by Jack Hanson
Fletcher sat down as well and talked into a small communicator. “Johnson, I’m going to need a heavy lunch brought out to Range Sixteen please, as well as a new uniform tunic for Assault Sergeant Black. Discretion is necessary, use droids if you can.”
“Are you a FOSsil as well, sir?” asked Salem, looking at Fletcher. “How did you know we were here?”
“There’s a much more mundane explanation for that,” the old man responded, as Clay held up the small rod he had been pressing together when he had been shot.
“Did you tell the others everything is alright?” Clay asked.
“I told them everything was contained. I’m not sure if our security being breached by one of your comrades and you being shot qualifies as ‘alright,’” said Fletcher archly.
“Others, sir?” asked Paris.
“The Old Bloods and Pairna. They are part of this as well,” Fletcher responded.
“Part of what, sir?” asked Jane.
“This ‘what’ is called Project Regenesis, and it’s our apparently successful attempt to develop the third generation of FOSsils. Mainly, yourselves,” said Fletcher.
“Pairna knew?” said Paris, stunned.
“He was brought on specifically because of you, Fairnought,” Fletcher told him. “We had no ideas of the variables a Rillik would introduce, so a Khajali was needed.”
“Why us?” asked Sand, looking up from where he had been staring at the ground. “FOSsils were… How were you trained, Sergeant? How did you become a FOSsil? It had to have been harder than this; otherwise everyone would be a FOSsil.”
“It was,” agreed Clay. “It was brutal, and not everyone survived. Those that did… Well you know what history says. Half of us went mad. There was a battle on Jerusalem II, and we were retired after Scylla.” He looked off into the distance, seeming ghosts of the past flaring in his eyes.
“What was so brutal about it, Sergeant?” Jane asked, and Clay shook his head.
“That’s... personal,” said Clay. “Rick was right though, we swore that we would never let that happen again, and when they tried, we stopped them.”
“So what’s different about us?” Salem said, wondering what ‘stopping them’ entailed.
“We humans have a unique series of stress responses. The Illurians were fascinated with our reactions, and how our brains functioned under stress,” Fletcher began. “They saw the potential for so much more there, and identified certain genetic markers that made some more ideal than the others.”
“Before you four came along, there was only one known way to make a FOSsil, and the results were uneven,” Clay said, cutting off Sand’s question with a hand gesture. “We tried to create a team, and, with certain new procedures, we’ve succeeded.”
“I felt that headache before, when Hailey died,” Jane said. “You stopped me from becoming… this then. Why?”
Clay shook his head and sighed. “It was not the ideal time. There were too many people around, too many variables. “
“So we’re just experiments,” Paris cut in flatly.
“Not even,” shot back Fletcher. “Young man, you were never experiments, but we could hardly tell you what we were doing. When should we have told you? When you enrolled? Last year? At the beginning of the year?” Fletcher stared down Paris, who looked away after a few seconds. “You are still janissaries of the Empire. You would have still sworn to serve and obey,” he said.
Salem spoke up. “What if we don’t want this?”
Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“What if we don’t want combat armor and dreamblades, what if I don’t want this life? Do you kill us?” she asked. “What if I don’t want to go mad and be put down by my friends?”
Fletcher began to speak, but Clay looked over at him. “Then you can go,” he said, turning back to Salem.
She was surprised. “You’re just going to let us go,” she said, disbelieving.
“You’re welcome to leave if you want, that’s fine,” Clay said. “It was part of my conditions for helping train and guide you. You were to be given a choice when you found out. “
“You’re just going to let us go, after everything we’ve seen and what you’ve told us?” Paris asked.
Fletcher shrugged, looking over as a droid cart came rolling into the clearing. “Who would believe you? And even if you managed to show them something that made them ask questions, it doesn’t take much to discredit any evidence when you pull the right strings,” he said.
Fletcher and Clay moved to the cart and the two pulled out a plastic cooler full of sandwiches and soda. Underneath was the tunic that Fletcher had requested for Black. He put it on, covering the network of scars on his body.
“Eat up,” said Clay, passing out the food. “Otherwise you’re going to be bent double with hunger pains.”
“That’s what those were then?” Sand asked as he took the food. “Us using our powers?”
“Yes,” said Clay.
“But the pains hit us immediately afterwards, then,” Sand pointed out.
“Your mind wasn’t able to process your body’s new input as efficiently, so it made up the difference by drawing on more energy,” Clay explained.
“Back to what you were saying, Sergeant,” interjected Salem after she took a bite of her sandwich. “You’re just going to let us walk out of here if we want?”
“Yes,” said Clay. “We’ll look for more candidates, we’ll do what we have to, but you will have your choice.”
“He’s serious,” said Fletcher, shaking his head at the other man. “Like he said, he insisted on it, and no matter what that does to the Project, he doesn’t care.”
“I’m in,” said Sand suddenly.
The other three looked at him in shock. “But they used us,” said Paris.
