A Call to Arms

by Bradley Hutchinson

  “For the most part,” Jennifer admitted, though was lying – she’d started her Christmas shopping, but she wasn’t close to being finished. She had a problem that was prevalent among single parents: not enough time. Raising two children with barely any assistance while trying to maintain her career with the Orchestra was a tall order. I also don’t know what to get James… or how to get it from him.

  “Oops,” said Troy without the slightest hint of embarrassment for his laziness – Troy didn’t forget anything, he knew what time of year it was. “I’ll get on that.”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes, wincing as she felt a headache coming on – that was Troy for I’ll get one of my assistants to do it at the last minute. The quality of Troy’s gifts often reflected the time taken to choose them; while they were always expensive, they often had held no interest for their intended receiver.

  “I think I’m about half done,” Anne offered. “I’ve had to cut back a little bit because of the money crunch, though… and I’m still getting used to this damn time difference. All that time spent on Earth last year has really thrown out my sense of time.”

  “It’d be more confusing if we didn’t have VA’s to keep track of the time differences,” Troy offered. “I have to keep up with four different time zones every day.”

  “Poor Troy,” Jennifer lamented teasingly, and he simply pulled a face at her.

  “I suppose James isn’t coming home?” Anne asked.

  “Most likely, no.” Jennifer wished Anne wouldn’t look at her with that pitying look in her eye. She missed James enough as it was, she didn’t need additional reminders – or people’s pity – of what she missed most. “Unless he loses an arm or a leg.”

  “Oh, don’t say that!” Anne snapped, and slapped Jennifer’s arm. “But it’s a shame he won’t be home. I’d like to meet him.”

  “I’d like him home, too,” said Jennifer darkly. “Pity we don’t always get what we want.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  *

  “Merry Christmas!”

  The toast went through the entire ball room in unison, and, for a moment, one might have genuinely believed that it was a truly festive season, despite it being late October on Bastion – Bastion’s year was 396 days long (with every month having 33 days in it) so the people of Bastion – like everyone else in the Commonwealth, regardless of the local time – celebrated Christmas when Earth did. The folks on

  It’s festive until one remembers there’s a war on, Jennifer thought to herself bitterly. She looked at the hologram of husband – he was joining the family gather via long-range comms – and supressed a sigh. Or that some of us aren’t around anymore.

  This was the first Christmas in years where a majority of the Hunter clan was gathered together in one place. Michael, Elijah and Troy were physically present; James and Sarah were off fighting their war, but, like Elias – who, as usual, had holed himself up on his pet-project planet of Sanctuary – were joining in via hologram from their respective locations, Sarah from Elysium, and James from New Baltimore.

  When the ebb and flow of the conversations dulled enough, Jennifer could just make out the string orchestra playing on the raised dais, under the careful – if unimaginative – baton of one of her underlings. With Patrick, Michael and Cassidy – the so-called Hunter trifecta – combining their families for the evening, that meant that there was over forty people present – not including the staff, which almost doubled that number.

  “So, what’s New Baltimore like?” Jennifer asked her husband. James had only shimmered into existence a few minutes earlier, so their chance for small-talk had been very limited, James choosing to spend most of that time talking to his daughters before they scurried off.

  “Well, when we can forget the fact that the N’xin are just a dozen light-years away, this place is actually pretty nice… for a frontier world.” Her husband tried to inject casualness into his speech, but no one bought it. “That doesn’t happen often, of course. Every other day, we get a freighter or a yacht that has another horror story to tell.” His gaze became distant, almost vacant. “And at least it isn’t fucking Bastille.”

  New Baltimore had been settled sixty years earlier and, like Calder II, was quickly becoming a major centre of Commonwealth activity – aside from having a solid, albeit small, industrial base, it was currently serving as a transit hub for people trying to flee from the smaller colonies and outposts that were in the path of the N’xin advance. Because of its importance, it had a large fleet defending it – a contentious decision, as many felt those ships would be better suited prosecuting the war against the N’xin.

