The Lazarus Particle

by Logan Thomas Snyder

  The party moved to greet him. At its head was the most elderly Shih’rahi he had ever seen. Granted, the only Shih’rahi he had ever seen before that day were Soroya and Xenecia, but this one was much older, wizened but still agile even as he poked along with a stick, sounding out the ground ahead of him before stepping upon it. A few feet before Fenton, he stopped, kneeling slowly. The act was obviously painful and complicated for him. Fenton moved to stop him, but Soroya and Xenecia shook their heads.

  The elder began speaking in the only tongue he knew, slowly, haltingly. Soroya translated.

  “I am but an old man, the oldest left of our kind I am told. Today, however, I have witnessed the first true miracle of my long life. Because of you, Fenton of Wilkes, my children’s children will know the lands of our ancestors. You have returned to us what was lost, and for that I bless you and all of yours that follow in your name. You are the true savior of the Shih’rahi. We shall sing your name to the heavens above for as long as we persist upon this mortal coil.”

  Fenton was so overwhelmed he was unable to summon even a single word by way of response.

  Of all the people to step forward, he would have least expected Xenecia. Leaning in, she whispered, “If you have nothing to say, a kneeling bow is as high a compliment as there is in our culture.” She even demonstrated for him. “As so.”

  Fenton hesitated a moment, wondering if Xenecia was putting him on. He emulated her bow as best he was able.

  The elder smiled. He rose and turned to leave. The others in his party followed suit. Apparently the ceremony was over. Not that Fenton wasn’t grateful, but the idea his name might echo through all eternity was a little daunting somehow.

  Then again, maybe being an enduring folk hero wouldn’t be such a bad gig after all. Probably wouldn’t ever have to buy a drink on Shih’ra, for starters…

  “This changes everything,” Roon marveled. “It’s one thing to make a new planet, but to heal the broken ones, to give them back to their people. It’s incredible. Absolutely incredible.”

  Shaken out of his momentary trance, Fenton realized this place meant something different to each of them.

  For Roon, the very prospect of it was an advocate’s wet dream writ large as the stars.

  For Marshal Harm, it portended a new era of military breakthroughs on a scale previously unimaginable.

  For Soroya and Xenecia and the elder and all the surviving diaspora of Shih’rahi refugees, it was the ultimate gift, the homeworld they were certain they would never set foot upon again.

  And for Fenton? For Fenton it was all so much deliverance, the crowning achievement of a lifetime dedicated to peace through scientific exploration. He had earned this, and he intended to savor the marvelous recreation they stood upon down to the very last element.

  41 • INCURSION

  Pruitt was in his element. Oh, there were many waters his responsibilities as a Tier One special envoy required he be able to navigate comfortably. The dulcet, humdrum creek of duty. The narrow, streamlined straits of command. The choppy, unpredictable rip of corporate politics. The wild whitewater rush, both thrilling and terrifying, of capital-class combat.

  It was the wide open ocean of code where he felt most at home, however. Upon that vast, fluid body he was a digital brigand capable of wreaking untold havoc.

  “Pruitt,” Commander Orth’s voice sounded behind him. “Status report.”

  “I’m deep inside Leviathan’s core programming, sir,” he reported. His fingers tripped rapidly, expertly over the touchscreen array. “Laying down the last lines of code now. Annnd… I’m out. Completely undetected.”

  “Excellent.” Orth clapped his shoulder approvingly. “I know what I’ve asked has not been easy going for you, Ensign. Your continued service is most appreciated in these difficult times.”

  “I appreciate you saying that, sir, but it’s really not necessary. Your method of command has never been cause for question in my eyes. I do not find it to be in breach even now.” He exhaled, seeming to deflate almost a little. “Though perhaps that’s because I’d come to think of the station as home.” His status as a special envoy hadn’t been enough to keep him from losing as many friends and close acquaintances as everyone else who survived the assault on Orbital Station Tau.

  Orth nodded knowingly. “The call of duty comes in many different forms, some more unorthodox than others.” He seemed to withdraw into himself for a moment, almost appraisingly, before adding, “I’m promoting you to lieutenant.”

