The Powers of the Earth (Aristillus Book 1)

by Travis J I Corcoran

  The two remaining mules, each overburdened with their pickings, followed thirty meters behind.

  Blue looked at Duncan and Max, each carrying a rifle, and then turned his head and looked at the mules. He had to admit it: in John's absence, Max was running things well.

  Max was bloodthirsty, aggressive, and prone to barking orders. And sometimes that was exactly what the situation called for.

  Blue was happy to let Max run the show - at least for now. It let him think about other things as they marched toward the crater rim.

  Like what to do with Rex's and John's bodies. In the brief history of their species, no Dog had ever organized or run a funeral. Not that Dogs hadn't died before; they had. But when BuSuR had killed half their species in the final days of the labs there was no opportunity to do anything, and no time: the survivors had been in hiding.

  Blue pursed his lips. The tradition, such as it was, was that after BuSuR gave a Dog a lethal injection of pentobarbital, it put his body into a red biohazard bag and incinerated it.

  There hadn't even been a proper memorial after the Culling - he and the other survivors had all been too shell-shocked as the Team had packed them into cargo containers and smuggled them from labs to warehouse to ship.

  Rex’s death wasn't just the death of a friend - it was the first death of a Dog since they'd escaped Earth.

  He and Max had known that they as a species were going to have to figure out who they were and what culture they'd have. Would the Dogs adopt human culture? Would they create their own? Or would they choose some synthesis?

  What would it mean to create their own culture? Would they have their own holidays? Their own rituals?

  These questions had been academic when he and Max had last discussed them a week ago, but with Rex dead, they now had a frightening immediacy and concreteness.

  If they survived and made it back to Aristillus, what they did for Rex would establish a tradition that might very well live for centuries.

  And for that matter, John needed a funeral too. And not one by and for his human friends. A Dog funeral. They - all of them - owed him that. Not only had he saved their race in the first place by being a key member of the team, but also his last action had been to give his life to fight a delaying action while Rex and Duncan had reprogramed the mules.

  No, John needed something more than just a funeral. He needed a holiday, or a liturgy, or something that would remind them - all of them, even long after Blue and his generation were gone - that without him -

  From somewhere Max shouted, "I found John's body."

  Chapter 103

  2064: Trentham Court Apartments, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside

  Hugh sat on the couch as he listened, and furrowed his brow. "Mother, it can't be that import-.”

  Senator Haig spoke over him, whether because of the lightspeed lag or just because she had more to say. "- damned idiots." She paused. "Well. Anyway. It's happening and it's happening now. I tried to pull strings at DoD to get a guard detail, but it's impossible. Or so they say. Anyway, my point is this - Hugh, are you listening to me?"

  "Yes, mother."

  "You keep your head down. Down, do you hear me? I want you inside, doors locked. All this - journalism," she stirred the air with her fingers, "is on hold until you hear from me again."

  Hugh nodded. "I understand. What does this mean for your position?"

  And with that the brief flash of maternalism was gone and the conversation reverted to the same tone that it had always had, going as far back as the breakfast table in elementary school: politics, hard and serious. "That's the question, isn't it? I need details, and we're working hard to get them. Kerri's calling in favors right now."

  "What do you know so far?"

  "We know timing. The invasion fleet already launched - I don't know exactly when yet - and it's going to land in a day. Maybe two."

  Hugh swallowed this. "OK. What else?"

  "We're hearing a lot of stuff, but sifting reality from cover stories from conspiracy theories is hard. Some sources are saying that there was a scouting mission that found a secret facility on Farside. Have you heard anything about a base on Farside?"

  Hugh shook his head.

  "There's another rumor that a nuclear bomb went off -"

  "What? No. Definitely not."

  "Hmm. Well. It seems that I'm getting bad information. I don't know if my contacts at DoD are turned, or if they're getting garbage themselves." She paused. "What do you know about Goldwater?"

  "Goldwater Mining & Refining? Our last exposé touched on them, but we're working on a -"

  "They're real, then?"

  "Real? Yes, of course. Why?"

