing process on Earth. If so, his parents and friends might be—

  No. Not now. He was doing the only thing he could to solve that problem.

  Be a duck.

  He turned his mind to analyzing the various scanner data streaming across the console. “No ships in orbit, Cap. Got a few satellites, but they’re pretty busted up. Probably been there since the planet was inhabited. A few dozen years, based on what I can see of them.”

  Captain Withers drummed his fingers on his armrest. “Can you access the satellite computers, look for strategic information we can use?”

  “Not without bringing them aboard and taking them apart. Their systems are all burnt out.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” said the captain. “Let’s do a full orbit of the planet. There might be something more usable on the other side.”

  Halfway around the dead world, the captain got his wish. Matthias pointed at the overhead screen. “Look, look. That station has thermal readings!”

  The station in question was small, about one and a half times the size of Endurance. A few mechanical messes had been pasted onto its hull, probably serving as data transceivers. A dozen or so weapons had been grafted on as well, though Matthias couldn’t tell how potent they might be.