"Stay here," he said.
Brook stared at him. "The boys have school. I have a sales meeting. Who called?" She reached for his phone but Gabe slapped it down on the table and hugged her again.
Van was their sweet one. He smiled and nestled his head in with them. "I want more cereal," he said.
Mike was their mischievous one. "Look!" As his parents turned, he held up Gabe's phone and tapped at the display, scrolling through Class 1 alerts to an embedded image.
It was a map of near space, once black, now impaled with roaring white shafts of the Maelstrom.
As if playing connect-the-dots, Mike traced his fingertip among the fiery pools where three star systems had been engulfed. The chain of annihilated stars spread over seven hundred lightyears. Spilling from each one, the Maelstrom popped and flared. Some of its venomous fires would collapse. Some would leap outward like embers or shrapnel.
The largest of the new flares was labeled Hoy. It had been home to three billion people. Now it was gone. Rimward from Hoy's destruction across a thin black margin of unaffected space were two more inhabited systems, Blue and Dury IV.
Mike touched the star labeled Blue. "There's us!"
"Stop it, eat your breakfast, you have school," Brook whispered, taking the phone from her son. She touched her throat as if it hurt to talk. "Gabe, this can't be right. We're safe. We have hundreds of years."
"No. The Maelstrom jumped at us."
"Why would...?"
"Enclave terrorists opened a gate at Wohlhabende. They did the same at Oase III and Hoy."
She shook her head. She was trying to deny it. "We lost Wohlhabende before you and I were born," she said, holding Van, who snuggled against her.
"Wohlhabende wasn't gone yet. It was abandoned. That's why the Enclave went there. They must have constructed a new gate and used it to start the chain reaction. A lot of people are dead. Brook, I need to go."
"We closed our gate to Hoy in time, didn't we?"
"Yes. Barely."
"Then we still have twenty years. Longer. Hoy is twelve lightyears from us."
"Mike, come here." Gabe collected his wild son and sat him beside Brook and Van. He kissed their three heads. The boys had his dark hair. They smelled like apple-scented shampoo.
"We'll be all right," Brook insisted.
"The Franchise will evacuate. They won't leave today, but they'll go soon -- before something else happens -- and there aren't enough ships."
*
Gabe called his buddy Christian first. "I just decided I'll pay you double," he said, a weak joke.
"I can't help you, Gabe."
"Let's talk."
"There's no point."
Christian Rojas was a courier with an obsolete scout craft from Bezerra II. He competed for hauling jobs, occasionally winning bids to carry goods among the settlements, and Gabe often hired him to ferry livestock from the seashores or the swamps. His craft was spaceworthy but its maximum crew was four people.
Gabe said, "We'll make it work. We can retrofit the hold or weld a hab module onto the outside. I'll give you anything you want."
"I want to live. I'm sorry. Good luck."
*
Eleven days later, Gabe counted the ships he could steal as he walked through the busy Franchise port. Walking beside him was the woman in charge of those ships, Governor Singh. They made small talk as Gabe wrote mental notes on each ship's crew size, security measures and proximity to the port fences.
"Thank you for seeing me this afternoon," he said.
"Always a pleasure, Gabe," she replied. "Of course I wish the circumstances were better."
"We all do."
"May I offer you tea? Lunch?"
Gabe frowned. He was a little overwhelmed by the crowds and the noise. For years, this port had been a quiet open field. At most he'd seen two freighters at a time. He'd learned the captains' names. He'd personally dealt with the biologists.
Now the port held an immense gallery of shadows and light. Four scout ships and a fighter stood on their tails against sturdy MASTs, mobile access/support towers. Beyond these lean craft were ten squat landers intended to carry supplies to the Franchise cruisers in orbit. Gabe also tallied three freighters and a trade ship, an independent vessel of unfamiliar design.
He could pilot any of them. He'd trained on Zycanthus. First he needed to break into a cockpit.
Hundreds of people and mech surrounded the spacecraft. Some were loading the plastipacks of local farm and fishery products. Some were loading missiles or drones.