  Not that the last offensive the Commonwealth launched had gone well. The political fallout from that disaster had yet to subside – the power vacuum left behind by President Ansara’s resignation had yet to be filled, with none of the new candidates being overly popular or special.

  “At least you’re not in the firing line,” Elijah Hunter offered, coming up to stand beside his sister-in-law. “After what’s happened at Sacramento… that’s got to make you feel better.”

  “Hardly,” James said, his voice dripping with contempt, frowning severely. “I’m sorry, Eli, that wasn’t fair. But the loss of Sacramento… and this new posting of mine, is just… irritating. I wanted to get off Elysium to get away from pushing papers.” He frowned. “I’d even settle for serving in JAG again… but there isn’t much use for that department at the moment. Court-martials are getting fewer and fewer… can’t afford to waste the manpower.”

  “Well, I for one am glad you’re safe,” Jennifer declared. She wanted nothing more than to embrace her husband, and would have, if she’d been able. Elijah nodded his agreement as he reached over for the punch bowel.

  “I know, Jen.” James tried to muster a smile as he watched Elijah shuffle off to get the attention of his wife, Anne, who was standing further down the table, deep in conversation with Aunt Cassidy, and her eldest, Hayden. “So, what sort of programme have you developed for next year?”

  “Probably nothing you’d like,” Jennifer admitted, smiling impishly. “We’re doing a recording cycle of all of Tansman’s symphonies –” James pulled a face; he’d never been a fan of Tansman. Jennifer let out a snort of amusement at the look on his face, and then continued, “We’re also going to focus on Shostakovich, Glen Boult, Dezső Maazel and Valéria Ligeti.”

  “But Ligeti is so… bland.” James positively looked pained at the idea.

  “His estate is making a generous donation to the orchestra if we do a complete cycle of his eleven symphonies.” She shrugged. “For ten million dollars, I’m willing to accommodate them. And his eighth symphony isn’t too bad. You said so yourself.”

  “I believe I said the Eighth was barely tolerable – if only because it’s a logical progression of Tchaikovsky’s later work – and I’ll double what they’re paying you to not do it.”

  “Double to not do what?” Sarah asked, her hologram gliding through the banquet table with a grace the woman usually didn’t possess in real life. “What are we talking about here?”

  “Avant-garde rubbish,” James said dismissively, and Sarah looked like she had sucked a lemon. Sarah was the shortest of the Hunter siblings, but still managed to nearly hit six feet, with long locks of black hair – which used to be blonde, like her mother’s – framing her darkly intelligent eyes. Like James, Sarah was a trained musician, despite having focused most of her life on being a first-class surgeon. And, just like James, it was only a hobby, despite her cello skills being good enough for a professional career. “Jen is accepting a donation to do a cycle of Ligeti.” He said the name like a curse.

  “I’ll double it, too,” grumbled Sarah, smirking.

  *

  “It’s great having James and Sarah here.”

  Troy shrugged noncommittally as he sipped at his champagne. He and Sarah had never been close, and the relationship he had with his twin had been strained the last few y
ears. Troy wasn’t sure what it was, but whenever they talked, one of them would say something that would set the other off, and then they’d go three or more months without speaking to each other, only to repeat the cycle all over again.

  “For those of us who appreciate having them around,” Michael added, peering at Troy with a twinkle in his blue eyes. Behind him, Troy could see James and Jennifer conversing with Sarah and Elijah. James was smiling, as was Jennifer – a good sign.

  Troy glowered at him. “I’m appreciative,” he protested. “Not my fault he decided to uproot his family and go play soldier. I didn’t tell him to do any of that, I did not –”

  “Oh, hi, Mark,” Michael said, cutting Troy off as he extended a hand to Sarah’s husband, who had brushed past them for the canapés. Mark shook the proffered hand, and then shook Troy’s. It had been a couple of years since Troy had seen Mark, but he didn’t look any different – average height, a little bulkier than was probably optimal, with sandy blonde hair and green eyes.

