by Jason Gurley
Beneath it, a staircase sinks into darkness.
Inside, Tasneem says. Everybody. Now!
Ishy and Oona go first. Varien lowers Tarae down, and the two women take her from him. As he starts to descend the staircase, Tasneem stops him.
Here, she says, grabbing Varien's hand.
Tasneem, what are you doing? David asks. Wait!
Without waiting for Varien's approval, she fastens the databand to his wrist. Varien opens his mouth to protest, but Tasneem is already fitting the earpiece into his ear.
You take care of him, she says. There is nothing more important than him. Do you understand?
Varien says, Wait, wait, I don't --
Tell me you understand. Do it!
Varien's jaw hangs open. I -- I understand. But Tasneem, wait, you have to --
Good, Tasneem says. Go!
She pushes him, and he steps backward to keep his balance, and as he does, Tasneem pulls the metal grate shut over his head. A moment later, the rug thumps into place over it, and everything vanishes into darkness.
• • •
Varien huddles in the dark with his three crewmates.
Where is Tasneem? Where is Serena? Ishy whispers.
He shakes his head, then realizes that Ishy can't see him in the black.
They stayed abovedecks, he says.
They sit in silence, absorbing the meaning of that.
In the dark, they can hear the sounds of the hull being dismantled by the boarding party. Screeching sounds of metal sawing metal. Heavy clanking sounds as parts of the hull fall onto the inner decks. Varien imagines the sparks, the searing edges of the hull, glowing red.
He wonders if Tasneem and Serena have another hiding place.
They make their stand now, David answers.
Varien flinches. He had forgotten all about the databand.
Do not talk to me, David reminds him. Think. You don't want to startle the rest of the crew. Understand?
Yes, Varien thinks. Can you hear that?
Yes, David says. I hear your thoughts even when they are not directed at me. I know you're scared. I know how quickly your heart is beating right now. I recognize the patterns of your brainwaves. I know that your cholesterol level is acceptable for a man of your age. I know that you drink little alcohol, and that your body has a slight allergy to it. I know, too, that it is uncomfortable for you to understand how connected I am to you now. As uncomfortable as it is, you must accept it. You are to play a larger role now, Varien. A much, much larger role.
What do you mean, a larger role? Varien thinks.
You are being passed the mantle, David says. Tasneem has chosen you.
What does that mean? What's going to happen to her?
I don't know what will happen to her, David says. And whatever happens, you must not intervene. Your safety is now of paramount importance. Tasneem knows this. She will do anything to protect you now.
Because of you?
Because of me, David says, and the secret that I hold. But also because she trusts you. You are my shepherd now, Varien.
How long will it take them to get through? Oona asks.
In the dark, Ishy says, Not long. A few hours.
They're going to find us, Oona says. They'll search the whole ship. They'll find our quarters, our things. They'll know we're here somewhere. They'll find us, and then what?
No, Ishy says. The transport pod. The one Catrine took. Tasneem will let them think that we were on it, too.
But Tasneem, says Oona. Serena. What will happen to them?
Legend
Tarae wakes and it is black, and Oona notices before anybody else.
Be quiet, Oona says softly.
But Tarae is disoriented. What happened? Where am I?
Shh, Ishy whispers. You mustn't talk.
Varien has retreated from the women into a corner. It is cold in the holding space, and while the women generate warmth, he is too distracted to remain close.
I can hear them, he thinks.
Yes, says David. I do, too. It sounds like there are only a few.
Three, maybe. Four.
That sounds about right.
We would outnumber them, then, Varien thinks.
You can't take them, David says.
I could. I'm fast. I'm strong.
They would hear you coming.
I can be quiet.
No, David says. I mean, it would be unavoidable. Tasneem and Serena pulled the table and the rug over our heads. You couldn't leave this space without drawing attention.
I can't let them bear this alone, Varien thinks.
You must, David says. It is awful and seems impossible, I know. But you must.
Why? They don't have to endure this alone.
I want to tell you a story, David says.
Now?
Yes.
• • •
Have you ever heard the great legend of Varien? David asks.
Varien hesitates in the darkness. The legend of Varien, he repeats. Varien who?
The great Varien Dulcek, David answers.
Don't fuck with me right now, Varien thinks. I want to go up. I want to protect them.
But David ignores him. A little backstory, first. Once, a great many thousands of years ago, the species of mankind evolved upon a little planet in a tiny solar system in a distant galaxy. The Milky Way, it was called, for reasons that so many men and women have now forgotten. This species was unlike any other. It learned, like many creatures did, but it developed an ability to retain knowledge, and to build upon that knowledge, and to create. That's what set mankind apart from the rest. It made things.
Varien is impatient, and interrupts. David, we don't have time for fairy tales, he thinks.
But David continues anyway.
