Worlds Apart 02 Edenworld

by James Wittenbach

  “What is this?”

  “You don’t recognize it?”

  “Should I?”

  “You mean Executive Commander Lear did not invite you to her own son’s Valediction Ceremony? How offended you must be. You and she go back so far. Then again, she does try to keep her relationship with the Centurions most discreet.”

  “Spare me your riddles, Hunter. What is the meaning of this?”

  Two cliches in as many sentences, Centurions, he reminded himself, were not known for their creativity. He reduced his statement to simple facts. “The backpack is the property of Ex. Cmdr. Lear’s son, who is in my custody somewhere in the bowels of this ship. If you will do a very small favor for me, I will see that he is released unharmed.”

  Bellisarius raised an arm and moved toward John Hunter. “You better pray that this is a joke.”

  “This is as serious as I get.”

  “If you harm that boy in any way, I will personally see to it that you are beaten to a bloody pulp and discharged from an airlock.”

  “I know, deep down, you really mean that, too. The boy will not be harmed, unless of course, something prevents me from returning to the place where he is being held. But if his stay in our world were prolonged, I think our good Executive Commander would be subjected to needless stress, not to mention embarrassing questions about her son’s absence.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Good man. We’re on the same frequency now. I want an identity Sliver.”

  “You’re mad.”

  John Hunter paused thoughtfully. “You’re not the first to make that observation. Tell me, good Centurion, how many people inhabit the UnderDecks?”

  “Somewhere between one hundred fifty-three and one hundred and seventy-six,”

  Bellisarius answered.

  “And of any of us try to penetrate the ship’s upper decks, the sensor grid will detect us and we will be captured, frozen, and put off at the next supply drop. You Centurions, however, are free to move back and forth, just as you move between your assumed identities among the ship’s crew and your true function as Centurions, loyal to Republic.”

  “You desire that same privilege.”

  “It would ... improve my situation markedly. Get me the Sliver. It is to be an uninitialized, uncoded Centurion ID Sliver, as virgin as you think your daughter is.”

  “A Sliver by itself won’t get you onto the UpperDecks,” Bellisarius told him.

  “Then there should be no harm in delivering one to me. I have no further demands. Deliver me one Sliver, and I will release the boy as soon as I verify its authenticity.”

  “I have a better idea,” said Bellisarius. “Give me Executive Commander Lear’s son, and I will permit you to continue breathing.”

  “Catch,” said John Hunter. He lobbed a tiny object through the air, which Centurion Bellisarius caught neatly. “The Sliver I want will bear a striking resemblance to that one. I suggest you verify the identity and authenticity of the Sliver before we meet again. Signal me when you have the Sliver. You’ll receive more instructions then.”

  Suddenly, the deck went black. All light drained from the scene. Bellisarius moved instinctively in the direction where his adversary had been standing and found, to no surprise at all, that no one was there when he reached it.

  The darkness cleared in streaks and wipes before evaporating entirely. In the deck was the empty shell of a shadow grenade. Centurion-issue, as if to remind him that John Hunter was capable of pulling off anything he put his mind to.

  The Minor Centurion addressed Bellisairius. “Was that him?”

  “It was indeed,” Bellisarius answered. “There are perhaps a score of Hardcore Isolationists hiding down here who would gladly destroy this ship and kill themselves in the process. That man is more dangerous than any of them.”

  Pegasus – Executive Commander Lear’s Suite

  Bellisarius, now dressed in the more ordinary uniform of ship’s security, delivered the message to Executive Commander Lear.

  She had been in the midst of her vision strengthening exercises, alone in her chambers. Augustus was at the Vivaria and Marcus was playing soccer. He handed her the Sliver, and she had turned it over and over again in her palm. “He cut open my son’s jaw and took this out.”

  The actual extraction probably required only a small slit of a few millimeters in length. Bellisarius did not let the thought of correcting her even enter his mind. “The Sliver corresponds precisely with your son’s implant, and there is residual DNA on its surface. We were able to make a positive identification: 100% certainty.”

  Lear set the Sliver down next to her son’s backpack. “And this John Hunter is ransoming my son for a Centurion identity Sliver.” Sparks were practically chipping through her teeth.

  “That is his one and only demand.”

  “An uninitialized, untraceable identity Sliver,” she repeated. “So, he can blend in among the crew, freely use our resources, pass back and forth between here and the UnderDecks at will.”

  Bellasarius stood absolutely still.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Lear snarled. “Even with an ID Sliver, we would find him.”

  “He’s a very resourceful man,” Bellisarius offered.

  “Apparently, more resourceful than the finest Centurions Republic would spare me.”

  “It is most likely that acquiring the Sliver is only the first part of his plan. He is clever enough to know that he would be detected if he leaves the UnderDecks?”

  “I can not allow that.” Duty, as always, burned brightest even in the midst of rage. Despite knowing she would choose her duty, Bellisarius was relieved to hear her say it. If she had given in, his next duty with regard to her would have been exceedingly unpleasant.

  “I await your command,” he said.

  “Can we track him using the sensors in the UnderDecks. Could we find my son using the sensors in the UnderDecks.”