Gabe estimated thirty percent of the labourers were civilian crew. The rest were Franchise military. All of them wore respirators, and they glinted as they moved from the pools of darkness beneath the ships into the white rays of the sun.
There were no clouds, although the sky was never entirely clear. A freezing wind curled across the port. It carried a fine salt water mist. Gabe knew if he removed his respirator, he'd smell the north sea before he needed to reseat his mask for lack of oxygen, but the open sky and steady breeze meant no storms for several hours.
Ten days ago he'd asked Singh for an appointment, accepting the first opening in her schedule. That the weather broke as he drove from town seemed like a good omen.
Unfortunately, the calm had allowed her to accelerate her evacuation plans. He needed her to stay until he got his family onto a ship. He'd already tried to buy room even if it was in a freighter's hold or a corridor or an air lock. Anything was better than staying behind.
He'd failed. Money didn't mean much anymore, not in average sums, and he wasn't rich.
That left begging or stealing.
The freighters only have a few guards, he thought. The military ships are the problem. They quadrupled their patrols. I don't know if I can fool 'em, but Elliot might. Maybe he can rig something to hide us from motion sensors and infrared. We only need a minute. Cut the fences. Hit the guards.
Singh paused to let five mech cross in front of her lugging pallets stacked with cryogenic sleep units. "Watch your step," she said sharply to Gabe.
"Thank you." He had been gazing at the fighter. Its lights were off and its hatches were sealed with AP/CEWs -- anti-personnel/counter electronic warfare pods. Why?
"I think I will make tea," she added. "Stop counting ships and let's get inside."
Idiot, he thought. She saw what you're doing.
Sujuta Singh was a desk jockey, not a frontiersman like Gabe, but she was no one's patsy. She knew people like he knew this world's vast tidal pools and its snakes.
"I wasn't, uh..." he said.
She waved off his lie. "I agreed to see you because I believe we can help each other. Don't think you can steal from me. I realize most of my staff are your friends. That doesn't mean they won't shoot you to save their hides. So will I." A grim smile deepened the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and he held out his hand. She shook as if sealing an agreement, although no deal had been offered yet.
The two of them had settled into a casual rivalry as soon as she took the governor's post. They had been younger then. Nine years ago, they'd traveled to Blue aboard the same ship, and this port was the sole Franchise facility on the planet. Gabe regularly brought genetic samples and reports as part of his terraforming contract. He had an office at home, but his field equipment couldn't compete with the sequencers or computing power in the Franchise labs. He also visited the port to exchange personal communications with his parents on Zycanthus.
His dynamic with Singh hadn't changed during the years. Maybe she was more amused by his scheming and bartering. No question he envied her success, especially now.
Gabe was a tall man, dark and brown. Singh was 48, short and browner. His face had been weathered by ultraviolet and cold. Hers had been preserved by indoor living. They nearly looked the same age, and she acted more like a sister than an authority figure, although she dominated their contests.
She was single, and she wielded the might of the Franchise. He was a husba
nd and a father, and he hadn't felt like he was providing enough for his family even before the apocalypse.
He clenched his fist as she led him to the port building, which sat dead-centre in the middle of the fences. The Franchise had contemplated that some day indigenous forces might assault their base, hence the wide open field where men or mech would be cut down. Normally visitors were shuttled in vehicles but every truck was loading supplies.
Singh hadn't demanded a ride for herself. In fact, she probably relished a chance to feel the salt air before she abandoned this dark, alluring world. She was tough and Gabe was supposed to be tougher. Maybe so. His fingers were cold. She'd made him wait in security for twenty minutes, but he kept his arms away from his jacket pockets and his gun belt.
Nearby, five soldiers and a Rover stood at a lander's loading ramp. Gabe made sure his hands were visible. Despite his escort, they were jumpy. Gabe caught the stare of a corporal as he passed and thought, I don't like you either, flatheels.
