by Peter David
The dead were an unfathomable number.
“This defies everything we’ve experienced in centuries,” Burch said.
“What do you mean?” Anderson asked.
“The Savant is referring to the fact that in 243 the Skrel were very selective about where they fired. Their targeting systems were incredibly, impossibly precise. It was always things we constructed. Or people. Or livestock. Never the planet itself.”
“And did that happen the second time?” Anderson inquired.
“Yes,” Burch answered, finally reengaging with the conversation. “In 350, they returned and took more shots at us. Not the planet. Your predecessor wrote a treatise speculating about why the planet was left unharmed. You should read it sometime.”
“Ever since then, the Skrel have seen fit to come here, deposit the Ursa, avoid our cannon fire, and leave the atmosphere as quickly as possible,” Khantun said. “This defies everything we have trained and prepared for.”
“Your flyers lack the weaponry, don’t they?”
“Yes, Primus. They were never designed to handle threats from outer space. Same with the Suijin Fleet. The Skrel ships never neared the waterways. I’ve had the ships stored out of target sighting and the crews redeployed.”
She cursed herself for being caught by surprise, but really, how could she know they would choose to fire for the first time in six hundred years? Still, the Iron Queen was feeling beaten and it irritated her.
All available flying craft were being used to throw whatever weaponry they had at the eight ships that leisurely crisscrossed the continent, strafing New Earth City then picking off people who ignored the shelter order, thinking the smaller colony towns would not be targets. Tähtiinville, home to their spacecraft manufacturing, was a smoking ruin.
Everything had gone wrong. All her plans and preparations for over a decade had been useless. People were dying, the Skrel were winning, and this time they didn’t need the Ursa.
“We need a weapon of mass destruction,” she said.
“What about the F.E.N.I.X. bombs?” the Savant said, pushing his plate away.
“How many are left?”
Burch paused and consulted a readout on the display before him and held up four fingers.
“We’re going to have little left but rocks to throw at them. Those we have plenty of, and it seems they will prove as effective,” the Iron Queen grumbled. “What about the upgrades?” she demanded, refusing to appear weak, even if it was just the three of them in the room without any aides.
“We’re working on them, but scaling up has proven difficult. No one has really looked at those schematics in decades. After all, those damn ships descend, drop, and leave, all too fast for the batteries to track them down.”
“What are we doing about that?”
“I have my top people on it,” he replied.
“This isn’t working,” the Primus said. “We’re all going to die.”
“I don’t need you losing your faith, not when the people are looking to you for guidance,” Raige said, her tone allowing no argument. “Your addresses to the shelters are giving them something to hold on to. It’s the one thing you can give them that I cannot. That he cannot.”
Raige was frustrated at the lack of a plan, at the lack of action. If she could, she’d don a jetpack, grab a cutlass, and go meet a Skrel ship in the skies over the city. Since the jetpack remained mired in the R&D branch of the Mirador, the Savant’s headquarters and labs, she had little choice but to control things within her grasp.
She stabbed a control and spoke into the microphone. “This is the Prime Commander. Strongbow, send teams to the F.E.N.I.X. surface-to-air guns and have them ready to go again. Send a runner to the Mirador and get me eyes on the upgrades. Then round up the Defense Corps. Have them check shelter by shelter. Make sure we have people secure and safe. Medical emergencies are the only ones who have permission to leave a shelter. I want Defense Corps people teamed with Rangers to begin walking the streets. Those Skrel bombs bored into the ground, which means they left evidence. Find them, tag them, and keep moving. We’ll figure out how to deactivate them later.”
“Commander, it’s Sykes. Strongbow is dead.”
Raige was stunned. She blinked and sat back in her chair. “How?”
“She was bringing in fresh supplies from a warehouse when one of those bombs went off.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Damn. Was she that wrapped up in the mission she missed her adjutant’s presence for that long? In fact, did she ever get confirmation Brom made it to Mama Sam? He must have, she assured herself. Right now it was all about maintaining focus on the mission above all else, and the mission was far from done.
“Mourn later, Sergeant. Can you carry out those orders?”
“Affirmative.”
“Execute. Congratulations, you’re the new adjutant. When you have the orders carried out, change the duty rosters, grab Strongbow’s materials, and carry on.”
She turned her attention to the Primus.
“And I need you to keep the people calm. We’re at that point in every battle when fear and rumormongering can undermine us as easily as a Skrel bomb.”
Anderson nodded.
“This is overwhelming.”
“I know, not something they can train you for. Are you up to this or not?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really, but I do have a suggestion.”
Raige studied the Primus’s expression, trying to anticipate the question.
“Take over. Lead us all.”
That was not what she expected.
“Now there’s an idea. I can focus more on the F.E.N.I.X. tech work if I don’t have all the other demands,” Burch said.
“You do remember the last time one person controlled all three offices,” Khantun said.
“Yes, it was at a time when we weren’t prepared and needed a single leader to take us forward. If I recall, it was also a Raige. Your family seems to be built for leadership. So lead us,” Burch said.
