Remnant

by Dwayne A Thomason

  Behind him he heard hydraulics whine. He turned to find a single dark metal door where there had once been shear wall. The door opened before him as he approached, revealing a cylindrical room with a ladder leading upwards. Gan took the ladder through the open hatch at the bottom of the governor’s emergency shuttle. The shuttle was not as opulent as the rooms below. No use decorating a shuttle you hoped never to use. Through a doorway Ganyasu found the cockpit of the shuttle. He sat at the pilot’s controls. He stretched out his hands, covered by the gloves of his smartskin, and then waved them over one of the control screens. In an instant, he had interface with the shuttle, activating systems, cycling up the engines, all without pressing a button. He set a timer for ten minutes and then programmed the shuttle to open the bay doors and exit after that time. He laid out a simple course to be followed at maximum safe acceleration. Then he activated the G-buffers and made sure they were powered up and ready to offset as much of the g-forces it could. Once done, he left the cockpit, dropped down the ladder, flicked the switch under the table to conceal the door again.

  Gan looked back at the door to Remnant’s bedroom. Were they foolish to accept the governor’s invitation? Or was this all part of her master’s plan? Either way a lot of people were going to die today. Gan thought he could hear the soft sounds of Remnant’s prayers through the heavy wooden door. He wondered if she was praying for those who would die here.

  With a thought Gan activated the helmet portion of his smartskin, and a close-fitting shell covered his face, blocking his vision until the suit activated its cameras. He left the governor’s suite, locking the door behind him, and then he was away, sprinting down the hall.

  Gan tuned his suit to listen in to whatever communications it could tap into and display pertinent information about any of the gunships the attacking forces were using. Meanwhile he had it display the shuttle’s countdown timer. In addition, he activated his passive sensor package and a little circle displayed on the edge of his vision. That would help him find trouble before trouble found him.

  The shuttle’s countdown timer was at seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds when Gan left the series of opulent corridors that made up the governor’s suites, where Governor Vares, his family and his cabinet would live while traveling. The rooms he passed were all empty and the corridors silent. Beyond a series of pressure doors, unembellished due to their nature, the carpeting, the wood paneling and all the décor ended, returning to the bare metal and nano-carbonate corridors Gan expected to see on a battleship. The pressure doors became an airlock. He saw the red lights on the console showing vacuum outside. His suit carried enough air for a few minutes and his training could keep him going on one deep breath for a few more but he liked his chances better if he had a more substantive oxygen supply. He grabbed one of the emergency cannisters and locked it to the magnetic locks across his back and then commanded his suit to interface his air supply with the bottle. His HUD stated he now had thirty minutes of air. Plenty of time.

  Gan tapped the button to cycle the airlock and soon he was sprinting down a silent corridor, the only sound he could hear was his own breathing.

  He followed this corridor straight towards the starboard end of the ship which—according to the collated data his suit picked up from intercepted communications—was where the closest enemy gunship was likely to be parked.

  According to the comm chatter the enemy were either more interested in seizing the ship, penetrating towards the engine room, the CIC and the bridge, or that was a cleverly planned and executed ruse to keep defending troops away from Remnant.

  The shuttle timer read four minutes and eight seconds when a pressure hatch opened almost right next to him. His suit’s active camo was worthless with the air cannister hooked up to it. Gan leapt up and grabbed hold of the ceiling struts with his hands and feet, then engaged the magnetic locks on both. Below him a column of marines in full combat armor rushed past in formation. They wore the insignia of the Alliance Naval Command.

  The Alliance had finally caught up to them. Furthermore, the Alliance would attack a ship owned by one of its member systems to take Remnant. They must have considered her a serious threat.

  Gan waited a full minute before releasing the magnetic locks in his hands and feet and dropping back to the floor. His landing would have been silent even if the corridor had been pressurized. He turned down the hallway the marines had come from. Where there were marines a gunship wasn’t far behind.

