Carbon Life

by HR Ringer

  Commander Tyler had deployed Marines and medics to the planet’s surface to find and secure as many pieces of the shattered ship – those that hadn’t completely succumbed to atmospheric friction during their tumbling fall – as possible, along with any other escape pods that had made it to the surface. The debris field had been calculated to be about 85-Km wide by 1800-Km long. Scans from several shuttles flying search and recovery patterns over the area identified the sites where wreckage had landed, spread out on a non-settled, gently rolling grassland between two low mountain ranges. Marines inspected each site; in this way, they recovered several more bodies from either escape pods or from within larger sections of the ship that had survived the fall from space.

  Their unhappy task was made more grisly when close scans indicated organic remains scattered amongst the metallic debris; the worst was the discovery of the decapitated and thoroughly charred torso of Captain McKay, identifiable only through DNA samples. The Marines that discovered him carefully eased his remains into a body bag, which they then placed in a coffin-like transport pod equipped with a stasis generator. The remainder of the recoverable organic bits were accorded the same treatment – the Marines from the Tokyo would recover and bring home whatever they could from the many impact sites on the planet.

  Lieutenant Yuán had been given the task of overseeing the cataloging of the recovered organic remains; her ten-member team was among the best forensic analysts in the Navy. As they ground their way through all the evidence and entered their findings into a database, Xiùlán found she didn’t need to remind anyone that they could conceivably be called to testify at the all but inevitable inquiry that would seek to establish possible culpability of captain and crew for the unfortunate destruction of the Midway.

  The Tokyo spent seven days in orbit about Elysium while her ground crews recovered as many of the ship’s dead crew as possible. A Herculean effort by everyone resulted in recovery of the remains of thirty-three of the forty-seven crewmen that had lost their lives in the destruction of the Midway. Of the fourteen that were not recovered, the consensus of the Captain and XO of the Tokyo – in consultation with the top brass in Arcturus Station – was that they had been violently thrown from the spacecraft as it broke apart in the upper atmosphere of the planet and their bodies had burned up in the thickening atmosphere as they fell.

  After securing as much of the scattered wreckage and human remains as possible, the Marines returned to their respective ships; with their primary tasks complete, Captain Anderson had the Tokyo follow the four surviving frigates of his small force back through the relay in order to return to Arcturus Station. All five ships needed minor repairs and personnel replacements; Alliance brass would need to assign another frigate to their group as well.

  * * *

  * ARCTURUS STATION • L5 LAGRANGIAN POINT of THEMIS *

  Samantha Traynor had quickly slipped into a comfortable routine aboard the massive space station, headquarters of the Systems Alliance parliament and the Alliance Navy. Her primary responsibility was the creation of a set of stable quantum entanglement communications terminals deep within the station’s three main comms locations near the outer section of the central hub. In her short time aboard, she, along with a five-member team, had managed the fabrication and installation of three reception-transmission pads in each area, allowing secure, real-time communications with any of the various QEC centers on Earth.

  Sam was well aware of the battle that had been waged by the Tokyo and accompanying frigates… the loss of the Midway with nearly her entire crew seemed to be the main topic of everyone’s conversations during downtime in quarters and during meals. Traynor had just been happy that the cost had not been greater – batarian slavers were certainly not her favorite people in the galaxy.

  She was looking forward to the arrival of the small strike force – it would give her a hoped for chance to visit with Xiùlán for a day or two, if she could obtain permission to leave the Tokyo for a visit to the station.

  In addition to her regular duties of creating secure comms systems for the station, Sam would at some point be assigned to the larger warships on a rotating basis, where she would be responsible for overseeing the replacement of technically obsolete comms apparatus with the installation of improved QEC equipment. While still prohibitively expensive, Traynor’s work, along with that of her colleagues, was making multi-point communication a viable possibility. Previous generations from just less than a decade before had to be custom-built around a specific pair of entangled particles, with communication then being only possible between those two. What Sammy was doing, along with her team of upper echelon specialized engineers, was making QEC closer to a fully functional communications network.

  She was enjoying a quiet lunch in a restaurant that catered mostly to Alliance personnel, although one section was set aside for civilian patrons. The Q-Tech Bar & Grill was located in the habitat ring of the station, just a short aircar ride from her apartment in the military non-com residential area. The restaurant featured numerous overhead skylights that allowed a view of the hub, along with a limited view of space outside the station, wheeling past the clear, reinforced polystyrene panels in a one-a-minute parade of distant stars.

  A terminal attached to her table allowed real-time updates of traffic through the mass relay, when it wasn’t displaying the latest headlines and gossip from the ANN; she was finishing an asari-inspired meal of baked fish, leafy greens and pasta when a chiming tone from the device caught her attention and quickened her pulse. The Tokyo, along with her accompanying frigates, had just arrived in-system and were en route to the station.

  Knowing it would be a few days before Xiùlán could hope to get a day on the station, Sammy took her time finishing her lunch. When she opened her omni-tool in order to pay her bill, it happened; glancing up, she fixed her gaze on the man that had caught her eye – a person she would know anywhere – Michael Moser Lang. As she surreptitiously studied him, she continued with paying her bill. He hadn’t taken notice, outwardly at least, of having seen her. Thinking, ‘Hell, he doesn’t have any idea who I am or that I was involved in trying to stop him from destroying that ship. Our records were sealed… by someone higher in the brass chain than RaeLee Park… has to be coincidence!’

