The Farthest City

by Daniel P Swenson

“Completing IFD post-run checks,” Alvares said. “All systems coming up green.”

  “Welcome to Gliese 667 C, everyone,” Go said. “We just traveled twenty-three light years in less than a minute.”

  Sheemi cheered along with the rest of the crew. She felt a sudden comradery with the other twenty-seven people on board. They’d come so far. Hurling themselves into virgin space, they were all alone now. One quick jaunt and they’d become family.

  After that initial jubilation, the techs ran diagnostics. Sheemi and the others set up the systems that would keep them alive, pressurizing each module, spinning up the ring, activating life support and recycling systems. Afterward, the scientists began their surveys, investigating each satellite in the new system, scanning the local starfield for any signs of habitation. In the meantime, soldiers became astronauts.

  Sheemi learned how to conduct EVAs using an extravehicular mobility unit, or EMU. She moved through space, floating outside the ship, held back from the void by an umbilical, and later not even that, just some compressed gas cylinders on her back to keep her from floating off forever. She enjoyed the vac, felt something like peace in the odd moments she was turned away from the ship, her eyes filled with stars.

  The training kept her occupied for a while. The first system yielded nothing more than some rocky planets. No chines. Nothing interesting. By the time they’d finished surveying, she was already looking forward to their next destination.

  The next IFD came and went.

  Sheemi joined the rest of Alpha in the rec mod. She stepped onto a vacant treadmill, listened in as she ran.

  “I felt like I had a fever for hours after that last IFD.” Faj extended both her arms and grunted as she lifted the weight. “And my knee still hurts.”

  “Really?” Tilner completed a curl and flexed his bicep. “I felt awesome. Thought maybe they’d stuck me. But Major Veillon told me it wasn’t drugs, just euphoria. He said the IFD triggered it.”

  “Wish I was you,” Sheemi said. “I get headaches, my arms tingle, and I puked.”

  Like anything soldiers faced, they got used to it. IFD, recover, work, sleep, work, IFD again, repeat. Alpha worked while Bravo slept, on, off, on. The new normal, Sargsyan liked to say.

  More IFDs.

  HD 154088, HD 169830, and HD 164604 yielded no clues. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. Captain Rollins kept them training almost all of every day cycle, but despite his best efforts, the routine lost its novelty. Monotony began to erode the sense of urgency with which they’d left Earth.

  At first, Sheemi spent the few hours of her off time in the rec mod with the rest of Alpha, playing games in virt, or in the real, trying to sweat out their uncertainty, the monotony, and the vague expectation they had left home on a shadow quest with no end in sight. Sheemi tried to join in the games and pranks, but her heart wasn’t in it. The fury sustaining her had ebbed, with nothing to replace it. The dreams returned.

  “I can’t take this racket anymore,” Tilner said one day in the mess.

  People complained about the perpetual clicking as Dauntless’ ring rotated, the hiss of pressure differentials resolving, metal groaning under stress.

  “The smell is worse,” Sargsyan said. “Who knew space stunk so bad?”

  Sheemi agreed. Dauntless reeked of sweat and condensation, grease and mildew.

  “Hey Sheems,” Connor said, sitting next to her. “Mind if I join you?”

  Are you ever going to give up? She looked over to find him stealing a glance at her.

  Faj smirked. Tilner barely managed to stifle a laugh.

  “Sargsyan had me walking a scanner along every bulkhead,” Connor said. “Looking for microscopic holes.”

  “Uh-huh.” She took another bite so she wouldn’t have to say more.

  “You look pretty today,” he said.

  Pretty. Did he think she was a civ he’d date on leave? She resisted the urge to break his previously broken nose or knock some teeth out. He continued to chatter while she ate. She mostly ignored him, without any expectation that that would discourage him. He even followed her back to the dorm mod, telling her about his latest EVA.

  “I need some sleep before next shift, Connie,” she said.

  “Right.” He looked crestfallen as he turned to go. Something about his expression made her pause, as if his loneliness mirrored her own. She wasn’t sure she could face another night of dreams by herself.

