Forbidden Suns

by D. Nolan Clark

  Candless reached under the navigator’s console. The thing Valk had detected was oblong, about six centimeters in length. Pale in color, mostly soft, but with a harder section at one end. He thought it might be some kind of grenade or something.

  Then Candless fished it out of the grille over the air intake. Held it up where he could see it clearly.

  It was a human finger, severed below the second knuckle.

  “Oh, hellfire,” Valk said. “Oh, hell.”

  “Left over from the boarding, no doubt,” Candless said. She looked around until she found a waste disposal hatch. She deposited the grisly trophy, then returned to the IO’s station and the reports.

  “Lanoe did this,” Valk said. “He came in here and he—he killed people.”

  “He fought his way to the bridge,” Candless told him. “I imagine he killed whomever he needed to kill.”

  “This—this isn’t like him,” Valk said. “The man I know …”

  “Lanoe is three hundred years old,” Candless said. “He’s been a pilot, a warrior, since he was a teenager. How many people do you think he’s killed in all that time?”

  “That’s different. When you’re in a cataphract—”

  “It is not different. At all. It may seem that way, because when you pull the trigger on a PBW cannon, you usually can’t see the face of the person you’re killing. But the pilots he’s bested in thousands of dogfights were just as dead after the fact.”

  Valk couldn’t shake his head, not so she could see it.

  What was it she’d said, though? She’d spoken to Paniet. Who’d said that Valk was losing his humanity. That it was slipping away over time.

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one.

  Lanoe leaned over Maggs until they were looking each other right in the eye. Then he tapped his helmet. “Can you hear me? I’ve switched your suit comms back on. Say something so I know you can hear me.”

  “There are rules about the treatment of prisoners of war,” Maggs said, the words unspooling from his mouth before he’d even considered them. “The Ceres Accords lay out three relevant articles. One concerns torture and standards of confinement. The second requires that prisoners be given medical treatment for any injuries sustained during combat. The third holds that summary … summary executions are … are …”

  Lanoe nodded. His smile hadn’t faltered. “Sure. Go on,” he said.

  Maggs clamped his teeth together. Forced himself to regain a little of his customary composure. He would not let this lowborn beggar turn him into a sniveling coward. “Summary executions,” he said, forcing the words out now—where before they’d been a spigot, a veritable flood, now they were like the last drips from a switched-off faucet—“are permitted only …” He swallowed. It was difficult. “Permitted only in cases of gross criminal activity. Namely, to wit, acts of high treason, genocide, crimes against the interplanetary economy, the possession of weapons of mass … mass—”

  “None of which you’re guilty of. That’s what you’re going to say, right? That you haven’t done any of those things. So I can’t just put a bullet in your head. Betraying your commanding officer—more times than I feel like counting—isn’t on that list. Defrauding entire planetary populations. Being a faithless coward, abandoning your post. Those aren’t on the list.”

  “That’s … right,” Maggs said.

  “Sure,” Lanoe said. “Just one thing. If we’re going to get all legal about this. One thing you must have forgotten.”

  Maggs shook his head. “No. No—”

  “You’re not a prisoner of war,” Lanoe told him. “There’s no war between Centrocor and the Navy. Not one anybody bothered to declare.”

  Maggs tried to climb to his feet. It wasn’t a conscious action, simply something his body tried to do. Maybe he’d intended to make a run for it, or perhaps he’d simply wanted to die like a man. He didn’t know why he tried to get up.

  It didn’t matter. Two marines grabbed him and smashed him down to the ground, grinding his helmet against the ice until it squeaked.

  “I saved your life!” Maggs howled. Any pretense to courage was gone now. “I saved your life! Shulkin would have taken that shot! I saved your life! How many times now, how many times have I saved you?”

  “Uh-huh,” Lanoe said. “Tell you what. I guess that’s worth something.” And then he started walking away. Over his shoulder, as if it were an afterthought, he added, “So I’ll save you for last.”

  The marines didn’t let Maggs get back up on his knees. They pinned him down. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t see where Lanoe was going. But over the radio in his suit he could hear everything that was said.

