by Chance Maree
At first, a slight rustling arose from the outskirts of the field. And then creatures emerged, first in small groups, slithering, crawling on short bowed limbs, or stalking stiff-legged, hesitant and sniffing with wary eyes. Despite having been reduced to animal form, they—his troops—gathered around the commander, still disciplined enough to stop at a respectful distance, and wait for his orders. Gunner choked and covered his mouth with his hand.
When the last of the creatures had joined the circle, Gunner estimated that a couple hundred were there by his command. Gunner's eyes met those of a large horny-scaled lizard who had to be none other than Thomas. But the lieutenant looked quickly away and then disappeared behind a large, bullish creature. For a moment, Gunner was speechless. Nothing he could say would be sufficient. All those eyes focused on him, and him alone. If I were them, what would I want to hear? The truth.
Gunner cleared his throat, allowing the troops to see his emotion—not his usual course, but the best one he could think of under the circumstance.
“I will not sugarcoat what has happened to you,” he roared, so they would expect no mercy. “The enemy brought tragedy to Galileo. You are each suffering in a way I can only imagine.” His voice lowered, softened, “But know this: I swear to you, I will dedicate my every breath from this point forward to fixing the damage that has been done here.” He straightened and puffed up his chest, trying to present a strength he did not feel.
“You think you’ve been stripped of your human bodies, but I know who you are, and I will seek our enemy out you will be returned to your rightful forms. I will fight, kill, beg or steal. I'll make alliances, but know this—you are my mission, and I will succeed.
“Be patient. Do what you must to survive. If you see anyone else who has escaped the robots, send them to me. While I’m in Galileo, I'll come to this spot at noon each day. Do not lose faith if you don’t see me for I must seek out the enemy.”
By this point, Gunner felt that the futility of his plan had become evident. He added, keeping his voice strong, “Listen to me! Your appearances have changed, but you are military men and women. Stay proud. Stay alive, but do not eat one another. Troops dismissed.” Gunner stayed on the field until the last of the creatures disappeared into the brush. His body felt heavy as he made his way to his tent.
Gunner moved his gear into a fortified structure made with Earth constructed material and mortared fieldstone. He ate, drank, and slept with obsessive focus on restoring his mental health and physical strength.
The next day, Gunner rummaged through communication equipment, opening several units to inspect the extent of the damage. Computer and all processors were useless. He found only one useful object: a map of the ten cities sketched on the lid of a cardboard box. Gunner couldn’t help his people on his own. The next step was to find others who survived. All capabilities and knowledge Gunner had relied upon had been on electronic devices, which had been wiped out. He had ordered his lieutenants to implement low tech solutions, but there hadn’t been enough time.
Gunner stumbled from the communication tent and stood on the knoll, as he had so many days before. He watched as dusk spread over the mountains and the animals moved in herds to the river. For the first time in his life, Gunner felt complete, utter helplessness.
The quiet was broken by the rumble of an aircraft. Gunner searched the sky until he saw it, heading towards the landing strip. For the second time in as many days, Gunner experienced an internal silence that he'd only known during meditation. No, it isn’t a hallucination.
The craft wasn't a shuttle or dirigible. He recognized the space raft, from Alpha Horizon! Was it possible the crew had survived the attack? Gunner grabbed binoculars and sprinted towards the airfield.
Along the way, scenarios formulated in his thoughts that slowed his pace and drove him to seek cover. The wise course of action was not to show himself until he saw who was manning the craft. His caution was justified when two landings were abruptly aborted. The pilot doesn't know how to fly!
Gunner slipped behind a cluster of storage containers and watched the pilot’s next attempt at landing, which was close to disastrous, yet successful enough not to wreck the vehicle. After several moments, the hatch opened. Tyr exited first, then Pilot Pots. A child climbed out with help from Tyr. Gunner recognized the native girl, Ata. No one else appeared to be aboard the raft.
Why would the enemy leave Alpha Horizon in orbit? Tyr and Pots were especially close to the natives. Had they formed an alliance? The idea seemed ludicrous. No human would betray their people to aliens. What would be the motivation?
