Still looking doubtful, Ken let it drop.
Shriek’s voice sounded over our private channels. “Diop is moving away from the convoy. The Arvani have won the power struggle.”
“Oh, fuck,” I said with quiet understatement. “We should get moving, then.”
I was the last to board, and Wei the last to leave the docking bay. I grabbed his wing hand. “You’re in command now. Take this courier as far away from the action as you can. Run to Ceres. We’ll meet you there when we’re done.”
Wei’s beak opened and closed wordlessly. Finally, he said with weak indignation, “I should hope so. My research is nowhere near completed.”
“Approaching target in five minutes,” Shriek warned.
We could have jumped over the space using heatshields and thrusters, but that would have ruled out Hideo and Lang. Besides, I wanted that getaway jumpship stationed nearby. I don’t believe in suicide missions. We coasted out of the bay on minimum power, drifted parallel with the troopship, then landed on the hull and engaged magnet anchors.
I spoke softly over our secure public channel. “Lang, you’re with me. Hideo’s with Devlin and Ken. Don’t panic. We’ve done EVAs hundreds of times. We’ll keep you moving.”
We tethered the two novices to our suits and walked to the nearest airlock. Their helmets were opaque so they wouldn’t pause in awe or terror at the vastness of space, but we could see Callisto and Jupiter hanging over our heads. I felt an imaginary pull, like the attraction of a cliff’s edge, and then I was opening the airlock and nudging Lang inside. We found ourselves in a small service bay with maintenance vehicles and spare parts.
“Hideo?” I queried.
“Straight to the bridge,” he answered.
We fell into a natural formation: me and Devlin at the front with Bugkiller and energy weapons ready, Hideo and Lang in the middle, and Ken covering the rear. We ran into a sergeant with a full platoon and braced ourselves to either fast-talk or shoot ourselves out, but the sergeant put her hands up and spoke quickly.
“No, no, we’re with you! Sergeant Danner, Ship 209. Glad to see you, Amira Singh. It’s been crazy around here. Let’s burn out this infection for once and for all.”
Lang and I exchanged grins, part relief, part reassurance.
Danner paused at the door to the bridge and looked at us. “I’ll go in first. Be ready for anything.”
The door opened and we were escorted in.
“Commander, there’s someone who wants to speak with you,” Danner said. She stood to the side and let me face him, but her stance and the direction of her weapon was as ambiguous as the intent of the troops around us, both prisoning and protecting.
The commander looked at me. I knew his name. He was Keith Martins, an ordinary person of ordinary appearance, and a high-ranking Earth First operative. Had I met him before, in the earlier days of the reclamation protocol, I would not have withheld his name from Buchanan. There was much in the man’s history and reputation to fear, Ghosts or no Ghosts.
23
* * *
“Amira Singh,” he said.
“Have we met?” I replied coldly.
“In a manner of speaking. We all know you.”
I realized what was familiar about this man. I had never seen him, never spoken to him before, but his voice, his phrasing, his very sneer all reminded me of that Ghost who smiled at me with bloody teeth and told me I would never win. But the Ghost sign coming from him was faint, a mere echo.
“Where’s your master?” I said, trying to provoke him. “Send for him. I don’t talk to puppets.”
“Do you think we are Drivers?” he countered. “We do not make puppets, we craft tools.”
I didn’t waste words on him. I simply put Bugkiller on full blast and watched as he fell at my feet, disoriented.
Ghost sign crackled like lightning at the back of my neck. I spun around, my pistol up, but it was already too close. I dented its helmet with the butt of the pistol and rolled back, kicking my legs out at knee level. The crack and the scream were satisfying, but my own armor slowed, temporarily drained by the clash with armor of equal hardness. I floundered on the floor for precious seconds as the Ghost limped upright and slashed an armored hand toward my head. Devlin struck him from the side at a full run.
“Get him!”
I don’t know who shouted, but when I looked at where the Ghost had fallen, I could only see boots—power armor boots, vacuum suit boots, chunky security-style and bright-yellow scientist gear, all kicking and stamping and growing more and more sprayed and smeared with red.