“Or did we use them?” asked Sand, looking back at Paris, and then encompassing the whole group. “We came together, and we saved each other’s lives, because of this… this power.” Sand took a bite of his sandwich to give himself time to think. “We can do a lot of good with this, and how could they have told us about it? There was really no way that I can think of,” he said.
Jane was quiet, thinking about her lost love, and maybe that if she had been able to fight like this back on Fatima, Hailey would alive. Nodding her head, she looked at the two men. “I’m in,” she said.
“You two are really serious,” said Paris.
Jane only nodded. Sand looked him in the eye.
“We’re special. We can do something good with this,” he said.
“We’ll be tools, Sand,” Paris countered.
“We’d be tools as janissaries, Paris,” Sand responded. “At least now, we can say how we’ll be used.”
“I’m not doing this for the greater good,” Paris said, shaking his head. “I’m doing this because you’re my team, and I can’t just walk away from you.”
“You bastards,” Salem said. “You expect me to be the one to walk away from you?” She turned to look at Fletcher and Clay. “Like Paris said, I’m doing it for them.”
“Those are the people you should be doing it for,” Clay agreed. His face bore nothing of the relief he felt in his heart. The seeds he had planted so many months ago had born fruit.
Chapter Twenty—Steel My Soldiers’ Hearts
A dreamblade should be: As quick as thought, as hard as truth, and as sharp as wit.
—“The Shape of Dreams” Xu, Bhae Chaw Poet
With the debris of the meal tucked away, Paris asked Clay a question as he and Fletcher turned to go.
“Why did you let him go?” Paris asked the older man.
“Rick?” said Clay.
“Yes, him,” said Paris. “He would have killed us, he shot you. And you were happy to let him walk out of here with just his feelings hurt. Why?�
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Clay looked askance for moment, staring at a piece of ground off to his left. He nodded once before answering.
“Because there aren’t a lot of people out there who understand what we went through, and who I fought beside. Do enough of that, and people turn into family really quickly,” Clay explained. “You’re willing to forgive family for a lot more.”
“He would have killed you,” Jane pointed out.
“I don’t know if he would have,” said Clay. “Maybe he was mad enough to think he would want to, but I don’t know if push came to shove he would have been able to. I see him, and I remember a boy who was scared of the dark. He turned to me and Kipling to tell him stories to help him go to sleep.” There was raw pain beneath the steadiness of those words. It obviously hurt that he had betrayed by one he had helped to raise, and even through his reserved demeanor that showed.
“That mad over a misunderstanding?” asked Paris.
“Don’t take me as your average FOSsil. It took me many, many years before I could socialize enough with people to be able to fit in, let alone pull off a cover act like this one,” Clay said, tapping his name tape. “The others are a bit more emotional, to say the least. I’m the only one who didn’t self-segregate on Elysium.”
“Why’s that?” Salem asked, thinking of the stories that were told about the mental states of the FOSsils.
“I had my reasons,” Clay said. “Remember what we just talked about. I know it seems strange to keep on like nothing happened today, but that’s the best way to keep a secret. We’ll start on the other half of your training tomorrow.”
“But I’ve still got more questions,” said Paris.
“I’m sure you do. You can’t rush an epiphany though, and I can’t cover half a century of history in an afternoon, nor do I want to,” Clay said. Paris started to respond again, and Clay cut him off. “I’ve earned my privacy, cadet.”
Paris flinched a little, likely realizing and Salem knew Clay was right. If only half of what was out there about FOSsils was true, it was more than any of them would want to bear.
“Of course, Sergeant,” said Paris.
Clay nodded again. “See you tomorrow,” he said as he turned away. He joined Fletcher a short distance away. The two walked down a path that led to the main range road, vanishing after the first turn.
Sand, who had been quiet during the last half of the luncheon, found his voice.
“Is anyone else finding it a little hard to believe what happened in the last few hours?”
“You seemed ready enough to sign on,” Salem. “What was up with that?”
“What was up with what?” Sand asked.
Salem turned, arms crossed over her chest. “Why were you so eager to be part of this?”
Sand didn’t look at her but stared at his hands. “Because I can do something with this,” he finally said.
“But we didn’t ask for it, none of us did,” she said, and looked over to hear a chortle from Paris.
“Salem, I can tell you where that logic leads,” the Rillik said. “A lot of self-pity and angst, and that’s about it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s eventually you have to just accept what you’ve been dealt. We’ve been given this, for better or worst. Sand wants to save the world? Fine. I’ll watch his back. I’ve been doing it for long enough.”
Paris paced slowly for a second.
“I tried to shirk my responsibility for years. I felt like, since I didn’t ask for it, I shouldn’t have to take it on. And that’s the wrong way to think. I guess part of growing up is accepting that sometimes life isn’t fair, gritting your teeth, and driving on.”
Salem snorted. “Are you saying I’m immature, Paris?”
“Not at all, Salem,” Paris responded. “You’re scared, like all of us are, of this new thing that’s inside of us, and what exactly it entails. It’d be so much easier to be a janissary, a face in the crowd, another brick in the Grey Wall,” he said, crossing the distance between them and taking her hands in his. “We can’t though. I’m not worried about the Empire, or anything that big,” Paris said, “I’m worried about the four of us, and trusting the person I have watching my back.”
