by Brett Patton
“Quarters?” Ash said, frowning at her card. “On a Displacement Drive ship? How long are we gonna be in here?”
Matt started. He hadn’t even thought about that. It took only minutes to charge a Displacement Drive. You could Displace from one side of the Union to the other in a few hours, even with a maximum Displacement of twenty light-years. The only reason passenger ships took days to make the transit was the time it took to load and unload passengers and cargo. This wasn’t a civilian ship. It wouldn’t have those delays.
“How many Displacements are we doing?” Matt asked.
“Many,” Sergeant Stoll told them.
“How many, ma’am?” Peal asked.
Sergeant Stoll shook her head. “I’m sorry, cadets.”
“But we don’t need to know,” Peal finished her thought.
Stoll turned and led them down the hall. Matt followed the rest of the group. Michelle and Kyle floated ahead of him, talking in low tones. Michelle seemed to be doing better. She glanced back at Matt once, and her eyes weren’t bugged with fear. He gave her a thumbs-up, and she grinned. That was a good sign. Some people had an impossible time getting used to microgravity, and you never knew until they were up in orbit. With his life spent on refugee ships, Matt had seen all sorts. Michelle seemed to be on a good track.
Each cadet got a tiny, individual cubicle constructed entirely of stainless steel. The only soft thing in the room was a thin mattress and tie-down webbing for sleeping. A wall screen showed a montage of Union News: images of Geos’ bombardment combined with earlier video of Corsair skirmishes. On the bottom, a continuous scroll ran: A STRONG UNION BEGINS WITH U. UNION AND CORSAIRS AT WAR! SUPPORT YOUR UNION: ENLIST TODAY.
Matt turned off the wall screen. With the TV off, deep in the Ulysses, the only sound was the hum of the antimatter core.
Matt cursed silently. It was like coming home. A home he never liked being in and never wanted to return to. All he needed was his Imp Velcroed above his bed to complete the picture of a past he fought so hard to escape from.
The next morning, Matt found the group in the mess hall. Peal and Jahl sat at one table. Ash, Michelle, and Kyle sat at another. Velcro pads on the seats kept their coveralls stuck down, and magnetic strips on the tables ensured their gloopy Insta-Paks (micro-g/zero-g rated) didn’t fly off. Matt shook his head and dug a spork into something that was supposed to be eggs and gravy, amazed at how much effort they put into making everyone behave as if there were gravity.
In an independent Displacement Drive ship, they’d have tables stuck everywhere—on the floor, on the ceiling, on the walls. Or it would be a free-for-all with nothing but handrails.
Crew wearing Union Army and Mecha Auxiliary uniforms filled out the rest of the attendance in the mess hall, but overall the crowd was thin. Union Army and Mecha Auxiliary kept to their own tables, sneaking glances at each other from time to time. Neither group paid the cadets much mind.
Which makes sense, Matt thought. Roth and Tomita wouldn’t tell the Union their fate was in the hands of newbie cadets. They were operating under a veil of secrecy about who was piloting the mighty Demons and where these savior machines were being stored before deployment against the enemy. Everyone in the Union could hope the plan to crush the Corsairs would work, but they didn’t need to know the specifics. To the Army and Auxiliaries, Matt and his group were probably just another batch of raw cadets moving on to Mecha Base for some exercise.
Along one wall of the mess, a tiny strip of window looked out over the metal surface of the UUS Ulysses. The stars winked into another pattern as Matt watched. Another Displacement.
Matt took the table with Peal, who was reunited with his brother, Jahl. “Seventy-six,” Peal said.
“Seventy-six Displacements? Since the first one you remember ?”
“Till I stopped counting last night. If I calculate it out, based on average charge time, we’ve Displaced one hundred ninety-eight times since leaving Earth.”
Matt nodded. If they were going in a straight line at maximum Displacement, that put them four thousand light-years away from Earth. He craned his neck to look out the slit window. None of the constellations were recognizable.
If they aimed an infinitely powerful telescope at Earth right now, what would they see? The pyramids being built? Lost civilizations in South America? The speed of light seemed almost laughably slow.