  Two minute and twenty-two seconds before the shuttle’s automated systems began the launch Gan came across the first signs of actual battle. The corridor before him was in shambles. Half-frozen oxygen misted out from holed pipes. Burn holes and scorch marks littered the walls with strange not-patterns, still glowing. Bundles of power cabling and light strips hung from the ceiling, releasing loose sparks. Bodies, mostly Antarii Marines in their cyan Meritine Guard armor, littered the floor.

  Before meeting Remnant, Gan would have given little thought for the dead. His experience with the girl had changed him. Instead of seeing broken machinery, Gan now saw stories that would never be told. He saw spouses and children whose lives were forever changed by loss.

  One minute and five seconds before launch, Gan found his ride off the Elipzio. Down a side corridor he found a large hole in the ship, underneath which lay a cylindrical chunk of hull. The hole didn’t reveal stars, but the ceiling of an Alliance gunship. A pair of Alliance marines stood before the hole. They were facing each other, probably talking, though Gan could hear none of it, and holding their weapons in loose grips.

  Even with his active camouflage, he couldn’t take over the gunship without a fight. Gan made a gripping motion with his fist and a stream of nanites flowed from tiny orifices in his suit and constructed a long, slender-bladed weapon. Gan hadn’t killed since meeting Remnant.

  He had almost killed a few times at the beginning of their relationship, before finding out how adamantly she felt on the matter. His time with her had given him a measure of empathy. He realized these marines, these men, were not evil. They were doing their job as demanded by those in authority over them. They probably had families that would mourn their passing. They might even have children that Gan would turn into orphans in a few seconds.

  He would kill them to protect his charge. The artifact was worth protecting, even if it meant shedding blood. But he didn’t want to kill them. Gan wondered if Remnant’s Master would respond if he prayed for a miracle.

  Gan took three slow breaths, then spoke.

  “Remnant’s Master,” he said, feeling awkward and even a little stupid. “I have no interest in taking lives, but I know what I carry is too important to fall into enemy hands. And right now, these men are my enemy. I must get off this ship and that gunship is my chance for a successful escape. So. If you...will...make these men...I don’t know. Make them disappear, or fall asleep or--”

  Just as the shuttle timer reached all zeroes, one of the marines lifted a finger to the other and looked away. Gan commanded his suit to tune into the marines’ communications. It took a second or two, and by the time he was patched in the marines were looking at each other again.

  “Come on,” the first one said. “Corporal says he needs our help.”

  “Oh,” said the second, “you mean they saved some for us?”

  “More likely he found a trunk of the governor’s fancy rations and wants us to haul it for him. Let’s go.”

  Gan jumped and pulled the same disappearing act he’d used before, sticking to the ceiling struts as the two marines passed beneath him. Then, mouthing a silent prayer of thanks, Gan dropped back down, turned, and stepped into the gunship.

  He was well accustomed to the feeling of gravity shifting as he stepped out of one field and into another. What surprised him was the navy technician sitting in his control seat as Gan stepped through.

  The tech looked up and did a double-take, but by then Gan was ready. With a wordless command Gan jammed the tech’s su
it comms. Then he leapt at him. To the technician’s credit he had his side-arm up in a flash, but Gan was faster. In one fluid move he grabbed the marine’s gun hand, disengaged the energy clip and then snapped the marine’s wrist for good measure.

  I thought we weren’t killing now? came a voice that might as well have come from Remnant’s Master considering Gan’s surprise to hear it. Gan released his grip on the blade forming in his hand and the ready-made weapon disintegrated and crawled back up his arm. Instead, Gan hurled the tech through the hole in the Elpizio’s hull. Gan stepped behind the tech’s control screen. He shut the gunship’s keel door, locking the tech out. Then he disengaged the soft seal and re-pressurized the cabin.

  He stepped through the short corridor towards the cockpit. The hatch to the cockpit was locked. Gan figured that was Alliance Navy protocol. Gan waved his hand over the control panel. Tiny, ghostly sparks lit up between his hand and the panel and the screen went haywire, displaying random symbols and colors as the ancillary hacking software in Gan’s suit broke down the control panel’s defenses.

