Remnant

by Dwayne A Thomason

  “You don’t get it,” Cel said. “You nearly died.”

  “Oh Cel,” Ashla said, placing a hand over her heart, her soft expression unable to cover her sarcasm. “I didn’t know you cared.”

  The lift light lit up and a happy tone sounded. The door to the second lift opened, revealing a large, square lift cage.

  “Get in,” Cel ordered.

  Ashla frowned at her, eyes narrow as slits, but she got in. Cel followed. She hit the ground-floor button so hard she nearly smashed the command screen. The doors closed, and the lift cage rose.

  “Your father cares,” Cel said, not missing a beat. “He nearly flipped his wig when he heard about your little maneuver.”

  “Father doesn’t wear a wig.”

  “You know what I mean,” Cel growled through gritted teeth. How did this spoiled teenager manage to get her hypertensive every time?

  “But that’s beside the point,” Ashla said, her calm, cool voice made Cel feel like a raging lunatic by comparison.

  “And what is that?”

  “Why are you angry with me?”

  “What?”

  “Father will be angry because I worried him,” Ashla said. “Captain Eldaghast and the others will be angry because I made them look bad. But why are you angry at me? There’s no way I got you in trouble and you have no vested interest in my livelihood.”

  “Um,” Cel said as the lift slowed to a stop. “You know it’s my job to keep you safe.”

  “Yeah,” Ashla countered, “but you weren’t in the cockpit with me and even if you were, you wouldn’t have known what to do.”

  The lift doors slid open revealing a wide foyer. Matching curved staircases led her eyes up and away from the black and white tiled floor to the landing up above and the massive golden chandeliers.

  Cel led Ashla out and past the winding staircases towards a pair of glass doors leading to the garden. Cel’s boots squeaked against the shiny floor. Ashla’s footsteps were silent.

  “Do you know how much paperwork is involved in a lost ward?” Cel asked.

  Ashla scoffed.

  Cel braved a smirk.

  A pair of Meritine guardsmen in their bright cyan uniforms and armor opened the glass doors to the garden. Cel saluted them both as she passed.

  The soft spring breeze caressed Cel’s face and she felt she could breathe correctly for the first time since coming up from the sub-levels. The palace gardens were carefully shaded along the flattened river stone path, which kept the temperature along it comfortable. The path was flanked on either side with tall rows of rose bushes flecked with bright white and pink roses, or thick, bushy green hedge rows.

  Gardeners stood here and knelt there, clipping the verge or harvesting flowers to be potted inside the palace, but the garden was predominantly solitary, especially in the governor’s usual spot.

  Governor Annister Vares sat on a stone bench under the boughs of a massive elm tree. Standing beside him was his secretary, Lia, a tall, middle-aged woman with her dark hair pulled back in a professional bun. Lia was handing the governor a tablet and pointing at it.

  “And this one is the arctic mining commission bill,” Lia said.

  Annister took the tablet, swiped upwards a few times, and then pressed his thumb onto the screen, applying his signature. Lia swiped across and tapped the screen.

  “This is that I13 act,” she said.

  “Increasing safety funding for our industrial installations in Antar’s Wall?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Lia said.

  Annister swiped along, reading more intently this time.

  “Where are we going to come up with the money for all this?” he said.

  “The experts at the Revenue Bureau are predicting a 5% uptick over the next five years. We would only need a small amount of that to pay for this bill.”

  Annister sneered.

  “You know those wonks always get paid before their predictions turn out, right?”

  “Yeah,” Lia replied, “but it’s not up to you to make up the difference. Let the Assembly decide whether or not they can fund the bill.”

  Annister gave one of his sideways nods.

  “I wouldn’t be signing in good faith if I believed the bill would go unfunded.”

  They sat and stood there for a moment in silence. It wasn’t Lia’s job to persuade the governor to sign a bill, only to get a decision from him.

  “Well,” Annister said, “The Assembly wants my stamp on that increased tariffs bill for non-Alliance imports, right?”

  Lia nodded.