  “What’s the go with the Tanaka case?”

  Michael pulled a face. “Judge threw it out. Claimed that while Tanaka may have been negligent in his reporting, his conduct didn’t reach the level of wilful disregard.” He shrugged. “Not that this was an important case, but the ruling still stings, considering what the lawyers were charging us.”

  “So we’ll prevail on negligence?”

  “If only our lawyers had thought to plead it,” Michael snipped, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Our legal department is going to have a bit of a clean-up after the holiday period is over.” He jutted his chin the direction of James. “I’ll get James to have a look at the brief later, he may have some ideas.”

  “Provided that the deadline hasn’t passed, we could still amend our filing and win on the negligence grounds.” Troy pointed out, reaching over for a canapé himself. “Do you want me to handle it?”

  Michael arched an eyebrow. “You’re actually willing to do some work?”

  “Adlai is kinda scrimping on my love life these days, so it isn’t like I have anything better to do except work. Besides, with the way the economy is doing, I may need the money soon.”

  Michael sniffed derisively. “It isn’t that bad,” he said, then caught Troy’s eye. “Okay, so it isn’t too bad here.”

  “Unlike Elysium and Earth,” Troy amended, his mind flitting to the latest economic forecasts. As Michael had indicated, Bastion was weathering the war fairly well, but on Earth, and Elysium, and a dozen other Core worlds, industries not directly tied into military were suffering a recession; unemployment was rising, wages were stagnant and the general cost of living was creeping up.

  It was only a matter of time before Bastion started feeling the squeeze. If it hasn’t already started seeing it already, Troy thought, frowning as he checked the time in the corner of his virtual-vision. It was getting quite late – already past 2500 hours – and Adlai would need to go to bed soon. There was only so much excitement the five year old could take, after all, and Adlai had stomped on Troy’s bed at the ungodly hour of six in the morning.

  “Speaking of which, I’d better find Adlai and put him to bed in one of the guest rooms.”

  “Your old bedroom is set up,” Michael suggested, and Troy bowed his head in thanks as he made his way for the Christmas tree – easily the largest fig he’d ever seen, and that was saying something – at the far end of the room, thousands of tiny lights flashing in silent celebration. From his vantage point, Troy could see Adlai, Jennifer’s twins and Michael’s youngest – Trent – aping the same movements, no doubt having linked their child-friendly virtual-arrays to play a game.

  “Hey, Jen,” he said as he leaned over the banquet table, trying to grab her attention. “I’m going to get Adlai and put him to bed, do you want me to bring the girls over so they can say goodnight to their father?”

  “Sure thing,” Jennifer said, not quite managing to supress a wince. “I completely lost track of time.”

  “I’ll come with you,” James offered, his holographic avatar starting to move… and then his hologram disappeared entirely, shimmering out of existence with a burst of blurry static.

  Troy stood staring at the spot where the spectre of his twin had been standing. He queried the mansion’s mainframe with his virtual-array, and everything came back in the green, which suggested it was a problem further up the line. FTL communication in the Commonwealth was almost perfectly reliable, but there were always the occasional hiccups. An auxiliary facility should be coming online any second now.

  But James remained missing. Troy glanced at Jennifer and shrugged apologetically.

  “What happened to James?” Michael asked, coming up from behind Troy, his brow furrowed.

  “Equipment failure, I’d wager,” Troy said, then frowned at Sarah, whose hologram had been in the process of returning to Jennifer with Elijah. Her attention was focused on the spot where James had been standing. “Sarah?”

  Her response was a long time in coming, standing transfixed at the spot her younger brother had been. “New Baltimore has dropped off the map. No one in the Commonwealth can get through to it,” she said, her tone ice cold. “This sort of communications blackout can only mean…” She fell silent. She didn’t need to finish the sentence. They all knew what it meant.

  Invasion.

