Chapter Three: Military Buddy
Shanor, the light-bearing weaver, was reputed as flying to the heavens carrying every star in his hands. It is said he placed every single one with the hope that children would have a beautiful sky to look at when the night consumed all light. He remained there, and unless you took special notice of his work, those lights would fade away, never to return.
Some recorded his designs, and pride caused him to leave them just as organized. Nirana prolonged his life, transforming him into an immortal, where he is believed to be to this day, arranging heavenly lights for all who gaze on with the slightest hint of interest.
"So how's your fancy story gonna get you out of this mess, huh? Go fish." Aaran told me saucily. She'd made six matches and one complete set of a kind to my four pair.
"It won't. I'm not even sure why I related that story to you."
"I'm guessing it's 'cause you're annoyed I'm whupping your tuckus all over this cabin. Nice of Reggie to spring for it," she said. We had reserve tickets for the first voyage, but no indication when service would be opened to us. Public access was out of he question due to a military lockdown.
"Why take such an interest in ancient lore?" Aaran yawned and waved away my most recent insistence for a nap. "C'mon, answer me. I'm curious and I don't want to sleep. Nightmares give me bedhead."
"History interests me. Canor is a unique place with fascinating parallels."
"Such as?"
"Such as the dragon tattoo you conceal with a clasp over your right earlobe."
Her casual manner dissolved. I'd struck a nerve. She didn't stop talking, getting up to move into the driver's seat. I joined her, passenger side. "When did you see that?"
"You forget facts very easily. My eyesight is digital. I required only eight months to piece together the outline. You expend great effort to conceal it."
She did not answer at first. "I should know better.”
"You should?"
"Probably. Part of my mind is digital," she seemed to be gnawing on something that wasn't there. "Will you keep it under your hat for a while?"
"What about Sonata and my Dad?"
"Tell 'em whatever you want," she shrugged, angling her head at the melodic ping of the cruisers' operations panel. She tapped the screen to acknowledge. "Time to go. Hey..."
A long stretch of road ended at a solid plasteel bridge, immune to most forms of damage and degradation. Above it a yellow light turned green and Aaran accelerated gradually.
"You hitch anything else up to this, you tell me first. I wanna know. I forgot a lot of important stuff six years ago. Okay?"
I nodded. "Yeah, okay."
“There's a whole other me I used to know, and it scares me I don't remember her anymore."
We watched crew spill out of a tower to our right, accompanied by several battle dressed soldiers. An air of suppression and calm hung over them. Several scrutinized the entrance ramp skeptically while others talked amongst themselves. Aaran accelerated gradually.
"Asumiyuki."
"Ye-huh. Now hang on, how do you know that name? You weren't built then. Besides it's all classif—David," she realized dully. "Crack my shell and call me an egg. Been years since I've been this beat. Listen to me ramblin'. Barely conscious. 'Course you know. He was with me when we dug her out of Carso's mess."
"He was looking for my blueprints. She prevented Carso from carving open his head for them," I reflected, and Aaran seemed unnerved by my attitude. "I owe her a grave debt as well."
"You get that casual manner from your Dad? Doctor's assistant, right. Gave the AOC a reprieve when we needed it most. Carso was close to tipping the balance. Another day and he might've collapsed the shield altogether."
Aaran waved back at an athletic looking guard who nodded at us. He raised a hand for us to stop and approached the driver side window. All grit and mustache, this one, red hair and grey eyes with a brick chin.
"Evenin' Mrs. Coates," he half smiled, then at me: "Evenin' Buddy Namecki."
"Namiki," I lightly corrected. "A pleasure to meet you again Farrow Antwright."
"Sergeant Antwright," he snapped. "Uh, sorry. Heard you near got vaped in Sector 9. Doc takes good care o' ya. Elevator's not open to the public yet, but I got orders t'let you two in."
"Pretty good eyesight. Standard issue?" Aaran piped.
"Yes ma'am. Got 'em from my Mother, Nirana rest her soul."
"They're pretty deep."
"Only part of me that is," he chuckled. “Ma'am.”
Aaran glanced at the rear-view, which I noticed was empty. "Just a tick. How you fare on the ground during the attack?"
Before replying, those natural eyes swept the scene. "It's gotta be the strangest thing: The 33rd was called in from Sketchline, Sector 2. We've been knockin' heads and thumpin' screavers all month in the Wasteland, then we get this chill OP. CO was TO'd an' we were near KO'd."