Man evolved, as all species do. From rudimentary tools, man created shelter and weapons. He learned to tell stories. He created villages and learned to barter goods. Class systems followed. Money. Religion. Governments. As the years passed, man's influence grew, and he began to spread across his little planet. He climbed great mountains, and dove deep into oceans. He conquered the air, and then leapt from his planet to a moon. And none of this was enough. Man's spirit grew stronger, his will more unyielding.
Varien is quiet now, listening.
Man became dissatisfied, and grew more entitled. He dominated the other creatures of his world so completely that they became products to be consumed. He demanded pleasures and satisfactions, regardless of the cost to others, or to his small planet. And so the planet suffered. Man poisoned it, stole from it, pierced it. And the planet one day fell apart, and man was consumed in this period of destruction.
But some members of the species escaped. Do you know the story from here?
Please continue, Varien thinks.
They escaped into the sky, fled to the stars. In orbit around their sickly planet, they built contained worlds to sustain them. For a time, they came together, and huddled for warmth around their will to survive. Their desires became secondary to their needs. On these little worlds, they worked together. They had babies, and rebuilt the species. New generations were born that knew nothing of soil and sky and water. These new generations would look down at a brown ball far beneath them and find no commonalities with the legends that their elders told them. Where were the great blue oceans? Where, the vast green masses of land? All they could see was a withered, ugly ball.
Man has never been content with peace, and after some time, a faction arose that demanded loyalty and servitude. It separated mankind into two groups: those who worked, and those who profited.
Machiners and Onyx-class, Varien thinks.
Yes, David says. And the dominant humans built a great city, nearly as large as Earth's moon, from which they extended their rule over the solar system. A rebellion arose, and the lesser humans fled the great city like bees from a hive. They spread across the system, hiding in crevices and canyons and craters on every moon and planet fr
om Mercury to distant, small Pluto. They tethered themselves in orbit to any moon that would have them. But they could not flee their own need to survive. The darkest corners of the galaxy provided no food, no sustenance, no resources. And so the refugees had to rely upon their former masters for life. They went to work for them again, mining the system in exchange for supplies. The system they had fled had come to own them once more.
But in the great dark ages, a voice arose who compelled them to fight for freedoms they had not enjoyed in generations.
Tasneem, Varien thinks.
The voice belonged to a woman who defeated death. She alone remembered Earth as it was before the end. She alone had witnessed the near-utopia of man's new life among the stars, and had resisted its destruction. She called for the people to rise up, to take charge of their lives. To live in harmony once more. To shrug off the bondage they felt they deserved.
Some heard her voice, and did not listen. Some listened, but did not act. Some acted, but defied Tasneem's message of peace.
The Deimos saboteurs.
They brought the system to the edge of war again, sacrificing many lives to demand their freedom. And by doing so anonymously, they brought their enemy to Tasneem's door instead. Tasneem gave her life in just the way she lived: peacefully, willingly. By doing so, she protected humanity's only remaining hope.
I don't like this story, Varien thinks.
Ask me about humanity's only remaining hope, David says.
I don't want to. I want to save Tasneem.
Ask me.
Varien exhales, and his breath trembles in the cold. Fine, he thinks. I'm asking. What is humanity's remaining hope?
David says, Me. And you.
• • •
In the days following Tasneem's martyrdom, David says, a great message was spread throughout the system. The message would be remembered until the end of time. Its words would be recited by schoolchildren. Its story would be passed down from generation to generation. Children thousands of years in the future would know it by name, and memorize it. They would never forget the name of its author: Varien Dulcek.
Varien swallows hard. What are you talking about?
The message would inspire millions to lay down their weapons, to lay down their tools, to gather as one people. It would, with simple, heartfelt words, restore the broken bonds of brothers, heal the wounds of families pulled apart. It would give every man and woman and child something to hope for. Something to dream of. It would give man a common goal, and hope for a thousand million new days. What was that goal?
I don't know. I don't know what you think I know.
The message would speak of a home far away, a home just waiting for man's arrival. A glittering, sparkling new world. A world with life. A world lit by two beautiful, warming suns. A world with oceans and clouds and great green valleys and blue mountains. The message would tell of this new home, this new Earth. The message would call for peace, and give peace a purpose.
I don't -- I don't know anything about --
This new world will be called Asiel. Man's sanctuary. Man's refuge. Man's asylum. And Varien Dulcek will lead humanity to its doorstep.
I don't know what you are talking about. It's a lie.
It's not a lie. It's truth, Varien.
It can't be. I don't know anything about what you're talking about.
But that's okay, says David. Because I do. I've found it. And now you know why Tasneem would do anything to protect you, and me. Now you know why you can't go upstairs. Why you must let her do what she is going to do.
I -- I -- don't know -- I don't know what to say.
Nothing, for now. For now, we remain quiet. We wait.
Patience
And so they wait.
Several days pass, and during those days, the footsteps of the intruders can be heard thudding overhead. They hear the sounds of ransacking, of boxes flung about, of cabinets thrown open and emptied. They wince at the sound of furniture toppled. Glass breaks.
But through it all, the table overhead never moves. The rug is never pulled back. The secret panel never lifted.