It was surreal—too much of a relief to be a nightmare, and too gory and spontaneous to be a comfort. I thought for sure I was hallucinating when I saw something scuttle at the edge of my field of vision.
Then I bolted upright, swung Bugkiller around and set to wide beam. “Devlin! Ken! We’ve got crickets!”
It felt like ages since I’d used the settings for maximum cricket kill. I got to my feet, still slightly slowed but powering up again, and focused on scything through the wave of skittering black. People ran from the crushed corpse of the Ghost. One crew member in a vacuum suit lost his footing and tumbled into the seething mass with a gurgling scream.
“They’re coming out of the storage compartments,” Devlin yelled, stamping a few to bits and kicking the pieces away. I spun about furiously, diligently sweeping the bridge with my wide beam until the floor no longer danced.
Ken looked down the corridor from the bridge. “We got more than crickets. I need backup! Double line!” He disappeared from view with power-suited troops following, and within seconds, I heard them firing. The familiar smell of seared raptor filled the air.
I glanced and saw that Sergeant Danner was covering the other bridge entrance, and then my attention was caught by the main view screen. The third ship of the convoy was turning, and tilting its energy cannons toward us. The other ships were also moving off course, as if they’d suddenly lost direction. Conglomerate fire struck one solidly, shearing off a large piece of hull. A puff of debris and fragmented armoring clouded the once-clean black of space. Around Callisto, the line of CPF ships began to drift out of formation. The only ships that moved with purpose were Accordance, running as fast as they could to the outer moons, and Conglomeration, advancing for the kill.
Devlin was at my side. “They’re out of control!” he shouted.
“Yeah,” I agreed, watching as the third ship turned its cannons away, paused to reconsider, then re-aimed them directly at us. “But someone needs to be in control, or we’re all sitting ducks out here. Hideo! I’m going to open all comms and channels. I need you to boost me as far as you can.”
“Done,” he said. “The System is listening, Amira Singh. Go.”
“Colonial Protective Forces! Ships of the Manhattan Resistance! All humans fighting against the Conglomeration. I am Amira Singh. Listen to me!”
The sound of fighting faded away under the hollow roaring in my head. I hated making speeches and I didn’t know how to persuade, but I had seconds to do just that.
“You know me! You’ve received my messages! You know we’ve been fighting Ghosts. They look like us. They make you believe they’re on your side, but it’s a lie. Their leader is dead! If you fight each other now, you’re worse than traitors, you’re fools!”
The bottom half of the main view screen fragmented into tens then hundreds of talking heads, incoming calls and messages declaring support, screaming defiance, cursing the Accordance and the Conglomeration both, howling in despair.
I switched channels. “This isn’t working,” I said to Devlin privately. “It’s mayhem. Whatever happens from here, the CPF is a shambles. This is a real rebellion and I can’t stop it.”
“Don’t stop it—lead it. They’re soldiers. All they need is one clear order they can agree on. Give them that and we’ll work out the rest later. You can do this, Amira. You don’t know your own power. You’re already a legend.”
I stared at him, stunned by the intensity of his words. We’d all done that trick at one point or another, given outrageous praise in the heat of battle, hoping to give someone enough strength and daring to take the shot, hold the line, make that last stand. But he sounded like he meant it, and as I looked back at the mosaic of faces, I realized he might be right. Most of them I’d never met, and some of them I’d never even heard of, but they all knew Amira Singh. I had to use that.
I switched back to my vast audience. “There is another way. I’m ordering you—stay alive. Stop fighting for other people and start fighting for yourselves. Retreat to the asteroid belts. Seize what you can and build your own bases. Strike from there. Strike the Accordance when they treat us like inferiors. Strike the Conglomeration for using us as their tools. Grab your damn independence and stop taking orders from above. Make your own worlds there, and be ready to move when the time is right.”