  "I'm double-checking some things I've heard."

  "Mother, if you're getting lied to - if the White House and the DoD did this without you in the loop - what does that mean?"

  "The knives are out, clearly. But don't worry about me - I've got a plan."

  "Plan? What is it?"

  Hugh's mom looked to one side of the camera. "OK, Kerri - good. Now run it past our lunar contact." She turned back to Hugh. "Hugh, I've got to go. Now, one more time: promise me you'll stay inside your apartment for the next few days. Do you - hang on. I've got an incoming call from General Bonner. Hugh, I'll talk to you in a few days. Remember: stay inside."

  She clicked off.

  Louisa leaned in through the open door. "Hugh? What's going on?"

  Chapter 104

  2064: MaisonNeuve Construction office, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside

  Neil Aaronson browsed the titles in the built-in bookshelves.

  Leroy Fournier put the empty glass down on the sideboard. "How is everything?"

  Aaronson turned. "Decent. Your increased volume of registrations is nice, of course. But those webcasts from the college kids are really helping. Some of the smaller firms have switched over from Mason Dixon. Between that and the spike in immigration -"

  Leroy cut him off. "There's something more important. Father passed along some news from Addison. Our neighbors to the south have new plans."

  "What?"

  Fournier weighed for a moment how much he wanted to share, and decided to tell it all. The news would be arriving from other quarters soon enough, and if he delivered it first, it'd be clear that he was in the know. People respected a man who was in the know.

  He locked eyes with Neil Aaronson. "The game is changing. Sit down and I'll tell you the details."

  Chapter 105

  2064: just west of Zhukovskiy Crater, Lunar Nearside

  John groaned.

  It was dark, and something was tugging at his face.

  Another tug, a ripping sensation, pain, and light.

  Crap, his left cheek hurt, and someone had just pulled a hank of hair out of his scalp.

  "Ow. What the - ?"

  He tried to blink but his eyes were stuck shut. He reached up with one hand and rubbed at the crust over his eyelids. He blinked again and this time he could see. What was that hexagonal window above him? Where was -

  In the tent. Hiking. Farside.

  His mind spun. Wait. The PK ships had arrived. One had landed. He'd shot five of them, and then - how - ?

  He blinked again. Blue, Max and Duncan were looking down at him, helmets off, doing that weird canine smile thing - mountains of teeth showing, just a slight upward tilt to the far corners of their black lips.

  He moved his hand from his eyes to his cheek, and - Ow! It was raw, like the skin had been ripped away. He pulled his hand away and looked at it. Blood.

  "Why am I bleeding?"

  He touched his scalp. "And what happened to my hair?"

  Blue said, "Some hair and skin got ripped away when we cut your helmet off."

  "My helmet?"

  Duncan lifted John's helmet and presented it theatrically. The golden faceplate was crazed with cracks. Small pieces of glass were missing, and squirts of solidified pink sealant foam bubbled out through the gaps.

  John looked
at it - and remembered.

  He'd looked up. The boot. His head smacking against the back of his helmet. "What happened?"

  "What?"

  "The PK - he kicked me. In the head. And then I - I must have passed out."

  He sat up and groaned as the headache that had been flitting near the outer edge of his perception reported front and center. "I need to get outside and look at the PK ship." He looked at his helmet. “Duncan, I'm going to need one of the spares. Can you go outside and get one for me?"

  Duncan shook his head. "Mule one had them all, and it fell off a cliff."

  "Fell off a cliff? How did it fall off a cliff?"

  He looked around the tent. "And where's Rex?"

  The Dogs' smiles disappeared.

  Chapter 106

  2064: Mike’s house, Aristillus, Lunar Nearside

  Mike walked through the empty house. A sweater Darcy had left behind was draped over the couch. He picked it up and held it in his hands, feeling the softness of the cotton. He should have -

  His phone rang. Eager for the distraction, he looked at the screen. An anonymous call, but it had a high priority flag. "Hello?"

  "Hello, Michael."

  The voice was cool, emotionless - and unfamiliar. "Who is this?"

  "This is Gamma."