  “The denizens of those areas have found away to evade detection. They are somehow able to make themselves undetectable to the instruments we have place below decks. We don’t know whether it is through alteration to the equipment itself…”

  “…or through changes to the electro-magnetic signatures of their bodies. I read the report concerning the girls we put into stasis last month.” Her voice caught for a moment. If there was meta-surgical alteration involved, would those in the Underdecks alter her son as well? “How many people do we have in the Underdecks?”

  “Fifty-One Centurions.” There had been fifty-two at launch, so the number was not without portent.

  “Not enough. I told them this ship was too dambed big.” She pulled up some files and, strictly against orders, slipped into vision augmenters. “I can’t alert the ship’s regular security until Trajan is overdue for his return. That’s still a day and a half from now.”

  “We could simulate a distress call from the lower decks, that would give us a pretext in which to send down security.”

  “Prepare a plan for doing that, but do not implement it until I have had time to review it and consider the repercussions. In the meantime, have your forces sweep the UnderDecks, use automechs, Trauma Hounds ... anything you need, but be discreet.”

  She did not have to tell him to be discreet.

  “Confine and interrogate any of the undocumented people in the UnderDecks you encounter. I give you absolute discretion.”

  “We will do as you order, executive commander.”

  “You will find my son!”

  Bellisarius went back a long way with Goneril Lear. He knew things about her not even her husband knew. In all that time, he had never seen her with such a fury burning inside. “And, if my son is harmed in any way, you have my sanction to eliminate John Hunter by any means you see fit.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Winter – The Farside

  After long hours of conversation, Winter had fallen asleep, gradually rolling herself into a tight ball on the landing couch, instinc
tively tucking her hands and feet toward her belly to conserve heat. When he sensed that she was soundly asleep, Redfire had covered her with a flight jacket. He wondered how long she would stay asleep, expecting that she would probably stay asleep for a very long time, given that people went into a kind of hibernation during the long nights of this world.

  The ship had grown quiet. The rest of the landing party were in sleepers, enjoying long, rejuvenating sleep cycles. Redfire supposed he ought to have joined them, but although he felt fatigued, he did not feel like sleeping. Though his skin was tired and his eyes burned faintly, something was pulsing through his blood that would not let him sleep just now. He had felt this way countless times before.

  Redfire began walking forward toward the comm station to check in with Pegasus, when he was distracted by flickering light outside the ship. He opened a viewport to look outside and was surprised to find that Ironhorse had built a fire forward of one of the wings. He pulled a parka from a locker and slipped into it. Upon exiting the main hatch, the biting cold cut him like a knife. “The portable heaters are far more efficient,” he called out to Ironhorse.

  Ironhorse did not turn away from the flames. “But a fire is more appropriate, and it is good for the soul.”

  The air was strangely still. The cold and darkness of this, which some called ‘the deep night’

  when the dayside was in eclipse, was so complete as to freeze and silence all activity, like a great cloak flung over the hemisphere. Redfire moved toward the fire, heard his boots crunching against the cold, cold ground.

  Ironhorse stood solemnly, his face aglow with the light of the fire. There was something unspeakably primal and ancient about the scene, a human warming himself before a fire in the heart of a cold, dark night. Something in the atmosphere was lending a fluorescent green tint to the spattering edges of the flames.

  “You couldn’t sleep either?” Redfire asked.

  “I have already slept and awakened. When I went to the sleeper, you were in deep conversation with the woman. When I awakened, you were still in conversation in her, but much quieter and much closer to her than when I had left.”

  “You make it sound … inappropriate,” Redfire said.

  “You are already thinking of bringing her back to the ship.”

  Redfire suddenly realized that he had been thinking that very thought. “Why do you think that would be a bad idea?”

  “I do not know if it is a bad idea,” Ironhorse answered, “but I do not think it would be a good one.”

  “Why not?”

  Ironhorse extended a steaming thermos of herbal tea, which Redfire accepted. “Remember that you asked.”

  Redfire stood beside him, and felt the warmth of the fire upon him. Ironhorse was right, this did feel good for his soul.

  “For one thing, there is your wife.”

  Redfire said nothing for a moment, because the only words he could think of were “It isn’t what you think.” Not only was that a lame expression, it was also embarrassingly not true enough. “If she wants to leave her world, I can’t refuse her that on the basis that my wife would be jealous.” He immediately hated himself for saying it. It sounded like something Lear would say. Rationalizations were never uglier than when they came from one’s own self. Ironhorse drove his point home. “She comes from a savage, primitive world. You and I come from worlds that are enlightened and peaceful, yet there are differences between our own peoples as deep as a river gorge. Do you know what the rate of failure is for marriages even between Sapphireans and Republickers? Not to mention, in our normal gravity, it would be hard for her to even get out of bed.”

  “Ironhorse, no one is talking about marriage here, for truth, I am already married.”

  “She’s warmed your blood, more than this fire, or even a portable fusion heater.”

  Redfire began to wish he had stayed inside. “That only proves that I’m male. Za, she is beautiful. Beautiful women have always been the downfall… and the saviors… of men.”