“Amen,” the Primus added softly.
“The people will need to understand that I am in command. Me and no one else. So I will accept this, but as the Imperator.”
Anderson stared at her in confusion.
“You don’t remember your history, Anderson,” Burch said. “Back around 200 AE, we had an Imperator, and it didn’t end well for him. It’s why the Prime Commander’s ancestor refused the title when she took control. But I think we need that title now. Take it and wear it with pride.”
The Iron Queen stood, looking each man in the eye. For the first time in hours if not days, there was certainty in their expressions. They wanted her to take control, to lead the people or die trying.
Tapping a control on the table, she said, “Computer, as of this moment, Khantun Timur Raige is no longer the Prime Commander.”
“Acknowledged,” the artificial intelligence replied.
“Effective immediately, Khantun Timur Raige will be listed as the Imperator. All Citadel and Mirador commands will now flow through Ranger protocols.”
“Acknowledged,” the computer repeated.
The Iron Queen was retired and in her place stood Nova Prime’s Imperator, charged with protecting the people of Nova Prime and driving the Skrel from its skies.
Khantun moved closer to a holo display and watched one Skrel ship dip low over the city.
She grabbed a small device that remotely controlled the station. “This is Raige. Varuna flights Alpha and Gamma, converge on target over the northwest medical center. Target exhaust ports.”
“Roger, Prime Commander,” came a female voice. “Do we have confirmation on where that is exactly?”
“Use your thermal imagers to trace heat emissions. Target their hottest spots and fire at will.”
“Acknowledged.”
It had yet to be tried, but now was the time to be unorthodox. If the Skrel were going to play this g
ame, she was here to win it. Silently, she studied the two purple blips registering the squads of flyers as they converged on the Skrel ship, which was moving into a position that would mean the medical center was destined for rubble.
The purple blips grew closer to the red at a remarkable rate.
Khantun caught herself holding her breath and forced herself to exhale through her nose. Deep breaths.
The purple blips touched the red dot and then the red winked off the screen.
“Target down,” the female voice said.
“Good shooting,” the Imperator told them.
Before she could redeploy them, her new adjutant entered the war room and handed her a tablet. Scrawled across the screen was a note from Brom, safely at Mama Sam’s and asking innocently about a missing file. Khantun allowed herself a moment—just a moment—of relief.
Khantun’s son was safe, and the planet would be, too.
1000 AE
Earth
i
The darkness inevitably gave way to light, and the sun began to rise above the horizon. Kitai was startled awake as he tried to move and felt constricted. He stretched and felt trapped under something. Panic forced his eyes open, and a ray of morning sunshine streaking through a gap in his binding nearly blinded him. He strained against whatever it was that confined him. Reduced to crawling, the teen moved toward the light and the promise of escape.
He was inside a leaf-covered ditch, piled high and thick, but still, he could escape. With both hands, he tugged at the leaves and tore through them, enlarging the gap, and finally crawled to his freedom. Regaining his footing, Kitai studied the sky for a moment, noting the thick clouds and brightening blue as the sun now was fully visible. He kept expecting a second sun to join it in the sky eventually, but that was back home and he was trapped here, on Earth.
He was distracted by watching his breathing condense into a mist, and he finally acknowledged how cool it was, although the sun was rapidly melting the thin coating of ice that covered everything. Slowly studying his surroundings, Kitai made a circle and was startled to see that atop the makeshift nest was the huge condor. This giant bird was now a friendly figure. He drew closer, tapping the still figure, and said, “Hey.”
He tapped the bird a second time, adding, “Thanks.” But she did not respond. In fact, she didn’t twitch in the cool air or appear to be breathing. With mounting horror, Kitai examined the protective bird and realized she had covered him in the nest and then kept him warm by sitting atop it, and rather than expose him to the elements, she’d sacrificed herself, freezing to death during the night.
Stunned, Kitai silently mourned her, appreciating the first act of kindness a resident of the planet had shown him. Although he wanted to say or do something to acknowledge her act, especially in the wake of her losing her chicks, he was at a loss for words. This was an entirely new experience atop all the others he’d had over the last few days. Worse, he didn’t have time to spare. He turned and moved solemnly into the jungle.
His mind was a jumble of thoughts, overwhelmed by the condor’s selfless act. His mind drifted to Senshi. He was helpless then, too, and someone died so that he could live. Maybe there was a difference between being a coward and being unafraid to accept help. Maybe there was strength in realizing and accepting that you’re not alone.
He was also concerned about the amount of time and distance left to accomplish his mission, which made him worry about his injured and possibly dying father. It was overwhelming, but his father’s image and stern countenance urged him to focus on the mission.
He studied the subtle trail and followed it, sweeping his eyes from side to side and making certain to keep his ears alert. The hunt continued as the sun rose higher, and he started to notice that his constant walking was beginning to take a toll on him. He could hear how labored his breathing was getting, but he was determined to go as far as possible before death could claim him. Soon the jungle thinned, and he was walking through grassland, squinting in the sunlight, wishing the lifesuit’s backpack came with sunglasses. He admired the surroundings and the scattering of animals that moved back and forth, continuing to ignore his presence, for which he remained grateful.