  "Gamma?" He furrowed his brow. "How do I know this is really you?"

  "You received an anonymous text in the midst of the Wookkiee hijacking at exactly 4:02 PM Aristillus Standard Time on this phone. The text read ‘Wookkiee hijacked by PK forces. One dozen aggressors. Hostages taken. Darcy alive.' Only you and I know that I sent that text."

  Mike breathed out. So it was Gamma. He'd known that John had smuggled the AI to Aristillus years ago, and he'd known that the machine - just a collection of databanks and a few rovers at the time - had taken up residence in Sinus Lunicus 80 klicks away...but since then there'd been almost no interactions. Well, no interactions with Mike or anyone else in Aristillus. The AI talked to John.

  "Gamma. Wow. This is - uh - an honor." Shit. He was sounding like an idiot. What does one say to an AI? "Uh, that probably sounded stupid. I've never spoken to an AI before."

  "As I am the only AI, I know that."

  "Right. Of course. Uh." He was stammering, but the conversation had him reeling. "So, uh - why haven't we talked before?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth realized how stupid they sounded.

  "It is not clear that use of a human psychological term is appropriate, but one might choose to call me an introvert. Or to use an economic term, my revealed preferences are to minimize my real-time interactions with humans."

  Mike squinted. "Uh - OK." What did that even mean? "Should I be worried about this call? I mean, the last time you deigned to communicate with me was when the Wookkiee was hijacked."

  As he talked he pushed through a door and stepped out onto his front porch without looking around at the apple trees or the garden.

  "Earth forces have burned my lunar satellite network."

  Mike furrowed his brow. "Uh, yeah. But why call me over that? I mean, you didn't call me when it happened the first time a few months ago."

  "I'm calling you this time because when my new generation of armored satellites were launched four days ago, they were burned. So then yesterday I launched another batch of satellites - and they were burned within minutes of launch. And then, one hour and nine minutes later, my launch facility in Sinus Lunicus was destroyed by the same directed energy weapons."

  Mike's eyes widened. The Earth governments were targeting surface facilities? "Jesus. We're really at war, aren't we?"

  "That's exactly why I'm calling you, Mike."

  "If they're striking your SL facilities, they're going to invade. Soon"

  "I concur."

  Mike started to wipe the sweat from his forehead brow and saw that he was still holding Darcy's sweater. He draped it over one of the Adirondack chairs.

  "Do you have a plan?" Mike said.

  "I do not. That is why I've contacted you, despite my disinclination."

  "Shit. This is too soon. Too damned soon. Do you have a plan?"

  "I already answered that. To expand: I have not given up on trying to formulate a reaction, but as of now, I have no plan."

  "Shit. I hate to disappoint you, but neither do we." Mike exhaled. "Guess you’re sorry you bothered to make this call, huh?"

  "To the contrary. Aristillus' survival is key to my own survival. I wanted to alert you to the pending threat. Now, at least, we have multiple brains working on this problem."

  "Well, thanks for that, I guess." Mike took a deep breath. "How long do we have until the invasion gets here?"

  "I have no idea. That is all I had to convey. Goodbye."

  "Goodbye? Wait! Gamma?" The line was dead.

  Mike put the phone back in his pocket. He turned toward the trees outside the window but still didn't see them.

  The invasion was coming, and coming soon. And they were woefully unprepared for it.

  Mike stared at nothing for a long moment, and then picked up Darcy's sweater and headed back inside.

  Chapter 107

  2064: just west of Zhukovskiy Crater, Lunar Nearside

  Max marched forward, paw after paw landing in the dust as he walked along the highway of bootprints and rover track marks.

  To the left and right the crater walls of c-177 hid the horizon.

  Dead ahead - two kilometers away, but already clear in the airless vacuum - the stern of the downed PK ship faced them dead-on.

  Max didn't have to hike the full two klicks - his target was closer.

  Duncan, a few steps behind him, whined, "Slow down." He paused. "You know, if we'd just come down the same landslide we went up, we'd get to the bodies a lot -"

  Max turned his head and barked at him. "Damn it, listen sometime, Duncan. I already explained this."

