by James Walker
Wyburn followed Belloc to the bridge and found it deserted except for Ensign Ferrari. Save for combat operations and certain special circumstances, the ship was sufficiently automated to run itself with minimal human supervision. Ferrari had her feet propped up on the instrument panel and her pocket computer out, thumbing through the holographic pages of a fashion magazine.
“Finding any good fashion advice, Ensign?” Wyburn asked.
Ferrari squeaked in surprise and nearly fell out of her chair stuffing her computer into her pocket. “M—my apologies, Captain,” she stammered.
“Ensign,” Belloc said, her lips pursed and brow furrowed in an annoyed frown. “Such conduct while on duty would reflect poorly on your record—”
“Let it go, Commander. It's not like there's anything better to do while babysitting the main computer.” Wyburn sat down in the captain's chair, propped his ankle over his knee, and rested his head on his good hand. “Ensign, there should be a pending transmission through Port Osgow from Artair. Patch me through.”
“A—aye, Captain.”
Wyburn waited for Ferrari to bring up the transmission. After a few moments, a gaunt, severe visage hidden behind a pair of enormous mirrored shades appeared in the main viewscreen. From his full birds, Wyburn guessed that this must have been the 323rd Brigade commander, Colonel Hoang. He stood within a spartan chamber of rusty metal and concrete that suggested some kind of industrial facility. Behind him stood a handful of N.C.O.s and junior officers. Most of them wore the forest green uniforms of marines, but a single officer stood out in Spacy white and blue. Wyburn recognized the refined poise of Ensign Alpha.
As the highest ranked surviving member of the reclamation fleet, the operational parameters specified that Wyburn had supreme authority within the Chalice sphere. That would have been true regardless, but the provisional promotion added more weight to his authority. There was no greater feeling than having no one to tell him what to do within a radius of a half billion kilometers.
“Captain Wyburn,” Hoang said in a gravelly, thickly accented voice.
Wyburn held up his good arm and gave it a shake, making sure his new stars caught the light.
Hoang cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Admiral Wyburn.”
Wyburn grinned.
“The 323rd has successfully occupied Artair,” Hoang continued, “and eliminated all Concord regulars within the city's vicinity.”
“I just heard the report,” Wyburn replied. “Give me the full details on the region's status.”
“The city has a large industrial district with factories equipped for heavy production,” Hoang said. “Saboteurs were able to gut a few of them before we could secure the area. My engineers tell me the district is still about 70% functional. The city is also bordered by large agricultural zones and a rich precious metals mine to the south. The administrative district sustained some collateral damage when Lieutenant Omega destroyed the underground bunker that housed defense H.Q.”
“An underground bunker?” Wyburn frowned. “An exosuit shouldn't be capable of penetrating those kinds of fortifications.”
“This one can,” Hoang said. “Since it's equipped with an antimatter cannon.”
Hoang must have seen the surprise in Wyburn's expression, because he asked, “Didn't you know, Admiral?”
“No,” Wyburn said slowly. “I wasn't informed.”
So, R&D had finally figured out how to produce enough antimatter to weaponize it. It would be worth remembering that he had that card in his hand.
“Continue,” he commanded.
“Although the Concord regulars have been eliminated, I can't call the region secure,” Hoang said. “The majority of the population is composed of Concord sympathizers. We've already had to fend off several attempted ambushes from guerrilla forces, and we believe the region to be crawling with saboteurs. Maintaining security will require committing all of my forces.”
“So it is everywhere,” Wyburn replied with a cavalier shrug.
“Your orders, Admiral?” Hoang asked.
Wyburn tilted his head as he considered this. “Well, let's see. Your first priority is to guard the city against sabotage, particularly the industrial district. After that, Thera is desperately in need of metals, so keep that mine locked down tight. Use whatever you've got left over to keep the transport rails and the agricultural zones well patrolled. Feel free to maintain martial law if that's what it takes to keep the region secure. The locals have it coming after all the support they've given to these damn insurgents.”
Hoang nodded. “Anything else?”
“That's all, Colonel,” Wyburn said. “Take care that resource production within your sector isn't compromised. Thera is counting on you.”
He pressed a button on his console, and the viewscreen went dead.
*
The hologram of Captain Wyburn projected by the makeshift comm that the engineers set up flickered out of view. Colonel Hoang turned away from the projector and dismissed the assembled officers. As Alpha filed out of the room with the others onto the catwalk overlooking the main factory floor, Hoang fell into step beside her.
“I was impressed with how you and your partner handled yourselves during the siege,” he said. “That's why I'm putting both of you on the factory security detail. As of now, consider yourself provisionally reassigned to the Number 15 Exosuit Squadron. I'll make it official with your C.O. later.”
Alpha showed no surprise. She had expected something like this. Although the fighter drones had returned to their carrier upon conclusion of the escort mission, the augments would be expected to support the ground forces until the region had been fully secured.
“Our exosuits are currently undergoing maintenance,” she said. “We put quite a strain on them during our descent and afterwards during the battle for the city.”