  “Let’s put an offer on the table that I will sign off on it if they offer to ensure funding for this I13 bill from said tariffs.”

  Lia smiled.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Annister pressed his thumb to the tablet and handed it to Lia.

  “I’ve got a few more for you,” she said.

  Annister shook his head.

  “A little later,” he said, waiving Cel and Ashla over.

  Lia nodded, took the tablet and walked away. She gave a professional smile to Ashla and Cel as she passed them.

  “Come here, Ashla,” Annister said. Ashla walked to him like a woman to her execution. Annister switched his gaze to Cel. “Could you give us a moment, Ms. Numbar?”

  “As you wish, sir,” Cel said. She turned on her heels and took several steps away from them but still within earshot. She kept her back to the two of them, lifted her link to check her messages.

  Annister and Ashla spoke in hushed voices but she heard every word.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened today,” Annister said. His voice was calm. As he spoke Cel remembered her own father. Andros Numbar was as unlike Annister Vares as one could get with his big, broad shoulders and thick arms, his ever-dirty overalls, and his wide, square face, but when Cel had done wrong, he had always managed to keep his cool when correcting her. Cel smiled despite herself and made a note to send a message to her parents.

  “I tried to break the blue,” Ashla said, her voice sullen.

  “And were you given permission to do so?”

  “No,” Ashla moaned.

  “And then what happened?”

  “The energy manifold in engine two overheated,” Ashla said.

  “Why did that happen?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ashla said, her voice changing tone. She was happy to discuss her ship, even its failings. “But I think what might have happened is the pressure changes from the steep angle of ascent caused the manifold’s thermal shielding to weaken and then crack, causing the manifold to overheat. I haven’t had the chance to check, yet, but—”

  “Ashla,” Annister said, voice still calm, though Cel could detect a note of amusement. “It happened because you disobeyed your orders.”

  Ashla sighed.

  “Yes, father.”

  “Ashla,” Annister said. “You must be more careful. I know Luna is a great ship and I know you’re an excellent pilot, but you still need to take every reasonable precaution.”

  “I’m not going to get to fly for a while, am I?”

  Annister sighed.

  “Well,” he said, “you won’t be breaking the blue any time soon. And before you fly, you need to fix what’s wrong, then you need to run simulations.”

  “Yes,” Ashla said. Her tone of voice lilted upwards, hopeful.

  “And you have that ribbon-cutting ceremony up on Vares Station in a few days.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, to hold you over,” Annister said, and Cel could hear the smile in his words, “you’re going to fly to the starport, dock your ship in one of the transports, take the transport into orbit, fly your ship to a station bay then, after the ribbon cutting, you can fly home.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” Annister said.

  Ashla leapt into his arms. Cel snuck a peak at the two hugging, then turned back around.

  “Thank you, father,” Ashla said.

  “But,” Annister said,
and Cel could hear him pushing Ashla back so he could look her in the eye. Cel had been privy to lots of these conversations and even though she couldn’t see what was happening now, she could imagine it. “Cel will be flying with you the whole way.”

  “But, father,” Ashla moaned.

  “No buts,” Annister said. “Cel is here to look after you, and hopefully, with someone in the Lunar Seed with you you’ll be more careful.”

  “No I won’t,” Ashla said, and then she whispered, “I hate her.”

  Cel felt a surprising ache somewhere in her throat. She swallowed hard. She suddenly wished she was out of earshot.

  Annister paused and Cel imagined he was at a loss for words.

  “That’s too bad, young lady,” he said. “Do you think I like everybody in the Assembly? Or even in my own cabinet? No, I don’t, but we work together every day to make Antarus a better place. If you can’t learn to work with people you don’t like, you’ll never get anything accomplished.”

  “Yes, father,” Ashla said. Her tone suggested that she said the words because Annister expected it, and not because of any lesson she learned.

  “We’re going to have a special guest arrive soon, and things are liable to get hectic, maybe even dangerous, and I need to know you will always do what Ms. Numbar tells you. Can I count on you?”

