Withûr We

by Matthew Bruce Alexander

  Eschewing company, Alistair left the communications officer to his duties and retreated to an old office he used as a bedroom. A spacious couch where diplomats used to sit was his bed and, enervated, he tossed himself on it, abandoning himself to the quiet ambient sound of the room and the soft glow that trickled in through the window from the sky.

  The acceleration pushed him into the couch as he stared out the window. The hectic events transpiring outside – in orbit many miles up, on the hill slope not far away, in a long slender shaft leading under the crust – intruded on him only in the form of a subdued tingle in his stomach, an after effect his listlessness could not entirely extinguish. Apart from that faint reminder, it might have been an ordinary evening of introversion and melancholy. He saw the faces of the people who had marked his life but who now seemed lost to him. Santiago’s serious countenance appeared; he saw Oliver Keegan, then he saw him with a black eye; Katherine and Gerald nodded at him, his sister with a wistful smile; his eyes watered when he saw his parents, then closed shut to ward off the unbidden sight of their death masks. Finally, he saw Giselle, and his mouth opened and his chest shuddered with repressed sobs. There was an ache in his throat as of a raw nerve, and then, as he was tugged now to the edge of the couch, it all faded. It was a matter of a man soaking in the emotion each face brought and then, as if some purpose were satisfied, the images dissipated, and with it his enervation. Somehow, when the aircraft was back on the ground, he had again the energy to go on.

  John Kregel and two others were waiting for him when he came down the exit ramp.

  “No changes since you’ve been gone,” Kregel reported, stepping forward and delivering a salute.

  “Send someone to Darion,” said Alistair, immediately walking past Kregel and obligating him to turn and move with him. “Tell him I need to close matters tonight.”

  Kregel gave a curt nod to another of the two walking with them and that one, returning the nod with equal brusqueness, moved off to see to the matter.

  “Send someone with a purse to purchase some preserved food. All kinds: meat, dried fruits, bread… it’ll have to be unleavened. Enough for thousands of meals. Fill the aircraft with it. Just leave me the cockpit, my bedroom and the hallways. And fill the storage tanks in my craft with water. In fact…” Alistair stopped walking and pulled a scrap of paper out of a purse strung through by his belt. “Here is the list of what I still need. Get it done.”

  Kregel snatched the paper and handed it to the other man who grabbed it and then left them.

  “Anything else?

  “One more thing,” said Alistair as he faced Mordecai’s look-alike and men scurried around them, still frenzied as they ran. “Take a map and a Torpedo and load it with weapons and ammo. Choose a few different sites and bury them. Then bury the Torpedo, not too far from here and not too near, and then report back to me.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me?” Alistair gave a cavalier expression with a smack of his lips. “I’m going to sleep.”

  Chapter 84

  It was a ray of sunlight shining on his face that woke him, leaving him to feel he might have rested a bit longer but, when the memories of the previous night sprang into his consciousness, he was entirely unable to roll over and fall back into slumber. He rubbed the sleep out of stinging eyes and sat up, cherishing a moment more of inactivity before he launched himself off the couch. It would be late morning if the sun was up high enough to peek into his window, meaning about half the grace period had elapsed.

  Several crates, canisters, flasks and a few jars were stacked outside the ship, forming a tunnel around the exit ramp. Squinting against the bright light of morning, he glanced over his food supply and noted with some alarm how small it was. With a grimace he turned from the food and tracked down Kregel, who was back on duty after what must have been a short sleep. He found him near a small cannon, haranguing a mechanic who apparently was having difficulty fixing whatever was wrong with the gun. Alistair pulled him aside to question him.

  “Is that all the food you bought?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you spend the entire purse?”

  “Yes, I did. Alistair, people know what’s going on. As soon as word got out you were buying in bulk, and buying preserved food, prices went through the roof. Some people aren’t selling for any price.” He hesitated and looked at Alistair tentatively, out of the corner of his eye, as if preparing to avert his gaze again. “Is it really going to be that bad? Is that why you’re buying preserved food?”

  Alistair took a measure of Kregel, but decided against full disclosure.

  “You never can tell.”

  “You want me to buy more?”

  Shaking his head, Alistair said, “No. Not if prices are like that.” I’ll make a stop somewhere and buy where it’s cheaper. It’ll prolong the trip, but… “Did you get the weapons stored?”

  “Yeah. I buried the Torpedo too. I just got back.”

  Kregel said the last bit with a weary sigh, handing a map of the buried treasure to his boss. For the first time Alistair noticed the lines and shadows of fatigue on his face.

  “Have you slept?”

  “Just got back an hour ago. Haven’t had a chance.” Glancing at the mechanic, he said, “There’s so much…” He finished with an impotent shrug.

  “How much longer until the deadline?”

  “Around thirteen hours.”

  “Then get some sleep now. And don’t bother with repairs on something that’s going to be knocked out of commission anyway.”

  “Knocked out of commission?”

  “All part of the plan. I’ll see you later.”