  She caught his arm. “Wait…”

  She was surprised to find herself giving in and sleeping with him. It just seemed easier that way. For a while, he helped her keep the dreams at bay. What he lacked in sophistication, the boy made up for in energy. Sheemi had never been one for sophistication anyway. Away from the others, spent, he was unexpectedly tender, rolled up in a blanket with her in a tiny dorm cell with just enough room to maneuver. The days rolled one into another, and even Connor’s athletics couldn’t stop her seeing Brin’s blood.

  #

  Sargsyan noticed her work falling off, even caught her dozing. He began appearing when she least expected him to, quietly berating her. They had to be ready at any given moment, he drilled into her, over and over. But ready for what? To die from vac or cold or starvation so far from home they’d never get back anyway? Or death from sheer nothingness, nothing to do, nothing to fight for? She tried to care about his admonishments but couldn’t. He reported her to Captain Rollins.

  “You’re not like the others, Tanamal,” Rollins told her. “They’re here because they earned it. You’re here because Colonel Go knows your father. She thought you’d be like him, not some slack-ass.”

  My father? Even after leaving Earth behind, he still managed to haunt her. I never asked for this mission, she thought, but it was as if Rollins had stabbed her. Guilt opened up inside her like a wound.

  “You’re daddy’s baby girl, Tanamal,” he said, and that’s what he called her from then on. Baby girl.

  She couldn’t even summon any anger to match his taunts. The next time they caught her sleeping, Rollins put her on maintenance duty for two days straight. Round-the-clock shifts cleaning blower fans and cooling pumps almost drove her mad. After the two days, she rolled up in her bunk and gave in to the dreams. When she came out, something had gone loose, some essential part of her had failed. She felt barely there.

  #

  Shift over, she went from mod to mod, looking for Connor. Tilner was in the armory, cleaning his disassembled K.

  “Have you seen Connor?”

  “Can’t say I have. Late-running EVA maybe?”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  Tilner set down the part he’d just oiled. His hand brushed hers. Their eyes met. It was a more subtle invitation than the ones she’d come to expect from Connor.

  The extra sex helped. She fucked Tilner, then MacAteer, one of the B-shift navs. She never lacked for a partner or opponent or whatever it was when they struggled against each other in the dorms any time she could get away, and then anywhere on the ship offering concealment.

  Connor quit talking to her. Some part of herself cared, but not enough to stop. She needed that pleasure bomb going off all the time now, else the dreams came and wounded her. She switched partners day to day, turning herself into a shipboard commodity. That got her through for a few weeks, but eventually even the sex couldn’t stanch the bleeding inside.

  If pleasure was no longer the answer, she decided maybe she should let the pain out. The first cut was the hardest. The knife parted the skin. Blood welled out.

  Strange, she thought. It feels better. The pain helped.

  After that, when the dreams got bad enough, she added another parallel cut along the earlier ones. The original scar was pink, still healing.

  One night cycle, the knife hit something below the skin. Her birth control disc. Leave it in, some voice of duty urged in the back of her mind. Going off-contraceptive was a major offense, but she just didn’t care anymore. She hadn’t volunteered for this. No one had asked i
f she wanted to be here. She was tired of being controlled.

  She dug the knife in deeper, pain going off like stars behind her eyes. The blood poured out like thick wine. She flicked the disc out with her knife, sprayed on some medifoam, and thought nothing more about it.

  I’ve given up, Brin, she thought. I’ve given up.

  #

  They drifted over and over. Three more systems. Sheemi stopped keeping track of where they’d explored. A day to recover, then days to survey each system, searching among the planets and moons and asteroids, scanning for signals and structures. All the while Sheemi and her fellow soldiers maintained the ship, doing the techs’ bidding, mostly grunt work. Cleaning and fixing and moving things. And when they weren’t doing that, they trained. But it wasn’t the fight, and she couldn’t run, and there was nowhere to hide.

  They arrived in the eighth system, OGLE-TR-56, and Sheemi performed her duties without enthusiasm. She’d finished reassembling a vent fan when someone rushed by. More people passed talking excitedly.

