Fall and Rising

by Sunny Moraine

  Sinder considered this briefly, then nodded. It was probably a courtesy, Alkor telling him that so straightly. Whatever else might irritate him about her, she didn’t seem the duplicitous type.

  “Why didn’t you turn down the mission?”

  Alkor shrugged, turning toward the wide windows that lined one wall and gazing at the stars. “I’ve been a company woman my entire life. The Protectorate has been good to me. They’re how I could afford that land. Seemed cheap to cut and run when they were asking me to serve one more time.” She glanced back at Sinder, her mouth tight. “I wonder how much you’d know about that.”

  “I’m here too,” Sinder said smoothly, moving to stand beside her. “I might only be a bright young thing, Captain, but I know what loyalty means.” He sipped his drink and stared out the window for a few seconds. Then, “The Protectorate is the greatest civilization in the history of the galaxy. We bring order, wealth, and culture to the rest of the races. We benefit everyone and everything we bring under our authority. And we are the only ones to ever make the dream of perfection an achievable reality—in body, in genetic code, which might as well be in soul, if such a thing could be said to exist. We may not know what that ultimate pinnacle of our efforts will be, but we know that we’ll eventually be complete masters of ourselves, of our bodies, able to control everything to the tiniest detail. Able to create ourselves almost from nothing. There are no gods, Alkor—only us. And one day gods are exactly what we’ll be.

  “The masters of ancient Terran philosophy used to debate about whether the perfect society was even possible. They called it ‘Utopia.’ Do you know what ‘utopia’ means, Alkor?”

  Alkor shook her head. To her credit, she actually appeared vaguely interested.

  “It means ‘a good place.’ That became the popular meaning, and then the only meaning. But it also means ‘no place.’ The assumption of its impossibility is inherent in its name.” His hands curved delicately around his glass. He loved this story, and to the degree that any true member of the Protectorate could have holy scripture, he had made it part of his own. “Captain, we have made Utopia a place. Adam Yuga—and everything he represents through contamination, lack of control—threatens our work. That’s why I’m here. So if you doubt I know the meaning of loyalty … Rest assured, I know it very well. It’s quite literally in my blood.” He allowed himself a faint smile. “As it is in yours.”

  Slowly, Alkor nodded, and something that looked like realization was spreading across her face. “You aren’t just here to put in your time, are you? That’s why you wanted us to do another sweep.”

  “Correct. If Yuga is out there to be found, I want to find him. If we fail to find him, I don’t want it to be because we didn’t try.” He fixed Alkor with a keen eye; this might be someone with whom he could work. The trick was always in the approach. “I respect that you’re at the end of your career, Captain. I respect your experience, as I do your dedication. To that end, let me come at this from a different angle. I’m young, at the beginning of my own career, and I’m asking for your assistance.”

  He took a minute step forward—this was the way to do what needed to be done, he was now sure. “Help me find Adam Yuga. At the very least, help me exhaust all the possibilities. At worst, you retire with honor, having completed your last mission to the best of your ability. And you’ll have me in your debt. I don’t think I need to explain to you how valuable favors can be.”

  Alkor appeared to think about this. But Sinder could feel the decision in the woman’s bearing, the way she had immediately—though grudgingly—grasped the sense in it.

  He would have no more trouble with her.

  “All right,” Alkor said at last, draining the remaining brandy and turning to set her glass down on the conference table. “I suppose I can—”

  “Captain. Ma’am.”

  They both glanced up, startled. The door to the conference room was open and a young ensign was standing there, her face flushed and excited. “I’m sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but we’ve—”

  Sinder opened his mouth to issue a rebuke, but Alkor was already ahead of him. “Ensign Diev.”

  The young woman drew herself up, her flush deepening and darkening. “Ma’am. I apologize.”

  “You should have paged me over the comm. Not barged in here like a wet-eared cadet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She shifted, her hands behind her back and her gaze locked straight ahead. “It won’t happen again, ma’am.”