Gunner remained hidden as Pots and Tyr appeared to be deciding what to do. Of all people to see, those two would be the most uncooperative. Except Tyr, of course. Gunner could control him with verbal commands, but since Gunner's com unit was fried, he'd have to get within hearing distance. A terrible idea struck like a slap: what if the enemy had found a way to control Tyr themselves? Gunner hadn’t considered that possibility before. The boy had been with the natives for over a standard month. With their technology, they could have influence over Pots, as well. The fault is mine. I should never have let Tyr out of my sight.
Tyr hoisted the native girl back inside the raft. Pots walked away, in the direction of the city. Despite the risks, Gunner judged this opportunity to be the best option: he had to subdue Tyr and take control of the raft. From there, the path was clear, and the strategy taking shape in his imagination had at least a nonzero probability for success. Alpha Horizon could take him to Earth, where he could pick up some serious weaponry. Or perhaps to Atlas, where Barbara had mentioned Gunner was most likely to be welcomed, and where he heard a population of natives existed. Perhaps these Canyon People were there as well. If the technology existed, Gunner might be able to persuade one or the other to reverse the transformation of the people on Ostara. If persuasion failed, he’d figure out a way to force them.
Gunner missed his the support of his first lieutenants and the collective experience and brainstorming whiskey and cigar sessions. Perhaps some of them survived attacks on the other cities—collecting survivors remained a top priority. First of all, he needed to get aboard Alpha Horizon. The people of Ostara—and his troops—deserved to be saved, and Tyr, the super-boy bio-weapon, must prove useful, or he would have to be neutralized.
CHAPTER 32
Tyr Dovmont
The whisper drifted in the air like poison gas. “Khropfen, kali.”
Damned phenomenal hearing, Tyr thought as he crumbled to the ground. He struggled against losing consciousness. With one eye open, Tyr watched the commander approach and stop a few feet away.
“Tyr, are you under my command?”
“Yes, sir,” Tyr whimpered. He hated this feeling of weakness. With great effort, he added. “That's a stupid question if you have doubt enough to ask it.”
Gunner spat. “I ask you to show me respect, boy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may stand at attention.”
Tyr stood without a conscious decision to do so. Obeying Gunner was a reflex he could not control.
The commander positioned himself nose to nose with Tyr. “Have you provided aid to the enemy, boy?”
Tyr choked, “No, sir!”
Gunner, apparently satisfied, backed away. “Your landing was atrocious. Can you fly that craft back to the Alpha Horizon?”
“I am a competent pilot, sir.” Tyr's voice cracked, “We have to wait for Pilot Pots.”
“She has food and shelter,” Gunner said, opening the raft's door and motioning Tyr inside.
Tyr said, “As far as we know, Pots is the only worm-mole pilot left on the planet.”
Gunner didn’t like the distain he heard but could not see. “Throw away that monkey ass grinning mask.”
The air hit Tyr's face, cooling the sweat that had collected on his forehead and upper lip. He watched his hand fling the mask out onto the field. The white disk sailed for a brief moment before boun
cing twice and skidding to a stop in the dirt.
At the sight of Tyr’s face, Gunner squinted, but didn't look away. “Now, get in the raft. Alert me as soon as you see Pilot Pots.”
Wind whipped the grass. As thick clouds rolled in, a silhouette sprinted across the field. Gunner dozed in the pilot chair. Tyr tapped his shoulder. “Pilot Pots is approaching, sir.”
Ata pushed her way between them and pressed her face to the forward screen. “Pots!”
“Keep the girl quiet,” Gunner growled.
“Ata, go to your seat. Pots will be here in a minute.”
Through the side window, Tyr saw Pots pick up his mask.
“Stay here,” Gunner said. “Don't come outside until I call you.”
Once the commander had climbed out of the craft, Tyr stood beside the door, listening. Ata studied Tyr’s face, her eyes wide with tension and confusion. Tyr put his finger to his lips and shook his head.
Outside, Tyr heard Gunner greet Pots. Her voice was angry and strained. “Where's Tyr?”
“He's waiting for us inside.”
“What have you done to him, Gunner?”