  “What is it?” she called. “What’s going on?”

  “They found something!”

  Sheemi hurried to stow her tools, then followed the others. There were too many people to fit inside Command, so someone had rigged some wall vid in the rec mod. Dr. Na, one of the scientists, tall and silver-haired, was explaining they’d found a building site on a gas giant’s moon. Abandoned solar arrays and empty scaffolds in orbit. Whatever the chines had built, they'd taken it and gone.

  But at least they’d found something. The scientists seemed hopeful, and the officers called a celebration. A small one, extra dessert and a half-day of rec. Sheemi and the others got as wild as they could on a metal can with no booze, stims, or neuro. Sheemi danced with Tilner and MacAteer while Connor watched with brooding eyes.

  The happiness was fleeting.

  IFD was too inaccurate for intra-system movements, the scientists had explained during training. Moving from planet to planet would take days. At least they didn’t have to be in their suits.

  The main engines fired. The g pressed her into the couch, and she tried to relax. They’d be at two-point-eight g for thirty hours, have a two-day respite once Dauntless got up to speed, then another thirty hours of deceleration. No one had done it before, but the scientists said they could take it. They had virt, and if they needed them, drugs.

  The first several hours were the worst. It was hard to move, even to turn her head. She craved the freedom of movement she’d taken for granted her whole life. She tried some virt games, but the discomfort seeped through. Everything became a blur, like being half asleep, unable to move, unable to wake. When she thought she couldn’t take any more, Mertik applied the drugs. She wanted to thank him, but sleep overtook her.

  When the first thirty hours ended, her body felt like it had been beaten. Her muscles ached. Despite feeling tired and groggy, she wanted to walk and walk some more. Moving felt right, even if it hurt.

  “Intra’s a bitch,” Tilner said, and Sheemi agreed.

  The two days at normal gravity went by faster than she expected, and she was back in the acceleration couch. Thirty hours of deceleration left her drained but eager to see what they’d found. When they arrived at the gas giant, everyone scrambled, getting equipment ready, donning suits. Sheemi nearly danced a jig getting her suit on as fast as she could.

  Outside the ship, they moved across the gap and into the structures. The scaffolds had been built using a semi-metallic polymer. Long beams and spars, they had enclosed something cylindrical, something bigger than Dauntless. A ship, she guessed. From within, the scaffolding seemed to go on forever.

  Someone found an etched chine symbol, then a few more. The scientists got excited. They were on the right track.

  Sheemi helped collect samples, sawing off pieces the scientists wanted. Others moved objects into the hold. They gathered what they could from OGLE-TR-56. They stayed a week, but in the end, they moved on. The next system yielded nothing, no new clues. Nor did the system after that.

  #

  Major Veillon called her in after her weekly checkup to take more blood. An hour later, an order popped. Report to Command. Facing the door to Colonel Go’s office, Sheemi remembered going off birth control. As a female soldier, she had responsibility for dosing herself on schedule. And now she’d failed to do even that. Had she wanted to be pregnant? Why would she? Why would anyone, on a ship with little chance of ever getting home? The door opened, and First Sergeant Mertik stood aside for her to enter. She glanced up, but his face told her nothing.

  The office was tiny, barely bigger than her bunk room. A desk and some chairs bolted to the floor, wall vid showing starfields.

  Despite the protective layer of indifference she’d built, Sheemi recoiled as Colonel Go walked right up to her until their faces almost touched.

  “Major Veillon told me you went off-med and got yourself pregnant. You’re gonna be a mother, Sergeant Tanamal. Congratulations. That’d be great if you weren’t a soldier. On a mission. And not just any mission, but the most important mission of them all. And you’ve gone and fucked it up.”

  Drops of spit peppered Sheemi’s skin. She resisted the urge to wipe her face.

  “I know your father, Tanamal. We trained together. Henri’s an excellent soldier. When I saw your name on the roster, I requested you for my crew. I requested you.” She said the last as if she couldn’t believe her own words.

  “If we were back on Earth, I would lock you up,” Go whispered. “What would your father think of this?”

