Was Once a Hero

by Edward McKeown

“Communications have interrogated and received a microburst data dump from the master satellite at the system’s edge,” Hafel advised.

  “Okay, shut down,” Fenaday said. Other than that microburst, Sidhe emitted no radiation. Fenaday wanted to run silent.

  “Pass the information to Duna and the science team,” he told Telisan. “I’m sure they’re clawing the paint off the lab walls.”

  Behind him, Dobera and a steward entered the bridge accompanied by Shasti. As usual, Shasti showed no sign of any discomfort from the star jump. She pulled a coffee and protein bar off Dobera’s cart and handed it to Fenaday. His stomach rebelled at the idea of food, but he welcomed the coffee. Taking the cup, he sat back with a sigh. There’d be little to do until the scientists finished their initial work on the satellite information.

  Answers came back quickly. The information, only minutes old, added nothing to what Mandela supplied them.

  “Well,” Fenaday said, looking at the screen. “Lafayette, we are here.”

  *****

  The starship began braking gently. Fenaday aimed for the two large gas giants in mid system. Sidhe would use their gravity to brake further in order to enter the inner system at a sane speed. Star systems change and the charts on Enshar had not been updated since the disaster. Fenaday didn’t plan on inhaling a chunk of rock at relativistic speed so the voyage to Enshar from the system’s edge would take two weeks. Two very long weeks.

  Fenaday again sought to fill the time with drill and work. Distractions only helped a little. As they neared their destination, Duna found much of the friendliness toward him evaporating. The crew no longer felt heroic; they felt cold, scared and mean. Sidhe began to wind like a watch spring.

  *****

  The sound of shouting brought Shasti running toward the mess hall. She raced in, spotting a mass of struggling men and women around the bolted-down tables. Before she could even shout an order, a slim form burst in from the opposite hatchway, slamming into the knot of crewman and scattering bodies with bone-breaking power.

  HCR, she realized. “Freeze,” Shasti shouted. “Freeze, now!”

  The room stilled immediately. The HCR held one man down, his arm levered into an agonizing position.

  “That was good advice,” said a droll voice. Shasti turned. Mmok had entered from the other side, trailed by another of the deadly machines and by Daniel Rigg.

  “It wasn’t advice,” Shasti growled, stalking forward. “That was an order. Stand at attention.” She looked the group over. To her annoyance they were mostly her LEAFs, though all were new hires. One of Rigg’s ASATs, a powerful looking, shorthaired man stood facing them. From the bruises on the Landing Force Troops, he’d given better than he’d got.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Shasti demanded. They all looked at the floor, like children. But there was nothing child-like in the danger of riot and disorder in the small, delicately balanced ecology of a starship. Men died for upsetting it.

  “I won’t ask again.” Shasti said, walking among them. She smelled fear on one woman and turned to glare into her eyes.

  The trooper couldn’t hold her stare. “It was Greywold, Commander. He said that the ASATs were talking us down. Saying that we were trash…”

  Greywold, Shasti thought. I am going to regret not trusting my second guess on that one. She scanned the LF troops. “Excellent,” Shasti observed. “You took advice from a man who cut and ran on a fight.” The chagrined troopers looked about. Greywold was nowhere to be seen.

  “And what’s your story?” Dan Rigg snapped.

  Shorthair snapped to attention. “Provocation, sir.”

  “Soldier, when you are provoked you come see me, you don’t go hand-to-hand on duty and in space.”

  “Sir. Yes, sir. No excuse, sir.”

  Mmok laughed silently. “Doesn’t look like your fellow was doing too badly, Dan. Maybe Commander Rainhell ought to thank you for giving her slackers a lesson.”

  “Shut up, Mmok,” Shasti said. “And get your machine off that man.”

  Mmok’s lips thinned. His one eye narrowed.

  “Orders on punishment, ma’am,” Rigg interjected. “Or do you want to leave that to me?” He moved to stand next to Shasti and stared at Mmok. “Discipline needs to be maintained, now more than ever. Right, sir?”

  Mmok glanced away from Shasti. His sardonic face slid back into place. Behind him, in response to an unseen signal, the HCR released the trooper’s arm. It walked up to stand at Mmok’s shoulder. A not so subtle warning not to push him.

