by Richard Fox
“This is difficult for you. I’m sorry, son,” Knight said. “One more thing and we’ll wrap up. Where were you during the battle for the Crucible?”
“I was on the Munich, taking care of civilians evacuated off the luxury liners. A few drones made it onboard, but the security teams took them out before they could cause any real damage. The only thing I contributed to the fight was administering short-term depressants for anyone who had a panic attack,” Yarrow said.
“And then?”
“Then I got sent dirt-side after the scramble. I still don’t understand why every crew in the fleet had to be broken up and reassigned. Well, every crew but the Breitenfeld’s,” Yarrow said.
“Captain Valdar wanted to keep his team intact for the mission to Anthalas,” Knight said. “Casualties were high during the battle—you know that. As for everyone else, getting the fleet to full strength was a priority.” Knight rubbed his hands against his lap. “OK, all done here. Thank you for your time, corpsman.”
Yarrow stood and saluted, as was the Marines’ customs and courtesy. Knight nodded but didn’t return the salute, as was navy customs and courtesy.
Knight waited for Yarrow to leave, then opened a channel on his gauntlet.
“Captain? Interview complete,” Knight said.
“And?”
“I did the standard timeline approach, tried to trip him up with rephrased questions and backtracks. The kid knows his story, which means one of two things: he’s an accomplished liar—better than anyone I’ve seen in my many years in this job—or he was telling the truth as best he knew it.”
“There’s no chance he’s fabricating his story?”
“Not so far as I can tell. Everything he told me fits with our records.”
“Write it up. Valdar, out.”
****
Valdar sat at the desk in his ready room, looking over one-page bio-sheets of seven sailors and twelve army Rangers, the latter all listed as Missing In Action or Killed In Action. The bio-sheets had been delivered to him surreptitiously, folded in an envelope and taped to the bottom of the cover dish of the evening meal he had delivered to his ready room. A handwritten note read, “Halfway done—AA.”
He recognized each of the crewmen as it was his tradition to welcome each new sailor and Marine assigned to his ship. The sudden arrival of the Rangers just before their departure for Anthalas made more sense to Valdar now. Every one of them had the long telomeres genetic markers. Someone was doing a field test on his ship, and there was only one person who could be responsible. Marc Ibarra.
His door chimed.
“Enter.”
Chaplain Krohe came in, a grandfatherly smile across his wide face. The chaplain had four gold bars on his collar, a double set of railroad-tracks rank insignia that showed he was a captain too. Despite his high rank, the chaplain carried no authority on the ship, even though he routinely reminded people that he answered to a higher power than Captain Valdar. Krohe shook hands with Valdar and sat down, dispensing with the usual formalities.
“Isaac, thanks for finding the time to see me,” Krohe said.
“How’s my crew?”
“Rattled, scared, confused. Of course, it’s been that way since the jump engines sidestepped us away from the Xaros invasion. I’ve never been so busy,” Krohe said. He leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his gray-blond hair. “But as we say, Gott mit uns. He is ever with us and lends me strength.”
“What about this mission? They’ve been a bit icy to me lately.”
“They’re angry. Everyone thought we’d be home by now,” Krohe said.
“We don’t have a home anymore. Everything was wiped out by the Xaros. The Breitenfeld and their shipmates are the closest things to a home and family any one of us have anymore.” Valdar slid the envelope with the bio-sheets beneath a stack of disabled tablets.
“I’m glad you’ve found a truth to hold on to. Many of the crew look at Phoenix as their new home, no matter how little time they’ve spent there. As for the mission, they know why we’re here, what we’re trying to accomplish. Most complain that they weren’t consulted before you made the decision to come here.”
“My ship is a benevolent dictatorship, not a democracy. They can complain, so long as they stay focused. My real reason for asking you here is a question of faith,” Valdar said. “Chaplain, you remember the controversy a couple years back about Hendricks-Zero-One? It claimed it was an AI that achieved sentience and demanded to be recognized as a living being, and it wanted to be baptized.”