  Within a second, the control panel turned green and the hatch door slid open. The gunship’s cockpit, dimly lit in red light, had a pair of control stations side-by-side. Each had an omni-directional flight control rig, screens dotted with buttons, gauges and charts, and rows of hard controls overhead.

  The pilot and copilot, practically a mirror image of each other save for the rank patches on their shoulders and their faces, turned around towards him. Neither had the chance to respond before he clapped their heads together. Their eyes rolled back, and they collapsed into each other. Gan sealed both their helmets and dragged them back to the keel door.

  His fingers buzzed across the tech controls, re-depressurizing the cabin, and opening the door. The tech whose wrist he’d broken had found his feet and was now banging on the door when it opened before him. The look of surprise Gan saw through the tech’s faceplate was as complete as it was brief before Gan shoved the two pilots on top of him, and then shut the door once more.

  Gan ran back to the cockpit, locked it down once more, and then plotted an indirect course to Lodebar Station. These gunships were designed to close the vast distances of space between opposing ships common to space combat. Its N-slip drive would get him anywhere he needed to go within the solar system.

  Where was it Remnant told him to go?

  “Lodebar Station,” Gan said. The ship, now interfaced with the control protocols in his suit, searched through its databanks and found the entry. A direct path to Lodebar station at the speed of light would take about ten hours. That was not an option, though. He’d need to take a circuitous path to keep the navy off his back.

  Gan plotted the path, disengaged the ship’s locking clamps from the Elpizio, and instructed the ship through his suit’s flight operation protocols to take off and execute the course he’d planned.

  The Alliance’s N-space inverter was now deactivated so he only had to find a clear path to his first slip-point. As the gunship careened away from and around the Elpizio, Gan opened the ship’s comms and told his suit to collate relevant data.

  A squadron of Alliance fighters accompanied by a marine gunship was in pursuit of the emergency shuttle. He felt the crack of a grin on his face when he heard the Alliance techs have, thus far, been unable to remote hack the shuttle’s controls and so the fighters were endeavoring to come in range, so they could disable the shuttle’s drive through a surgical strike.

  The Alliance seemed dead-set to capture Remnant alive, which gave Gan some hope. He was a few seconds away from his first N-slip maneuver when his stolen gunship was hailed.

  “Phantom alpha two seven, why have you disengaged?”

  Gan blocked the channel. They couldn’t stop him now. As the slip drive counted down to zero, he heard one last communique.

  “Gator squadron, this is ANC command.”

  “This is Gator One, command, go ahead.”

  “Gator One, you are weapons free to destroy the shuttle and come on home. The primary target has been secured and is not aboard the shuttle. Repeat, the primary target has been secured.”

  Gator One’s reply was lost as Gan’s gunship executed the N-slip maneuver, and all the local chatter went dead.

  The primary target has been secured. Gan’s mind repeated the clipped tone of the navy officer who’d given the order. He was talking about the girl.

  The Alliance had Remnant.

  Chapter Five:

  Honor Your Father

  Niko Lanseidis, Nix to his friends, finished packing the rest of the clothes into a worn duffle bag. A few shirts, a couple pairs of pants, some underwear, and a pair of shoes were all sensible, well-worn but well maintained. The nicest things there were the black dress shoes, but even these were plain and synthetic.

  A small pack of toiletries finished the set, and Nix zipped the bag up, grabbed the strap and rolled the bag out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the living room where Dothin stood, looking into the screen of his link.

  “Okay, Pattie,” Dothin said, smiling, “thanks for the update. Make sure those lugs at the dock mark it fragile.”

  “Of course,” Pattie’s voice replied from the speakers of the link, “not that it will do much good.”

  “Well, every little bit helps,” Dothin said, an easy chuckle in his voice. “We can’t have the governor’s merchandise arriving in pieces.”

  Pattie laughed.

  “Okay, Dothin. Have a nice trip. Want me to check in on Nix from time to time?”

  Nix dropped the duffle on the floor behind Dothin to signal his arrival.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Nix called at the link.

  Dothin shook his head.

