Withûr We

by Matthew Bruce Alexander

  ***

  Alistair and Gregory met one night in Alistair’s aircraft and sat down to a couple drinks of a golden ale that had recently become popular. Alistair had taken to staying up later and later, and to more and more seclusion, and Gregory made a point of keeping him company once in a while, no matter how surlily he responded to the doctor’s appearances. This surliness manifested itself in a frown and a grunt when Alistair opened his door to see Gregory, but it evaporated soon thereafter, becoming an even but not unpleasant taciturnity, something to which Gregory was accustomed. It was the transition, more than anything, which evoked grumpiness in Alistair. Settled in his solitude, he was irritated by disruption but quickly recalled the company of a friend was a pleasant thing after all.

  Touched by the ruddy light of Srillium and the soft glow of the three candles Alistair lit, Gregory’s face was like a receptacle where all the exhaustion of his many hours of work was deposited. However, he came with a smile, and if there was fatigue on his countenance there was also tranquility. In his left hand he carried a flask, and in his right two cups. Moments later both cups were full.

  He unleashed a steady stream of chatter, most of it about the hospital, and for a time Alistair did little other than listen and nod. When halfway through his second cup of ale, he lost focus of what Gregory was telling him and, driven by his own thoughts, interrupted his friend.

  “I am probably going to leave Srillium.”

  Gregory, who stopped speaking as soon as Alistair cut in, blinked once.

  “Probably sometime soon.”

  “How?”

  “In the very aircraft you’re sitting in. The Singulatarians installed an HD Drive. There’s no hibernation equipment so I have to preserve and stock a whole lot of food. And gold. I’m going to convert everything I own to gold.”

  The revelation moved Gregory to silence. He tapped his empty cup with a few of his fingers.

  “Are you stocking right now?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So… you aren’t sure you’re ready to leave.”

  Alistair winced but nodded. “If I knew I had a home to go back to it would be an easier decision. You have a free ticket to come back with me if you want it.”

  “I’ll think about it. I don’t know if I can take Layla to Aldra. It wouldn’t be fair for her. And I can’t leave her. I’ll think about it.”

  “I can’t not see my brother again,” Alistair whispered. “We left things… And Oliver. And Katherine.”

  Neither mentioned Giselle’s role in delaying, or perhaps provoking, Alistair’s departure.

  “I guess I’m surprised you want to leave. Isn’t this the society you’ve always wanted to live in? I… I’m enjoying myself here. It’s simple but… free. You know we have penicillin now?”

  Alistair nodded.

  “It’s exciting watching the progress. Being a part of the progress. And things are easier, simpler without a government.” Gregory seemed like he had a lot more to say but, after a moment of deliberation, settled for, “I’m a convert, Alistair.” He broke into a boyish and almost guilty smile. “I’ll bet you’ve been waiting to hear me say that for a long time.”

  The corners of Alistair’s lips turned up in a grin. A lull followed in which he refilled both cups, and as he leaned back to sip at his ale, staring out the window in the ceiling, he noticed something flash across the sky. His sudden change of posture and expression alerted Gregory, and that one sat his cup down on the desk.

  “Something the matter?”

  “Someone’s flying overhead. Two!” exclaimed Alistair after he saw another flash across his window. “What the hell is going on?”

  No sooner did he ask the question than they heard the sound of feet treading the hallways. Alistair leapt up and ran to the open portal. Around the corner of the hallway he spied a flickering glow and called out to announce his location. Three men, one of them Taribo, came jogging to him. Their faces were etched with the kind of concern that, in a less trained and disciplined mind, is easily nudged into panic.

  “The Incarcerator’s back,” Taribo announced. “This time they know about us.”

  The sounds the aircraft’s soundproofing kept from Alistair’s ears were revealed to him when the hatch opened. Men dashed across the ground, hustling from building to building. Voices of every sort were heard, from shouts called out to the buzz of private chatter and many grades in between. The whoosh of aircraft slashing through the atmosphere mixed with the other sounds, and many lights, similar to the stars, crawled or sometimes streaked across the sky. Some of them passed in front of Srillium and appeared as little black bugs before, the transit complete, they entered the darkness of the sky and once more were detectable only by their navigation lights.