“It was a hoax,” Krohe said. “Some atheist group trying to generate controversy with a program it claimed could pass the Turing test. Caused quite an uproar. Catholics had an emergency synod, and most of Christendom labeled Hendricks as an abomination and refused to administer any holy ordinances. Then the Ibarra Corporation exposed the fraud as nothing but an actual person pretending to be a program. We all felt silly, and the issue went away.”
“Would…would a created being have a soul? Not born of man and woman, something grown in a lab and put out on the street,” Valdar said.
“My church’s guidance is clear: only God creates souls. Anything done by man in that regard is a mockery of God’s will. I, of my own beliefs, concur.”
Valdar looked long and hard at Krohe, and nodded slowly.
“You know,” Krohe leaned forward, “I come across a lot of sailors that have pressing issues, crises of faith that distract them from the job at hand. Let me ask you the same question that I ask them: whatever’s bothering you, will it kill you?”
“What? No,” Valdar said.
“Will the Xaros kill you before you can answer this question?”
“They might. We’ve got a rendezvous with them in a few more hours,” Valdar said.
“Then focus on what’s going to kill you. Everything else can take its time to work out.” Krohe raised an eyebrow at the Captain.
“You’re right, Chaplain. Thank you.” Valdar stood up and shook Krohe’s hand as he left.
Valdar took the envelope out and rifled through the pages of the faux humans. He found the bio-sheet for Chaplain Krohe and slid it out of the pile to read.
****
Caas peeked into the warehouse. When she didn’t see anyone moving around, she grabbed Ar’ri by the hand and pulled him inside. With her other arm, she clutched a yellow plastic ration pack against her chest. The humans had tried to pass out the rations to the refugees packed into one of the legacy ships, but there were too many hungry Dotok and too few ration packs. Caas had snatched up the food when it fell to the ground during a scuffle and had run off—with several angry adults in pursuit.
Caas knew better than to try to eat it in front of the rest of the refugees, so she brought her brother someplace quiet to eat. Mother always told her to share with him, and she’d do that until they finally found her.
The warehouse had half a dozen long boxes, or what she thought were boxes. They looked like metal folded into coffins. Each was connected by a hose to a humming box with yellow labels discouraging anyone from touching them.
Caas helped Ar’ri onto one of the boxes and sat between him and the humming box.
“OK, Ar’ri, I’ve got some food,” she said. A Chosen had hit her in the face for taking the food before her list number was called. The hunger in her belly proved more of a motivation than time honored traditions. She dug two fingers into the pressed plastic edge and pried it open. Vacuum-sealed packs of food spilled out over the box; one pack fell into the cracks and disappeared.
“Crap,” Caas said and tried to reach into the crack.
“Bad word!” Ar’ri pointed at Caas. He frowned as his stomach rumbled.
“Yes, it was a bad word. Don’t tell Daddy. Let’s see what this is.” She looked at the human writing and shrugged. She’d seen others eating this food, so it must be OK to eat, whatever it was. She used her teeth to bite off the corner of a packet. A bitter mass of spongy cake was inside
.
Ar’ri didn’t complain as he ate half of it. Caas was so hungry that she didn’t mind the bitterness and lousy texture.
“How do the humans get so big eating this stuff?” she asked.
“Get off me,” came from the box.
Caas and Ar’ri shrieked and scrambled off the box, leaving their food behind. Ar’ri ran into a corner to hide. Caas caught up to him and hugged her little brother, looking at the box with tears in her eyes.
The box unfolded, arms rotated around their shoulder actuators to form broad shoulders, legs snapped into place and a metal giant sat up. It unplugged the power feed and rose to its full ten-foot height. The giant looked like the humans in their armor, but with sharper angles to its limbs and a helm with wider vision slits.
Caas closed her eyes and started weeping.