  They parted with a handshake and, on Kregel’s part, an inquisitive look. From there Alistair made his way to the rustic hut in which there was now so much advanced equipment. The frantic rushing about had given way to a jittery stillness. The men finished their preparations and those not sleeping were bunkered down at their stations. Inside the hut there were three men, two seated in front of some equipment and a third standing behind them, directing. They all saluted when Alistair entered.

  “Updates?” asked Alistair.

  “Silence from the Incarcerator. Mordecai has been pretty constant, trying to hail them, but it’s like hailing a brick wall.”

  “They meant what they said. What about from our science team?”

  “They’ve been giving us hourly updates. Taribo is placing a small, communication relay every few miles and so far it’s working. They’ve still got contact with him. The other two are making better progress, of course, and don’t have the communicator so we can’t be sure exactly where they are.”

  “How far down is Taribo?”

  “We think close to the bottom. We figure the other two have already made it.”

  “Good. I need my supplies to be loaded. Store them carefully. Leave the cockpit and my bedroom free. And don’t block the path to the engine room underneath because some of the stuff needs to be refrigerated. You know: use common sense.”

  The man nodded but gave Alistair a suspicious look.

  “You planning on taking off?”

  “I’m moving our supplies around, hiding a lot of it.” It was the truth but it avoided the question and felt like a lie. He hoped he was not blushing as hard as his burning cheeks made it feel. “We have to prepare for a phase two if phase one doesn’t go our way.”

  The man accepted the explanation with a nod. “Anything else?”

  “Just get the food loaded. And if Darion comes calling for me let me know right away.”

  It was not Darion who came to see Alistair, but Gregory and Layla. They came at a sprint, or at least the best facsimile of a sprint Gregory could manage while encumbered by Layla’s weight. Their hair was disheveled and their skin sweaty and covered in soot. He had dozens of cuts and scrapes and minor bruises, while a large gash in her scalp drained blood down the side of her face. Alistair looked at them with mouth agape but sprang into actio
n and helped get Layla into a supine position on his aircraft. It was only when he took Gregory’s burden that he noticed a trail of smoke in the sky.

  “She’s going to be alright,” said Gregory as they laid her on the couch serving as Alistair’s bed. “She’s a little dizzy from the blow and the running.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  Layla let out a faint moan.

  “I’m going to check her over. She could use some cleaning up.”

  No sooner had the words left Gregory’s mouth than one of Alistair’s employees entered with a wet cotton cloth and a glass of some juice. Gregory was already lifting Layla’s eyelids and asking her to focus. Alistair accepted the towel with a nod of thanks and, discreet, the man left them. A couple of men loading the supplies waited outside the door, and Alistair dismissed them with a gesture. When Gregory assured himself Layla was in no serious danger, he sat back on the floor. Alistair stood back to allow him space, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. The doctor turned his face towards Alistair.

  “The Gaians destroyed the hospital.”

  Alistair felt an anger well up inside his breast, and he ground his teeth.

  “What about the patients?”

  “Dead. I fought. Layla fought. But the hospital’s gone. And our penicillin!” Gregory said the last bit in shock, like it just occurred to him. He was back on his feet but found he had nowhere to go nor anyway to change what happened. He stood in place and fidgeted. “What the hell has gotten into them?”

  “It’s always been there. It’s just coming out. There are members of our species that are cancer cells, and they turn against their own kind. They want nothing more than to destroy the human race, or reduce it to an animal existence. What set them off now? We’re making progress. We are distancing ourselves from the existence of a common animal. We’re using more and more of nature to suit our ends.”

  “We attacked the other Gaian cities,” said Greg with a haunted expression. “Alistair, this is all coming undone.”

  “It’s not coming undone,” he said with a bothered tone. “The Gaians are easily handled. They’re a bunch of tree worshippers with nothing to fight with.”

  “Not nothing.”

  “Little enough.”

  “And the Incarcerator?”

  “What about it?”

  “And the ex slaves and the ex warriors?”

  “What about it?”

  Gregory shook his head. Layla, having recovered her senses enough to sit up, put the cup to her lips and took a couple small swallows. Greg knelt at her side and kissed her cheek.

  “How’s your head feel?”

  “If you’ve been hiding any aspirin this would be the time to pull them out.”

  The response relieved Gregory. Layla, taking one more sip of juice, lay back down.

  “How many Gaians attacked you?”

  “About twenty. I…” Greg seemed about to say something more but instead closed his mouth and stared at the floor.

  “Are they still at the hospital or where did they go?”

  “They left.”

  Alistair cursed. “This is the last thing I need right now.”

  “Alistair, I… I killed one.”

  “One less to take care of.”

  These were the rough words of a soldier. After they left his mouth, he noticed the stare in Gregory’s eyes. His expression softened and he spoke in a low tone, like one uses to sooth a spooked child.

  “You were defending your property, Greg.”

  “I hit him in the head with… I don’t remember what. I felt his skull break in.” He shuddered.

  Alistair squatted next to his friend, grabbed his shoulders and gave them a squeeze. Outside the room, two men lumbered by, their heavy footsteps pounding the hallway as they struggled with a crate.

  “They’re murderers. You defended yourself and your property.”

  “You should have killed ten,” Layla weakly said from where she lay on the couch, her eyes closed and a forearm thrown over them.