  Shasti considered. Rigg was ostensibly her number two and he’d just backed her. She and Fenaday suspected that Mmok had been given authority to command the ASATs if it came to a break, but until then, both Rigg and Mmok reported to her. Still, the ASAT was clearly the more approachable and used to dealing with standard humans.

  “That might be as well, Mr. Rigg,” she said. “My plan was to space all of them and use the food and air on the more deserving.” Her cool eyes rolled over the pale and nervous crewman.

  “I’m sure Sgt. Rask and the Toks can find a lot of double duty for them,” Rigg said. “Maybe with five hundred laps in full gear around the hanger as well.” He turned to the ASAT soldier. “You got any complaint about leading that little run, mister?”

  “Sir. No, sir.” said Shorthair.

  “Lead them down there. Double time, mister.” The ASAT saluted and the LF troops shuffled out after him, leaving the three humans and two robots. Stewards appeared from the kitchen to clean up the mess.

  “The next person,” Shasti said, “who breaks discipline is going to take a bullet to the skull. I am not losing control of the deck of this ship.”

  “Agreed,” Rigg said. “Hard though it may be for you to hear, if there’s a problem it will be among your new people. Your older hands, particularly your trouble team are as reliable as my folks, but the newbies...”

  Shasti nodded. “I’ve got my best people dispersed at all critical areas.”

  “May not be enough,” Rigg said.

  “My people,” Mmok said, grinning and stressing the word people, “never sleep and they never stress. They’re the happiest of warriors.”

  “Keep one here then,” she said, feeling ambiguous about having to rely on the cyborg. “Cover Duna, the bridge and engineering. I’ll get Captain Fenaday to clear an HCR for bridge access.”

  He gave her a sloppy salute.

  “We have another problem,” Rigg said. “I was coming to see you when I heard the scrap.”

  “What?”

  Rigg looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid that I didn’t list a weapon when we logged them into the arms room.”

  “You mean the personal .38 slug-throwers you and Rask hid?” she asked.

  Rigg’s mouth hung open. Mmok gave a low whistle, seeming to enjoy Rigg’s discomfiture. “You’re busted,” he observed.

  “If you think you can hide something from me on my own ship, you’re mistaken,” she said, her face cold and foreboding.

  “Yes, ma’am. My weapon is missing. I kept it locked in my personal locker. Someone picked the lock and went through my stuff last night.”

  “Twice,” Shasti said, folding her arms across her chest. “The first time it was me. Last night was someone sloppy.”

  “So we have a loose gun aboard,” Mmok said. “Suspects?”

  “Greywold,” Rigg said. “His record shows priors for theft. It got him thrown out of the Deutsche Brigade. I searched his locker, but he’s not dumb enough to keep it there.”

  “HCRs can find it,” Mmok said.

  “Get them on it,” she said.

  “We’ll turn both weapons in to the arms room, after mine’s found,” Rigg said.

  “Keep them,” she said. “But keep them on you at all times from now on.” She walked toward the entrance, then paused. “Just like Mr. Mmok keeps his palm laser on him.”

  Mmok looked startled for a second. “One for you.”

  Hours later
the pistol showed up, hidden behind an air duct. The thief had been careful enough to keep prints off of it, but Shasti had little doubt of the thief’s identity. It didn’t take her long to make up her mind about what to do about it.

  *****

  Two days before Enshar orbit, Fenaday was on his way to the bridge when Shasti called him on their private channel.

  “Fenaday here, secure.”

  “Meet me in Arms Four,” she said and clicked off.

  Worried by the cryptic call, he hurried to the arms room near the main hanger deck. Their combined landing force, including Mmok’s robots, had suited up and was outside, practicing ship-boarding tactics. Shasti should be with them.

  Instead, he found her in her small office near the weapons storage area, suited up but with her helmet off, watching a security monitor. She looked up from the monitor as he entered. On it he could see ASAT’s and LEAF’s scrambling over the ship’s hull.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  She gestured at the screen. “Greywold.”