  “Sir—”

  He held up his hand. “It’s not to keep you close or reward you. It’s because events are sure to come to a head sooner rather than later. You will be called upon to make certain decisions, perhaps even in my stead. If it comes to that, you are the only one I trust implicitly.” He raised a hand presciently. “I know, I know. We don’t have to get into any of that. However, to ensure you have the support of the men, you require the rank.” He strode to his desk and produced the required pin. “Congratulations, Lieutenant Pruitt. Like it or not, you’re my new executive officer.”

  Pruitt’s head practically spun with the potential implications. Rank and power, but an undeniable conflict of interest. But then, hadn’t he already thrown away his allegiance to the Admiralty? He could try to spin his participation in this, try to massage and soften his role, but if it ever came down to it, he was as good as branded a traitor already. And he knew what the Admiralty did to traitors, even those they simply perceived as traitors.

  Orth, though. Whatever else could be said of the man, he had plans upon plans upon contingencies. He would not have ordered him to break into Leviathan’s main computer bank and slave it to the intercept protocol if he didn’t.

  It was one or the other. The Admiralty, or Commander Orth.

  He made his choice.

  “Sir,” he said, “I’m honored to accept. And in so doing, I hereby renounce all affiliation to the Admiralty and place myself wholly in your service.”

  Orth seemed genuinely pleased. “Well, that was unexpected, Lieutenant. Though I do have to say, I appreciate the redirected show of loyalty.”

  “A man cannot serve two masters, sir. I realize that now.”

  “I was very much hoping you would come to that realization on your own,” Orth said. “Though I hope you won’t mind if I inquire after a second opinion?”

  Pruitt’s brows knit together, unsure exactly what he meant. “Sir? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Looking past him, Orth asked, “He speaks the truth?”

  “He does, Commander.”

  Pruitt shivered imperceptibly as he heard the voice of the empathically attuned alien Orth had rescued from the clutches of the Tyroshi as part of their deal. He had heard of such species during his training with the Admiralty but had never encountered one before. It was strangely unsettling. It was hard to train for something only intuitively, without ever experiencing it first hand.

  “You are certain, Jobosk?”

  “Oh, very.” Slowly, the alien known as Jobosk circled him. Pruitt didn’t flinch or hesitate, just held fast and met those unnervingly iridescent eyes when Jobosk chose to lift them. There was more to his gaze, though, judging by the way it roved up and down Pruitt’s form. Apparently he could detect signals of deception from any part of the body. Or perhaps that was just an assumption he preferred to cultivate for his own benefit, to confuse a subject and make them break eye contact. “Very, very, very…”

  Pruitt felt like a slab of meat hanging in a butcher’s shop. “Is there a point to this, sir?”

  “He objects to this treatment,” Jobosk put in as if Pruitt weren’t even there, “but out of pride, not guilt. At the most I sense a hint of remorse. Not regret.” He nodded to Pruitt, almost deferentially. “Remorse.”

  “And there is a difference in your eyes?”

  “Oh, very much so, Commander,” Jobosk said. “Regret would imply a chance for recidivism. Remorse indicates a sense of loss, but als
o acceptance.” He spoke almost as if he was discoursing on fine wine, the subtle differences between one vintage and the next. “No, he has made his decision. He is loyal.”

  “Of course, I am loyal.”

  “I’ve always believed that, Daniel. But I had to be certain.” Orth gestured to Jobosk. “Our new friend here is helping me find out who my true allies are in this fleet.”

  Pruitt swallowed. He didn’t trust empaths, at least on principle. He’d never dealt with one, true, but who was to say they were truly neutral? Still, to speak out of turn against Orth’s new pet would be treading upon dangerous ground indeed, and he had no such inclination.

  “Then it would appear he’s very good at what he does,” Pruitt offered instead.

  “Indeed.” Orth nodded to Jobosk. “You may leave us.”

  Jobosk bowed. “As my master wishes.”