  “Captain Shulkin,” Lanoe said. “I’ve seen your service record. Your time in the Navy was impressive. You retired with a medical discharge. Now you’re working for Centrocor. Are you willing to come back into the fold? Would you be willing to take a new oath of loyalty to the Navy?”

  “You’ll let me fight?” Shulkin asked. There was no fear in his voice, none whatsoever.

  “I’ll let you fight,” Lanoe said.

  “Then it would be an honor,” Shulkin said. “Where do I sign?”

  Lanoe chuckled. “What do you think, Ehta? You think we can trust him?”

  Ehta didn’t reply, insomuch as Maggs could hear.

  “Good enough,” Lanoe said.

  Maggsy.

  His father’s voice in his head. Back now. Late, but Maggs didn’t mind.

  Father? he thought.

  “You,” Lanoe said. “Tarash Giles. You were the IO on the carrier. You’ll notice the pilot and the navigator aren’t down here.”

  “Yes, sir,” the IO said.

  “IOs have a lot of jobs,” Lanoe said. “They run the sensor boards, protect a ship against electronic attack. They work as science officers, and liaise with engineering on bigger ships. Sometimes they work as political officers, too. Checking up on the crew. Making sure everybody stays loyal. That’s a position of trust. Centrocor trusted you, right? They put you on the bridge. Maybe you’re still a corporate spy. Maybe I should—”

  “Sir, no—please! I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything you say, just … just don’t shoot me! Please!”

  “Maybe I should give you a chance,” Lanoe said.

  “Oh, sir, thank—”

  “One. One chance. If you make me regret this, there won’t be any further discussion. Do you understand?”

  “I do. I do, sir, thank you—thank you.”

  “Sure,” Lanoe said.

  Maggsy, there’s not much time left. I wanted to talk to you about how a Maggs dies. About how we carry ourselves at the end.

  Father? He’s letting them live, he isn’t going to—

  “Major Nicholas Yael,” Lanoe said, as if he were reading from a display. “You served on the carrier as commander of Centrocor’s marines. You led the counterattack when I boarded the—”

  “That’s right, you bastard!” Yael shouted. “That’s right—I defended my ship. I defended my people! You killed twelve of my best troops, you slaughtered them in cold blood!”

  “You fought hard,” Lanoe said. “That means something. Will you—”

  “No! I will not sign any damned loyalty pledge, not to you. Not to the man who murdered Corporal Tyre Cassel. Not to the man who murdered Private Max Youlson. Not to the man who murdered—”

  Someone must have hit Yael then, because he abruptly fell silent.

  “You’re saying you’re still loyal to Centrocor,” Lanoe said.

  “I’m loyal to my comrades in arms. If they’re Centrocor, then hell, yes—cut out my heart, you’ll find a hexagon tattooed on it. We’re all in this together! You understand what that means? You understand what—” Yael let out a deep, gasping breath. “You should kill me now. You should kill me now, because if you don’t I will personally—”

  “Sure,” Lanoe said.

  Then Maggs felt the ground rumble, just for a moment. That—that was a gunshot
, he thought.

  Yael said nothing more.

  Maggs’s whole body shook, as if he was the one who’d been shot.

  Maggsy, my boy, when I died I didn’t get a chance to leave any last words behind. That’s fine. Last words, I’ve heard it said, are for people who didn’t say enough in life. Well, that certainly doesn’t describe you.

  Father? Please, just—just give me some comfort now. Please.

  “Ashlay Bullam,” Lanoe said. “M. Bullam. It says here you’re a Centrocor executive troubleshooter, whatever that means. You’re the real prize here, aren’t you? Shulkin just wanted to fight. You’re the real commander of this mission. You’re the one Centrocor sent to kill me.”

  “No,” Bullam replied.

  “No?”

  “The mission was never to kill you. Don’t be facile. We would have hired assassins to do that. No, we heard that the Navy was going to make an alliance with the … aliens who lived in that strange city. We were supposed to make sure the alliance didn’t happen. It was Shulkin who chased you through the wormhole. I ordered him not to. He didn’t listen to me.”