“You were friendly with the natives. I was wondering what you knew about the attack.”
“What I know—” Pots's voice broke as though she had lost control. “—is that you caused all this! You made Jacob sterilize the natives, and the People in the Canyon retaliated. Our life on Ostara has been destroyed because of your paranoia and ammo-ass decisions!”
Gunner inhaled deeply, and Tyr heard the man's heart pounding. It slowed with each breath, until the heart rate normalized. “Tyr, come out now, please.”
Tyr stepped from the craft. Ata climbed out after him. She ran to Pots.
“You don't understand anything, Pilot, and I don't have time to argue.” Gunner turned towards Tyr. “I want you to temporarily subdue the pilot.”
Tyr sensed the interior of Pots's neck and compressed both carotid arteries. She dropped to the ground. Ata screeched and backed away.
“It's okay,” Tyr whispered. “She's only sleeping.”
Ata stumbled backwards a few steps. She fell, picked herself up, and ran. Tyr moved to follow her, but Gunner called him back.
“Let the girl go. Help me carry the crone into the ship.”
As Tyr obeyed, he continued to look out along the dark horizon for Ata. He heard breathing, far and near and eyes glistened from the plain's grass, but none of them were human.
They strapped Pots into the seat that Ata had occupied. Tyr sat in the pilot’s chair with the commander in the seat beside him.
Once they were airborne, Gunner cleared his throat several times before rising to look for water. He found a canteen and drank. “How many people are aboard Alpha Horizon?”
“Two shuttles full, plus the crew who had stayed on board during disembarkment. In total, close to 2,000 is my estimate.”
“Pilot Pots is going to complicate matters with her accusations against me.”
“You can count on it,” Tyr replied.
“What is the best course of action to prevent that particular scenario?”
Oh, how he wanted to lie! “The information is in her short term memory. An option is to disrupt those memory cells.”
“Are you able to do that?”
Tyr struggled against confirming the statement, but felt his head nodding. “But it would not be without risk.”
“What are those risks, and at what probability?”
“In order to knock her out, as you commanded, I cut off blood circulation to her brain. If I cause further damage, she could lose all sorts of memory functions. She wouldn't be able to learn anything new. She might lose her sense of identity.” Tyr was breathing hard. His face was hot and his knuckles gripping the craft's controls were white.
“Identity.” Gunner scowled. “What identity do any of us have left? Especially you, boy. You know nothing about identity.”
“I am a person. Unique. Like you.”
“You are a product, exactly as Stevenson designed you to be. Nothing more.”
“That’s not true! I have a conscience. Likes and dislikes. Most of the time, I have choices.”
“Is that so?” Gunner laughed harshly. “Can you guess who Stevenson's favorite author was? Shakespeare. And his favorite Shakespearean play? Henry V. Sound familiar?”
Tyr's throat constricted. He could not speak.
“Stevenson loved rutting females. I bet you're starting to appreciate that possibility, too. That little girl, Ata, starting to look good?”
“You're lying! Increased sexual interest is a normal response to hormones and maturation.”
Gunner laughed and Tyr thought about how he might kill him.
“Sorry, Tyr. You are not a human boy. Take a look in the mirror. You don't look like any animal I know.” The commander laughed again, this time with a measure of contempt. “You're less natural than a lab rat. Look at you. You're Stevenson's golem.”
The urge to kill Gunner filled Tyr from ear to ear and all he saw was the color red until a stabbing pain shot through his eyes. For a moment, Tyr was blind, until the sound of Gunner’s voice dissolved even that personal barrier and Tyr became Gunner’s puppet once more.
“Tyr, you will wipe out Pots's memory of this day. I order you to do so without jeopardizing her ability to fly the worm-mole. Nothing else matters. Make it so.”
Gunner took over controls of the space raft while Tyr focused on inflicting a very precise concussion. He used his own photographic memory of a three dimensional brain map. With care and the exactness of a laser, Tyr introduced a trauma, the smallest bruise necessary, to eliminate the brain cells associated with short term memory. When finished, Tyr couldn’t help but feel proud of his skill. In the past two hours, he had saved Pots’s life, and her mind.