“Captain Fomenkov will assign you suitable replacements until your suits are back in working order,” Hoang replied. “He's the C.O. of 15 Squadron. They're currently being billeted in the barracks attached to D Factory. You're to report to your new post at 4300 hours sharp. Inform your partner as well.”
“Sir.” Alpha saluted as Hoang left to confer with some of his other officers.
Before she could inform Omega of their new posting, Alpha would have to find him. She circled the catwalk, peeking into the adjoining offices and scanning the factory floor for some sign of her only surviving squad mate. Finding no trace of him, she stepped out onto the concrete veranda that surrounded the factory's second story. She circled the building and finally found Omega on the north side of the building, leaning against the railing and staring out at the sky. His officer's coat was unfastened and hanging loosely off his shoulders, billowing in the wind.
“Omega,” she called as she approached. “We've been reassigned.”
Omega showed no reaction. Alpha stopped next to him and gave him a quizzical look.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” he replied without looking at her. “What is it?”
“Security detail. We're being assigned to 15 Squadron.”
“Garrison duty now, is it.” Omega sighed. “They should leave that kind of work to the drones and the normals. We augments are better suited to destruction than defense.”
Alpha frowned, but no reply came to mind.
“It's stupid, isn't it,” Omega said, still staring into the depths of the dusty sky. “We've run out of crucial nonrenewable resources on Thera, but instead of coming up with a more sustainable technology, we just start plundering other worlds. Now that we've got Chalice back, we can keep Thera going for another century or two. But once this world runs dry, then what? Our solar system isn't infinite. Our civilization is doomed to extinction, but instead of doing something about it, we just do whatever we can to ensure our own prosperity, no matter how much it screws future generations.”
Alpha's frown deepened. “That's dangerous talk, Lieutenant.”
“Perhaps so,” Omega said. “Maybe it's
that damn planet. Every time I look at it, I feel like it's staring back. Laughing at me. Laughing at us stupid humans, scrambling around like insects trying to secure a future that doesn't exist.”
Alpha followed Omega's stare to the colossal blue face of Saris, hanging low in the clear sky, whereupon her gaze was drawn inexorably to the gas giant's pair of planet-sized storms known as the Eyes of Saris. There was something almost hypnotic about those swirling dark spots. The longer she looked, the more she felt as though she were gazing into an infinite darkness, threatening to swallow her very existence.
With considerable exertion of will, she shook her head and turned away from the disturbing vision. “You're just tired, Omega,” she said. “Most of our squadron was wiped out, and we've been fighting for a long time with no real chance to rest.”
“Maybe.”
At last, Omega turned away from Saris and turned to face Alpha. Most of the personnel had spent the majority of the voyage from Thera in cold sleep, affording them little chance to get acquainted before the operation, so Alpha was still sometimes taken aback by Omega's youth and small stature. Though lean and muscular, he had a compact frame and was barely taller than her, yet his gaze was the furthest thing from the look of callow youth.
“You know, you're not like the other augments I've known,” he remarked. “You're missing something. No, that's not quite right. It's that you're not missing something: that light in your eyes.”
“What do you mean?” Alpha asked, caught off-guard by the strange comment.
“I'm not entirely sure myself,” he said. “Just that you seem out of place here, on the front lines of hell. What is it that brings someone like you out into the depths of space with all the expendable dregs?”
Alpha thought long and hard before answering Omega's question. Finally, she decided that there was no reason to hide the truth from him.
“I joined Spacy so I could strike down the wretched insurgents responsible for my sister's death.”
Something flickered in Omega's eyes. “Well?” he said. “You've gotten your first taste of revenge. Feeling any better yet?”
Alpha opened her mouth to answer; then, slowly, she closed it without saying anything.
“It's a strange thing about solving your problems with violence.” Omega pulled the canteen off his belt, took a swig, then poured out the rest of the water over the railing. “It will quench your thirst for a while, but after you've partaken of it, there's nothing left but emptiness.”
Alpha watched the water emptying over the railing, then met Omega's flat gaze. “Is that spoken from experience?”
“Nah, I'm just spouting nonsense.” Omega replaced the canteen on his belt and brushed past her. “Come on, let's go introduce ourselves to our new commander.”
Fifth Escalation
All I can see is the darkness
Day by day, Janice and her fellow escapees picked their way through the hinterlands of Artair County. Tinubu said that their goal was to reach a prearranged contact point where they hoped to meet up with their allies. Unfortunately, 1000 kilometers of rough, winding country lay between them and their destination, so they had a long journey ahead of them.
Nonetheless, Janice chose to follow her companions on their arduous trek. She was persona non grata with the Concord, and would be likewise with the Union the moment they found out that she had switched allegiances to the insurgent government. As much as she hated the thought of it, she realized that her only recourse was to seek refuge in the underbelly of society. If that was her fate, then the anti-Concord remnants of SLIC were as good a criminal organization as any to join up with.
Early into their journey, they found a comm line running through a clearing. Vic used his pocket computer to interface with a jack connected to the line and managed to hack into the feed, whereupon they were treated to a confused jumble of encrypted military communication, Concord and Union propaganda competing for the populace's cooperation, and various emergency broadcasts. Parsing through the mess, they surmised that the Spacy invasion was colony-wide, that most major Concord holdings had fallen, and that mass transit and major roadways were no longer safe. They decided to proceed on foot, avoiding major population centers wherever possible in order not to draw the attention of occupying forces, resistance groups, or roaming bands of looters.