  “So none of it was your fault. That carrier attacked me, nearly killed one of my people. Nearly killed all of us, frankly. But it wasn’t you calling the shots.”

  Bullam sighed. “I’m not making excuses. I’m giving you facts. You can choose what to do with them.”

  “You don’t sound very frightened, M. Bullam,” Lanoe said.

  “Ha. No,” Bullam told him. “No. You don’t scare me.”

  “Why not? I just killed a man.”

  “Because this is a farce. Loyalty pledges? Really? When did a signature on a file ever stop anyone from doing anything? I’ve read your dossier, I know you aren’t that naïve. You’re letting Shulkin and the IO live because you need them.”

  “Is that right?”

  “You have a skeleton crew on your cruiser. You’ve just inherited a carrier and two destroyers, but you don’t have the people to crew them. You need us—well, most of us—alive. Otherwise we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. You’ve already decided who you’re keeping around.”

  “Are you sure you’re on the list?”

  “I’m certain of it,” Bullam said.

  Terrified as he was, Maggs had to take a moment to admire the woman’s brass.

  “You can’t trust anyone. Not me, not Shulkin. None of the enlisted rabble on our ships. You need the two of us to keep them in line. Shulkin wants to fight, and I want to go home. You’re the only one who can grant those wishes. So this isn’t about loyalty, it’s a business negotiation. A simple trade, where everyone gets what they want and we all go home happy.”

  “So you’re saying you’ll help me. You won’t sign a pledge—”

  “I’ll sign anything you want,” Bullam interrupted. “The file won’t be worth the storage space it takes up, but I’ll sign it. Come now, Commander Lanoe. You’re too old for these stupid games. You’ve seen too many people betray you before. Accept my offer, and release me. Or kill me and see how long it takes for the crew of the carrier to mutiny.”

  “Interesting,” Lanoe said.

  There was no gunshot. No screaming. The marines holding Maggs down let him up, just a little. Just enough to see Ehta take out a knife and cut the plastic shackles around Bullam’s wrists. Then Ehta turned the knife around to show it to Bullam, to brandish it right in her face.

  Bullam rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, just one more,” Lanoe said. He came and stood directly over Maggs.

  His time had come.

  Maggsy, you need to stay quiet. Don’t blubber. Don’t beg, whatever you do. The honor of our family depends on it.

  Honor, Maggs thought. Honor. That’s rich.

  Son. Son—I won’t tell you I’m proud of you. We both know the kind of life you lived. The things you’ve done. Now, now, I know why you did them. But you must admit the world cares little for our intentions, and much for our deeds.

  Dad. I miss you, Dad. It was so hard after you died, and Mother and I had to work to preserve your legacy. We did what we had to do. I did what I had to do.

  I know, son. I can’t say I’m proud of you. But I loved you. I really did.

  It was—surprisingly comforting to hear that.

  “No fancy words now, huh?” Lanoe said. “No protests. No excuses. Yeah. We both knew this would happen, eventually.” He lifted his pistol.

  Maggs took what strength he could from his father’s words. Tears welled up in his eyes but he kept his mouth firm as Lanoe placed the barrel of the pistol against the flowglas of his helmet. If he couldn’t meet Lanoe’s gaze, if he couldn’t bear to look up at the gun, well, there were limits to anyone’s—

  “Wait,” Bullam said.

  Maggs and Lanoe both turned to look at her.

  “In exchange for my cooperation,” she said, “I have one condition.”

  “Now’s not the time,” Lanoe told her.

  “Wrong. This is exactly the time. Because my condition is this—I will work with you, toward our common goal. In exchange, I want you to spare Lieutenant Maggs.”

  Maggs’s heart stopped beating. He couldn’t believe it.

  Neither, apparently, could Lanoe.

  “Seriously?” he asked.

  Chapter Eight

  Red hair.

  If Lanoe stayed back by the entrance to the cruiser’s brig, if he didn’t come any closer, the illusion persisted. It could be Zhang. It could be Zhang, come back to him. The girl in there, floating cross-legged in front of one of the cells, could be her.