  “Yes, father,” Ashla said. Fear seeped the petulance from her voice.

  “Good,” Annister said, sounding relieved. “Now go about your studies. I’ve got work to do myself. I’ll see you for dinner.”

  Ashla turned and left. Cel turned to follow her but was halted.

  “Ms. Numbar,” Annister called. Cel looked around and felt an edge of anxiety at the sight of the garden, now empty but for the two of them. She heaved a nervous sigh and walked over to the governor.

  “Yes, sir?” she said.

  “I assume you heard all of that.” Annister said. Cel nodded. Annister sighed. “I’m sorry. She’s...in a difficult time of her life, and—”

  “You don’t need to make excuses, sir,” Cel replied. “I will do my duty, no matter my ward’s opinion of me.”

  “I know you will,” Annister said. “That’s why I asked you to come back. Because I knew you would keep your promise.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Cel said.

  “Can we cut the ‘sir’ please?” Annister asked, sounding far more perturbed than he had been with Ashla.

  “As you wish, Governor.”

  “Sawking void, Cel,” Annister said, and Cel had to stop herself from smiling. “I know things aren’t great between us but being formal with me isn’t going to change our past.”

  “As I said when you hired me back,” Cel said, “Annister, I prefer to keep things strictly professional between us.”

  Annister peered up at her from the bench. He sighed, nodded.

  “I’m sick, Cel,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I’m dying. Z13. I’ve got,” he shrugged, “maybe six months. Luckily the way the disease takes effect, I’ll not have many symptoms until the end.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Cel asked. She could hear the sound of her teeth grinding, tried to relax her jaw. “You, you want me to feel sorry for you?”

  “No,” Annister said, and she believed him. “I hope I’ve found a way out of it.”

  “There’s no way out of Z13, no cure,” she said. Her heart was pounding. Her fingers hurt from squeezing them into fists. She tried to open them up, to relax them.

  “Except maybe our special guest,” Annister said.

  “Who could you possibly expect to help you? Maybe if you were diagnosed early, I’ve heard about some experimental things, but-“

  “I’m bringing the girl known as Remnant here,” Annister said.

  Cel blinked. For a second, she wondered if she would wake up, like this was all a bad dream.

  “What?”

  “I am bringing the girl called Remnant here,” he repeated. “Surely you’ve heard the rumors—”

  “Are you insane?” she asked. She wanted to slap him, to knock some sense into him. Indeed, her hand raised up a little to do so before she put it back down. “There’s an Alliance-wide kill order on her. If they catch wind of this, they’ll take your position away, freeze your funds, probably execute you, and—”

  “And that’s why I need you to look after Ashla,” Annister said. “Hopefully I’ve been discreet enough and she’ll arrive with nobody the wiser. But if I haven’t. If I am discovered or if I die...”

  Cel shook her head, put her fists on her hips.

  “I was so hoping Ashla would come to like you, because if I do go, I want to hire you to continue to look after her.”

  “It’s customary that the offspring of a deceased governor retain a security detail,” Cel said. “You won’t need me.”

  “But I trust you,” Annister said. “Think about it. I have enough funds to pay you for the next twenty years if things don’t work out for me. I don’t want Ashla to have to fend for herself. She’s too young.”

  “Okay,” Cell said. “I’ll consider it.”

  Annister nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  N: Nothing new to report.

  A: Really? Are you sure?

  N: Nothing new worth reporting.

  A: That’s for me to judge, not you.

  N: Sawk off.

  A: Temper, temper.

  N: Fine. He’s sick.

  A: He’s what?

  N: He’s sick, dying.

  A: Of what?

  N: Z13

  A: How long does he have?

  N: ---

  A: Well?

  N: Six months.

  A: That makes sense. That’s why he

  N: Why he what?

  A: Never mind. You’ve done

  N: WHY HE WHAT? That’s why he sent for the girl? The one all the rumors are about?

  A: So you know about her.

  N: Everyone knows about her.

  A: But you know he attempted to secret her to his palace?