  Alkor grunted and seemed ready to dismiss the matter. Sinder watched her, eyes narrowed—Alkor could look the part of the gruff disciplinarian, but from everything Sinder had seen so far, she was actually inclined to give her people a fair amount of rein. Sinder knew other peacekeeper commanders who would handle that breach of protocol with confinement. If not outright physical punishment.

  It might be a good thing. Or it might be a liability.

  “Well, then, Ensign, tell us what’s so important that it caused you to forget how the comm system works.”

  “We found a ship, ma’am. Approximately six hundred kilometers from here.”

  A ship. Not that exciting, in itself. So there must be— Sinder stepped forward, eager. “Have you made an ID?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s not conclusive—we know a beacon signature can be forged—but we believe it’s the last ship that Commander Marcus Kerry was seen piloting. Before he disappeared on Raltir, according to the last reports we have of him.”

  Kerry. Less high-value than Yuga, but still valuable. Potentially very much so. He would probably know things, and he might be willing to tell some of them. Or might be made to. “Is he aware of us yet?”

  “Not as far as we can tell. He’s flying a single-seater shuttle with low-range scanners. But as soon as we close within three hundred kilometers, he should know we’re there. He could go to slipstream before we can do anything. What should our next steps be, ma’am?”

  But Captain Alkor was already pushing past her, headed back to the bridge. Barely able to suppress a smile, Sinder followed.

  The atmosphere on the bridge hummed with the same excitement that had gripped Ensign Diev. Alkor took her place in her chair, Sinder standing beside her. For now, Sinder was content to be silent and let her work.

  They had reached an understanding.

  “Bring him up on the main viewer.” One of the other officers nodded and tapped their console. On the screen, a small pale ship snapped into focus, stubby and round, like a big toe.

  “What’s his speed?”

  “Moderate. Not sure why he’s not traveling in slipstream.”

  “He wouldn’t,” Sinder murmured, “if he had a specific reason to be here.” Something was tickling at the edges of his awareness, at the edges of what he knew. At times things came to him this way—a knowing that went beyond mere knowing. He didn’t entirely understand its nature, but he had learned not to question it. Discovering the ship like this was significant. He would find out how.

  He shot Alkor a significant look, which she returned.

  “Present distance?”

  “Holding at six hundred thirty kilometers. We’re prepared to close in on your mark, ma’am.”

  Alkor frowned. “Don’t take us any closer for now, and don’t hail. Tell the other ships to do the same and to move in. How spread out are they now?”

  “Over several thousand kilometers, ma’am. It varies.”

  “Get them in as soon as you can.” Alkor paused, one finger stroking the edge of her eyebrow. “Lieutenant Kwan, what’s the absolute greatest distance at which a disabling shot would be effective?”

  The lieutenant glanced over his shoulder. “Approximately four hundred fifty kilometers, ma’am.”

  “Good. Then bring us into range and as soon as you can, get a shot off. When he’s dead in the water, close in and take him.”

  Sinder felt the momentary trepidation. There was always the chance that it wasn’t Kerry after all. But Alkor wasn’t ordering
a kill shot, and apologies and compensation could go a long way.

  The ship got bigger in the viewer. Marcus Kerry, the rogue commander. Along with Bristol Aarons, Kyle Waverly, and Eva Reyes, he was wanted for gross insubordination, conspiracy, treason, and the murder of a senior executive. If it was him, the man would face a firing squad.

  But not before he made himself useful.

  “We’re in range, ma’am.” The lieutenant at the firing control turned. “Do I have the order?”

  Alkor nodded. “Fire at will.”

  “Wait. Ma’am.” Ensign Diev sounded alarmed. “He’s cycling up to go to slipstream. He must have detected us somehow.”

  “Then what the hell are you waiting for?” Alkor snapped, leaning forward, gripping the arms of her chair. “Fire!”

  The screen flashed as the ship released a short volley. A single point on the surface of the small ship exploded in flames that quickly died, and then nothing more happened. No slipstream, no burn of engines. The ship merely sat there.

