The battle had been going on for some time, for there no longer existed a clear dividing line keeping one player on one side and the other opposite. She identified six cruisers but lost count of the frigates after thirty or so. Dozens upon dozens of fighters darted in every direction, little more than pinpoints of reflected light. A carrier hung back to the far right; she was unable to locate a second one but assumed it hid somewhere trying not to get blown up.
“This is happening now, isn’t it?” She received no answer as per usual, but it must be happening now, or quite recently.
In the First Crux War, Alliance and Federation ships had looked problematically similar; after all, the Federation ships had been constructed when those colonies were still part of the Alliance. They had adorned their ships in the newly-designed rust and chrome logo of their new Federation but it hadn’t changed the fact they by and large flew Alliance-built ships.
Now, though, the distinctions were unmistakable. Senecan ships gleamed a muted bronze, turned a rich copper in the glow of the sun. Alliance ships were uniformly shale steel and hyper-lustrous. The styles had diverged as well. Whereas Alliance ships, in particular the larger ones, tended toward modularity, distinct transitions and no wasted hull space, Senecan ships displayed a highly aerodynamic profile, with sleek curves leading to knifed edges.
Both designs seemed plenty adept at blowing the other up. The arena resembled a fireworks circus, a constant cacophony of explosions and crisscrossing lasers. Were it an action vid it would have been thrilling and even beautiful.
But it wasn’t a vid. It was devastatingly real, and people died in front of her. Were they people she knew? Was Malcolm here, on the bridge of his frigate he never desired to command?
She squeezed her eyes shut against the destruction and carnage, only to remember the futility of the act. Her captors made certain she was forced to watch; forced to see.
A tremendous blast plumed almost directly in front of her. In its brilliance it appeared far closer than she expected and she tried ineffectually to pull away. The white-blue plasma from an impulse engine detonation transitioned to fiery orange as a far more destructive chain reaction began. But before it reached criticality the frigate’s hold ruptured. Pieces of the ship flung in every direction and exposed the interior to the vacuum of space.
Over one hundred soldiers dead…and the battle continued on, its participants far too interested in winning the day to notice.
Debris from the secondary explosion ripped through the wing of a passing fighter, sending it careening out of control in her direction. It wasn’t as if she could run. So instead she stared, helpless and transfixed, as the small ship grew large and spun through her. The pilot ejected and the ship crumbled apart around her.
Time slowed as metal shards enveloped her like shattered glass. None pierced her of course, but it seemed as though she might be able to reach out and pluck one from the sky. She settled for extending an imagined hand, palm upturned, and letting a shard fall through it untouched like the ghost she had become.
Warfare raged around her unabated in all its glory and tragedy. She was tired.
She didn’t understand the purpose of this emotional torture parade, other than to punish her. But what reason could her captor or captors possibly have to punish her, unless it was for personal amusement? Where these supposedly advanced aliens really so childishly petty? Why not simply kill her and be done with it?
Right now she wished she’d never left that house on the edge of the San Pablo Preserve; she didn’t care if it hadn’t been real. If she was going to be trapped, she might as well be trapped someplace where she had been happy.
“What is your point in showing me this? That humanity en masse is as flawed as I am? I agree. We are.”
She ‘turned’ away from the battle. Sparks of light flared in her peripheral vision, but thankfully beyond her rested a measure of peace, stars unmarred by blood.
“What is your point? That we slaughter one another instead of uniting to fight you, thus we deserve to be slaughtered? How arrogant, how callous are you to judge our missteps as rendering us fit for annihilation?”
Silence answered. Despair clawed at her from the void as her gaze drew inexorably back to the spectacle of resplendent destruction.
“Well, fuck you, too.”
21
EAO ORBITAL
HIGH EARTH ORBIT, SOL SYSTEM
* * *
ETHAN TOLLIS WOUND HIS WAY through the bustling outer promenade of the torus undisturbed. With his hair drawn back in a low tail and a chamois cap pulled over his brow he appeared to the world as merely another tourist. The loose suede jersey and faux-faded pants ruled out him being on the Orbital for business.
He tried to move about in anonymity whenever possible; he found it was good for keeping hold of his soul. Besides, he’d be in the spotlight and on display soon enough.
Hamish, his percussionist, and Levi, his sound master and mate since elementary, flanked him for added protection but mostly so they could legitimately chat instead of silently tossing pulses around. He elbowed Levi and motioned to the gyro shop ahead on the right. “Let’s grab some grub first, eh?”
“You know there’ll be a spread at the gig, right?”
“And when was the last time you saw me get to eat at one of these pomps?”
“Fair point.” They veered between passersby to the shops lining the interior wall and slipped inside the cafe. It was early for lunch and thankfully the place wasn’t overly busy. Levi went to grab their sandwiches while he and Hamish settled at a small table in the corner.
The panel on the wall spewed a constant stream of war news—battles here, blockades there, bravado and chest-pounding everywhere. He didn’t get it. Never had. Humans willingly choosing to kill one another by the thousands and eventually millions, and for what? A government bearing a different name?