“What is the status of your task?” Gunner asked as they approached Ostara's outer atmosphere.
“Pilot Pots will not remember anything that happened today. Neither will she be a drooling idiot. I'm relatively certain she will be able to pilot Alpha Horizon.”
“How about you? What information have you learned today?”
Tyr thought a moment. “I think the People in the Canyon had five spaceships, powered by worm-moles buried in different areas of Ostara. The natives entered compartments in the spaceships, thinking they were caves. Yesterday, from Alpha Horizon, we saw those spaceships leave Ostara. I believe the People of the Canyon attacked our cities, then fled the planet, taking the native people with them.”
Gunner shook his head. “Fuck me flying.”
Tyr wanted to reply, but his head began to ache.
“You have one more task before we land on Alpha Horizon.”
“Sir?” Tyr wanted to cover his ears, or make himself unconscious—anything to prevent himself from hearing the commander’s next words.
“Tyr, you are to erase your own memory of today. You will remember nothing that happened. Instead, when people ask, you were on a rescue mission. The landing was rough. Pots stumbled outside and fell. You were worried she had a stroke or something. When she fell, she hit her head. You called for help. Fortunately, I heard you and came to the rescue. You were very happy to see me alive.”
Anger rose in Tyr such as he'd never experienced before. “Please, sir. Don't make me do this.” The words required great effort and Tyr felt sweat pour from his hairline. Already, he knew his mind was obeying Gunner. I…have…to…fight...
“You will do as I say.”
“Yes, sir.”
⁂
The people aboard Alpha Horizon welcomed the commander back as a hero. Both shuttle pilots appeared relieved to have an authority figure amongst them. Pots appeared confused and complained of a splitting headache. Tyr's version of the day's events was accepted without question.
After an initial celebration, Gunner called together the crews from both Alpha Horizon and the two shuttles for a conference. Tyr headed for the exit, but Gunner called hi
m back. It was like the old days, when they first set out for Ostara. But better, because Tyr was bigger now and the commander’s attention made him feel proud.
Barbara Percy stepped forward. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to attend this meeting.”
For a brief moment, Gunner's face registered surprise and relief.
“Barbara! I thought…”
“Yes, I know.”
“Is the baby…?”
“Julius is fine. Casia and he are taking a nap.”
“Agent Percy, your input is welcome, of course.” Gunner scanned the small group of people waiting for direction. “We could use a few more volunteers.”
Several men, including Josh, and Pots's husband, Victor, raised their hands. Dr. Byrd slipped out of the room.
Once other, curious but non-committal bystanders were persuaded to leave, Gunner turned to Chief Engineer Casey Wu.
“What is the status of the communication systems?”
“We've had no response from Ostara on any channel, sir.”
Barbara Percy asked, “How about Earth?” She looked pointedly at Gunner. “I think we should consider Atlas.”
“We are waiting for responses to our SOS,” Engineer Wu replied.
The commander seemed to ignore both of them. “How many shuttles are operational?”
“Two, sir.”
“Has anyone—besides Tyr—launched a rescue mission?”
Everyone looked away, embarrassed.
Gunner paced. “That is our first priority. The raft worked perfectly. The danger to the shuttles has passed. The shuttle pilots will coordinate trips to every city. They and volunteers will look for survivors…those on two legs, anyway.”
Celine, who had been leaning near the doorway, interrupted. “What happened down there, Commander?”
Tyr watched Gunner, soaking in every detail—heart rate, body temperature, vascular constriction, pupil dilation—it all seemed important.
Gunner cleared his throat. “The Canyon people, in alliance with the natives, launched an attack on our citizens. They sought to destroy us—despite all our best efforts, despite the fact we welcomed interaction with them, even trusting them with our children. I heard that Celine gave makeup lessons to their womenfolk. Despite all that, they launched an unprovoked attack. They destroyed our defenses, and then they swept into our cities and used a technology that we could never have imagined. By means of some device wielded by robots—the Canyon People didn’t seem to want to dirty their own hands with such a monstrous tool—but those robots, with some sort of ray gun, turned our people completely into animals.”