  If she didn’t turn around.

  If he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t let himself think about it.

  “Commander?” she said.

  The voice was different. It was Ginger’s voice. Softer, less brash than Zhang’s. It was enough to break the spell.

  He pushed inside the brig, then caught himself on the wall next to her. She had the display up on the cell’s hatch, showing the alien inside. Rain-on-Stones was twitching in her sleep, one of her four arms jerking rhythmically. A spiderlike male ran out of her sleeve and sought shelter in the long, rumpled folds of her skirt.

  “How is she?” Lanoe asked.

  “I’m running low on the sedative. I asked Engineer Paniet to help synthesize some more, but he didn’t have the right equipment. Eventually she’s going to wake up. That will be … difficult, for both of us.”

  Lanoe studied the girl’s profile. Her face was all wrong, completely unlike Zhang’s. It was only the hair that threw him off like that.

  “We’ve made peace with Centrocor. That gives us a carrier, a cruiser, and two destroyers to work with. Most of a carrier group.”

  Ginger’s eyes never left the image of Rain-on-Stones. “That’s nice,” she said.

  “It’s crucial,” Lanoe told her. “If I’m going to take on an entire alien planet, I need firepower. Massive firepower.”

  “That makes sense.”

  The girl’s impassivity angered Lanoe, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. She had one job to do, and she was doing it—taking care of the sleeping chorister.

  “Rain-on-Stones wants this just as much as I do,” he said. “The damned jellyfish almost wiped out her entire species. And if we don’t do something, now, they’ll do the same to humanity. They’ll kill every one of us, in time.”

  Ginger did finally turn to look at him. She didn’t seem angry. She didn’t look like she was bored with the conversation and wanted him to go away. She just looked tired.

  “The Choir hid from the Blue-Blue-White. They hid themselves away inside the walls of existence, where they could wait, and wait, and wait. They didn’t want this … campaign of yours. This crusade.”

  “I’m trying to get justice for them—for all the intelligent species the Blue-Blue-White drove to extinction.”

  Ginger nodded. “You see? There’s the difference.”

  “I don’t understand,” Lanoe told her.
<
br />   “The Choir know something about justice you don’t. That it doesn’t exist.”

  They wouldn’t let Bury fly—not even the short distance from the cruiser to the carrier. “This is all bosh,” he said, and smacked the console with the flat of one hand. “This is a damned milk run! I’m more than qualified,” he insisted.

  Valk’s voice came from the controls of the troop transport. The controls that seemed to work themselves. “You’re on the inactive list,” the AI said, as if that meant anything. Anything at all. “Until you’ve been declared fit for duty—”

  “I’m fine!” Bury said. But he refused to argue further. Instead he climbed down the ladder into the main body of the transport. Because the transport was under acceleration, down was in the direction of the engines, while the small ship’s cockpit and its massive shovel-shaped landing hatch were up. The transport was designed to carry twenty marines from a ship down to the surface of a planet. Most of its mass was taken up by a large spherical compartment, its walls lined with rudimentary acceleration couches. Engineer Paniet was sprawled out across three of these, eating shelled pistachios out of a quickplastic bag that dissolved as he worked his way through its contents. He looked up as Bury entered, but didn’t say anything.

  Good. Bury knew that if the engineer had made some comment, he would have lashed out in rage.

  Bury had never been very good at controlling his temper. Now, when he was being unfairly stigmatized, he felt like a seething cauldron of hate.

  The transport was headed over to the carrier because Lanoe had called together all of his officers—Navy and Centrocor—for some big briefing. Bury had been told he was allowed to come if he wanted, even though he was not on duty. Valk had made it sound like the high-level officers were being merciful. Like they were doing him a favor.

  Bosh! No one had ever done him a damned favor in his life. Ever since he got hit by that missile, ever since he’d been hurt, they’d treated him like he was useless. Deadweight. He was ready to fly. He was ready to fight—but because Lieutenant Candless thought she was his mother or something, he could do nothing but lie in bed in sick bay all day, watching inane video entertainment and playing idiotic games on his minder.