It was one of the best speeches I’d ever been forced to make, and yet the mosaic argued back, their allegiances varied and shifting—Earth First, Accordance, Conglomeration, and every combination possible. I had no more words. I stared at Devlin helplessly.
“Amira,” Ken shouted on my private channel. “They’re too many raptors out here. We’re going to have to fall back and seal off the bridge.”
“Amira,” Hideo warned, “it looks like the Conglomeration ships are moving to cut us off from retreating.”
“Amira!” Shriek’s voice caught my full attention. He was aboard the courier, well away from the unfolding clusterfuck. What could be so important that he had to call me?
“Jupiter! Look at Jupiter! It has begun!”
Instinctively, I flung up an image full-screen. Everyone could see it, on the bridge, in the fleet, probably in the entire Solar System if they were on the right channel. The clouds of Jupiter were churning like storms on fast-forward. The spindles no longer ringed Jupiter with a mere thread; they had spun a larger sphere to embrace Jupiter in a net of lightning raining down lances of some dark energy or matter.
“Buchanan was right,” murmured Devlin.
“Oh, God,” Hideo moaned. “It’s going to explode.”
I tried to shut him out, but I could not look away from the screen as Jupiter’s surface began to bubble and crease. “Get past the Conglomerate ships,” I pleaded to whoever was still listening. “Break through and retreat to the asteroid belt. Meet me at Ceres, now that you know who your real allies are. Now move if you want to survive! Run!”
+ + + +
Our own ship was the first to move, peeling off from the others at top speed. We should have been coordinating our movements and covering fire, improving everyone’s chances at retreat, but this was desperate and unplanned. We were fleeing something worse than Conglomerate firepower. The ship shuddered as energy cannon raked the hull, leaving gaping holes that let in the peaceful light of Callisto and the angry turmoil of Jupiter.
We journeyed on, our atmosphere lost to the vacuum, trailing bits of hull, dead raptors and cricket fragments in our wake. The ship was rapidly becoming a shell. Danner issued the call for nonessential personnel to abandon ship. Hideo and Lang looked to us, thoroughly freaked out.
“We’ve got a jumpship, remember?” Devlin said to them. “We’re going to catch up with the courier and get out of here. This ship has the firepower but the courier has the speed, and that’s what we need right now.”
We ran out, keeping Hideo and Lang between us as before, but this time to help them over the obstacles and pitfalls of the buckled floor and shredded walls. I had that cold feeling growing in my stomach again, and when the corridor cut off into empty space, I felt resigned rather than afraid.
“Tether,” I asked Ken. He hooked one end to his suit and gave the other to me. I put Bugkiller on my back and used both hands to swing carefully around the torn-open hull. I pushed off and swung back, and both Devlin and Ken easily hauled me in.
“Jumpship’s still there,” I said, breathing a little quickly. “We did the EVA in, we can do it out, too. Only difference is no airlock.”
“No airlock needed,” Devlin agreed.
Our novices looked panicked. “Guys,” said Lang. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Ken unsnapped the tether. “Come on, Emilia. You go between me and Amira. Devlin can handle Hideo.”
“Change of plan,” Devlin suggested. “Let me go ahead and bring the jumpship to you. Shortens the walk in case of accidents.” He pointed at the silent blooms of energy cannon that lit the sky, some close enough for their shockwaves to thud against our armor.
“Yes,” I agreed, tethering Hideo to my suit. “You’ll be fine with Ken, Lang, and we’re not going far.”
It wasn’t far, but it was treacherous. Devlin used both tether and powered leaps to tarzan his way to the jumpship. We scrambled along with less style, helping Hideo and Lang around sharp edges and spikes of ripped hull and twisted hatches that swayed open and clapped shut as the ship shifted under every hammering strike.
The danger came from the last place we expected—a blowout inside the ship. Not ashamed to say I screamed as hard as Lang when the blast scoured past us. I locked my armor down hard to whatever would grip and felt the tug of the stretched tether as Hideo was blown off the ship. Lang spun off too, but at an angle. The tether between her and Ken sliced hard against embedded shrapnel and snapped.