  Only after he was gone did Pruitt breathe comfortably once more.

  “You don’t approve of his presence.”

  Pruitt stifled a wince. “It’s not that I don’t approve, sir.”

  “You worry he might usurp you?”

  “Absolutely not, sir.”

  Orth nodded knowingly. “Ahh. You worry that he might seduce me. Might plant whispers and musings into my ears.”

  Swallowing just a bit, Pruitt nodded. “That might be closer to my concern, sir.”

  “Exactly why I would keep you close, Lieutenant. Think of Jobosk as a kind of… consultant.” Leaning in pointedly, he said “I shall always value your advice above all others.”

  There was something comforting in hearing that from Commander Orth. Pruitt nodded. “I understand, sir.”

  “Very good. In that case, only one question remains…”

  “Yes, sir. We’re ready to begin phase two.”

  “Right, now to load it—”

  Rolling his eyes, Pruitt snatched the standard-issue forty-five caliber of the Morgenthau-Hale Marines from the grizzled sergeant as well as the clip. He married the two seamlessly. Yanking back the slide, he dropped into a perfect combat stance before the man. “Something like this?”

  “Ahem. Yes, Lieutenant. Exactly like that.”

  Commander Orth chuckled as he secured his flack jacket. “Don’t mind him, Sergeant. He’s just a bit jumpy. Can you blame him, considering what we’re about to embark upon?”

  Sergeant Bale shook his head mirthlessly. “No, Commander.”

  “Well said.”

  Pruitt sneered. “I’m not jumpy, sir. I’m concerned. I don’t think your presence here is necessary.”

  “Oh, on the contrary.” Orth fingered his own pistol, smiling. “It is very, very necessary.”

  “Thirty seconds until hard seal.”

  “Commander…”

  “Twenty seconds.”

  “Ready your weapon, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hard seal achieved, Commander. Cutting the door now.”

  As the Marine with the torch completed the entry, he stepped aside. Sergeant Bale was first through the breach. He was followed by two more of his men. Among the last through the breach, Pruitt took a poised stance in the empty corridor. Behind him, the Marine with the torch sealed up their point of entry. It wouldn’t fool anyone who looked closely, but just in case was better than not at all.

  “Well?” Orth wondered.

  Pruitt held up a hand. “OverCom?”

  The hiss of the torch came to a halt.

  “OverCom?”

  Nothing. Pruitt felt a bead of sweat threaten to break free on the back of his neck. Was it possible he made a mistake with the code? If he had, they were all as dead as sure as they were standing there, preparing to forcibly take over a friendly corporate vessel.

  “Over—”

  “Apologies, Daniel,” the voice said in as close to a whisper as a digital consciousness could offer. “I am here now. What would you have me do?”

  “Stream the internal security feed to our flexpad wristlets.”

  “Done.”

  Sergeant Bale glanced down to his wristlet. He smiled as it lit up with Leviathan’s real-time security feed showing the state of its interior corridors and decks. “Beautiful.”

  “Do you require further assistance, Daniel?”

  “Standby to lock down the ship and key all command functions to Commander Orth on my order.”

  “Understood. Standing by.”

  Pruitt nodded to Bale. Cycling through an array of visuals, the sergeant gestured the team to move forward.

  The boarding party moved quickly with the aid of the security feed, easily avoiding unnecessary confrontation as they made their way to the vessel’s command module. This was a thing to be grateful for. Orth had relied upon Jobosk’s uncanny talent for ferreting out deception when selecting the members of the boarding party. Pruitt was certain they would have no compunction about swiftly and silently dispatching anyone unlucky enough to stumble into their sights. Thankfully, the advantage provided by the security feed allowed them the benefit of a bloodless advance to the command module.

  Not surprisingly, the command module was the locus of activity on the ship. Their arrival went largely unnoticed as personnel shuffled from station to station, orchestrating the bombardment of the Irregulars’ fleet. Trufant watched from the commander’s platform. Everything about his posture—chin upthrust, chest puffed out, hands clasped behind his back—exuded victory, confidence. He had executed his part of the battle plan to the letter and had no reason to suspect what was about to occur.