“What happened to you?” Peal asked Matt.
Matt shook his head. “When?”
“When you disappeared.”
Matt hesitated, since he still hadn’t figured out what to say. Was there an angle? Everything was moving so fast. His Perfect Record was no help in deciphering his lost days in Dr. Roth’s lab.
“We already know some of it,” Jahl said. With a shock, Matt realized he wore the Mecha Auxiliary uniform, with a single stripe. “Unexpected orbital excursion in First Exercise, unprecedented capability, et cetera.”
“It’s great to see you again too, Jahl.”
Jahl nodded in appreciation of the acceptance.
Peal was laughing. “We don’t know about a tenth as much as we should. They clamped down on you hard after we pulled those summaries.”
“A few tantalizing phrases were all we got,” Jahl added.
“Enough to know you’re probably the real reason Roth is creating this Demonrider program,” Peal chortled.
Jahl shook his head. “Which makes no sense, since Hellions clearly could be used for a blanket Corsair assault, if we believe the public-capabilities assessment.”
“Unless the Corsairs are more powerful than the public brief,” Peal said. “Which would explain the extensive nonaccessible data on them.”
“What nonaccessible data?” Matt asked, leaning forward.
Jahl chuckled. “If I knew, then it wouldn’t be nonaccessible, would it? Though you probably could help us piece it together.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you,” Matt said. “What I should tell you.”
“We’re friends, right?” Peal asked.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Then between you and me, probably nothing.”
Matt stopped himself before speaking. Was Peal playing mind games to get the info, or had he decided it would be better for his brother and him not to know any more?
For a while, the only sounds were the constant generator hum and the low murmur of voices from the Union Army and Auxiliaries. A smaller group of Mecha Corps in full blue uniforms came in, glanced at the cadets, then took their own table far in the back.
“I saw the Demon,” Matt told the brothers. “It had to come into orbit to get me.”
Peal’s mouth dropped open. “How’d you get to orbit in a Hellion?”
“I Merged with a Corsair fighter.”
For long moments, the two brothers only stared at each other. Finally Jahl held up a hand. “That’s enough. This convo is already flagged, and I don’t need them compiling any more data on me.”
Laughter from Kyle and Michelle’s table made them all turn and look. Michelle grinned and waved at them, as happy as Matt had ever seen her.
Peal said softly, “You were gone, therefore washed out, therefore there was only one logical choice. Or so I suspect.”
“You don’t understand women,” Jahl said.
“And you are such a gigolo,” Peal shot back, rolling his eyes.
Matt stirred the glop in his Insta-Pak. “I don’t know if I want to know any more, anyway.”
Jahl turned to Matt with a measure of compassion. “She may have fallen into orbit, but you can boost out of it.”
Matt looked over at the other table. Michelle stared out the window, oblivious to his gaze. But she did look remarkably comfortable. As if she would never want to be anywhere else. Her first time off Earth and under such duress. She was handling herself with uncanny class. How could he not be a little jealous?
“The real question is whether or not we’ll survive the boredom on the way to Mecha Base,�
�� Jahl said.
Jahl was trying to change the subject. Fine. He’d go along with it.
Matt pulled out his access card. “Well, we could go to the utility dock, whatever that is.”
“What?” Peal grabbed the card out of his hands. He frowned at it and showed Jahl, who shook his head. “Look at this. Wonder kid gets to go somewhere we can’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Peal showed Matt his access card. The only green areas were the mess hall and his quarters. No utility dock.
Matt took his card back, his fingers numb.
“Sounds like it’s time for you to do a little exploring,” Peal said.
The utility dock turned out to be a large, pressurized space adjacent to the UUS Ulysses’ landing bay. Steel shutters covered its observation windows. Red NO ADMITTANCE indicators glowed next to the shutters.
Matt stopped at the air lock. Its door screen showed nominal air pressure inside the dock. So it was technically safe to enter, but did that mean he should just barge in?