  “Damn. He acting up again?” Fenaday said wearily.

  “For the last time,” she said grimly. “I have him out on the tail end of the ship, alone. I need you to make it sound like I’m still onboard. I’m a simulated casualty in the war game. They won’t be looking for me. I’ll need a minute to get there, kill him and get back. I’ll make it look enough like an accident so we won’t have problems when we get back to the Confederacy. People will get the message anyway.”

  Ice formed in his stomach. I’ve grown too comfortable around her, he thought. She’s not people, as I know people. Christ, I used to think the corporate lawyers were cutthroats. I wonder if someday I’ll find myself on the losing side of some such calculation with her?

  “No,” he blurted.

  “What?”

  “You can’t just kill him,” he said, trying to keep the shock out of his voice.

  “He’s a liability,” she said impatiently. “He’s not working out. You know we stand balanced on a knife’s edge here. We need control and he threatens that control. He also provides me with a tailor-made chance to enforce discipline and lose nothing more than a weakling.”

  They stared at each other.

  “Find another way,” he said.

  “You’re being a fool,” she said. “He’s more useful this way.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “Don’t bring this up again.” He turned and left, knees shaking.

  *****

  On the eleventh day of the voyage in from the system’s edge, they came within direct range of Enshar with their own more sophisticated instruments. Fenaday stood on the bridge, with a full crew, plus Duna, Mmok, and Rigg. Shasti was also there. She and Fenaday were still recovering from the aborted assassination of the day before, carefully stepping in the delicate dance they’d done before when one or the other overstepped a boundary.

  The main view screen lit. Simultaneously several parts of the screen began to display different views, some visual, some radar or infra-red.

  “Enshar,” Duna said raptly. The word held a devotion about it. “Enshar, with my own eyes.”

  “Massive radar contact,” announced Hafel, “right where expected.” The screen switched to a debris field. Nothing recognizable showed, just points of reflected light.

  “My God,” Katrina Micetich said, “I saw Bifor Station once from a freighter. It was huge. You could see it from the ground in daylight. What could destroy something like that? Murbicko was even larger than Bifor.”

  “And it’s gone too,” Fenaday snapped. “Ancient history, Micetich. I want a geosynchronous orbit over the city of Gigor in the Northern States. Coordinates are in the computer. Set up the course, Mr. Nye, and transfer it to her station.

  “Hafel, keep a close eye on radar. There’s a lot of junk in orbit. I don’t want to be holed.

  “Gunners, keep a radar lock as well. Open fire on anything vectoring in on us that does not emit current IFF. Weapons are free.”

  Twenty minutes of maneuvering inserted Sidhe into orbit at a height of one hundred fifty kilometers. She ghosted over a world emptied of intelligent life. Animals moved on the face of the world, infesting its cities and fields. The domed cities stood largely intact. Little of the ruination could be seen although rents and burned places marred some domes.

  “We’re coming up on initial orbit over Gigor base,” Nye said. “Gigor was home to Enshar’s space forces and it’s where the Confederate fleet’s shuttles landed.”

  Shasti gestured with a long, elegant finger. “There they are.”

  “Maximum magnification, Hafel,” Fenaday said. Sidhe’s optics could focus on a can of rations from her height. Three Wolverine assault shuttles from the original landing force Telisan had accompanied leapt into stark focus. Other than being overgrown by grasses, they seemed unchanged from the moment of their landing over three years earlier.

  “Deploy probes,” ordered Fenaday. These dropped from Sidhe, parachuting to landings around Gigor and other locations. It took the rest of the first orbit to deploy all ten of them.

  “The only remarkable thing about the probes,” Mourner announced after the second orbit, “is their survival. They’ve landed and begun sensing—air: normal, water: normal, radiation: normal, soil: normal, no detectable biohazard, and no detectable chemical weapons. It seems that, other than for the overnight extermination of the Enshari people, Enshar itself is a normal world.”

  As they continued to cruise over the planet-sized tomb, Fenaday watched Duna’s joy at seeing his home evaporate. The old scholar gazed at the world that gave birth to his species and then murdered its offspring. Telisan stood next to him, a hand on the Enshari’s shoulder, his face drawn with worry. Duna had not left the bridge since they reached instrument range ten hours before.