  “And you should have done it long before now,” said a voice from the doorway, and Greg and Alistair turned to see Darion standing there. Layla, immobile, was satisfied with the report from her ears and did not bother looking to confirm.

  Standing to greet the newcomer, Alistair said, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “It took some time to wrap things up.”

  “Are you two OK in here?” asked Alistair of Gregory who nodded.

  With a twirl of his cane, Darion was back out in the hallway and Alistair followed. They skirted around a couple more men coming on board with cargo and then were out under the sun. Alistair happened to notice Darion’s clothes, always as fine as any to be found, and more ostentatious. The stitching of some of the embroidery seemed, at least to Alistair’s inexpert eyes, to be well done and of high quality. You can follow the trail of our progress through Darion’s clothes, he thought.

  “I bought you out myself,” said Darion, and with his cane he pointed at a couple boxes at the foot of the exit ramp. “At half the price you requested.” At Alistair’s look, he went on, “With The Incarcerator up there, demand for your company is down. I gave you the best price you were going to get.”

  Alistair nodded. “Thank you. And I’m going to need an ignition key from the mines.”

  “I suppose I can spare one.”

  In his quiet moments of repose, Darion had an air about him like the world amused him. When he was at work, he was exhilarated. This was absent now. He was calm, not sad but serious.

  “Do you really want to stay?” Alistair asked him.

  Darion sketched an abstract design in the ground with his cane. “What are our chances here?”

  “Not great. But at this point the cat’s out of the bag. There are pieces of high tech equipment scattered all over. Weapons. I’ve had several hidden myself, which reminds me.” Alistair grabbed from his pocket the map Kregel had given him. “Here are a few treasures. As head of Ashley Security & Arbitration you might be interested.”

  “I’ll have to decide on a new name.”

  Alistair’s expression darkened for a moment, but he shrugged it off. “Anyway,” he continued and cleared his throat, “we’ll put up a fight here and then scatter. We may have to rebuild, but it’s only a matter of time. More Gaian cities will fall. Eventually the Incarcerator won’t be able to suppress it anymore. The cat’s out of the bag.”

  “And you don’t want to be a part of that?”

  “No. It’s going to be a life struggle. If I made it to seventy I might see its success. You want to spend the rest of your life struggling?”

  “I prefer to look at it as a project, one that never ends. We never see the beginning, we never see the end. You work on it, make it the best you can and enjoy yourself while you’re here.” Darion glanced a moment at the aircraft overhead. “This situation sounds less dangerous than the one you’re returning to. Earth is probably a smoldering ruin right now. Oh yes, let’s not be naïve. That Juggernaut was launched at Earth; it makes the most sense. What passes for an economy in the galaxy just got the biggest shock it’s ever had. Almost half the population lived in the Terran System, and most of that on Earth. I hate to think about what’s going on elsewhere right now. You are headed for Aldra, I presume?”

  Alistair nodded.

  Darion shook his head as if reconfirming his opinion. “No. Aldra is probably half ripped apart by civil war. And all those black market goods smuggled in, the ones that kept our population on life support, now that Earth is gone… Here,” Darion held out a hand to indicate his new home, “we have something. If Earth has been destroyed the Incarcerator is going to find itself short on resources to fight a war with us. And everyone here has seen a possibility. People will remember. We’ll build something again.” Darion tried to smile but it seemed more of a frown. “Why don’t you stay? Instead of risking your life and sanity on a two year voyage whose destination… you don’t even know what state A
ldra is in.”

  The question brought to the surface all the feelings Alistair struggled with deep down. He needed a moment to master himself. “There are people I have to see. And I want to return to a planet I was banished from and show them they couldn’t get rid of me.”

  “And then?”

  “And then… I don’t even know. I want to see what’s left of my family, at least. I think I’d like to study something and… I don’t know. Watch a movie. Read a book. Go to a concert. I spent four cycles of my life preparing myself to fight, but now I’m sick of it. Why should everything have to be a struggle just to be free? I just want to enjoy the life I have.”

  “I think there is someone here you want to leave.”

  “Maybe.”

  Darion thoughtfully nodded. Then he extended a hand which Alistair took.

  “Best of luck to you, Alistair Ashley.”

  “And to you, Darion Chesterton. I hope I’m not making a mistake.”

  “Me too.”

  Darion gave Alistair a bow and sauntered away. The destruction of their civilization was in orbit above them but this only went so far in affecting his unflappable aplomb.

  Alistair spent the rest of the morning and afternoon planning his voyage, wracking his brains for anything he forgot that would be useful, or even indispensable. Gregory approached him to ask if they could accompany him to Aldra. He immediately accepted, and if he inwardly blanched at taking two more on board it was only for a moment. He already knew he would have to make a stop to restock.

  Finally, a young worker came and announced Shukri’s team had reached the bottom, communications were still open and they had control of the machinery and were fine tuning their calculations. When he finished his report, delivered in halting but comprehensible English, Alistair thanked him and told him to alert him as soon as the calculations were complete and the Aradnium field increased. The man gave a salute and returned to his post.