  Finishing her transaction, she rose from her table and strolled in a leisurely manner towards the far exit – on a path that would lead her right past his table. She believed his position at the table was no accident; she knew assassins in public places usually chose to sit with their backs towards a wall, and Lang was no different. As she drew abreast of his table, she activated her omni-tool again, this time to make a photo record of his face; she hoped that seemingly entering data through an interface would fool him.

  Lang looked up at her for a moment as she strolled past; curiosity satisfied, he returned his attention to his meal without ever taking a second look at her.

  Traynor finished entering the text for a message she would send to her Inamorata on the Tokyo, with a copy to be held for forwarding to General RaeLee Park on Earth – she wanted to discuss doing that with Xiùlán before actually sending the copy.

  Sammy could think of no good reason a civilian traveling between systems, particularly Lang, would even set foot on Arcturus Station – the majority of non-military personnel working and residing on the station weren’t here purely by choice – civilian contractors were needed by the Alliance for a myriad of jobs not suited to the military. Decent pay for steady employment was generally higher up on a person’s priority list than overcrowded living and major competition for each and every available job back on Earth – leaving one’s family for six-months at a stretch was a seemingly small price to pay.

  As she sent her note to Xiùlán, she had another thought; quickly recalling the message from her omnitool’s memory, she addressed a copy to Service Chief Griffin Buchanan, currently working on a fleet resupply ship in the Exodus Cluster. Traynor felt confident that Griff would appreciat
e knowing where the Cerberus assassin was currently located.

  Thinking about Lang as she rode a small tram through one of the six connecting spokes back to the central hub – where she was deep in the middle of replacing one of the last QEC displays still connected to the grid – she came to the sad conclusion there was probably nothing that could be done to detain and hold him accountable for his crime, unless… if she could just figure out a way to anonymously inform the Turian Hierarchy about the assassin and his successful plot to destroy the MSV Anixara, it might be possible for them to have a turian Spectre take care of Mr Lang. It would be a long-shot – no way to guarantee success, and she wanted to discuss it with Xiùlán first – but she really wanted to see him pay for his crime. Having the turians mete out justice would be a satisfying conclusion to what Traynor felt was an Alliance failure.

  As afternoon passed into early evening, Sammy finished up her work for the day and headed for her quarters in the habitat ring, where she’d prepare a modest supper for herself; she planned on searching the station’s computers for information on Lang while she ate her meal. She wanted to know what ship had brought him here and from where, how long he planned to stay on the station and, more importantly, when – and on what ship – he planned to leave.

  * * *

  * ALLIANCE CRUISER SSV TOKYO, 2-Km FROM ARCTURUS STATION *

  Lieutenant Yuán was getting ready for her duty shift on the bridge of the Tokyo when her omnitool trilled its notification of an incoming message from her qíngfū [情夫 - lover]. Reading the note as she rode an elevator to Deck One had her shaking her head in dismay. Thinking, ‘Tā mā dì dìyù, Sà mǐ! [他媽的地獄，薩米！- Fuck(ing) Hell, Sammy!] You really are worse than a rat terrier worrying a bone!’, she sent an acknowledgement back, along with an impassioned plea to take no action until she could meet Sam on the station to discuss her obsession.

  As she exited the elevator and strode down the passageway towards the CIC, she put Sammy and her seemingly irrational need for justice out of her mind in order to concentrate on her job – she was the officer of the deck, or OOD – for the next six hours. Her duty hours for this shift were 1800 to midnight, traditionally the second most boring duty shift on a ship that was for all intents and purposes docked. Even with the Tokyo sitting virtually dead in space, it would drift ever so slightly from its assigned position; as part of her training, Xiùlán had been asked by XO Tyler to monitor the navigational VI as it corrected for this minute amount of drift while the ship was ‘parked’ near Arcturus station.

  As she expected to have some free time during her shift, she had inserted a link in her omnitool that allowed her to access the ship’s library computer from anywhere she happened to be; she’d use the whatever slack time she could find to study the numerous manuals relating to every aspect of fleet operations in the Alliance Navy. She saw no reason to simply sit on her butt and let the time go by without doing something constructive.

  Xiùlán was reading through the first section of a standard celestial navigation manual when thoughts of Traynor intruded on her mind. She closed her omnitool and stood up from the navigator’s chair, stretched her arms to the overhead, then twisted her torso left and right to loosen the stiffness she felt from sitting still for only two hours. She reached down to the haptic interface and recalled the position report; it showed a drift of just less than three meters, no doubt due to the numerous departures and arrivals of shuttlecraft flying between the ship and the nearby station. Knowing the VI wouldn’t correct the ships position until it had drifted at least five meters from its assigned coordinates, Xiùlán decided to have the VI initiate the position correction early, which it promptly did, using a combination of the miniature ion thrusters strategically placed at intervals all about the ship.