He’d visited more than half the colonized worlds and would vouch for the fact that people were pretty much the same everywhere. Sure, individuals were as unique as he supposed they’d ever been, but a generic person on Earth bore a noticeable similarity to one on Seneca or Requi or Andromeda.
The reporter mentioned something regarding rumors of trouble on Gaiae but had moved on before he caught what she had said.
“They still talking about your girlfriend nonstop?”
He shrugged as Levi dropped a tray full of steaming gyro wraps on the table and slid in opposite him. “They’ve cut down to once every half hour or so now. And she’s not my girlfriend. Hasn’t been for a long time. Triss is my girlfriend.”
“Right. Absolutely.”
Levi earned a punch in the shoulder for the retort; he knew the score with Alex.
Ethan thought Alex probably cared for him in her own way, but she had never, could never belong to him. While he didn’t desire her life any more than she desired his, all things considered it was still a damn shame. And he recognized without a doubt should she show up at his door on any given day he’d kick Triss to the curb and worry about begging for forgiveness on the back side. It wouldn’t be fair to Triss, but that didn’t change the reality.
He let the thought fade away in sync with the fading of his smile. “I want to switch up the playlist order a bit. The promoters can bugger off for all I care—Recompense is the best tune on the release and I’m bloody well leading on it.”
“Bowl them over from the start. Sure.” Hamish nodded agreement over his sandwich.
“You’re the talent. You tell ‘em how it is.”
He leveled a taunting glare across the table. At this rate Levi was going to get his arse kicked before the trip ended.
They were on the Orbital this particular morning to play a private show of the songs on the new sonant for a press contingent. Well, private in the sense of only approved and invited press being allowed in the room. The show was scheduled to be broadcast galaxy-wide next week as part of the tour kick-off.
The Orbital didn’t boast muc
h in the way of entertainment offerings, but its management wanted to liven up the stodgy reputation. So here he sat, enjoying a half-decent gyro.
They spent the meal covering the usual last minute details which always accompanied the performance of new material, then had to bail. Time was running short and the venue was still nearly a quarter of the way around the ten-kilometer ring.
They stepped out of the cafe and ran smack into a disgruntled mob. The typically steady stream of progression along the promenade had all but ground to a halt.
“Ah shit, what’s going on?”
“We’re gonna be late, man….”
“Like hell we are.” Ethan began weaving into the crowd until he reached the first cop he could find. “Excuse me officer, what’s the problem?”
The cop scowled, but most of his attention remained on his efforts to keep the growing throng in check. “The Prime Minister just arrived for a meeting and is answering a few questions from reporters. I’m afraid you won’t be allowed through until he’s departed the promenade.”
Ethan stifled a groan. Why was the PM prancing about out on the ring instead of confining himself to the center of the station where all the government offices and accoutrements were located? Making a mockery of himself in the name of public approval, apparently.
He didn’t throw his weight around unless it was necessary. But, hey, it was necessary. “Eh, I wish I’d known ahead of time. I’d have definitely headed on to the other side earlier.” He thrust out a hand, realizing full well the cop hadn’t the time to shake it. “Ethan Tollis. I have a premiere show over in Windermere Theatre in twenty and a lot of press and fans waiting on me. I would really hate to disappoint them.”
The spiel earned a greater share of the cop’s attention; it always did. “Mr. Tollis! Sorry I didn’t recognize you. Give me one minute and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Appreciated.”
Over the heads of the crowd the new PM stood tall in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows which looked out into space and every so often revealed the upper arc of Earth’s profile. The man must have been standing on a raised platform, for he towered above the simple plebeians.
Though the grave, serious tone of the PM’s words penetrated the grumbles of the surrounding pedestrians, he was too far away to hear the substance of the man’s speech. He had no doubt it constituted nothing more than the usual empty platitudes and proclamations, sprinkled with an occasional bald-faced lie.
The cop waved him forward and began clearing a small path. They followed along behind but soon found themselves pressed tight against the wall on the right and the mass of people on the left.
“I bloody hate crowds….”
He groused as he fought to maneuver through what he had to concede was a suffocating space. Some bloke elbowed him in the ribs in a move to gain position but the shifting throng consumed the man before Ethan was able to retaliate. “Probably shouldn’t have hooked up with a synth star then.”
“Well now I know….”
The PM’s words became clearer as they approached. “Of course we are taking every precaution when—”
The thunder and the flame crashed into Ethan at the same instant, only to be overwhelmed in the next by the collapsing wall and wrenching floor beneath him.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t run, and after a second couldn’t breathe. Not because of the crushing weight of a panicking mob, but rather because there was no air.
The last sight he registered with any clarity was the outer bulwark of the Orbital rupturing into jagged, warped metal shards then disintegrating, and a sea of bodies drifting out through the breach, into the abyss.
Bugger it a—
22
EARTH
EASC HEADQUARTERS
* * *
IT TOOK RICHARD SEVERAL TRIES to find the tiny office tucked inside what could have previously served as a storage closet.