  “He’s immobile. Not even sub-slipstream propulsion. Shall we move in now, ma’am?”

  Alkor sat back. She shot Sinder a glance that was faintly, grimly pleased. “You wanted a successful mission? Looks like we might be one step closer.”

  He smiled.

  The ship didn’t respond when hailed. But the channel was open, and Alkor delivered her instructions. Stay put—not that whoever was on board had much choice—and the flagship would dispatch fighters to tow it into docking. There was nothing to indicate that the pilot had survived, but the fighters towed it in and the docking bay door closed behind them. The entire thing took less than twenty minutes.

  Sinder maintained his composure, but inside, he was practically vibrating with eagerness. This could end up being some hapless traveler, confused and angry. But he doubted it.

  They would have responded to the hails, if that were true.

  Once the ship was safely aboard, and an armed guard dispatched to watch it, Sinder followed Alkor down to the docking bays. They were silent as they walked, but in Sinder’s chest his heart was anything but still. It was nearly pounding.

  Things were happening. Finally.

  The bay in which the ship had been installed was one of the smaller ones. The ship sat there, silent and surrounded by peacekeepers in full armor, the fighters parked on either side. Alkor came to a stop in front of the leader of the team, who saluted.

  “No movement inside, ma’am. Shall we bust open the hatch?”

  “No need.”

  As one, they turned. The hatch was open, and stepping through it, appearing tired and resigned and much, much older than the official photo in his dossier, was Commander Marcus Kerry.

  The guards raised their rifles, and Kerry raised his hands, but except for that, he didn’t seem to be aware of them. He fixed his gaze on Alkor, straight and unflinching, and nodded.

  “You’ve come a long way,” Alkor said, her voice low and perhaps even a little sad. “A long way in the wrong direction, Kerry.”

  Kerry barked a laugh. “So you think. I don’t suppose I could convince you otherwise.”

  “Not likely. Are you going to come quietly?”

  “Would there be any point in resisting?”

  Alkor inclined her head. “You never were an idiot, Kerry.” She motioned to the guards, who stepped toward him, weapons still raised. “Come down, then, and let’s get you squared away. Then we can talk.”

  Kerry descended the short ramp to the deck. One of the peacekeepers grasped him by the arm and spun him around, shoving him forward. Kerry didn’t resist, but he winced and stumbled, and Alkor put up a hand, shaking her head.

  “What’s the point in treating him roughly? He’s dead anyway. And once he was loyal. We can still respect that past loyalty.”

  The peacekeeper finished restraining Kerry, and glanced back toward Alkor.

  “The brig,” Alkor said, nodding toward the door. “I’ll be down to interrogate him directly. I have to confer with our liaison here.”

  The peacekeepers saluted once more and filed out, Kerry held in the middle of them. Alkor watched them go, then turned to Sinder, her expression unreadable. “What’s our next move?”

  “It seems you’ve already anticipated it,” Sinder said, pleased to be asked so directly. “We put some questions to the man. He knows something. Something about what happened on that planet. Something about Yuga. He wouldn’t have run, otherwise.”

  “And if he doesn’t talk?” Alkor’s composed expression flickered. “He’s a strong man. Tough-minded. I knew him in the academy. If he does know something, he won’t give it up without a fight.”

  “Well, then.” He felt a smile pulling at his lips. There was something pleasant about it. “We give him a fight.” He started toward the door, but then paused and glanced back.

  He had been trained in this. But he had never had the opportunity to put that training to use.

  “Do you have a neuro-stim unit on board?”

  Alkor blanched. “Torture? Sinder, are you sure that’s—?”

  “Necessary? No, I’m not sure. But if he proves to be as resistant as you say he can be …” Sinder shrugged. “Needs must, Captain. Come on. Let’s see just how tough-minded he is.”

  Nio Station was humming. Humming was good, Adam thought as he and Lochlan wove their way through the crowd. A large long-awaited freighter had just come in, and people were here from all over the sector to pick through the goods it carried, to buy and to sell.

  Humming meant they were less likely to be noticed.

