by Ross Winkler
Despite the constant heat, the cold hadn't left. He still felt that freezing ache down in his core. Maybe it would never leave. That thought brought him up fast, his feet stumbling over themselves as his brain and body forgot what they were doing. No, he decided, he just needed time to warm up. Maybe in the spring things would be better.
Corwin waded through the citizens on the sidewalks. They seemed to move slower than usual now, drifting like the ice flows he'd seen yesterday on the ocean's briny waters. Maybe they too were cold despite the warm air and humidity, their bodies and metabolism slowing in response to reduced sunlight or the change in the Earth's axial tilt.
Not that it mattered much. Corwin avoided them like any naval captain avoided icebergs, nodding when greeted by strangers, but overall keeping a harried, "I have some place important to be," look about his face and gait.
Corwin arrived again at his favorite place, his refuge inside the bustling city, though it seemed that the grass was a little more unkempt, browning at the edges; the leafy trees too weren't lush any longer, their own internal timers dropping their leaves. The pine trees were a dusty gray-green.
Corwin peeked his head over the lip of the cave, hoping without sincerity that the moss had recovered in his absence. It had not. Despite Corwin's attempted repairs, the damage done by those rutting wickts had been too much for it to handle. He'd watched as month after month the brown of its minuscule dead leaves spread from the trauma, radiating outward until but a few specks of green were all that remained at the far edge, near where it met the cave's wall.
He sighed, debated, and climbed back down. It was no longer his place; it had been soiled by those Humans who wanted a secret place to wickt.
Maybe that was it for him then. Nothing left but to go join the masses that crowded into bars to eat their gray food-cubes, drink their unfiltered beers, and watch the arena games.
He thought about Phae then — something he tried to avoid now. What would he do if she were still alive? She enjoyed doing those things, and he would have done them too if for no other reason than to spend time with her.
Corwin pushed thoughts of Phae from his mind; it wasn't good to dwell like that on things that could never be. That way led to madness.
He shivered as he dressed. There was that cold again.
He shivered again as he jogged from the park, hoping that the exercise and the drink and food that waited for him on the other side would warm him.
Corwin met his Voidmates at a bar awash with off-duty servicemen and women like himself — a mix of Maharatha and Officer-rank Tercio. It was still well before noon, but that never mattered in a city where the lights never went out and the ever-present glow of the ion shield rendered "day" and "night" relative terms.
His Void greeted him with small waves and quiet nods as he passed by to the bar and placed his order. This was, Corwin realized as he took his beer and sat down, only one of a handful of times he'd spent any time with them outside of missions. They watched each other, quiet, awkward for a while, each sipping at a beer and glancing up to the TV set into brackets on the wall.
The TV screen faded from one ending battle and was replaced by a voice-over announcement. "Welcome, Republic Citizens, to the Reenactment of the First Exiles' Fight for Food!" The camera panned over a section of the arena.
It was a postinvasion urban setting, just a few blocks long. Few buildings were fully intact. The roadway that split the area was scorched and pockmarked, with cars and dead bodies strewn about.
The announcer spoke up again. "We'll dive into the action after a brief word from the Oniwabanshu."
The scene cut to a panoramic view of New Detroit, the buildings' domed roofs sparkling in the computer-generated sunlight. "New Detroit. Humanity's greatest Normerican city stands as a bastion of hope against the ruthless Siloth aliens and the Choxen."
The scene cut again, this time to a video of same-faced Choxen raiding and destroying a Republic settlement. Gunfire, screams, and Choxen battle cries echoed from the TV's small, tinny speakers.
In the bar, adrenaline surged, causing hands to fall to sidearms.
"The Warrior Caste fights and dies on the front lines for your protection, for Humanity!" The video changed to show a team of Tercio hacking and blasting their way through Choxen forces. There was no editing, and all the gore of real combat was there — and the deaths on both sides.
Murmurs of appreciation came from the bar crowd, mumbled words giving dreng to the dead and dying on screen.
"But you don't need to be a Warrior to become Drengin! Just ask the star of today's performance: Corrina Tyesva!"
The video faded in on an attractive woman standing in an apartment building. She wore the pressed gray-blue uniform of the Tercio Caste.
"Hi. I'm Corrina Tyesva." She knelt down and put her arms around four children, the oldest no older than six, standing tall and proud in their own small crèche uniforms. The video played a montage as Corrina spoke over top: "When I'm not fighting on the front lines against the Siloth or refining my combat skills in the arena, I spend time with my four beautiful children."
More images danced across the screen: Corrina scraping every last morsel of protein from its container; holding her newly decanted child in her arms — naked to avoid dirtying her clothes; her children standing in the common room, swiping at the air with utensils like they were knives, with Corrina in the foreground teaching them proper cutting techniques.
The video centered on her again, and she smiled. Standing up, she rested a hand on the Iron Womb behind her. "I even have two more on the way! Please, do your part for Humanity." The screen faded to black.
The video of the arena battle started again, centering first on the snarling Choxen, then expanding to bring both sides into view by use of a split screen.
