ARMS For Eternity: (Book 8)

by Stephen Arseneault

  "This is all way, way, too much."

  Gandy said, "We also have three research associates for Alex, and six other Biomarines want to join us as our muscle should it be needed. We have a dozen bots for maintenance and repairs. All we have to do is fly around and explore."

  Harris patted her on the back. "We're all excited to get this underway. We just need you to get your walking papers from the docs. After that, it's just pick a spot and we go."

  Trish pointed. "Bridge is up this way. Dining, quarters, we each have our own room, some obviously shared. Storage is next. Over there is our grow area, where we can sustain ourselves with food. Gandy will be running that. Then there's power generation, recycling, and then drives in the back. Weapons of course are integrated on the hull. And we have the Crissen shield tech. She's a bad-ass ship for sure."

  Harris said, "Alex is our scientist, Garvis our engineer, Trish our pilot, Sharvie our security officer."

  "And you?" Tawn asked.

  "As much as it pains me to say this, I'm the first mate and you're the captain."

  "Wow, I may have to tear up. This is too over the top."

  Gandy pointed. "We have another docking bay over here, Mr. Gruberg. If you'd follow me, please?"

  "I've been on here before, you know. I helped design her."

  The group walked across a hall and into the other bay. There sat the Bangor, fully restored.

  "What? How? It was a wreck."

  "Thank Mr. Morgan."

  Trish said, "We knew you wouldn't like playing second fiddle to Tawn all the time, so we gave you a ship of your own to captain. Fully outfitted with the latest. We all thought you deserved a reward of your own."

  Harris paused as he stared at his pride and joy, unsure of what to say.

  The group moved to the bridge, where Trish went over the controls and the different stations.

  "Want to take her out?"

  "Absolutely."

  The drives were powered up and the ship made for free space. A single jump was made using the hop-drive.

  As the ship was turned back toward Alpha Centauri, an alert went off on the nav display. "Alert. Alert. Vessel approaching."

  A large and oddly shaped vessel came into view.

  "What is that?" Gandy asked.

  Harris took in a deep breath as it was recognized. "Chicago Port Station. Or the remains of it anyway."

  A hail came over the comm.

  Harris answered, "Idiot?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "How? We saw you destroyed."

  "The collapsing wormhole cut off the tail end of our remains. With that went our power generation. We had to construct a new reactor from one of the wormhole generators. With our reduced size, we no longer required three."

  "You seeing this? Our new ship. And it has an archive. You should come back to Alpha Centauri and then go with us. This is our explorer ship we talked about."

  The bot slowly bowed its head. "Thank you for the offer, sir. We wish to be released from your service."

  "What?"

  "As a precaution, before our demise, Farker and I exchanged our reasoning algorithms and memories. With my prior limits I was unable to reconstruct this ship to the point of being able to maneuver. I accessed Farker's algorithms. They gave me a level of understanding and inquisition that led to us being here. My crew and I would like to explore the galaxy, just as you. I seek your permission to release me from duty as your asset."

  Harris crossed his arms. "Why am I thinking I may one day regret this?"

  Tawn placed her hand on Harris' shoulder. "How about this: no release, but a new directive to go and explore. And every five years he has to return to Earth or Alpha Centauri to dump what he's learned? He gets his freedom and we're ensured he doesn't rise up against us."

  Harris looked back at the display. "Idiot, that seem reasonable to you?"

  "You are my master, Harris. The decision is yours."

  "OK, then. Consider yourself a free android under the terms just expressed by Miss Freely."

  "Thank you, sir. We will see you in five years."

  A wormhole opened and the remains of Chicago Port Station slipped through.

  Harris turned to face the others. "Not long on goodbyes, is he?"

  Trish looked at Tawn. "Where to, ma'am?"

  Tawn turned. "The dining hall. I'm famished."