  It was a routine stop, to the extent that they made routine stops anymore. Fuel, food, some very basic repairs, and they were also gathering news, if there was news to be had. A busy station was always alive with gossip.

  It would do.

  But as Lochlan took Adam’s hand in his and they walked a little faster, something in Adam stirred, a prickle of bone-deep intuition. There was more here than supplies and information. That much was clear, even if he couldn’t perceive exactly what it was.

  He scanned the faces as they passed, though he had no real idea what he was looking for.

  “Adam. Hey, Adam.” Fingers snapped inches from his nose. Adam jumped and glared at Lochlan, a shiver of adrenaline moving through him.

  “The hell was that for?”

  “You were miles away. You need to stay with me. What’s your deal?” Lochlan’s voice was as light as usual, but his face belied that, and he grasped Adam’s shoulder and herded him into an alcove apart from the stream of people. “You’ve been weird for days. The dreams, the way you’ve been fading out on me like some shala-addled youngster … Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

  There’s so much I’m not telling you. But Adam shook his head. There wasn’t any point, not yet. He was no Aalim, no star-reader. He had no gifts to help him untangle what was in front of him.

  Except for what happened on the Plain.

  “I’m fine.” Adam glanced away, out at the people again. All those faces, and something in one of them that he needed to see. “I was just thinking.”

  “About what?” Lochlan persisted, and Adam closed his eyes. Lochlan wasn’t going to give up. He was going to worry at it until he wore Adam down, though he wouldn’t intend to cause pain.

  “About orbits,” he said, meeting Lochlan’s gaze. It was easier than he had thought it would be. “About getting locked in.”

  “You’re not locked into anything.”

  “But it still feels like we’re moving in circles.”

  “Because we are, chusile. But we’ll break out of them.” Lochlan half shrugged. “Anyway, it’s more than that. I can tell. Come on, I know there’s shit you can’t tell me, but there has to be shit you can.”

  Adam huffed a quiet laugh, glancing over his shoulder. “Here? Is this the place?”

  “Is there a good one?”

  “Fine. It’s the Plain. You know where I got locked in? It didn’t start
there, but … All those people. Because of me.”

  Lochlan stared at him, clearly incredulous. “You’re serious? Because of you? Not the fucking raya Protectorate? Adam, you didn’t call them down on us. That wasn’t your fault.”

  “They came because you took me in,” Adam replied, and misery seeped into his voice. “To save me. Or you tried. You didn’t, not completely. You couldn’t have. I am what I am. But when you healed me …”

  He raised a bare forearm to display the mottled, once perfectly even skin tone, and he knew that when Lochlan gazed into his eyes, he saw mismatched blue and green. Adam’s very body rearranged, at the level of his code. An abomination in the life he had abandoned. That had abandoned him. “You changed me and that locked me into something new. Maybe not a circle, but … My orbit shifted. Nothing’s the same now. Nothing deep in me … Nothing on the surface. Even small things. Maybe there’s a reason behind it, what happened on the Plain, to everyone, to me … but it started with me, and it all adds up to something.”

  Lochlan laid a hand on his mottled forearm, his thumb stroking over one of the patches of browner melanin. “The small things? Let go of those. You know I think they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

  Adam smiled faintly, sadly. “You think everything different is beautiful.”

  “Are you holding that against me?”

  “You know I’m not. I’m just … Whatever happens next, what I started led to the deaths of all those people. And sometimes that’s too heavy. Sometimes it’s hard to breathe.”

  Lochlan nodded, slowly. His comprehension was like a rapid sunrise behind his eyes, and he reached up, hands framing Adam’s shoulders. “Place like this, the less legal businesspeople will be marking the patrols. Someone here will have what we need. Let’s go.” But he hesitated, then cupped Adam’s face with one hand, leaned forward, and kissed him.

  It didn’t come as a surprise, but Adam still stiffened for a split second before he relaxed. It was warm and sweet, and for the briefest, most wonderful of moments everything else faded into the background and there was only Lochlan, solid against him.