Outside the fences, the natives wore spikes to fend through the ice and mud. Offworlders were marked by their boots. They expected clean smooth surfaces. Gabe had left his spikes with his pistol when Singh finally okayed him through security, but even on heated concrete he walked with a native's rolling gait. Short steps. Feet spread for balance. Eyes on the ground.
Nevertheless, his attention darted among the spacecraft. He glanced at the fighter as they walked, wondering why it stood silent in the chaos.
The port building served as control tower, admin, labs, barracks, court house and brig. Gabe had been through every part of the structure including the court room -- as a plaintiff against snake thieves -- and the brig -- to visit his father-in-law after Singh put a stop to a local gambling ring.
With so many soldiers on the ground, the barracks must have been crowded. Most of the crews appeared to be bunking inside their ships. The fighter could sleep as many as twenty. Were they saving it for Singh?
Then it occurred to him that gunners were sitting inside on permanent duty. The AP/CEW pods were to protect them if natives crashed through the fences. Last week there had been a riot. Every day protestors drove to the port. People threw rocks. They screamed. Singh was right to feel threatened, so she'd increased her defenses, creating a mismatch to quell any resistance. Her fighter, her soldiers and her mech were enough to kill every single one of the four thousand colonists on Blue.
Shit. With luck, I might sneak through the fence and their patrols but I won't get past an active gunship...
Whatever Singh wants, I'll say 'Yes.'
*
"No," he said as Singh studied him across the polished monkwood of her desk. She was sitting. He was standing. There was more power in her relaxed posture than in his agitation.
Her voice was mild. "At least consider my suggestion."
"I won't. I can't."
For a moment she didn't argue. She traced her hand on her desk, a sad gesture as if sharing his anguish. The desk wouldn't go with her. Too heavy. Monkwood was one of Blue's few luxury exports. The dense, stunted trees only grew on the equator and only as single growths. Blue had no forests. Their buildings were steel and concrete. Monkwood was used for carvings or extravagantly-priced pieces like her desk.
Gabe clenched his fist again, hiding his rage. Is she really comparing her furniture to people?
"We all have sacrifices to make," she said.
He nodded before he did something stupid. His greatest need was personal -- save my family! -- but she'd heard too many personal appeals. The best angle for him to take was playing on her sense of legacy.
History would judge whether she'd managed her evacuation poorly or well. She weighed each decision like a bomb. He felt the countdown ticking so loudly, sometimes he couldn't think.
Everyone was affected by the scope of what was to come, even the swamp hunters and sail clans who cared nothing for the Epirian Foundation or anything beyond their makeshift camps.
Some claimed the emergency was a hoax, loudly denying the images of the Maelstrom leaping through the gates from Wohlhabende to Oase III to Hoy. They quoted old studies that proved the Maelstrom wouldn't reach Blue for hundreds of years... but their desperation told its own story. They'd seen the truth. They merely wanted to live and die in peace, not spend their time wailing.
The churches were packed. A few crazies pointed the blame at human sins, and, as if proving their point, a rapist had been caught in Sharonstown and another opportunist had killed a man in Kerrystown, avenging an old grudge.
The real saints were the men and women who approached the port fences with tanks full of anemones or glow fish or snakes, yelling for the soldiers to take these aquariums aboard ship. They wanted their favourite creatures to survive even if they did not. To them, Blue was unique. It was paradise. What they didn't grasp was that hundreds of incomparable worlds had been devoured, and the refugee fleets weren't interested in beauty or alien pets. Singh had publicly stated she'd accept animals to feed her crews, nothing else. In trade, she would give drink and drugs to the people doomed to stay behind.
Many colonists had accepted her bargain. Fish were abundant. Drugs were rare. In the settlements, end-of-the-world parties were increasing.
So were suicides.
Some people said it was better to die before the Maelstrom erased them as if they'd never lived.
Making plans with his friends and family members, Gabe had had too many conversations poisoned by terror. Brook was okay. She was tenacious but her sister was weak. Her sister was the anchor around their necks.