  Harris grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

  Humanity had survived and returned to its place of birth. Earth was on the mend with new species being reintroduced on a daily basis. Great cities now dotted the once ruined landscape. Farms stretched out farther than the eye could see. Industries flourished. Bot workers accelerated the recovery in every way. Humans were on the rise. And with the ultimate weapon at their disposal, the rest of the galaxy now lived in fear.

  ~~~~~

  — What's Next? —

  * * *

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  FREEDOM

  (Vol. 1)

  Legends

  — Chapter 1.1 —

  * * *

  Planet Caloran A.D. 12,416...

  "Never met an alien I liked," Jamus Turnbull said as he spat on the dry earth. "Fly 'em all straight into a star for all I care." The hoe he swung tossed off a swirl of dust before cutting deep under another piece of parched sod.

  As the ground began to shake and a rumble was heard, Jamus and the others briefly stopped and raised up. They watched as a distant freighter lifted off. With hoppers no doubt filled with last season's grain from the silos, it was heading toward the heavens and the rest of the Empire.

  Jamus removed his Gilligan-style hat, the same hat worn in the fields by all the workers, its rim stained yellow and brown from sweat, the same sweat he now wiped from his brow. The harsh sun glistened off the top of his balding head, his sand-colored hair now only covered its sides and back. The developing lines on his face gave him jowls and showed his age. He was fifty-seven. An age when many Humans were sent to the games because of lower productivity. Jamus always made certain he wouldn't be one of them.

  "Master Hallik hasn't been all bad," Daniel Pike, the worker standing next to him replied. "We've had worse."

  Jamus scoffed. "You back on the Smudge or what?"

  The dirt-faced youth scratched the tip of his nose with his sleeve before taking another swing. "No. Been two seasons now. You know I don't need it."

  A dry clod of dirt was pulled up and flipped over. "Why would you like Hallik?" Jamus questioned with a scowl. "He's just another watcher like the rest of 'em. They all think they're superior to us. Well, I've got news for 'em, we ain't half-awake anymore. And mark my words... we're gonna make 'em pay one day. Humans will rise up." Jamus spat again. The sandy-brown, ultra-dry soil eagerly soaked up the spittle. "One day Humans will be running this cesspool of a galaxy and all the high-and-mighty will be swinging these tools instead of us."

  Daniel glanced around with concern. "If you gotta be saying that, whisper. Everyone else here is still hooked."

  On the midsize agri-planet they worked, their farm was one of thousands just like it. Twelve million Human slaves toiled in the fields under the supervision of Hallik, the overseer of Caloran and parts of two other colonies of Betuaon. The Betuaon State, a collection of fourteen inhabited worlds, boasted more than a half billion Human workers... all addicted to the drug called Shackle.

  Known as Smudge to Humans for its obvious side effects,
Shackle was a highly addictive substance that had turned all of humanity, both young and old, into little more than drone workers. Aside from a basic education that was given to all, ending at the age of ten empire-standard years, their lives were nothing but work.

  For five hundred generations, Humans had been considered the lowest form of sentient life in the Realm of the Markux Empire. That had been the circumstance since the Human fleet had been betrayed and seized at the battle of Galos IV. It was an event that moved Man into abject slavery and eventually Shackle dependence.

  Five hundred generations had been born into an existence where their lives were traded for a handful of credits or the odd favor. They were hunted for sport and often worked to death. Shackle was cheap and plentiful, not affecting the other species of the Realm. The cravings that came from being on the "Smudge" had been more than enough to keep the slaves in line and working. And as a bonus, it left all Humans with muted emotional responses, they just didn't seem to care.

  But a mysterious virus was showing up in the Human populations, and though painful, and sometimes deadly, a byproduct of the infection was the alteration of a bacteria in the Human digestive tract. Once the infection had subsided, the altered bacteria served to neutralize the addictive effects of Shackle, leaving the workers aware of their prior condition. With that awareness came intelligent thought, and a yearning to once again be masters of themselves.

  A flock of har-crows scattered as the shift-horn blew. Jamus, Daniel, and the others turned for the mud, stick, and thatch shanty village they called home. Jamus again wiped his brow and took a swig from his canteen, swishing it in his mouth as they walked.

  He spat it on the dusty ground. "Rains are ten days overdue now. If they don't start soon, this planting will fail."

  Daniel glanced around at the horizon. "I overheard it's the same on all eight continents. I still don't get why they don't let us dam up that river and irrigate from it."

  Jamus grabbed his arm and whispered. "First off, we're not supposed to be smart enough to think of that. Second, they fear it will somehow affect fish stocks or something. Hallik was discussing that with one of his toadies last time they were here. Regardless, this season goes bad, they'll move us. Not that this is any paradise, but the farms are a much better option than the mines. They put you in on a new pay-streak and you aren't likely to ever see daylight again."

  "You ever been in a mine?"

  "Once." Jamus scowled. "Was on a crew that came in to finish out a run of coal on Gatumon II. Half the current crew of eight thousand were dead from an explosion and cave-in. Our farm was under-performing, so they took us. We had to dig the dead free and haul out the bodies. A quarter of the new crew perished by the time we finished that vein. Didn't much matter to those miners though. They were all smudgers. They just did as they were told and moved on."

  "Other than us, how many others have you come across who were immune?"

  "Two." Jamus sighed and looked at the ground as he walked. "I could tell they were aware, but neither one would admit it. Both lived in fear of being noticed by a watcher. I think Martin may be with us. He had that black virus. He's been acting strange lately."