  Securing the navigator’s station until she needed to perform another drift count, she paced back and forth between the bridge entry hatch and the pilot’s seats, thinking about the note she’d received earlier from Sammy. Xiùlán was almost positive that Lang didn’t have a clue who Sammy was or that she’d nearly caught and killed him in the back-alleys of the wards on the Citadel, but the man was not stupid. If Sammy didn’t keep her distance, Lang would notice her. Even if he didn’t connect her with him almost getting caught sabotaging the Anixara, he might just attempt to discover why she was so interested in him.

  This thought disturbed her enough that she activated her omnitool and sent a five word message to Traynor – “Back off until I’m there!” – Xiùlán hoped it’d be enough of a warning to convince Sammy to let it go.

  * * *

  * ARCTURUS STATION • RESIDENTIAL BLOCK, ALLIANCE HABITAT AREA *

  It was nearly 2005 hours when Sammy returned to the habitat ring on her way to her apartment. She was keeping to a casual pace, as she always did on her way home from her job in the hub. Her omnitool trilled as she came within twenty meters of the entrance hatch to her apartment block; she waited until she was at the hatch to open the tool, and was not surprised to see a cautionary message from her Inamorata. ‘Damn it Xiùlán, what the ‘ell do you think I’m going to do?’ she thought as she applied the release code to the haptic lock on the hatch. ‘Kill the sonovabitch here in the middle of the goddamned station?’

  As she entered the main passage that led past fifteen apartments in each direction, the hair on the back of her neck stood up, as if the Bhakolwa from childhood tales had lightly stroked her skin with his fingers. Something in this passageway was amiss. She quickly opened her omnitool and sent an urgent-aid request to station security – as she wasn’t wearing armor, she didn’t feel a false alarm, especially from a shy, bookish woman in a dimly lit passageway, would be seen with anything but sympathy by security officers. She did have her pair of húdié dāo [蝴蝶刀– butterfly sword] strapped to the tops of her boots; they were hidden by the cuffs of her pants and not as easy to get to as when she was combat ready, so she hefted her shoulder pack to reset it under her arm and turned to go back outside. She also had an incredibly deadly set of weapons available by just activating her omnitool, but as it hot-forged the blades available for her use, she decided against using it unless she was forced to do so.

  As Sammy was turning to leave, something… no, someone, obviously wearing a cloaking generator, body-slammed her to the floor. As she was sort of expecting something to happen, she managed to twist slightly and break her fall somewhat by landing on her shoulder bag. She immediately flung herself to the side as an unseen boot stomped the floor where her head had been. “Lay still, you fucking nosy little bitch and take what’s coming to you!”

  Traynor’s immediate response was to scream “FIRE!” at the top of her lungs, over and over until the unseen boot kicked her in the torso mid-shout, catching her partially in her side and lower abdomen; this doubled her over in a paroxysm of coughing. She concentrated on locating the bastard hiding behind the cloak, just as several doors opened at either end of the passageway and off-duty personnel came out to see what the commotion was about.

  Her assailant decided to cut and run; to get to the exit he had to move past Traynor, who was now well and truly pissed off. She grabbed for and connected with one of the man’s ankles as he tried to sweep past her; the instant she had a hand around his leg, she quickly used her other hand to grab the toe of the boot, permitting her to twist the man’s foot with every ounce of strength in her arms. The muffled pop of ligaments preceded a scream of pain by milliseconds as the man crashed to the floor ahead of Sam, smashing his cloaking generator. Drawing a knife from her right leg sheath, she quickly clawed her way onto the back of the now visible man, who was in too much pain to do anything to stop her.

  Now that he was uncloaked, she recognized the man that had attempted to kill her. Grabbing a handful of hair, she violently yanked his head back as far as she could and placed the razor sharp knife blade against his throat, snarling as she did so, “You’re about to meet your maker, Lang! Any last words?”

  As h
e struggled to free himself, she pressed the blade hard against his neck, drawing a trickle of blood as the razor-sharp edge wiggled back and forth from his movements. The sudden sting of the cut resulted in all his movements suddenly stopping. “Let go of me, you miserable little brown bitch,” he panted through clenched teeth. “You got no idea who you’re fucking around with!”

  Traynor’s grin was pure evil as she chided, “Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with… you’re Michael Moser Lang, assassin for hire.” She dropped her voice to a deathly whisper as she purred in his ear, “You’ve been doing wetwork for Cerberus, but I think your usefulness to that xenophobic bunch of assholes has just come to an end.”

  “Traynor! Don’t do it!” Lieutenant Kelsey Winters had a heavy pistol pointed at the portion of Lang’s chest visible below Sammy’s knife. “Come on, Specialist; give me a break, won’tcha? Let the bastard up – he’s not going anywhere but the lockup.”

  “Today’s your lucky day, Lang!” Traynor glanced at Winters but never moved her knife as she continued in a graveyard whisper. “A dear friend of mine was killed just like I’m ready to kill you – had her throat slit ear-to-ear by a goddamned Cerberus assassin.”

  “Specialist Traynor, that wasn’t a request.” Winters wasn’t known for her patience, but she cut Sammy a lot of slack because she was such a damned good comms specialist.