  Ironhorse chuckled and shook his head.

  “What?”

  “You just keep squirming away from the real question… squirming away from yourself. How do you feel about this woman?”

  “You want me to admit I’m attracted to her… and I do … and I am, but I am adult human being. I am the master of my emotions, and my actions." It was more than that, he knew. Something about her was getting to him in a way he could not quite understand.

  “That’s one side of you, but, you are also an artist, always looking for expression of your inner spirit. Now, your spirit, and her spirit are searching for some kind of connection.”

  “Oh? You think she’s into me?”

  Ironhorse gave him an Oh, please look. “I am concerned for you, and for what might happen if you let yourself develop an attachment to this woman.”

  “I appreciate your concern.”

  “Neg, you don’t. You don’t understand. Every living being is eventually consumed by its nature. If you possess the warrior’s nature, you fall in battle. If there is no battle in which to fall, you will make a battle of your whole life. Poets are consumed by words, artists by creation. Whatever is most important to you, that is the thing you will build your life around, and in the end, it will consume you.”

  “And Winter?”

  Ironhorse drank his tea. The steam from the tea and his breath rose in clouds around his head. “Her nature is that of the wild, and the wild will consume her… and any man who lets her claim him.”

  Redfire noticed that somehow, when he spoke, his voice seemed somehow more shrill and fragile then he intended, and his words seemed to fall all around him like broken shards of ice, seemed to dissipate into the night. Ironhorse’s voice, on the other hand, stayed close to the fire, retaining weight and warmth. Several long quite moments passed before Redfire could think of anything to say.

  “What about shamen?” he asked finally.

  Ironhorse stared into the fire, as though he saw faces in the flames. “It is our fate to be consumed by our own spirits… and that is not such a bad fate.”

  Redfire stared into the flames for a few moments longer, so bright and white and full of light they hurt his eyes against the backdrop of the night. After a while, he said, “I have to contact Pegasus, ” and returned to the ship.

  Eden – The Dayside

  “I didn’t want to do that,” Keeler said to the boy lying unconscious at his feet. He did not go on to say, “but I knew that attempting to communicate with you would be futile. I know you just want your weapons back, but they are in a satchel back in my camp and there is no way I could to explain this to you before you would kill me. Therefore, I think you lying on the ground with, what I hope is, a mild concussion is better than the alternative outcome of me, lying on the ground with a severed spinal cord. That’s why I whacked you with my walking stick. By the way, I bet you were surprised that someone as old and heavy as I am could move so swiftly.”

  He gathered the boy up into his arms. It was light as a bird, and Keeler hoped he had not seriously hurt him. The boy’s head lolled against Keeler’s neck and reminded him of a time he had found his young nephew, Justice, asleep on the grounds and had carried him into the Main House. He was making his way along the path back to the camp when a shout went up from Marine Specialist Everything.

  “Captain, we’re under attack!”

  Keeler took two more steps, then broke into a run. The minimal gravity let him make Olympic-Grade long jumps covering the few dozen meters of ground in the space of seconds. Alkema was waiting for him at the edge of the camp. “Captain, Praise God, you’re not hurt.”

  “Never mind, what’s happening? I mean, report!”

  “Some big men with swords just charged the camp.”

  Keeler passed the boy to Alkema. “Protect him!” he ordered, then raised his walking stick into the air and plunged into the fray.

  “Captain!” Alkema called after him. “Captain, don’t you’ll be…”
He then looked down at the bundle Keeler had deposited into his arms. What the hell is this?

  An unknown number of low guardsmen, four-armed musclemen in horns with armor, wielding swords, had invaded the camp. The Marines were putting up a fierce resistance, unarmed, but not disadvantaged. Their landing suits provided them with almost impenetrable body armor, vision augmentation to turn night into day, and strength augmentation. The planet’s gravity was low already, but their added strength gave them the ability to do such things as catch a heavy sword in mid-swing and rip it from the hands of the sword-wielder, as Honeywell had just done when Captain Keeler joined the battle.

  If he had still had his pulse rifle or hand cannons, Honeywell probably would have just stunned his attacker, but the rules of engagement had been dictated by the Scion. He turned the sword against the guardsmen and plunged it through his armor plating straight into his heart.

  Sensing an attacker behind him, he wheeled about, swinging the sword with him. By the time he caught up with his own action, the decapitated form of a guardsman was falling toward him. He had to leap high in the air to avoid it. He landed on the back of the beast and quickly turned around. His immediate area was clear, but fighting was going on all around him. He was shocked to see closest at hand, Captain Keeler, fighting off one of the guardsmen with his walking stick.

  Keeler wielded the stick – which had suddenly tripled in length – in a long arcing thrust, and swung it at the legs of one of the attacking guardsmen. It struck him in the waist and neatly disconnected his legs from his torso. This was not enough to disable the four-armed man. Although blood was gushing from his wound, he scuttled along the ground like a crab. The Captain swung his walking stick again and brought it straight down, plunging it into the wounded man’s back and punching it out through to the front.