  Chapter Two

  Coughing and spluttering, James picked himself up off the floor, swaying slightly as he blinked his eyes to focus. He hadn’t lost consciousness, but he’d been so dazed and disorientated that he’d stayed down for some minutes while he recovered. His connection to the main frame of Fort Develin was shaky at best, suggesting heavy damage to the facility – considering they were ten stories underground, it must have been one hell of a blow.

  His office looked like it had a taken a direct hit, though if it had, he would be dead instead of just feeling like it. The middle of the ceiling had collapsed, with steel girders and support beams jutting into the ground, sparks cascading like a waterfall from the ruptured power conduit, bouncing off the broken pieces of plaster that were now littering the floor. James took it in silently as his cybernetic combat systems cycled up, wrapping his arms, legs and torso in a soft, silvery protective shield. The blast probably impacted three or four floors up.

  The dim emergency lighting was smothered by the fog of smoke that permeated the air, making the shadows stretch into nothingness, and made finding his way all the more perilous. He sent out a local ping, and instantly connected to all functional virtual-arrays on his floor – eleven returns, out of a potential 33; most of the beacons were near the eastern stairwells, the portion of this facility least damaged by the barrage. James, a lieutenant, had been the third ranking officer on this floor before he’d connected to Bastion for the family Christmas – now, he was the ranking officer.

  He made his way out into the corridor outside his office, looking both ways to gauge which direction to go. A total structural collapse on his right left him with no choice, so he started making his way to the opposite end of SL-8, where the eastern staircase was, sticking his head in every doorway on his way, checking for survivors.

  The sights invariably sickened him. The office to the left of his had suffered extensive damage, and Lieutenant Singh was face-planted into his desk, pinned beneath a support beam that had collapsed on top of him. Ensign Sato hadn’t fared any better in the office on the other side of the hallway, copping a face full of shrapnel from an exploding computer terminal.

  Dying in combat is one thing, James thought, grinding his teeth in frustration, but this is appalling. James had long ago decided that, if he was to die in this war – however temporary that death may be, thanks to his clone and re-life policy – he was to do it fighting. Dying in an accident, dying without having a fighting chance… He shook his head as he checked the body of CPO Mendez, his stomach churning in anger. Unacceptable.

  *

  “Guns, why haven’t you swatted those fighters yet?�
��

  The bridge of the Apollo-class cruiser Trieste was a tempest of frantic activity, but Captain Edward Atwood was doing his best to portray an aura of calm. It wasn’t easy – aside from his ship being harassed by nearly thirty N’xin fighters, there was a N’xin fleet of fifty warships.

  The battle – which was turning into a rort – had started off badly thirty minutes ago, the defence forces protecting New Baltimore being caught completely off-guard by a phalanx of N’xin frigates swooping in from the direction of Ellicott IV. At first, it was believed to be a raid, and as the Commonwealth forces in the system had gathered for a counter attack, the rest of the N’xin fleet had pounced, catching the fleet out of position. The N’xin had only managed to strike at the planet with a single salvo, but that salvo had been carefully calculated, decimating three major military bases on the planet before the defence shields could be raised.

  “Working on it, Captain,” Lieutenant Curtis reported from the portside tactical station.

  Atwood nodded once, turning to the communications officer. “Have you broken through their jamming yet?”

  “Negative, Captain,” Lieutenant Diaz said, wearing his frustration on his sleeve as he kept his frustration fixated on his console. “They’ve got at least three ships using some sort of multi-phase –”

  “Whatever, I don’t care, just get it done,” Atwood said, glancing at Commander Clayton Merkerson, standing watch over the aft stations. “Clay, I don’t like the look of those heavy cruisers to starboard, send some of our fighters to keep them distracted, will you? And guns,” he turned back to Lieutenant Curtis. “See if you can dissuade them from firing on the planet.”

  “Aye sir,” Merkerson said, his deep, English-accented baritone matching the darkness that surrounded him; combined with his dark skin – only a shade or two darker than Atwood’s own – his was an almost ominous presence at the rear of the bridge.

  “What’s the status of the shield protecting the city?”