Corwin sighed and looked away. These videos were the wickting worst. It was all propaganda from the Media Subcaste of the Scientist Major Caste, their topics dictated by the Oniwabanshu. This "reenactment" was just a part of a larger series they'd been running since the end of the summer. The series sought to expand the Lore behind the First Exiles' escape into the mountains. They would then recycle scenes from this battle into a documentary that would air a few days from now. The last three documentaries had been focused on the First Exile, played by Corrina; the four before that had looked at Nour and how she had used guile and opportunity to survive in the postinvasion world.
Corwin looked around, watching the bar patrons more than the TV. It was propaganda. They knew it was propaganda, yet they watched anyway, and they felt all the emotions they were supposed to feel. They gasped when Corrina and her partner were pinned down behind the burned husk of a car; felt fear and pride as her partner sacrificed himself to save her; cheered as she stormed the enemy positions and overpowered them with the force of her rage; nodded with grim faces as Corrina mourned the loss of her friend.
But the video was what it was, and it was meant to inspire and entertain and make people forget about their fourteen-hour workdays. In that, Corwin mused, it accomplished its goal.
The scene faded as the Exiles retreated with their wagons loaded with food and new alien weapons.
The game that took its place was a real-time feed of the arena killing floor. Thirty scarred Choxen, shackles at their wrists, ankles, and necks binding them together, hobbled out into the center of the sand. Except for their restraints, they were naked, their sexual and excretion organs erect with the expectation of combat and death.
Across the arena stood ten armored Tercio equipped only with short knives.
This battle was not supposed to be a fair fight; it was about spilling blood and guts, about showing superiority over the enemy. Corwin knew how it would end and turned back to the table and his beer.
After the slaughter finished, the gathered crowd dispersed, and Hadil, Chahal, and Kai turned around to join Corwin.
"So," Kai said after a moment of silence, "what do you think they'll have us do next?"<
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That was a tired question, one that each of them had asked at one time or another just for something to talk about. "Whatever they want us to do," Corwin said.
They nodded, mumbling unformed words of agreement.
"Where do you think the mission will be?" Hadil asked a few sips of beer later.
Corwin didn't answer this time, choosing instead to drink his beer and let them speak the meaningless words that helped to ease the mind.
"I think they'll send us up north — that's where the most action has been. Maybe running recon again for an advancing army or hunter-killer missions," Hadil said.
"No, I bet they'll send us south, down into Soumerica. I have some family down there; they say the Republic is hitting some stiff resistance," Chahal said.
Their conversation continued, each of them making sounds but saying nothing, really. They weren't friends, but the noises they made temporarily hid that fact. Well, Corwin didn't want anything to do with useless chatter. He finished his beer then requisitioned another, withdrawing into the swirl of bubbles and the numbness of alcohol. He ignored Kai and Chahal's attempts to draw him back into the conversation until they stopped and let him be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Corwin awoke shivering some time in the night. He was cold again, deep down, a sweating iceberg. He hurried towards the showers, where he hoped the heat would chase away the arctic chill that lingered inside.
Undressing with the others out in the hall, he no longer felt self-conscious about being naked in public, no longer felt claustrophobic inside the low-ceilinged room filled with steam, wet bodies, and voices. He was finally indifferent to it all; after all these years he no longer cared about the propositions or the wandering hands and hips. He took it all in stride now, a perfectly normal Republic Citizen.
On his way out, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrors. His eyes were shadowed, skin around them clouded, darker even than the normal cast of his skin. His cheekbones protruded a bit more, cheeks sunken; his neck, though muscular, looked gaunt. His skin was ashen despite the wetness from the showers, and no amount of effort could unknot the skin between his eyebrows and on his forehead.
There was a hollowness even in his gaze. A cave stared out from behind them, an open maw of blackness that reached outward to suck in any light that fell its way.
Corwin shook himself. This wasn't the time. He had to sleep — maybe — for he had a mission briefing in the morning.
Their CO sat behind the only table in the room. He was the same man they'd been working under for every mission so far, yet he looked far more haggard than before. The circles under his eyes reflected Corwin's own, and there was a little more frizz to his hair than normal. He stifled a yawn while typing at his computer, and the room's holoprojector sprang to life with a topographical map of Normerica.
"The Choxen counterattack in 302 A.S. took us all by surprise." The CO's voice sounded even more tired than he looked. Colors washed in over the map: green for Republic lands, red for Choxen.
"Over the last several years we've pushed them back — regained our lost ground and then some." The lines shifted, sliding to new positions, the boundaries of Normerica walking southward, those of Soumerica marching north, meeting in the islands. The Centramerica land bridge filled in with friendly green to connect the two other continents. To the north, the Republic lands expanded too, the allied space extending now from the Atlantic Ocean inward to and around the great lakes and the plains beyond.
"This has been possible, in no small way, to you four. Your work with the IGA in destroying that base opened up a substantial hole in the Choxen defenses, and we capitalized on it."
He typed at his computer again, and a red dot appeared on the map to the extreme north of Normerica, up where the greens of life and even the brown earth gave way to ice and snow.