"Caught in the blast?"
"That's the shardin' beast, Mrs-"
"Aaran."
He nodded appreciatively. "Aaran. OK. No casualties, even though we were marching this way. Late orders, I can't figure. Someone up top hadda know, you get me?"
"Probably why he was so uppity. Sure am glad to hear your unit's healthy."
The black muzzle long range energy rifle in his hands practically scraped the cruiser as he leveled it at the floor.
"'She,' ma'am. Assistant Capt. Yardley.”
“That so.”
“Yes ma'am. We get good retrofits now thanks to Dr. Namiki. Buddy's walking proof there's life after combat." A light entered his eyes as he said this, and I took stock of it. "So's you don't mind my saying, Buddy, uh, sir."
"It's the truth," I replied easily.
"Yeah, so it is." Why did he sound so awkward?
"Anyone else besides us heading up?"
"Uh, no one I can mention without getting shot. If you see 'em it's not my fault, right?”
"Thanks Sergeant. Don't need a man with sharp eyes caught in friendly fire."
"Shardin' right. Hup! Better move on. You're head of th' line now," he ordered, tone becoming guarded. "Ma'am. 'Good hunting-"
“-Be safe',” she completed dutifully.
As we pulled away Aaran commented: "When was the last time you saw a bridge guard with a rifle that well balanced?"
"Personal preference? Authorized equipment? Perhaps he is the unit gunsmith," I offered, all perfectly acceptable answers. Aaran negated in the kindest way possible:
"All true. Good use of your digital vision. Those sharp eyes were his granted wish, however.”
Aaran knew such things, but without access to Father's records, I could not checklist any work performed on Farrow. “You are suggesting his eyesight is more powerful than augmented vision?”
“Suggesting? Every sniper in the AOC has augmented vision. Why not him?”
“Wish-empowered soldiers are in limited deployment across the Alliance,” I provided.
“Yes.”
“I understand there are weavers involved in this conflict.”
“Weavers. Sure. There are always weavers. The AOC would want protection.”
“Are snipers proof against them?”
“If they have to be.” Aaran drummed the fingers of her left hand on the dashboard experimentally, demonstrating her trust in my Father's work.
"And they might have to be?"
“They might.”
“Yes ma'am.”
She regarded me as if my pluck were sass, but then smiled. "You really are a charmer."
There was something else. For some reason I thought the Sergeant had dropped a big hint about the passengers, but without Aaran's verification I wasn't certain of my observations. I watched her for a while, but she offered no insight. Perhaps one day she'll learn to trust me more than she does now.
Boarding the elevator was uneventful. For that I was grateful, for I was certain this was our moment of respite before the storm. I offered to buy Aaran some di
nner, and she sighed, commenting about the selection. "Nice of you, but everything's paid for.”
I insisted.
“Nothing but protein shakes on this trip. Myrith for the troops, too. I can't drink now. Need food.” She pushed her flesh-and-blood hand and through her hair in a sign of frustration. Finally she pointed at a murky, dyed solution in a transparent cup on our private media screen. "Think that might taste remotely fruit-like?”
“It might.” I sat on my assessment that the composition was not conclusive.
She smirked indulgently at me. “You going up now for it?"
"Yes."
"You better be quick, or I'll be asleep."
"Yes ma'am," I responded, and she exhaled, throwing arms behind her head. I heard an electronic hum and her seat tilted back. Stepping out onto the elevator platform was a refreshing change of atmosphere. Hermetically sealed and environmentally shielded from the outside world.
Elgin's Spire was purported to be the broken tip of the spear Avalon used to pierce Tasaki in their last conflict. Elgin Elevator on the other hand, simply removed willing tourists to a space bound colony known as Talon, where cost was not necessarily a barrier to personal escape from social constraints. Such was its armoring that it survived two decades of civil conflict.
The Crushing War was only the most recent.
Sheer plasteel and tempered NA-16 plate, windows with which one might admire the starry view were not permitted. Ironic for its ultimate destination, but expected as Talon had once served the AOC as its command headquarters. The Bastion is an on-rails self-contained vessel of three levels, one for cruisers, the others for passengers and crew.
Only way up to the lounge are stairwells that- [That you Buddy? Oh good you're in range again!] It was Sonata, transmitting over baseband radio from Talon Colony. The attack had disabled our extranet streams.