  Sheemi had no doubt what he would say. Unpleasant memories of the most scathing reprimands delivered by her father came to mind. Anything less than an A in school, her and Brin sneaking out to a party, when she’d declined Officer School. She pushed those thoughts from her mind, but shame had already taken hold.

  “You’ve put me in a bad situation. Put all of us in a bad situation.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Sergeant. Our mission can’t fail. The Hexi will hunt down every last man, woman, and child. Humans will go extinct. Earth will be a Hexi colony. Unless one ship brings back help. One of just three measly ships. And Makinen and everyone back on Luna killed before we even set out, all those souls dead and gone, and all you can do is fuck yourself senseless. Your father—”

  Go sighed and turned back to her work.

  “Turn in your weapon. I’m putting you on medical status. You’re on civ duty starting now. Report to Captain Ciib on the B shift. Now get out of my office.”

  #

  Everything had gone wrong. She was wrong, something inside her was wrong. Not you, though, she said to the little one she carried. She wanted nothing more now than to escape Dauntless, but escape was thousands of light years away. Like it or not, she was stuck.

  Rollins must have leaked her new status. Alpha was conveniently around as she left to find Captain Ciib. Faj had glee in her eyes.

  “Is it true, Sheemi?” Connor whispered. His eyes looked soft, like a puppy dog’s. Did he think it was his? Was it? She had no idea. She nodded and pulled away. She’d had enough difficult conversations for one day.

  Chapter 9 – Travelers

  Even through closed lids, the searing light hurt Kellen’s eyes. A high-pitched electronic shriek drilled straight into his brain, crowding out coherent thought. Nicolas’ grip around his neck weakened, then failed. Kellen slumped to the floor, unable to think or move. Someone peeled his hands back from his ears. He fought them off, trying to keep the sound out of his skull.

  “Kellen! Kellen, let me help you!” Abby shouted.

  He stopped fighting, and she inserted something into one ear, then another. The sound diminished to a faint electronic whistle. He opened his eyes to slits, the burning light still making his eyes hurt. The doctor and her associates, Izmit, and the woman who had sung were all on the floor in fetal positions.

  “Pick him up!” Abby yelled. “I’ll car
ry her.”

  Kellen struggled to his feet and managed to hoist Izmit over his shoulders. They stumbled out of the clinic, away from the unbearable noise and light.

  The train ride home was a blur. Izmit drifted off into a deep sleep. The woman fluctuated between states of semi-consciousness, snatches of song escaping her lips in whispered melodies, and complete immobility. In these latter states, Kellen could barely detect her breath. The first time, Abby looked at him worriedly and checked the woman’s pulse. He checked it as well, and could barely feel the change in pressure beneath his fingertips. Blood had begun to seep from the wounds on the woman’s head, smearing on the seat, darkly wet under the dim train lights. Would she live through the night?

  “What do we do now?” Abby asked.

  “We have to take them to the hospital.”

  “But…”

  What would the hospital make of these strange victims in dirty, blood-smeared hospital gowns? There would be questions neither he nor Abby wanted to answer.

  “We don’t have any other choice,” he said.

  Abby nodded.

  The train stopped to let on more passengers. The newcomers stared at them and moved to the other end of the car. Izmit woke up as the train pulled into their station. He seemed groggy, but otherwise unharmed.

  Kellen labored to carry the woman as they made their way to the nearest gate. Surface hospitals had been shut down, their patients moved underground after the war started. As they approached the gate, guards came forward to meet them.

  “What happened?” they asked, putting the woman on a gurney.

  “A building collapsed,” Izmit said.

  With the recent bombardments by the Hexi, it was a halfway plausible explanation. The guards exchanged glances but said nothing. As they moved the woman toward the elevators, Izmit pulled Kellen and Abby close.

  “I’m going with her,” he said. “Don’t worry. And thanks for getting us out of there.”

  “But what if they—”

  “We’ll be fine, Kellen,” Izmit said. “Go home and rest.”

  It was odd advice coming from someone who’d gone through such an ordeal, but Kellen just nodded.