  Gregory called out a farewell and, not waiting for a response, made for his hospital. Alistair did not even notice his departure as he, breaking into a jog, took the lead and made for another aircraft serving as a communications hub. When he arrived, the communications equipment was being offloaded into a small hut nearby. A generator inside gave power to the hastily arranged assembly, transferred to the hut to allow another aircraft to be used for patrolling. The men inside, not quite frantic, gave him a salute and one stepped up to deliver a report.

  “We caught them on our scanners about ten minutes ago. There are four large mother ships and… we’re not sure how many smaller ships. As soon as we detected them we got a transmission.” The man allowed himself a smile as for an inside joke. “They’re demanding to speak to our leader.”

  Alistair reciprocated the smile.

  “Mordecai was the first to answer.”

  Alistair’s smile disappeared. “Of course.”

  “It’s a gamble,” said Taribo of Mordecai.

  “I know someone else who took the same gamble,” Alistair whispered. Then, more loudly, he said, “Paint the picture for me.”

  “They’re demanding our surrender; giving us twenty four hours to comply. The mother ships are in orbit, about two thousand miles from the surface. A few smaller craft entered the atmosphere but retreated when our aircraft went up. They outnumber us about twenty to one, and that’s disregarding the mother ships. Our aircraft… the ones from the other agencies too… our aircraft are flying defensive routs and all surface to air weapons are locked and loaded and pointing to the sky.”

  “Make sure none of our craft get above fifty miles altitude.”

  “Already taken care of, sir. There have been no more communications after the Incarcerator issued its ultimatum. Mordecai and Bedrock both tried again but there was no response. Bedrock contacted us, though. They’re calling another meeting and want you to attend.”

  “A friend in need is a friend indeed. When does the meeting start?”

  “The others are already on their way.”

  Alistair leaned back to whisper to Taribo, “Send someone to get the Singulatarians. And put together a security detail to accompany us.”

  With a nod, Taribo was out the door.

  Alistair turned back to the other man and said, “Get me a couple pilots.”

  ***

  There was no time to set up a tent. The leaders of the security firms gathered on the slope of a hill in the middle of the night, blown by a breeze and guarded by their security details. They gathered in a group, those who thought to bring a chair sitting and those who lacked that foresight, such as Alistair, standing. Akihiro alone chose to sit on the ground, upslope a bit from the group, looking tired by his nocturnal exertions but still solemn and alert. Alistair’s eyes were drawn to Giselle, but she resolutely avoided looking at him. Giuseppe, turning circles around his boss, who sat in a chair with his arms folded and his chin tucked into his chest, was pleading with them to listen to his version of reason. He passed by Santiago and Giselle, moved on to Duke and Wei Bai, and finally passed Alistair and Taribo, flanked by the rest of the Singulatarians, all the while his voice falling on them like a silk sheet tossed over a mattress.
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  “We have to come together now or this little experiment of ours is done. Finished. It’ll never happen again. The Gaians won’t be so careless as to let arms fall into our hands again. We cannot afford to be divided. We need a leader to see us through this, if we are to get through it at all. I propose we invest Mordecai with authority to lead our defense forces until the threat is over.”

  “Wouldn’t that just be the culmination of your dreams,” said Alistair, his revulsion overcoming his habitual timidity.

  The comment stopped Giuseppe, whose features first registered surprise but then slid into a smooth smile.

  “We see Alistair has come to help us. We thank him for that. We must remind him, though, that until he has been approved, he will not have a vote on this council. Nor a voice in it either. Our matters are our matters—”

  “If you give this man that authority you’re a bunch of damn fools.”

  Giuseppe considered him for a moment and then, deciding it was not worth the effort, went back to his beseeching.