"Listen," he said. "I have political connections. If you take my family, I can serve as a lieutenant. You're going to need me when we join other fleets."
Singh grazed her desktop with her fingers. "Most of your contacts are dead, Gabe. So are your parents."
"My father worked on Deseirto and Lowell's World when I was a kid. Those fleets are ahead of us. I'll know their officers. We ate dinner with Deseirto's governor every night."
"Yes. That's partly why I'll take you."
"And my family."
"There isn't room. It's awful, I feel sick about it, but Brook and..." She couldn't remember his sons' names.
"Mike and Van," he said with as much feeling as he could express. "They're twins like their mom and their aunt. I have pictures." He pulled out his phone but Singh stopped him.
"I'm sure Mike and Van want their father to live," she said. "Take the deal."
"You need all of us. Me. Brook. Her sister Danna. The kids won't eat much, and Brook and Danna are vital for an overcrowded fleet. You need hydroponics experts to feed your population and maintain the air. You won't make it without them."
Singh smiled politely but she couldn't conceal the derision in her eyes. "Gabe, they're farm people. We have Franchise engineers."
She believed -- as everyone needed to believe -- that if they fled rimward, they might escape the Maelstrom if it slowed or even stopped. If they jumped far enough, they could gain centuries in which to terraform new worlds or develop the technology to shield themselves.
Their long-term goals put a premium on specialists like Gabe and a steep cost on extra mouths to feed. Singh wanted his education. She wanted his contacts. That was it. But even confronted with her pitiless math, he had an answer.
"I saw cryo units," he said. "You can freeze my sons."
"Those units are spoken for. Believe me, we've meticulously considered every berth. We can't take your family."
You don't need so many soldiers, he thought, but if she cut out a single man in uniform, she would have rumours and fear on her hands. The soldiers' allegiance stemmed from keeping every squad intact, so he said, "There's something else to consider -- the snakes. My 'farm people' are ranchers, too. We can bring breeding pairs and raise them for you."
"If I bring snakes, that means less of us."
"A few." He'd brooded over the equation but he was genuine in believing it was a crime to abandon the snakes. Were t
en human lives worth an entire race? Whose lives? "Brook and I worked it out. The snakes can live in a storage tank with barely any modifications. That's the water we'll use for hydroponics. They'll provide nutrients for our crops and eat our garbage. It's a self-sustaining system."
"We have fertilizer."
"What if we travel for decades before we get far enough ahead of the Maelstrom? Chemical fertilizers will run out. Snakes make more snakes, and they'll give you value to trade with other fleets."
"No."
He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to wring her neck. Instead he coolly tried to surprise her again. "There's another reason to save them. The snakes are pre-sentient."
"I've read your reports. As I recall, you said they're not unintelligent."
She'd used the double negative to downplay the snakes' potential. Earlier she'd phrased her warning in the same manner: That doesn't mean they won't shoot you. The politician wanted room to absolve herself or amend her words. Talking to her was like beating his head against a wall.
"Check my data again," he said. "The snakes are using tools. They're building shelters and fish traps."
"I agree they're fascinating but you're starting to sound like the do-gooders at the fences. People come first. We have genetic libraries. Maybe some day we'll recreate the native species."
"Clones aren't the same as the real thing. They don't have memories. They don't have knowledge."
"They'll have their instincts. Animals always do."
"We need experienced adults if--"
"Gabe, this world is going to die. So will thousands of people. I appreciate your concern for the environment but there are limits to what I can do."
'Appreciate your concern.' More stonewalling. He bowed his head and listened to the angry thrum of his heart.
Like Singh, Gabe had a larger perspective than most of his friends. He'd seen his adopted world from space, which set him apart from the other colonists. Many of them were fourth generation. Brook and Danna were descended from the original settlers. Ninety-seven years ago, their great-grandparents had staked their claims on Blue.
Tales from the Edge: Escalation: A Maelstrom's Edge Collection Page 9