A powerful vibration rattled the air-lock handrail, and a metallic buzz filled the air. A series of sharp bangs followed, echoing through the chamber. Matt lost his grip on the rail and had to grab for it again.
Then the buzzing morphed into a keening ululation that was all too familiar: a Mecha scream.
Matt swiped his card and shot through the air lock. Inside the utility dock was a thrashing Demon. Thick alloy shackles at its right wrist groaned and bent, pulling head-sized mounting nuts off their secure bases on solid-steel deck.
Another tug and the Demon’s forearm popped free. It whistled through the air only meters from Matt and carved a bright gouge in the stainless wall. Matt caught the inner handgrip and ducked back into the safety of the air lock.
He risked another look. The Demon’s heels beat thunderous metallic music on the steel floor. Its free arm clawed at its own chest, as if in agony. Strips of red biometallic metal flew. It was tearing itself apart.
What the hell is happening? What should I do? The airlock’s comms panel read SECURITY HOLD.
With a final groan, the Demon tore off a roof-sized piece of its chest. Red biometallic shards, gray optical cables, and blobs of clear fluid flew outward, spinning wildly in the microgravity. The Demon gave a final convulsion and lay still, its visor rolling over to look at Matt.
A body drifted above the Demon. Tiny and gray with death in its interface suit, it was clearly a pilot.
Matt shoved off the air lock and flew above the Demon. He intercepted the pilot, and his momentum carried them both toward the walls of the dock.
The pilot was soaked with sweat, his just-starting-to-gray hair slicked back as if with pomade. His mouth hung open, his face slack. Matt jumped in recognition. It was Major Soto.
Matt felt for Soto’s pulse. It was strong and fast.
“Major Soto?” Matt asked.
Soto didn’t respond.
They reached the far wall. Matt pushed off and guided them back to the air lock. He reached it in time to meet Sergeant Stoll and an Auxiliary carrying a zero-g stretcher.
“What happened?” Matt asked.
“You should not be here!” Stoll snapped as they started strapping Soto to the stretcher. “Go back to your permitted area.”
“I am permitted, ma’am.” Matt showed her his access card.
Sergeant Stoll shook her head. “They’re all fools.”
“Who is, ma’am?”
Sergeant Stoll pressed her lips together and looked away.
“Damn it, what’s going on here?” Matt yelled.
“I shouldn’t tell you anything,” Stoll said. Then she softened. “That’s not entirely accurate. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Tell him the truth,” Soto croaked. All three snapped to look at the major. The whites of his eyes were bloodred, and one side of his face twitched spasmodically.
Stoll sighed. “Major Soto is using his authority to self-train as a Demonrider candidate,” she said.
“Training authorized by Dr. Roth,” the major croaked.
“He’d be happy to see you die, as long as he got his data!” Sergeant Stoll snapped. Her face registered a brief moment of surprise, as if she’d never expected to be so frank.
Major Soto managed a coughing laugh. “I’ll pilot that Demon, and it won’t be the last thing I do.”
But it just tore you out of its pilot chamber, Matt thought, looking at the floating debris. The Mecha had tried to destroy itself to get rid of him. Why would a machine reject its pilot? That wasn’t like a machine; that was like . . . something alive.
Soto coughed again. Bright red bubbles of blood flew in the air, drifting off into microgravity.
“Get him to the infirmary,” Sergeant Stoll said. She and the other Auxiliary pulled the major away.
When they were gone, Matt pushed off and floated up to the Demon. The hole in its chest exposed gleaming bunches of metallic muscle, intermittently flickering optical fibers, and strands of wet, dark-red fibers that looked almost organic. The pilot’s chamber interior was featureless and dark.
Matt reached out to touch the Demon’s chest, half expecting it to come to life again. The beast was entirely still, but its metal flesh was warm. Like an animal’s.
Like a living thing’s.
Matt shivered. What were the Mecha, and why had they granted him access? To see Major Soto fail?
Or maybe . . . to bond with it?
Mecha Base was a hidden place buried in bedlam.
Matt knew the moment they arrived. Tick. Tick-tick. Ping! BANG! Tick. The mess hall crackled like an old Geiger counter, punctuated every few moments by a deeper BOOM.