  “Belwin,” Telisan said, “perhaps some rest—”

  “No, my young friend. I am here to fight whatever it is that has taken our planet, and that means a study of the disaster. I draw great solace from the fact that our probes, unlike the fleet probes, have not gone inactive. Still, against the weight of the empty world below, that fact seems a slim reed on which to rest one’s hope for survival.”

  The two walked over to Fenaday’s chair. “What now, Captain?” Duna asked.

  “A proper government research vessel,” Fenaday said in a low voice, “might spend weeks or months studying Enshar before attempting a landing. Even as well-equipped as we are, we don’t have those resources. I also have doubts about keeping Sidhe’s crew in line while so close to Enshar for an extended period. The ship is a powder keg. In the end, regardless of tests, only one thing will tell us if Enshar is habitable—a landing.”

  “I fear that you are right, Captain,” Duna said.

  “We’ll see what the scientists have after the first day’s orbit,” Fenaday concluded.

  *****

  Another day passed. They learned nothing they did not know before. After the end of their second day in orbit, Fenaday called a staff meeting. The doctors, scientists and technicians gave sometimes lengthy reports. The information summed up easily.

  “We’re getting nothing from orbit,” Fenaday said. “Animal tests won’t tell us anything. We can see plenty of animals from orbit. The sole new factor is the continued existence of our electronic probes on world. That fact does not change my opinion; it’s not safe to land the Sidhe. We will proceed with the final plan. I’ll take a Wildcat fighter and attempt a landing. If anything threatens, I’ll abort, if I can, and that will be the end of this attempt on Enshar. If nothing goes wrong, then I’ll go for a landing. Provided I am not attacked within an hour of that landing, the shuttles under Commander Rainhell will land three hours later. Our force will establish a perimeter on world and begin the investigation.

  The room stirred at his announcement. Some faces bore eager expressions; others looked at him as if he was already dead.

  “Any questions?” he asked.

  “Yes,” b
egan Telisan, “though it is not a question. There are two fighters on the Sidhe. I wish to take the other one and accompany you. One man alone cannot face whatever is down there.”

  “If there is something down there,” Fenaday replied, “all you could do is die with me. One is enough to find out.”

  “No,” replied Telisan equally firmly. “You signed me as executive officer based on my experience as a wing commander in the war. Take my advice now. I would never send a single pilot on such a task. You cannot watch your back and perform a mission. That is what wingmen are for.

  “There is an old saying among my people,” Telisan continued, “‘one man alone on a wall is half a man. Two men can be an army.’ I tell you,” he finished, with more passion than Fenaday had seen the easy-going Denlenn exhibit before, “that you cannot face this alone. There is no one else aboard who can handle a fighter with a tenth my skill. You need a wingman. I am that wingman.”

  “Makes sense,” Mmok chipped in.

  “It does,” Duna added. “I wish it did not.”

  “I know you lost friends there—” Fenaday began.

  “This has nothing to do with that,” interrupted the Denlenn. “I swore I would serve the Sidhe as I served the Empress Aran. I am of the Selen clan, which would mean little to you but much among Denleni. The name is synonymous with duty and honor. I have striven all my life to meet that standard. This is my first chance to begin to make payment on that promise. For the sake of my own soul, I must begin to make good on my oath.

  “We fight to save a race from extinction. I will not have it said that I held back any measure of strength or will, in such a cause. My life is of no account against what we seek to accomplish. I would give it gladly to advance our cause but an inch.”

  There was silence in the room. Fenaday looked the Denlenn in the eye. I forgot such people actually exist, he thought.

  “Telisan,” he said, “I would be honored to have you on my wing. Thank you.”

  *****

  The Denlenn inclined his head, mostly to hide his relief. He had given an oath both to Duna and to Fenaday and been caught between them. He had done little on his pledge to the human. Now, at last, came a chance for redemption. If Fenaday died because Duna’s suspicions—mad though they seemed—were true, he would not die alone. If anything could be done to save his captain, Telisan would be there to do it. Selen honor demanded nothing less.