  “This defense affects us all. Everyone benefits from our services, so everyone must contribute to the defense. This is a simple matter of fairness. We can talk about the future after this is over. Right now, everyone contributes their fair share and let’s worry about the here and now.”

  Alistair tilted his head back and looked at the dance of lights in the sky, the mobile dots of the aircraft moving around the fixed ones of the stars and cutting across the giant planet dominating the sky into which it thrust itself. A low aircraft flew past and the whoosh of it reached his ears under the drone of Giuseppe’s talking. Not even two years, he thought. As the thought flitted through his mind, his eyes sought Giselle again, but she spared him no attention.

  He interrupted the speaker, saying, “As you said, Giuseppe, I am not part of your group, so forgive me if I prefer to handle other business and leave your power grab for later. I’m not interested a bit in your vote, but I do have an interest in the Incarcerator. We believe we have a way to tilt things in our favor.”

  Alistair nodded to Shukri and he stepped forward.

  “My name is Shukri. In another life I was a fluid physicist at the University of Singapore. Here, I am as much of a scientist as I can manage. My companions and I,” he continued with a nod of his head to the others, “have determined the core of this world has been infused with Aradnium. How much I don’t know, but based on some data I can calculate an upper and lower limit. There is an Aradnium stirring station not far from here; at least, traveling to the entrance is a matter of hardly any time at all. The station itself is miles below the surface. We have made three suits to withstand the temperature that far down, and Raja visited the station once.

  “Aradnium produces a powerful field depending on its rate and pattern of flow. That field is what is keeping Srillium’s radiation belts from killing us all. But this pattern and rate of flow can be manipulated, changed to produce different results. What is a harmless protective field now could be turned into something else. An Aradnium field can cripple the electronics of an aircraft, for instance.”

  Mordecai was on his feet now.

  “You can disarm the other aircraft?”

  “Not all of them. Probably not. But some of them, yes. The mother ships are maintaining a distance of two thousand miles from the surface, and I doubt the station could create a field strong enough that far out. But after their twenty four hour deadline passes, they will presumably launch an attack. If our ships are on the ground, they will be deactivated but undamaged and can regain their power within four or five hours. The Incarcerator ships will presumably be in the air when we do it.”

  “And will crash to earth,” said Santiago.

  “But if it’s the flow rate and pattern…” began Giuseppe, “… I’m guessing you can’t turn this on like a switch.”

  “We can increase the rate a good deal more before it would even cause any concern. When we reach that point…” Shukri shrugged, “We can deliver a crippling blow within two or three minutes. Many of their craft will crash to earth; some will be lifeless in orbit. Only those that get out beyond… I will guess… two hundred miles will escape.”

  Alistair continued with the exposition. “We will send a coded signal to land all aircraft. It’ll be on my mark. Sometime in the next few hours we’ll deliver the code to you.”

  “It leaves a lot to be desired, Alistair,” opined Duke. “Our craft will be disarmed too. Yes, they’ll be on the ground, but the Incarcerator can send in a second wave then…” Duke shrugged in dismissal.

  “They can send in another wave, yes,” replied Shukri, “but we can deliver another blow.”

  “But how long can you continue to do this?” asked Wei Bai. “You have only three suits. How long can you stay down there?”

  The wind picked up and clothing rustled and flapped. Akihiro spoke to them, reverting to Mandarin as prompted by Wei Bai’s speech and staring down on them from higher on the hill like a prophet of old, the breath of some god moving his hair and clothes as he spoke.

  “Raja said there are living quarters down there. If we can regain power through the entire station and reclimatize them… we could go on indefinitely.”

  “And if not,” said Mordecai, “it will take you almost until the deadline is up just to get there.”

  “Raja can get there faster than that,” said Shukri. “The team will still be able to eat a few miles above the station. They can climb back up the shaft in shifts if they need to eat and drink again. We can maintain this for some time. And maybe we’ll get lucky and get the living quarters climatized.”

  Mordecai frowned and gave a doubtful, “Hmmm.”