Varien listens for the one thing he doesn't want to hear -- Tasneem's final words, a scream, the sound of gunfire -- but it never comes.
There's no reason it would have happened in the galley, David offers, but Varien pushes the words out of his mind. If he doesn't hear it happen, then there's a chance it hasn't. That it won't.
In the days that go by, Ishy discovers a store of supplies in the dark. She feels around inside and finds simple food packets, bottled water, medical supplies. None of them has any source of light, but it's just as well. None of them wants to risk discovery.
They make no sounds louder than a whisper, and they try not to whisper often.
They start to lose track of time. On what they think is the fourth or fifth day, they realize they haven't heard a sound for some time. Ishy scoots close to Oona and Tarae and Varien and says, It's quiet.
It is quiet, Oona says. I don't hear anything.
Maybe we should go up, Ishy says.
No, Varien says. Not yet.
I think we should --
But Varien interrupts, firmly. No. We wait one more day, and then we investigate.
A few hours later, footsteps echo distantly through the ship above, followed by a thin murmur of voices.
Did you --
I heard, Varien says. We wait.
• • •
What if they never leave? Tarae asks.
Oona says, They have to leave.
What if they're staying onboard while they wait for someone to come?
Why would they do that? Ishy asks.
Maybe, Tarae says, they want to keep the ship. Maybe they're towing us right now.
That's actually a reasonable possibility, David says. I'm a little embarrassed that I didn't think of it.
Why would they want to keep the ship? Varien thinks.
Tasneem is a person of considerable interest to the Citadel, David says. Perhaps they will want the ship as a trophy, or for closer inspection. Now that I consider the possibility, the more likely I think it may be that our boarding party will not be leaving any time soon. Varien, I think we need to consider an alternate plan. We may have wasted too much time waiting.
What should we do? Varien thinks. If we go up there and they're sitting right there --
I know, David says. Have the crew spread out and search the space. Let's make sure there's not an exit here first. But, Varien, don't mention me to them. Not yet.
I have an idea, Varien says to the women. But I need your help.
ISHY
Meili
Takao waited for his wife at the junction on level 303. It had been a particularly trying day, and he found himself more exhausted than usual. He leaned against a bulkhead, then rested his head on his arms. Then he fell asleep standing up.
He had a dream of flying, then of falling, and then he hit the floor and woke up.
Your head, a stranger had said. You're bleeding.
Takao pressed his hand to his head, then inspected it. His palm was slick with blood.
Setsuko would be worried.
She arrived a moment later, before he could steal away to a washroom to tidy himself. She had seen the blood instantly, as he had feared, and she panicked.
Takao! she cried. What happened? Are you alright?
I'm fine, he said. Fine, dear. I'm fine. I'm just very tired.
But what happened? she asked again.
I fell over, he confessed.
You tripped?
I fell asleep waiting, and I fell over. Silly, I know.
Takao, she said, fumbling in her satchel for something with which to wipe his face. You don't have to wait for me. I'm capable of making it back to the ward alone.
She found a scarf, and folded it into a square. She pressed it to his head, and he winced.
I know, he said. I like to walk home with you.
Walk carefully, Se
tsuko said.
They had been married for but three weeks, and were still within their dismissal period. Takao worried that too many incidents like this one might prompt Setsuko to petition for a cancellation. Last week, he had fallen asleep on the sofa while holding a cup of coffee she had made for him. He still had red welts on his thigh from that mistake.
If she cancelled the marriage, he thought he would die. His first wife had petitioned for a cancellation, and had been granted it. He had married again four weeks later, and that wife had left him without waiting for council permission. She had told Takao she would gladly accept a penalty for abandoning the marriage. That was how quickly she wished to be shed of him.
He feared Setsuko might do the same. Setsuko was a gift from whatever gods there might be. She was unreasonably beautiful, with fine dark hair that suited her whether she piled it atop her head or spent hours preparing it. And she was as funny as she was nurturing, often making him laugh while she cared for his needs.
In other words, Setsuko was his first wife who treated him like a husband.
If he lost her, he would find the nearest airlock and throw himself into the sun.
He knew that he was dramatic. He knew that he was careless about his well-being, and thought too little of himself. He didn't often think ahead, and walked himself into dead ends again and again.
Setsuko took his hand, and they walked home.
• • •
Home was the lower wards, the bottommost division of the Machine-class levels. In the wards, compartments were single rooms with beds and showers and toilets that folded down from the walls. There was little privacy, plenty of noise, too many residents, and the air was always heavy.
Takao and Setsuko turned the corner onto their compartment row and stopped.
A man in a vivid red uniform stood at their door. He bore the silvery badge of the Onyx administration group, and straightened up when he saw Takao and his wife approaching.
Setsuko's hand tightened around Takao's.
Behave, she whispered through her teeth.
The man said, Mr. and Mrs. Ishiguro?
I am Takao Ishiguro, said Takao. What have we done?