  N: Yes. Wait, what do you mean “attempted?”

  A: He is trying to bring her to him in hopes that she can heal his disease.

  N: But you said “attempted,” as in past tense, as in attempted and failed.

  A: That is all for now. Well done.

  N: Eat pig scuff you

  END TRANSMISSION

  Chapter Seven:

  Powers of this Dark World

  Soma stepped off Raven Squad’s gunship and onto the deck of the ANCS Hamartiya. He looked to the right, out the huge opening in the ship, and hoped to see something other than stars, maybe the aftermath of the massive explosion of the Elpizio. He found nothing but stars. The closest, Antarus, wasn’t much bigger than any of the others at this distance.

  “Make a hole!” he heard, and turned to the left, where a squad of medical techs were rushing into the gunship’s bay. A few of them pushed gurneys. Behind them strode in Captain Ordin-Sai, a lean, grizzled man with his gray hair cropped short.

  Soma’s squad made way for the med crew, then Private Innis noticed the Captain and called, “Officer on deck!”

  Raven Squad snapped to attention and saluted. Soma was busy helping the med techs get Private Yulari onto a gurney.

  “Don’t make me go out on a litter, Sarge,” Yulari said.

  “There’s no shame in being smart,” Soma said. “No glory in stupidity.”

  “Aye, sir,” Yulari said. He let Soma help him onto the stretcher. He laid down and two of the techs rushed him away. Soma noticed that not everyone there were medical staff. A few of them were marine MPs. These helped the technicians pull the target out of the atmo bag and set her on a gurney.

  Soma swallowed. That same sensation that the girl was fragile came over him again. How fragile could she be, though? She had alluded capture multiple times. Perhaps most of those were due more to her bodyguard, but perhaps not. As the technicians tagged her with vitals sensors, th
e MPs cuffed her wrists and ankles and then pulled the wide restraining belts over her chest, waist and ankles.

  “Is that necessary?” Soma asked.

  “It is,” he heard the Captain say from behind. Soma spun on his heel and saluted. The Captain returned it. “At ease.”

  Soma relaxed and watched the techs and the MPs roll the girl away. The Captain stuck his hand out to Soma and Soma shook it.

  “Congratulations on a job well done, Sergeant,” he said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Soma said.

  “I’ve come to oversee the target is taken into custody, but I wanted to make sure you knew you did a fine job, Cross. Get your men settled, get some chow. I expect the higher ups will want to debrief you personally.”

  “Yes sir, thank you, sir.”

  Ordin-Sai saluted again. Cross returned it. Then the Captain turned. Soma watched him go, watched him pat Mako on the shoulder and tell the squad they did well. He left the bay into the massive service corridor outside and hopped onto the cart with the medical techs and MPs, with the girl. The cart zoomed out of sight. Their disappearance was hailed with a flurry of sparks as techs worked on a damaged gunship nearby.

  Soma shook his head and made for his squad.

  “Alright gentlemen,” he said to them. “Well done. Let’s hit the showers and get some chow.”

  “Aw yeah!” Mako said, always excited about food, by any definition.

  Soma turned to Keln and said, “Get that arm checked out Private. You too, Doff.”

  “Yes sir,” Keln said. Doff repeated after him.

  Soma stepped into the arming station, putting his feet on the footprint-shaped marks and grabbing the handholds to either side. Standing in a relaxed t-pose, he watched as the station’s hundred or so mechanical arms snaked outward towards him and disassembled the pieces of his armor. When that was done, all that was left was the thick, black, strength-augmenting smartskin covering him from neck to toes. A new series of mechanical arms, these carrying glowing cylindrical objects, extended towards him. The arms swiped across his arms, legs, torso and head. As they did the smartskin separated into tiny hexagonal cells which fell off his body and migrated into receptacle vents in the floor.

  Soma always had the feeling of being surrounded by an infestation of ants when he watched the little things creep bug-fast to the holes in the floor. He always got a memory of his mom slapping him upside his head and saying “You want ants, Soma? Because that’s how you get ants!”