Devon was kicked back in an oddly-shaped ergo chair. The fingers of his left hand tapped idly at a virtual panel beneath a large screen. The office was otherwise empty save for an image of a pretty girl with long blond hair and bright green eyes on the desk and a piece of abstract art displayed on the far wall.
When he walked in Devon held a finger to his lips and pulled a small surveillance shielding device out of the desk drawer. He pressed a thumb to it, after which it glowed a pale green. “We’re shielded now.”
Richard produced a similar object from his pocket. “I did bring my own….”
“I should’ve figured you’d have it covered.”
“You found something?”
“Yep.” Devon killed the large screen and replaced it with an aural from his eVi. “Lots of somethings, in fact. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to make it look like your girlfriend’s daughter’s boyfriend committed the HQ bombing.”
“My…what?”
“You know, this Marano fellow.”
“I’m not…” Richard squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose in a grimace “…Miriam Solovy is not my girlfriend. I’m married.”
Devon shrugged. “Oh. Okay, sure. No offense.”
Richard regarded him in bewilderment. Kids…. “None taken.” He leaned forward and studied the aural. “So?”
“Well first, both the corridor and ORSC records were altered to show the Siyane arriving at ORSC a full four hours earlier than it did, and altered again three days later to show it leaving a day and a half later than it seems to have departed.
“Then if you go to the detention facility records, they were altered to show Marano being released on an administrative technicality two nights before the bombing—”
Richard cringed. “That’s…not what we’re hunting for.”
Devon arched an eyebrow, then chuckled heartily. “Nice! Your work?”
Richard shot him a warning look and he raised his hands in surrender. “Gotcha. Not my business. We’ll just pretend we didn’t find that.” A block of data disappeared from the aural.
“Finally, Headquarters security logs were altered to show Alexis Solovy entering the building three hours before the bombing in the company of a Cameron Roark and leaving forty-two minutes later. Military Police files have the identity flagged as an alias belonging to Marano. Near as I can tell, neither of those events actually happened—especially since her ship had departed Earth two days earlier and did not return, at least not via any corridor.”
Richard exhaled and pushed off the desk, working to conceal the extent of his relief. Thank God. Thank God she was innocent. Thank God he would be able to prove it. “Excellent job, Devon. I mean it.”
“Thanks, but in truth it wasn’t terribly difficult. The alterations were made skillfully but using standard Alliance protocols. They were easy to spot.”
“I’ll take your word for it. It sounds like you recovered the original data as well?”
“Yep. It was a little harder, but whoever altered the records didn’t do a thorough scrub of the underlying data first. Portions of it were corrupted but I pieced it together. Is this crap going on all the time inside the military? I mean, are you going to show up tomorrow asking me to find shenanigans on the Orbital explosion? Because I never wanted to believe the claims of those wacko anarchists, but there is some nasty corruption involved here.”
Richard pondered how truthfully to answer the question. If they try to pin the Orbital on Marano and Alex, yes. “If this type of malevolence were standard operating procedure, I’d join the anarchists with you. I have no reason to believe anything nefarious occurred with respect to the Orbital explosion. Beyond the act itself, obviously.”
Devon accepted the sideways answer. “So what do you want me to do with this?”
“For one, burn me a hard disk copy. You weren’t able to pinpoint the source?”
“That’s the downside to the use of standard Alliance protocols. I can tell you it was done remotely—not from the Island—but at a node in the Alliance military infrastructure. And
that’s it, I’m afraid.”
“Understood.” Too late to go back now. “You have friends who are hackers, right?”
“I’m shocked you would suggest such a thing….” Devon straightened up in his chair and had the decency to feign chagrin. “Uh, yes, sir. I might know a few.”
“Can you trust them?”
“To do what?”
“To not rat us out to the authorities.”
“Oh. Yeah. Totally.”
Richard felt a tiny twinge of guilt and not for the first time. But in the intelligence business one’s allies were not always the cleanest members of society. It was a necessity of the trade.
He leaned in closer though the room was shielded. “Here’s what I need you to do.”
SEATTLE
Devon hit the entrance to their apartment at a jog. “Hey, babe, you here?”
Not getting a response, he tossed his bag on the counter on the way to her studio room. Nine times out of eight it was where he found her.
The translucent door slid open to reveal Emily standing in the dark. Gleaming colored swaths of light encircled her. Earpieces suggested she had the music on and explained why she hadn’t heard him. Virtual gloves adorned both hands.
Her right hand extended and a stream of fuchsia light flowed out of a fingertip of the glove. Her hand gracefully swirled and dipped, leaving an intricate design in its wake.
He snuck up behind her, carefully removing the earpiece from one ear and purring into it. “Hey, babe.”
She jumped in surprise, sending fuchsia light careening through the room, but he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and squeezed her in his arms.
“Devon, don’t scare me like that!”
“Sure, sure.” He loosened his grip and spun her to face him. “Come on, we gotta go see the gang.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m working.”
He rested the tip of his nose on hers. “Please? I don’t want to go alone….”
She stared at him for several seconds before rolling her eyes and sinking into his arms. “Can I at least change first?”
Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection Page 64