The warm air dried him out, and he tried to clear his throat, but instead, he coughed. First it was a slight irritation, but then it grew worse, and soon he was hacking and feeling like hell. The breathing gel had run its course, and his system was clearing out the last of it. The coughing fit continued, and he had trouble catching his breath, worsening his difficulty. He stood, hands on his knees, coughing and dreading his condition.
One final racking cough sent him to his knees.
While close to the grass, he looked down, trying to catch his breath. All he saw was dirt and tall grass, but then, in his peripheral vision, he finally spotted something shiny, reflecting the noonday sun. Unable to rise, he crawled toward the object, feeling less like a Ranger and more like a two-year-old with a new toy.
As he neared the object, Kitai saw that the jagged off-white item was metallic with numbers stenciled on it. Holding it gently in his left hand, he studied it and saw that the word Hesper was on the half-meter-long piece of the ship.
With renewed energy, he stood, holding the debris that had given him hope. His efforts had not been wasted and he was nearing the mission’s goal, and so he began to walk, then trot back toward the jungle. It wasn’t long before he noted that his dwindling oxygen boost was costing him energy. He had little choice but to keep moving, but then he spotted another piece of the ship. Despite his lungs now feeling as if they were constricted, wrapped in plastic, he forged ahead with determination. His body, though, repeatedly signaled its distress by making him cough again and again. It was as if he were issuing a homing signal to predators: Come and get me.
Yet with each newly discovered piece of wreckage, he ignored it all and kept moving. The frequency of discovery increased, and he continued forward, each step and piece of debris punctuated with fresh coughing.
Pausing to catch his breath, which now hurt with each shallow lungful of air, he saw a wiry, strange-looking tree. Gnarled and old, the bark was flaking in spots where animals might have butted it to sharpen their antlers. It stretched in many directions and grew very tall indeed. Encouraged, Kitai leaped to the first limb and then scrambled aggressively up the branches until he was high enough to look over the dense jungle shrubbery. It hurt and he wanted to rest, but images of his dying father propelled him forward.
As he stopped his climb, he saw in the distance, atop a hill, the enormous tail of the ship. The once-proud ship now reflected the sunshine, a beacon of hope. Between it and Kitai, there was a scorched area of open flat terrain, a path to salvation. He grinned. Then he coughed, a reminder that time was running out.
Kitai lowered himself quickly, dropping the last few meters, and then, without pause, began jogging toward the path.
Each step was accompanied by a cough, and soon the movements were joined by a wheeze that hurt. He couldn’t control it, and the sound grated against his ears. He felt like a sickly boy despite being in peak physical condition. Well, he had been that before the ship crashed. Now he felt like anything but a Ranger. What kept him moving was that every step brought him closer to the Hesper and its precious contents.
Working his way up the hill sapped the last of his energy reserves, reminding him of how hungry he had grown, and the wheezing made him thirsty. He wanted to rest but knew he dared not stop. He kept walking, and as he drew within a hundred meters of the wreckage, he stumbled. Falling to the ground, he began the worst bout of coughing yet. Kitai couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch his breath, and if it hurt before, it was excruciating now. Hands clutched his chest, unable to open the lifesuit, rip through skin and bone, to help his lungs find fresh air.
Choking, he steeled himself and reached down deep. He filled his mind with determination and raised his head, focusing only on the Hesper. One arm covering his mouth, he rose once more to his
feet and stood. Certain he would not topple over, Kitai resumed his pilgrimage.
The ship loomed large in his vision, but Kitai had grown dizzy, his breath coming in torn strips. He felt hot without sweating, and his chest was heaving. He was out of options, out of luck, and so close to his target that he felt cheated of his victory.
On his knees, he moved among the debris, eyes desperately scanning for salvation. He grew desperate, hands getting cut on the sharp edges of torn, twisted metal. He needed one thing to survive, and it was proving elusive. The dizziness was affecting his vision, and he was certain he would pass out in moments. Light and dark merged, blurring his ability to see, and he found it difficult to remain steady. Thoughts of simply surrendering to the inevitable fought with his instinct for survival, but willpower could fight his body’s physical needs for only so long.
As Kitai was about to topple over, his vision cleared enough to spot a damaged, shredded med-kit. Going more by touch than by sight, he rummaged through the remains of the kit until his fingers grazed a familiar object: an entire pack of the breathing gel. A final surge of adrenaline allowed him to open the packaging, although his fingers fumbled badly. Awkwardly, he grabbed the inhaler and placed it over his lips.
Almost instantly, his lungs stopped aching. He could draw a breath without pain or wheezing. It felt terrific.
As his body adjusted to being normal once more, he ingested a second dose. Too exhausted to do much more than breathe, Kitai fell onto his back, taking in deep lungfuls of air, enjoying every one of them. And then, like a chill in winter, it dawned on him: He was sitting in the spot the Ursa pod once had occupied.