"Here in the northern wastes of Normerica is the Choxen's last base of operations. It's big, it's old, and it's well defended. The Oniban wants it wiped off the Earth in six weeks." He was animated now, his arms and hands gesturing as he spoke.
"We will launch coordinated attacks all along the border, the largest force assaulting out of Republic space from the southwest. Three smaller assault forces entering from the south, northwest, and ocean will rendezvous with the main body for the final assault. She has requisitioned us two million soldiers, so we need to make this count."
He tapped at his computer again, and the holographic map split into seven zones of roughly 1,500 square kilometers apiece; the image zoomed in on a space of enemy-controlled lands between the western shore of Hudson Bay and the Republic lands to the west.
"Your operation is code-named 'Finding Aurora.' Your objectives are to infiltrate the enemy lands within your area of operation without being detected and to mark and map enemy encampments and emplacements. This is strictly a recon mission. You are not to engage the enemy. We must not give the Choxen any advance warning. Understand?"
Corwin and the others nodded.
"Good." He tapped at his computer, and their coms chimed with new messages. "You will complete the recon and exit into Republic lands exactly forty-eight hours before mission start to upload your findings. Questions?"
"How about supplies?" Corwin asked. "Are there dead drops, or will we need to carry everything on our backs?"
"Carry everything in with you."
Kai raised his hand. "What about dropping us in from the air?"
"Negative. It is essential that we have a path through their sensors mapped so we can exploit those weaknesses during the invasion."
The CO paused, looking everyone in the eye. "This is big. A success here along with minimal loss of life will see all of Normerica free by the end of next year. You can reach me on my com with any further questions." He left the room, leaving the four Maharatha and silence behind.
"Orders, sir?" Kai asked, turning.
"We plan." Corwin stood, taking control of the computer and the image it displayed. With a few key presses, he placed a grid over the map. "Each square of the grid represents two square kilometers. What's the best route?"
Over the next few hours, Corwin was precise, objective, and scientific in his mindset and methodology, shaving away the extraneous, the emotion and fear that plagued any dangerous operation. When they finished, their route was ready, and they had contingencies prepared. Yet despite all their planning, they knew that even the best-laid plans would unravel the moment they set foot on the ground.
They would depart the following day, inserting themselves at the northwestern edge of their designated area of operation, and proceed from there, traveling and mapping from west to east, then east to west and back again. If everything went well, it would take them three weeks, with a three-week buffer just in case things went awry.
"Anything else we might be forgetting?" Corwin asked.
No response.
"Fine. The transport leaves at 0900. Be ready by 0830. Spend your free hours as you wish. Just make sure you're ready."
Logging out of the computer, he walked from the room. They could do what they wanted, but Corwin wouldn't; he'd go over their plan again, likely even a third time, until he was sure that everything had been accounted for.
Hurried footsteps behind. They were heavy.
"Corwin, sir," said Kai.
"Yes?" Corwin didn't stop walking.
"We're going to go eat and have a couple drinks — only a couple," he added after a sideways glance from Corwin. "Would you like to come?"
"No."
"Sir, it might be nice to blow off some steam…"
"I'm not interested, Kai. I have things to do."
"Sir," Kai said, "the mission is planned. Everything is ready."
Corwin stopped, turned. "Well, I want to go over it again." He tapped two fingers on the Variant's enormous chest. "Got it?"
"Aye, sir. We'll see you later."
Silence welcomed Corwin into his room. No one to ask him questions, no one to try to draw him
out. He could just be there, alone with his thoughts. Opening his computer, Corwin sat in the single chair at the small desk. He typed, pulled up maps, measured, thought, rehearsed, moved, counter-moved.
He checked their plans a second time, and when he saw no mistakes that would get someone killed, he let it be. With a few keystrokes, he requisitioned their required equipment and turned off his computer.
Corwin undressed and put his clothes away, taking the time to fold them, turned off the lights, and lay on his bed. He closed his eyes. Took a breath.
Sleep did not come as bidden; he only felt nagging uncertainty with fear at the edges.
What had he forgotten? Something vital, perhaps, something that would get his people killed. Again.
Would he need to send Chahal to die for the sake of the mission?
Would his own inabilities get his people killed?
He could not answer these questions; could not stop their whirl and twists in his mind, razor-sharp at the edges. When sleep came, fitful, it was filled with dreams of death, of killing and being killed — himself. His family. His people.
An explosion. Phae's charred husk. Corwin could feel the heat from her smoldering body, smell the charred flesh.
It was a nightmare of the worst kind, in which the dreamer couldn't distinguish reality from imaginings. Corwin shivered, his teeth chattering.
It was into this unseen miasma of dream world that his Voidmates stepped.
Hadil entered first, oblivious to Corwin's struggle as she swept through the room to the chair and table at the far side. Her passage sent little eddies of scent spiraling up to where Corwin lay.
He sat bolt upright. "Phae?" His words were soft, his throat and voice hoarse.
The name, unspoken in their presence for these last months, sounded like a gunshot. All conversation and movement ground to a halt. They watched as Corwin looked around the room, his face no longer a mask of pain and detachment but of child-like expectation.