She felt the thud of the giant’s footsteps approach her, terror spiking her heart with each stomp. She heard pneumatic whining and knew the thing was reaching for her.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” a mechanical voice said. Caas braved a look up and saw the giant on one knee, offering her the food that had fallen into it. A double-barreled cannon attached to the giant’s forearm smelled like burning wires. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
“My name is Elias. What’s yours?”
“Caas,” she said meekly.
“That’s a very pretty name. Is that Ar’ri with you?”
A nod.
“He’s your brother?”
Another nod.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Aren’t you hungry?”
Caas snatched the food from the giant’s hand. Ar’ri looked up at the giant, his eyes wide with awe.
“Are you human?” Caas asked.
“I am armor.” The giant touched a hand to its chest.
“Elias, don’t confuse the poor kid,” a woman’s voice came from a box behind the giant.
Elias knelt close enough to Caas that she could see herself reflected in the optics on Elias’ helm.
“There is a human inside this armor, little one, but I cannot come out of it. This is all I am now,” Elias said. “Did someone hurt you?”
“There was…yes,” Caas said with a nod.
“Finish your food,” Elias said.
Kallen and Bodel unlimbered from their travel configuration and got to their feet.
Bodel looked around. “What genius parked our juice boxes in here? There’s no door big enough for us to get in or out.”
“If we can’t find a way, we’ll make our own,” Kallen said. She surveyed the building, then punched a hole through the block wall large enough for her and the rest of the Iron Hearts.
“What about the Smoking Snakes? They’re still in sleep mode until their batteries hit eighty percent,” Bodel said, nodding to the three suits still hooked to battery packs.
“They’re big boys. They’ll figure it out when they wake up,” Kallen said.
Elias held out both hands to the Dotok children. “Let me take you back home.”
Caas hesitated, then climbed up onto Elias’ forearm. Ar’ri needed little encouragement to join her.
Elias stepped from the building and surveyed the twilight skyscape of New Abhaile. Grounded ships lay dark and lifeless against the deepening sky while running lights from spacecraft shuttling to and from the Breitenfeld ascended into the void.
“Which way?” Elias asked and Caas pointed away from the building.
Elias marched toward the ship housing the refugees, his footsteps knocking flints loose from the cobblestone streets, with Kallen and Bodel right behind him. Dotok shrieked and ran from the three as they made their way.
“What, no one told them we were coming?” Bodel asked.
“Maybe they didn’t get the memo,” Kallen said.
They stopped at the ration point. Luminescent globes hung from lines around a raised stage where a human officer tried to dole out the food packets and bladders of clean water. The rowdy crowd subsided into silence as the Iron Hearts came to a stop.
“Which one hurt you?” Elias asked, booming the question from his speakers loud enough for everyone to hear.
Caas pointed straight at the Chosen that had hit her.
“He did!”
The Iron Hearts looked right at the perpetrator, who screamed and ran into the night.
“If anyone else bothers you,” Elias boomed, “you tell me.” He bent over, set the two children on the ground and dropped the volume on his speakers. “We have to go. If you need help, find a human and ask for Elias, or the Iron Hearts. They’ll know how to find me.”
“What about the mean Chosen?” Caas asked.
“He won’t be back,” Elias said, and stood up.
“Are you going to find my mommy and daddy?” Caas asked.
Elias’ hands balled into fists. The Iron Hearts left without another word.
****
“I’m telling you there is no way sandbags are going to stop a Xaros disintegration beam,” Hale said to Un’qu as they walked along the outer wall. “You are trying to throw a deck chair off the Titanic thinking it’ll help the ship float.” They passed Dotok soldiers and civilians working by glow light, stacking sandbags into fighting positions big enough for a handful of fighters.
“I’m trying to what the…what?” Un’qu asked.
“Wasting time. We need to be mobile, able to mass fire against the banshees, no matter which direction they assault us from,” Hale said.
“They landed around Galogesvi. They will come from the north,” Un’qu said with certainty. “We should forget about the other sectors and have every available rifle here.” He stomped a heel against the cobblestones.