I stopped screaming. Lang continued.
“Devlin!” Ken bellowed. “Go get Lang.”
“Getting there,” Devlin said. The jumpship disengaged from the hull and eased toward the unarmored figures, one free, one tethered. Hideo swung helplessly but managed to face the jumpship and brace himself before he slammed into its side. Then, to my shock, he leaped again, pushing himself toward Lang. They didn’t collide—his aim wasn’t precise enough for that—but he was close enough for Lang to snatch hold of the tether as it arced past her. They came together in a dizzy little scramble. I went weak with relief.
Ken nodded up to the open door of the hovering jumpship. “Let’s go!”
I put all the force of my muscles and the last of the suit’s power packs into a leap toward the jumpship. Ken was slightly ahead, and he hit the sill first and pulled me over the edge. Then he began to haul on the tether, bringing Lang and Hideo in.
We could never agree on what happened next.
Hideo had unclipped himself from the tether and hooked it onto Lang; that much was clear. But then Ken thought it was his fault, that he’d yanked the tether so hard with the augmented strength of his armor that Hideo was unable to hold on. Lang thought it was her fault, that she’d flailed and accidentally kicked Hideo away. But I was the only one able to see his face, the fear in his expression suddenly turning to peace as if he had made up his mind, the gentle push he gave Lang to speed her toward us, and the closing of his eyes as he let himself go. Ken pulled Lang into the jumpship. I kept looking out until the moment Hideo floated into a fast-moving plume of jetsam and disappeared in a mist of red droplets.
The three of us clutched each other, the tether tangling our limbs as we sprawled out on the floor. Devlin looked back at us through the cabin glass. “Everyone in?” His gaze flickered, counting one body short.
I struggled upright and slammed the door shut and sealed. Ken gave him a weary thumbs-up. “Everyone in,” he said firmly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
+ + + +
Jupiter continued its dying throes long after we rejoined the courier and set course for Ceres. We didn’t pause for lengthy, emotional reunions. We were running flat out, keeping watch behind us. When Shriek recommended that we land on an asteroid’s sunward side and brace ourselves, we did so without argument. The shock wave of Jupiter’s transformation battered the small rock, but we were safe and alive. We took off from the asteroid and spared a moment to look back at the new red sun.
I tried to access the probes I’d used before, but of course they had burnt out. We assembled the data from a fe
w distant stations and tried to make sense of the images.
“Everything from Io outwards is still intact,” Lang noted. “It’s a miracle.”
“No,” said Wei. “A carefully controlled plan.”
“I still don’t understand what that plan is. I’m sure they have easier ways to push back the battle lines. Why go to the effort of turning Jupiter into a sun?” Ken remarked.
We looked at the red light and wondered in silence. Nobody had an answer.
24
* * *
The refugees from Earth who came to Ceres rarely visited the surface. Hollowed-out asteroids in the style of the Trojan carriers had been connected to the existing orbital station. They were nowhere as bad as the ones we’d lived in before we lost Titan. The toilets were properly designed, the food looked and tasted like humans were meant to eat it, and the walls were thick and securely sealed so it was safe to walk around unsuited. Still, it wasn’t the best place for a family reunion, which was why I was with Ken in the Botanical Domes, an impressive park designed and maintained by the Consolidated Miners’ Group for their executives on Ceres.
Three figures stood by a pond ahead of us, the space between them close and intimate. There was embracing, the sound of laughter, hands wiping away tears. I had no idea how they got to Ceres—maybe swept up in a stampede of evacuating struthiforms, or part of an Earth First team who, like me, didn’t believe in suicide missions. Whatever the reason, Devlin Hart was finally seeing his parents again.
We went slowly along the path, ready to meet the famous Harts but hesitant to violate their privacy. “How’s your family, Ken?” I asked cautiously. “Have you heard from them?”
“Still safe in Tranquility,” he answered. “No Ghosts, no Earth First assassins.” He nodded at the Harts. “Maybe your dear old concierge keeps her promises.”
Jupiter Rising Page 21