Salem didn’t say anything.
“He’s right, you know,” Jane spoke up. “This isn’t about some giant overarching concept… it’s about the four of us standing together and watching out for each other. Black… or Clay… might have our best interests at heart, or he might just be Fletcher’s cat’s-paw. We don’t know. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone else watching my back, even if you might want to get even with me for what happened at the beginning of the year.”
Salem returned Jane’s smile, and then reached out for her hand. “Yeah, I hated you for that a time, even though it seems a little silly now,” she said, giving the other girl’s hand a squeeze and then looking over at Sand. “Get in here, Sand, you dragged us into this.”
“I didn’t mean to drag you into this,” he began, not able to look the others in the eye.
“You didn’t drag us into anything,” said Paris, reaching out to grab his hand and bring him into the circle. “We’re here because we want to be here, and because on some level you’re right too, Sand.”
Jane reached over and took his other hand. “You might want to save the world,” Jane began.
“I don’t want to save the world,” Sand protested.
“You want to help people,” Jane said, “And so do I, and that’s why I was right behind you. Maybe I can keep someone from crying because the person they love is never coming home again.”
Salem didn’t need the link they had now to know who Jane was thinking of, and she squeezed on the girl’s hand. “So we’re in this together,” she said, looking around at the group.
“Together,” said Paris.
“Together,” said Jane.
“Together,” said Sand, and he leaned his head into the center of the circle. The others followed suit, and they stood like that for a long minute, resting against each other. Each of them wondered at how they had come together since the beginning of that year, and how they had changed for the better between the laughter and the pain.
* * *
The next day, after their academics were done, Jane received a message on her reader just as they were about to head over to the Ranges.
Reaching down, she gave a low huh as she pulled the message off her reader to show the other cadets.
Meet me at the Cave.
Black
“So we’re going to meet the Old Bloods?” Paris said.
The Cave was the informal term for the place where the dinosaurs had been given quarters.
“I assume so, but you never know,” responded Jane.
The four headed out.
The Cave had been constructed in a foothill at the base of the Velleyon Mountains, and the smell of grass and blood wafted out from the massive entrance.
The sunlight penetrated farther than they would have thought possible. It revealed the forms of Brokehorn and Ripper, who shifted their massive heads to regard the cadets as they approached.
“So, you’ve been told,” said Ripper, cocking his head in a very human motion.
“Did they give you a choice then?” said Brokehorn, “Or did the cycle repeat itself once more?”
“We’re here because we want to be here,” Jane said, and both of the old bloods seemed pleased at the answer.
“I told you,” chided Ripper. “Black is a man of his word. He promised us as much.”
“Words are wind,” snorted Brokehorn, tossing his head. “But Black is indeed a man of his word. I just questioned what leverage Archer would have on him.”
“You do know their names are—” Salem began, only to be cut off by Ripper.
“Sergeant Alexander Black, and Commander Archer,” the Bladejaw cut
in pointedly.
“It is a sad day when an Old Blood knows more of discretion than a human. And you are supposed to be their assassin?” Brokehorn chided. He rose to his feet. “Follow.”
As the Lancer began a leisurely walk, Ripper surged to his feet in an awkward wave movement. The two bracketed the cadets as they walked further into the Cave.
“What do you mean by assassin?” asked Salem.
“Black is below,” said Ripper, nodding at an elevator against a wall. “He will explain shortly.”
“And what will you two do,” asked Sand as they walked towards the elevator.
“Dissuade questions,” answered Ripper with a toothy grin. “Not that we expect any, but safe is better, after all.”
Sand didn’t have a response to this. As the last one on, he pressed a button on the service elevator, and it descended down a rough-hewn shaft into the earth for several long minutes. Not a word was said as the cage came to a stop and the doors opened up to a modern room. Against one wall, four casket-like objects were set upright, and several tables had been placed here and there, along with some chairs. There was a locked weapon rack next to the coffins, and a door led further into the complex. With his back to the cadets, Clay stood at a table; a shotgun disassembled in front of him. They noticed he was wearing his sword over one shoulder.
“Sergeant,” the cadets said, and he turned to acknowledge them.
“Cadets,” Clay responded. “We can get started now. Each of those lockers has one of your names on it. Go to the one that belongs to you, and open it.”
Curious, each did as bid. There was a whirring from the doors as they placed their hands on the containers. When the doors opened as one, there was a collective gasp. Armor looked back at them, powered armor like the FOSsil from yesterday had been wearing, but each set seemed unique.
Jane’s armor was a light blue in color, with an opaque rectangular visor. Curiously, she had what looked like a delicate crown on her helmet, made up of several crests that ringed the top of her head.
The armor in Paris’s locker was a light grey, and seemed to have a communications array of sturdy antennae built into one shoulder. His visor was an inverted triangle, also opaque. He touched the armor and a chorus of whispers danced through his head. He jumped back, surprised.