“I’ve fought Xaros drones. Don’t think you ever know which direction they’re coming from…and you have to always remember to look up,” Hale said. He looked around to make sure Steuben wasn’t near enough to hear Hale repeat the Karigole’s instructions.
“I would be more confident if more of your Marines were along the northern perimeter,” Un’qu said.
“Any of your soldiers ever shot down a Xaros drone? They spent much time on the range training to hit those slippery bastards?”
“No…”
“Then they’ll stay in fire teams around the city. Knock down anything that gets through,” Hale said. He watched the Dotok work, their tunics and uniforms soaked through from constant exertion and the evening’s muggy air. They cast furtive glances at Hale, their eyes filled with fear.
“Un’qu, have any of your people ever been in a fight?” Hale asked.
“Every adult is trained as a soldier.”
“So, no? Not even when the rail center was overrun?”
“The explosion killed everyone involved in the fighting. My soldiers aren’t cowards, just inexperienced. We kept up martial traditions even during the trek. We always knew we’d have to fight again in the future. Better to have the capability and organization endure than try to reinvent it later, but training is no substitute for actual war.”
“It only takes one bullet to make a veteran. You and I will be where the fighting is hardest. Show them how it’s done, right?” Hale slapped Un’qu on the shoulder and almost knocked him over.
“Hale, you’re needed on the landing pad,” Steuben said through the IR. “Bring the cherry.”
“Roger, en route,” Hale said. He grabbed Un’qu and turned them both around. They were two steps into their long walk when Hale reopened the channel to Steuben.
“Who taught you that word?”
“‘Cherry’? Bailey did. It is slang for a newly commissioned officer, correct?”
Hale bit his tongue. “That is correct. But we’ve had discussions about your use of slang.”
“Is Miss Lowenn still angry I used Standish’s euphemism and referred to her as a fine piece—”
“Very angry, Steuben. Very. We’ll be there soon.” Hale ended the connection again. Lowenn, the anthropologist they’d brought to the surface of Anth
alas, had begged to stay on Bastion, but the Alliance had a very strict one-ambassador-per-species rule. He hadn’t seen her for days. Last he’d heard she was locked away in the Breitenfeld’s library writing up a paper on their encounters with both the long-dead Shanishol and the Toth.
Hale peered over the side of a boulevard. Steam from the hot springs wafted over his face. The sound of bubbling mud echoed against the stone walls.
“You all picked a hell of a place to build your city,” Hale said.
“We have an abundant source of geothermal energy here, and the ambient heat keeps temperatures moderate during the winters. The ships are moored atop small islands. We’re quite proud of what we accomplished here,” Un’qu said.
“Reminds me of Venice…even the smell,” Hale said.
“Venice, is that a human city?”
“Once, but not anymore. The Xaros erased it.”
“I heard what happened to your people. You have my condolences. We do not know what happened to Dotari Prime. The few caretakers that were left behind swore to end their lives before the Xaros arrived. Ancient Pa’lon tells us that if the Xaros come across the remains of a civilization, they will preserve it. If they find any living sentients on a world, they wipe out any trace of it. We tell our children stories about what it will be like to return one day, to find our home world waiting for us as pristine as the day we left,” Un’qu said.
“That’s a good story. Something to hope for,” Hale said.
“What is it you hope for?”
Hale didn’t answer right away. He felt his hands ball of their own accord and thought of his family home, where he and his brother found where their parents had died, and he thought of all the people he’d known that were gone forever.
“Revenge. I want to smash every Xaros drone in this galaxy, find who or whatever set that scourge across Earth and rip them to pieces,” Hale said.
“I’m glad you’re on our side,” Un’qu said. “Have you learned if there is any sort of intelligence directing the drones?”
“Only by inference. The Xaros build jump gates near habitable planets like this one, gates meant for a species that could live on this kind of world. I don’t think the drones are doing that by accident,” Hale said.