Matt’s Perfect Record took him back to the time the Rock had Displaced into the edge of a planetary ring. It sounded something like this. Of course, the Rock wasn’t armored. Back then, every ping or tick was followed by the sharp hiss of air jetting into space and the shouts of repair crews rushing to patch the damage. They Displaced out as soon as possible—right into orbit around a planet held by the Corsairs. The tribute they asked was a small price to pay for their lives, but the Rock’s citizens had been forced to half rations for the next six months.
But why would the Ulysses Displace into a ring system? Matt hurried to the slit windows, followed closely by Peal and Jahl. The rest of the cadets weren’t around.
Above the pockmarked armor of the Ulysses’ surface, the velvet darkness of space was replaced by layered, brown-red clouds of dust, like a sunset sandstorm on Prospect. Far off, a pinpoint of brilliant blue-white light glowed, haloed with sun dogs.
POCK! A pebble bounced off the armored deck just outside, leaving a ten-centimeter divot. That explained the ticking. It also explained the beating the Ulysses’ armor had taken in the past.
“Perfect,” Peal said in a reverential tone.
Something rose over the Ulysses’ horizon, and Matt gasped. It was the largest structure he’d ever seen in space: an asteroid fifty times the size of the UUS Ulysses, covered by massive scaffolding supporting spalled, pockmarked armor shields.
In the shade of the armor, two Displacement Drive ships nestled within. Both were built to the same insane level as the Ulysses, with thick armor, heavy guns, and maneuvering thrusters like a battleship. Sunlight glinted off an armored protrusion on one of the ships, highlighting its name: UUS Vulcan. The other ship’s bridge was hidden in darkness, its name unreadable.
Based on the size of the Displacement Drive ships, the giant asteroid had to be at least ten kilometers in diameter. Not a single light shone on it, but the black barrels of heavy weaponry poked strategically from its surface, and swarms of space-suited humans, small as dust motes, surrounded the Displacement Drive ships.
A large rock glanced off the asteroid shields, soundlessly spinning off into space. Matt swore he saw the scaffolding flex.
Peal grinned. “Perfect location.”
“You know where we are?”
“Unless I’
m mistaken, we’re in the middle of a solar system in the process of formation. Most likely within an agglomeration of matter that will someday condense into a planet.”
“Why?”
“Where else would you hide the most strategic military base in the Union?”
Matt stared, openmouthed.
Peal shrugged. “It’s not like this mud will condense into a planet overnight. There are undoubtedly orbits here that will be stable for decades. The trick is finding them—”
BANG !
“—and not getting destroyed when the condensation takes place.”
Matt nodded. “So why is this perfect?”
“First, there’s no reason to ever look here. Extrapolating travel time and number of Displacements, we’re at least eighteen thousand light-years out. Beyond the edge of the Union. Maybe even beyond the edges of the First Expansion. What’s out here? Nothing.”
“Unless they’re aliens.”
Peal gave Matt a don’t-be-stupid look. “Video-melodrama aliens don’t exist.”
“What about Centauri B?” Jahl said.
Peal crossed his arms. “Floaters? They’re just plants.”
“They sing.”
“Pattern making isn’t necessarily intelligence,” Peal told him.
Matt nodded. Even though there was a lot of alien life, it tended toward the simpler end of the spectrum: seaweeds, mosses, grasses, simple flowering plants, scaled reptiles and amphibians. Some of it was even recognizable by human standards. Some was just downright strange. But it wasn’t like humans had to worry about getting eaten by the alien equivalent of saber-toothed tigers, or dying of some alien plague. The worst humanity had encountered were some funguslike organisms that grew in the warm, moist environment of the human lung. But even the fungi didn’t grow well in an alien host. It took years to die of Green’s disease.
And humanity didn’t have to worry about war or trade with another intelligent species. The universe was empty and quiet. It was one of the things his xenology professors on Aurora argued about constantly: Why were there no other intelligent species? There were dozens of theories, shading from scientific to theological, but none of them had ever been proven.