  “Yes, you better had,” he said, then turning a stern eye on Nix said, “we don’t want to see a relapse of last time, do we?”

  “No problem, Dothin.”

  “Thanks Pattie.”

  Dothin cut the call and dropped his link into the breast pocket of his jacket. Then he turned, lifted the duffle bag, and glared down at Nix. The wrinkles about his eyes and face, which revealed a history of smiles and easy laughter, contorted into a worried frown.

  “Now remember, Niko,” he said. “Stay out of trouble. Get your chores done. Keep up with your lessons. Work on your carving.”

  “I know, I know,” Nix said. “I don’t have to worry about the former if I’m diligent in the latter.”

  “And don’t forget to take your medicine.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I won’t be gone more than a day or two. If I’m not back in time for our delivery, let them in. No one else enters the flat, understand?”

  “Oh, so when Pattie checks in on me I don’t have to let her in?”

  “Ms. Pattie,” Dothin corrected. “And you know what I mean.”

  “Yes sir,” Nix replied, trying not to sound sullen.

  Dothin nodded, turned, and picked up the suit in its black garment bag. This he slung over his shoulder as he left the flat. The door slid shut behind him.

  Nix sighed, stretched his arms out and surveyed the apartment, a smile growing on his lips. It was the only thing Dothin splurged on. He wasn’t much for fancy clothes, jewelry, or entertainment, but he did like to have plenty of living space. Nix eyed the strange flat, large but devoid of the fancy décor one would expect to find in such a sizeable domicile. None of the furniture existed to be looked at. Comfortable but not luxurious by any means. Most of the walls were covered either in photos of friends and family, or with art of his own making, rather than expensive original paintings or sculpture. Dothin wasn’t interested in paying money for such things.

  Nix shook his head at his guardian’s peculiar frugality and started his day. He went to his workstation first and yawned through the lessons set out for him that day. History was mind-numbing, algebra and geometry gave him a headache, and grammar made him want to scream. He groaned as course after course added to the mounting pile of practice work
he’d have to do. Once the lessons were done he moaned and groaned through the homework, understanding little of it, just glad to have wandered into another correct answer. By the time he was finished it was lunchtime. He pulled a frozen dinner out of the freezer, warmed it up and set it down at the kitchen table with a can of soda. He eyed his link, heard Dothin’s disembodied voice warning him against tech at the dinner table and sighed.

  He ate his lunch in the relative silence of the flat. He’d heard his friends talk about the creaks and groans of the station but the only sound he heard was air flow.

  When lunch was finished he dumped his plate and utensils into the dish bath. Watching the nanites in the bath bubble up as they cleaned the sauce from his dishes always made him think of that time he had cut his knee right after he moved in with Dothin. When the bath finished its job, Nix pulled everything out and put it all away. Then he went about the rest of his chores. He wiped down the table and the counter tops in the kitchen, found all the random out-of-place things and put them away. He dusted the shelves and the pictures on the wall. Dothin could have afforded a maid to do all this, but instead he enjoyed the free labor he had in Nix.

  Nix stepped into the workshop next. The lights lit up as he walked in revealing all the stations and the tools Dothin used in his craft. Over on one table was the big cutter, its mono-filament blade shined amidst the otherwise dull gray machinery. There was the carving station, the staining table, a place for painting, etc. The only piece of serious tech was the metal cutting station which, to Nix, looked like a standard fabricator but instead of printing parts, it cut them out of the various metals Dothin used.

  Nix knew from experience not to mess with any of the equipment in the workshop while Dothin wasn’t overseeing him. He’d used the big cutter to cut wood into primitive shapes, he’d stained a few things and he’d cut a few gears with the metal cutter, but only with Dothin watching.

  Nix stepped over to the carving station and sat down. He lifted his current work from beside the station, a small slab of wood about half a meter tall and clamped it to the table. Carved on it was the beginning of a tree with long, curling branches and flowing bunches of leaves. He angled his work light, so he could see the soft pencil lines displaying the rest of the design. Then he picked the chisel he’d left off with from the tool shelf and got to work.