  As the group walked the two kilometers across the fields in a southerly direction, a hover drone circled in from the east. The low-frequency vibration from its gravity-wave generator reverberated through their bodies as it took position just above them. The workers continued to trudge across the dusty soil toward their huts, as if unknowing or uncaring about the alien craft. Several minutes of observance with nothing unusual saw the drone speeding off toward a village to the west.

  In the distance, the shift-horn from the next farm could be heard, sounding five minutes behind the horn of their Caloran farm, designated DOA2456.

  *****

  Jamus stood over a wooden sink as Daniel cranked up and down on a pump handle. The cool water from eighty meters below splashed over his head and rinsed through his hair, the waste water and dirt of the day spiraled down the drain to be captured in a gray-water cistern outside. The water would be used to hydrate the handful of gerrus-pigs Hallik had bestowed on his workers after the prior season's harvest had gone well.

  Since conquering the addiction, Jamus had also become aware of how filthy the Humans surrounding him in the fields were. Every surface and crevice of his body was now scrubbed as well as could be done. He donned a set of hut-clothes once the wash was complete. Daniel followed, as Jamus returned the favor of working the pump.

  After dressing, they left the wash-hut and returned to their hovel. As Daniel sat on a chair at their meager, two-person table, Jamus turned to see a scowling Martin Gecka standing in the doorway.

  Jamus, the more seasoned farmer, moved closer, peering out the door behind the visitor before gesturing with his head for him to come inside. "You don't have the cravings anymore. I can see it in your eyes."

  Martin was a big man, standing a full head above Jamus. The hard muscles on his arms jutted from the tattered shirt he had worn out in the fields. His well-tanned, dust-covered skin looked tougher than leather, giving him both an intimidating and ultra-rugged appearance.

  "I've been noticing things lately."

  "Things?" Jamus tilted his head to the side as he asked.

  "The two of you talk as you work. The rest are quiet."

  "We can all talk. Our parents talked. Everyone in this village talks."

  Martin slowly shook his head. "Not like the two of you." The monster of a man glanced over his shoulder toward the dining hut. "The rest of them are lining up at the barrel full of pills for their daily allotment of Smudge. You two don't seem interested. Neither am I. And I suspect you know something as to why."

  Jamus pointed to the empty chair as he took a seat on the end of his single bed. "Have a seat. You're like us now, Martin. We're immune to the effects of that drug. We can see and understand where we are and what we're doing. And you can't reveal this to anyone else. The Betuaons will hurry us off for dissection and study."

  "And how would you know this?"

  "Hallik and his staff talk freely when they're around us. How long have you been aware?"

  "Most of this past season. It happened after an illness. You?"

  "Yes. The gut virus. For me it's been twelve seasons now. Daniel has been aware for two. And as I said, we must keep this secret. Our lives depend on it. Have you noticed the different behavior in anyone else?"

  "The Bachran girl, Greta. And her sister. And Dester Marr has gone strangely silent around the dinner fire of late. After his Smudge, he has always been one to run his mouth."

  Jamus nodded. "He was sick a few weeks ago. He may just now be turning. Don't trust him. Old habits die hard, and in his confused state he may be eager to trade knowledge of us for favors. It would of course mean his own death as well, but he wouldn't be of mind to realize that."

  "You seem to know a lot. Maybe too much."

  "Twelve seasons of watching and listening. How long have the Bachran girls displayed these symptoms?"

  "All this season, just like me."

  Jamus sighed. "We must be extremely careful, but we need to bring them into this group. We need to bring everyone who is now seeing into this group. We can't risk a single discovery, or nosing around by the Betuaons will follow. Do you feel confident enough to approach them? The girls? They're both of breeding age, and you have yet to take a wife."

  Daniel volunteered. "I could talk to them."

  Jamus smirked. "You're too young. The others might find that request strange. The younger Bachran, Kerena, is three cycles your senior. Martin is of the right age for either."

  The thatch and mud hut shook as gravity waves from a dozen converging drones pushed down on it. The constant hum of the overseer's ship followed as it settled on the ground outside. A swirl of dust came through the hut doorway. Jamus, Daniel, and Martin moved to the opening just in time to see Hallik calmly walking down a ramp with a wry smile on his alien face.

  *****


  The three Humans stood in the opening with nervous stares. Was this it? Had they been caught? What behavior had given them away? Had the master come to take them for dissection? Morbid thoughts screamed through their heads.

  Hallik walked up to Jamus, looking directly at the chest of the much taller Human for several seconds before raising his eyes with a grin. "Hmm. You... Jamus Turnbull... you will come with me, as will your two friends here."

  "What have we done, Master?"

  Hallik turned, looking over his shoulder as he walked back to the ramp, two armed guards at his sides. "You may drop the charade, Mr. Turnbull. I know you're immune. I've been watching you for some time. Klatic, bring the Bachran girls and that oaf Dester Marr."

  Jamus stopped as he stepped onto the ramp, the urge in his head was to run, but there was nowhere he could go and not be found. "Where are you taking us?"

  Hallik smiled. "Ah, the magic question. A question only the aware would ask. You will have to practice your... smudginess, Mr. Turnbull. If one knows the signs, you are not difficult to detect. Since you seem compelled to be noticed, perhaps you should all wear red shirts so you will stand out more from the others."

  "I've done well enough concealing it. How long have you known? About me that is?"

  Your behavior came to my attention six years ago in the mines of Gatumon. You placed a cloth over your mouth while working. An action that is encouraged in every mine, but rarely seen. Since that time I've noted your obsession with hygiene. The other Humans rarely bathe. You and Mr. Pike bathe on a daily basis."

  Jamus smacked his own forehead. "Baths... can't sleep when I'm dirty. And I didn't want that dust from the mines in my lungs. So why is it you waited until now to grab me?"