  At Orth’s command, his Marines swarmed the module. That same command kept their weapons checked but ready to use at the slightest provocation. Pruitt felt almost sorry for Trufant as the balance of power swung so quickly, so arrestingly from his grasp.

  Almost.

  “OverCom,” he said.

  “Yes, Daniel?”

  “Key all command functions to Commander Knolan Orth and lock down the ship immediately.”

  “I have done as you requested, Daniel. The ship has been locked down and all command functions keyed to Knolan Orth. Do you require further assistance, Daniel?”

  “Not at this time, OverCom. Thank you.”

  Blinking, Trufant’s eyes darted nervously, uncomprehendingly from Pruitt to Orth. “What is the meaning of this?” he blubbered impotently.

  Orth stepped forward, smiling darkly. “Why, Commander Trufant, I should think the meaning quite clear,” he said. “I’m taking command of your battle group.”

  42 • COMPLICATIONS

  Ohana braced herself against the surging tide. She could feel the pressure building within her. Expanding. Threatening to overtake all sense and reason. She squinched her eyes shut and balled her hands into fists. As much as her body begged her to let go and be overwhelmed, she fought. She fought and fought, holding out as long as she could. Finally, all that pent-up energy exploded within and through her.

  After the crescendo of her climax, Ohana folded herself breathlessly across Dell’s sweat-dappled chest. Neither of them said a thing, and that was just fine.

  In the ringing silence of those few shared beats, all was right in their tiny shared space.

  “Your sister…” Ohana started. She propped her chin up on Dell’s chest. “She said we keep doing this because we’re crazy. Pilot psyche or some shit like that. Apparently being a deck rat qualifies you to be a therapist.”

  Dell groaned. “God, this is what the two of you talk about?”

  “I know, I know. I tried not to get drawn into it, but she can be pretty persistent. Plus…”

  “Plus what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Ohana…”

  “I just had a lot on my mind, okay? About us. And she’s a good listener.” She eyed him appraisingly. “You’re not mad, are you?”

  “No.” Even in the half-light, she could see the grin stretching his lips. “So. We’re an ‘us’ now?”

  She dreaded the words she already knew to be form
ing in his throat. “Don’t say it, Dell. Please, please do not say it.”

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  “It’s not. It’s just war, Dell. We all feel it. It’s the fight. The blood. The guilt of watching our friends fall and die while we live. It pushes us to live in the moment, make rash decisions.”

  “You said we all feel it,” Dell said. No surprise, he had seized on the most telling part of her little speech. “So, you feel it, too?”

  Shit. The more she said, the deeper she seemed to bury herself. “Yes,” she admitted. Better judgment be damned, she supposed. “But that doesn’t mean—”

  “Ohana.” He cupped his hand against her cheek and looked her square in the eyes. “I love you.”

  She groaned, squirming off his rack and balling her fists up over her ears. “I can’t believe you just said that. I can’t believe you just fucking said that.”

  “Ohana…”

  “I asked you not to say that!” she barked, wheeling around on him so quickly he flinched. Realizing the harshness of her reaction, she stepped back, drawing her lips into a hard, firm line. She turned to gather her discarded kit and start dressing again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “What was the rule?” she asked, pulling on her black tank. Rolling her eyes when he looked confused, she prompted, “On Eden Prime. What was the rule?”

  Dell sighed just so as he realized the angle of her attack. “‘We’re just having fun.’”

  “Bingo. That’s why I have to leave.”

  “This isn’t Eden Prime,” he countered, pulling on his own kit. “Things have changed.”

  “Not as much as you think.”

  “No, they’ve changed even more! And you know it!”

  She ignored him studiously.

  “Ohana, look at me.”

  She turned on him like a wounded animal, practically snarling and jabbing her finger against his breastbone. “What the hell gives you the right, flyboy?” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Huh? Tell me!”

  Stepping back under the weight of her assault, he gaped at her. “The right to what?”