Even rationing their supplies, it didn't take long for their band to burn through the food they had appropriated from the Spendlot, forcing them to use their wits to keep food in their bellies. Fortunately, Janice's companions possessed more than their fair share of survival skills—especially Cena, who claimed to have grown up in the woods. Cena set up snares every evening in order to catch nocturnal small game while they slept. They supplemented these meager meals with fruit and edible plants gathered from the woods and food scraps scavenged from remote farms and dumpsters. Water was less of a problem, as there were streams and ponds in abundance and they were able to boil the water to make it suitable for consumption. Combined, these efforts provided enough nourishment to keep them moving, but they were hungry all the time.
Janice spent every waking moment in a state of exhaustion, but after a while she seemed to get used to it, the constant hunger making her mind clearer and her senses sharper. At first, she was incompetent at virtually every survival skill that her companions took for granted, but she asked the others to teach her and soon developed some facility at the more rudimentary tasks. Part of her quick learning was born of a desperation not to be left behind as dead weight. No one except Hector even hinted that they would consider doing so, but Janice knew that she could not count on her companions' goodwill indefinitely if she continued to be a burden to the group.
*
One particular moment that stood out in Janice's mind was after the group had set up camp one evening and she requested a lesson in basic self defense. Cena enthusiastically volunteered to give her a quick crash course.
“I got black belts in kickboxing and jujitsu, plus some special weapons training, so I know a thing or two about fighting,” the bigger woman said. “The trick is, you don't need to know a lot of fancy mumbo-jumbo to be a decent fighter. Remember the fundamental rule of hand-to-hand combat: apply the hard parts of your body to the soft parts of your opponent's. From there, just master a few simple but effective moves and practice, practice, practice. I'll spar with you every evening if you like.”
“O—OK,” Janice said reluctantly, wondering if she was getting in over her head.
Cena proceeded to show Janice how to throw a good punch, an effective low kick, and how to block and dodge. Although Cena was a good and patient teacher, Janice could not stifle the feeling that she had zero natural talent for hand-to-hand fighting, not to mention a build sorely lacking in strength.
Cena seemed to agree, because after about thirty minutes she stopped and said, “You know, I think a little filly like you might be better off with a weapon to help you out. A shame we ain't been able to scrounge up any guns, but at least we scavenged some knives from that Spendlot. Let me show you how to use yours.”
They got out their knives and Cena proceeded to show Janice some pointers. “If you get more advanced, you might consider holding your knife like this”—she switched to a reverse grip—“but for now, just stick to the basics.” She switched back to a normal grip.
“If you can, go for a thrust, lots more likely to penetrate a vital organ. Slashes make a big mess, but they don't actually do much immediate damage unless you manage to sever an artery. Now, you ain't got much reach, but that's OK, 'cause I'm about to show you one of the most effective knife fighting tactics that don't take no reach at all. Ready? Now take a swing at me.”
Janice hesitated a moment, then slashed at Cena. Cena's hand flashed and the flat of her blade came to rest on Janice's wrist.
“You see that?” she said. “A knife fighter's most vulnerable point is their hand, especially when they go to attack you. Wait for that moment and then counterattack, aiming for
their hand or wrist. Easier said than done 'cause they'll probably be swinging like a maniac, so let's practice a bit.”
They spent the next fifteen minutes practicing counterattacks. Janice could not begin to match Cena's level of expertise, but she felt that it was going better than the hand-to-hand lessons. A sharp knife didn't take any strength to cut, and there were fewer aspects of proper form to keep track of than when delivering a punch or a kick. Finally, when Janice was too exhausted to continue, Cena called a break for the day.
“One more thing,” she said. “One of the most important things in a knife fight is not to lose your cool. There's gonna be blood—a lot of blood, and some of it is gonna be yours. Just don't freak out, stick to what I told you, and you should come out on top.”
Janice stared. “That sounds like it comes from experience.”
Cena returned Janice's stare. “Well,” she said, putting her knife away, “just remember that we ain't all had the good fortune to live a sheltered life like you, Blondie.”
That lesson, especially Cena's closing words, stuck with Janice for a long time.
*
Lacking maps and any familiarity with the local geography, their band had little recourse but to navigate by landmarks and astronomical features, which frequently steered them through terrain they would rather avoid. After several days, their journey took them into a region of scattered lakes and thick, tangled forest, hindering their progress. In an effort to get their bearings, they found a hill and scaled it, then took a survey of the surrounding terrain.
They had stumbled into a valley covered in an ubiquitous green haze, casting a fey aura over the lakes and vast swaths of tangled forest. A single road cut through the valley from the northeast, near their current position, to the southwest. In the center of the valley, reduced to indistinct shadows by the otherworldly mist, the outlines of a large town cut jagged shapes through the organic sprawl. In this strange landscape, the hard edge of technological civilization met the primal mystique of an alien wilderness.