  "Sorry - I was playing around with the red_desert_aust overlay." Duncan sounded a bit contrite, but then his enthusiasm took over. "The way the rendering algorithms use real world details for seed data is sweet. Try it. See that tractor trailer up there?" Duncan pointed at the PK ship. "Can you make out what's spray-painted on the side? 'The vermin-' something. Can you read the rest?"

  Max almost snapped at the younger Dog, but forced himself to calm down. If Duncan was a human he'd probably have some prescription for ADD meds - but his enthusiasm for games and his tsetse fly scatteredness had saved all of their lives just half an hour ago when he'd come up with the whack-a-mole game hack.

  "No, Duncan, I'm not going to flip over to that channel. I'm staying in real mode, because someone has to keep an eye on the ship. We have to make sure we don't walk where the the chain guns can see us. Which, to get back to your question, is why we're not taking the direct route."

  Duncan tripped over a rock. "Mmmm... what?"

  Max lost his composure. "Damn it, Duncan, turn off the MMORPG and pay attention!"

  "But I wasn't playing a MMORPG."

  Max breathed out. "OK, I'm sorry. I -"

  "With the sats gone the game is single player."

  Max gritted his teeth.

  "But since you brought up the game, I was thinking: how should we tag the ship to bring it into continuity? Maybe Helm's Deep?"

  Max forced himself to count to ten. "Duncan, I've got a bargain for you. If I talk about the game during this walk, do you promise that we can utterly and entirely drop the topic once we reach the bodies?"

  "Sure."

  Max took a breath. "OK. If we make the ship into Helm's Deep that really screws up the chronology... but I GUESS we could back out some of the last few updates and retcon from a few weeks ago."

  "What if instead of the Helm's Deep siege, it's the siege of Minas Tirith?"

  "That'd make Zhukovskiy Crater into Minas Tirith?"

  "Maybe. Or maybe Gamma's facility is Minas Morgul and Zhukovskiy is Mordor."

  Max grunted along to Duncan's proposals, but kept his attention on the shi
p as they walked. The ship - drawing closer now - was dead. At least, it seemed dead: there were no lights and no figures had come out of it.

  Which was good - if any PKs stepped onto the surface they were in a bad situation. Which is why Max wanted to get this done as quickly as possible and then get back to the tent.

  He checked his map. Two hundred meters to go and Duncan was saying something about Southrons.

  Max grunted. "Sure, whatever."

  Just a hundred meters now.

  And then they reached the first PK corpses. Max stopped. Just an hour ago John had shot these men. Just an hour ago Rex had been alive.

  So much had changed in just sixty minutes.

  Duncan bumped into Max from behind. "Oops, sorry."

  Max turned and snarled and Duncan stepped away. Max turned back to the two of the corpses. One had a shattered faceplate, the other had a hole punched through the helmet just to one side of the glass.

  No spare helmets here.

  "Hey, this one looks good."

  Max turned. Duncan was standing a few meters away and prodding a face-down corpse with one forepaw.

  Max walked over. The PK's life support backpack was a mess - John's bullets had torn into it and hit a pressurized tank, which had exploded. The helmet, though, was intact. Max lowered his head and butted the corpse, rolling it face up, and then stepped back. Two exit wounds in the chest were caked with frozen blood and lunar dust.

  The suit was an Airtight, the same as John's. The dead PK was wearing a Mark IV, which was one rev off, but the helmet should be compatible with the neck ring on John's suit. Max checked the electronics on the suit's chest. The power indicator was black: the suit power was dead. No surprise given the state of the back pack. Still, that meant he had to do this the hard way.

  Max squatted on his rear legs and grabbed the two emergency release levers on either side of the PK's helmet. Or tried to. His stubby fingers scrabbled at the levers. He'd never admit it to a human - not even to John - but he envied humans their hands. Longer fingers, fully opposable thumbs, nice large palms. Not that he'd change places with them: aside from their idiot squish-faced looks, even the smarter ones were idiots. But he did envy their hands.