  “It’s all we’ve got,” said Akihiro. “If we can’t get it to work…” he shrugged once. “I guess you get to fight.”

  “Why won’t this Aradnium field disable the stirring equipment?” asked Giselle.

  “The equipment would have to be insulated against it,” Shukri replied. “The odds are small that The Incarcerator has insulated its ships in the same way.”

  “Who will be going?” asked Duke.

  Shukri nodded his head towards Raja. “Raja is the youngest of us and can make it down the fastest. We have one who reads Old Korean, unfortunately a necessity down there. He is young too and can descend quickly.”

  “Taribo will be going as well,” said Alistair, and the West African registered surprise to hear it. “In case you need some muscle.”

  “And you’re sure you can do this?” asked Mordecai.

  Shukri shrugged again. “The machine was built before my grandfather’s great-great-grandfather was born. If it fails, we are in no worse a situation than we are in now.”

  There was much glancing around as the different heads of security tried to sound out the general feeling for the idea by watching the expressions of their colleagues. This glancing around eventually morphed into so many nods of assent.

  “Do as you wish,” said Mordecai. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Alistair, we have business to attend to.”

  For the first time, Alistair caught Giselle looking at him, and he had never gotten a harder glare from an enemy. The growing breeze drew strands of hair across her face, but even with the dim light it was not enough to cover the anger, or the haunting, bloodshot eyes. The Aldran held her gaze for a moment only before leaving with his entourage.

  ***

  The aircraft was nearly empty as it streaked through the sky. Two pilots sat in the cockpit; a single communications officer manned his post in the central meeting room; and Alistair, the Singulatarians, Taribo and one other rode in the same room. The other was a young man, almost a boy, who spoke no English and only passable Mandarin. His inclusion was due to his ability to speak Korean and read its old script. He sat by himself, away from the main table, in a chair in the corner of the room, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he ogled the ornate wooden ceiling. Taribo was donning one of the protective suits the Korean speaker already had on.

/>   The acceleration of the craft was like an insistent push, gently driving one deeper into one’s chair. When someone got up to walk around, they leaned into or against their walk, as someone on a steep hill. The Singulatarians were busy making calculations, affixing their papers to the tabletop with their hands lest the acceleration cause them to slide off. Alistair approached Shukri while the latter was scribbling.

  “You’re going to get there with just over twenty two hours left.”

  “I don’t require an encouraging speech, though I appreciate the sentiment. As you can see I am preparing things for Raja.”

  Taking a seat next to Shukri, Alistair said, “You can control the shape and intensity of the Aradnium field?”

  Shukri wrote for a moment longer before he dropped his writing hand on the table, both a sign of resignation and a hint to Alistair that his patience was finite. “Correct.”

  The force pushing at them abruptly ceased. A moment later it was replaced by an equal force tugging at them.

  “Then I want you to leave me an escape route.”

  He saw the understanding in Shukri’s eyes, and they shared a silent nod conveying more than speech could. A moment later, the impatience returned to Shukri’s demeanor and tone of voice.

  “This will mean recalculating, of course,” he said and crumpled up a paper riddled with pencil marks. “It will be easiest to leave you some space at the poles. There will still be an increase in the field in those areas, but we can make it so it won’t disable your craft. The brunt of the field will fall nearer the equator, which is where they will be coming to attack us.” Shukri paused with his pencil over a clean sheet of paper. “You have your ignition key?”

  “Not yet. It’s a few minutes’ installation. Not to worry.”

  Nodding, Shukri began his calculations over, and Alistair went back to his chair in the corner.

  When the craft reached Odin’s Island, it posed on its summit for no longer than a minute. The Singulatarians came down the exit ramp according to their various states of physical vigor, while Taribo and Alistair bounded down it and, going to a storage bin in the underbelly of the craft, pulled out two Torpedoes, each capable of carrying three men. A smattering of other instruments and equipment was deposited on the hillside, a quick goodbye called out, and then Alistair was back in the craft. As it lifted off, the Singulatarians seemed already to have forgotten it.