[You're safe?] It was a joy to hear from her again. Though built at different times, we are twins by design and manufacture, apart from cosmetically distinctive physical attributes.
[Uh, yeah! Cozy up here in the colony! What happened to you? I received an emergency glyph!]
[I was caught in the explosion in Sector 9. Aaran rescued me,] I began to relate, but her excitement broke down the integrity of the encoded signal. Emergency glyphs transmit automatically when either of us is in danger, and their range is significant. While we were waiting to board the elevator I had prepared the necessary informational glyphs, so I took the opportunity to transmit them. Just a few moments later she had processed their contents.
[Oh Buddy, you're such a dolt. That area was marked!]
[Marked...?] I asked, but she didn't notice. Aaran had also said this.
[My spare arm, huh? That's a kick. Risky though.]
[It was the best option. I suspect if it lasts she may want to replace her leg as well,] I said conversationally. Sonata took a lot of pleasure in their similarities.
[Oh, that will be a kick, then.]
[Yeah. What was the code for the mark-]
[Mishan and I haven't met yet. She's somewhere in Razor with Marlene,] she responded, disappointed. [I'm sure she's safe. She pings me every so often.]
[That's good, and not good.] I decided to leave the matter of the code change until she was more distracted. [What's the situation in Talon right now?]
[The local authorities are keeping vendors and tourists away from main venues. They're tense and unhappy. Most have paid for return trips to Angel City and are waiting for the elevator to be operating for the public again. Ayani told me there could be violence soon if they don't stay calm.]
[You mean a riot,] I offered.
[Yes. In close quarters a lot of people would be hurt and killed. We think they delayed the launch of Razor Colony to avoid any public outburst. She called it a 'powderkeg'.]
Sonata's perspective was limited but accurate, just as my own. The military was getting all of the media attention, but local and private ad-hoc channels posted feats of heroism and courage performed by anyone with the heart and appropriate limb strength.
Saying that implies that cyborgs played a big role in rescues, and they certainly did, but wish-endowed individuals put their traits on display for loved ones and total strangers. Records of 'mythic' events met with rapid brown out, and I scarcely can keep track of even a few, but timestamps and cannot easily be removed from the faces I associated them with.
In the concussion waves from the initial impact was a twelve cruiser pile-up which careened into two dozen legally crossing pedestrians. Among them was a six year old who was swept out of death's grip by a young man fresh from his shift at the Achormill. Unencumbered of any cybernetics, disavowing any granted wish, the crowd cheered his sharp reflexes and quick wit.
Hers would have been the only fatal injury, the media sustained, but made no mention of the weaver who nearly sacrificed herself to protect them all. Sonata and I shared the regret and disdain of the ruling class' muting tactics.
[Why are they so eager to silence any recognition of these people?] Sonata asked me. [I feel like I know that girl, but I don't.]
[I don't know, Sonata, but I want to. I was able to identify her. I plan to arrange a meeting.]
[Oh, good idea! She was courageous.]
[Yes. I find the brownout easy to explain: That network belongs to Amp Falcon Media. His public image is clean, but I have heard Aaran talk negatively about his private life. There are media moguls who are not hesitant to show their agenda to the public. They are easier to trust.]
[What is his?]
[He has gone on record denouncing the existence of weavers.]
[I get it. It's the same kind of crazy, like the Cheshire Party. They say the shield should come down, but they don't pretend they don't mean it,] Sonata affirmed with her own experience. She was maturing quickly. [They wanna reverse the effects of the burn, too.]
[That is why they have many sympathizers,] I relayed. [Pardon me a moment, please.]
[Uh-huh.]
When I arrived at the cafeteria, a friendly officer told me told all expenses were paid and to order whatever I wanted. I thanked him and scanned the menu, which did not reflect the selection we had previously seen.
“Network's at minimum capacity. Menus take fifth place,” he sighed. “Good news is you get the best for just being here.”
“Great. Thanks.” Another thanks I owe to Rep. Castlegar, I supposed. So I ordered the most fruit-like smoothie they had on the menu. He stepped away from the counter to prepare my order, and it was then I realized the elevator was entirely staffed by military personnel. No civilians. Just who was on board the Bastion with us?
[Can you stay on line, Sonata? I may need you to link up with Aaran.]
[Y'think I'll pass that up? Just holler when y'need me,] she cheerily answered, assuming the affectation of speech she had adopted from Aaran.
[Thanks.]
Threads of Canor: Sector Bomb Page 3