by Rick Partlow
And wonder of wonders, this wasn’t a leave-taking, but a homecoming.
“When last we left,” she confessed, “I never thought I’d set foot here again.”
“That’s why I stayed,” Adrian Fellows said, bluff and easy the way he’d been when she’d known him years ago. He folded her into an embrace as warm as the storm was cold, and as natural. His thick, leather jacket creaked under the strength of her bionic arms and she realized with a start that he wasn’t in uniform. “Someone had to straighten this shit out, just in case we didn’t all die.”
“You certainly did a good job of that,” Sam told him, following them down the ramp of the shuttle, his arm wrapped around Priscilla’s shoulder. He’d been clinging to her ever since they’d left the Raven at Fortuna station, as if she were his anchor and without her, he’d drift off into the universe. “We heard the news up in orbit about Avery Cassell being confirmed as Prime Minister.”
“And about the treaty,” Priscilla added. She seemed subtly different to Telia, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
“I can’t take credit for that,” Fellows admitted, hand going to his chest in false modesty, “much as I’d like to. The Martian Collective sent out a message shortly after…” He shrugged. “After whatever the hell happened, happened. He, it, they, whatever, said we could either end the war or we’d all be kicked off Mars permanently.”
Fellows led them down the shuttle ramp to the hopper, pulling open the canopy and waving invitingly to them. The ducted-fan helicopter’s pilot cringed as the snow blew into the cockpit, but he looked like he knew better than to say anything to Fellows about it.
“After that, it wasn’t so hard to kick a few asses, kiss a couple more and get the right people headed the right way, politically.”
“I wish it were that easy back home,” Sam murmured, clambering into the hopper after Priscilla. Telia felt a stab of guilt for the contentment and happiness in which she’d been reveling; she knew what the two of them had to be going through.
“What’s the situation back in Weirdo-land?” Fellows wondered. She glared at him and he shrugged unapologetically. “Oh, come on,” he implored. “They worshipped a fucking computer, Telia.”
“Not anymore,” Priscilla said, a wistfulness behind the words, but not exactly a sadness. “They’ll have to find their own way now.”
“You say ‘they,’ Priscilla,” Telia noted, climbing into the seat across from her. “Do you and Sam not consider yourselves part of the Resolution anymore?”
The whirr of the fans spinning up interrupted, drowning out her answer. Priscilla didn’t speak over it, waiting with more patience than Telia would have felt for the hopper to reach altitude, for the engine noise to die down into the background.
“The question isn’t whether we consider ourselves part of the Resolution anymore,” she said, finally. “For right now, we aren’t welcome there.”
“Things will shake out,” Sam insisted. “Tellesian is in charge right now, but she was totally loyal to Mother and I don’t think she has any other strategy than trying to convince people Mother is going to come back, somehow. Once it really sinks in that she’s gone for good, things are going to change.”
“Not necessarily for the better.” Priscilla shrugged. “At least not at first. Change can be a painful thing.”
“It is as natural to man to die as to be born,” Fellows said from the seat beside her, and Telia was sure he was quoting it, “and to a little infant, perhaps, the one is as painful as the other.”
“Who the hell said that?” she wondered.
“I don’t remember,” he admitted easily. “I heard it once and it sounded profound.”
“Devon is going back,” Sam went on as if they hadn’t spoken, as if he was trying to convince himself. “She’ll let us know when it’s safe.”
Priscilla looked at him, waiting until he met her eyes before she spoke.
“I don’t know if I want to go back, Sam.” At his expression of disbelief, she went on. “Things are changing here, too, and in the Belt, the colony worlds…” She smiled to take the sting out of the words. “We’re all growing up, growing past the need for our fathers and mothers. Perhaps it’s time we stepped out on our own.” She put a hand over his. “If you want to go back, I’ll understand…but I’d like you to stay with me.”
“Of course I’ll stay with you,” he said, as if she’d asked him if he wanted to keep breathing. “But…what are we going to do?”
“Well, you know,” Fellows butted into their conversation, gesturing ahead where they could see the Ministry building approaching through the windscreen, “we all pretty much owe you two our lives and the planet and all that shit.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Even if you won’t tell anyone exactly how you managed to pull it off or what happened on Mars.” He shrugged. “And seeing as how the Prime Minister kind of wouldn’t have the job without me, I could probably get you guys a position doing whatever the hell you wanted.”
“Whatever I want,” Sam mused, a look of wonder on his face like he’d never even considered the idea.
Telia thought of Mawae Danabri, and wished he’d had this chance. What would he have chosen?
“We should set up trade with the Resolution worlds,” she declared. “We need their technology.” She wanted their technology, wanted to get rid of her metal limbs, replace them with flesh. It was what Mawae would have wanted for her, what he would have done for her if he’d survived.
“And what do they need from us?” Fellows wondered, his tone and the tilt of his eyebrow deeply cynical.
“Genetic patterns,” Priscilla answered immediately. “You have a more diverse ecology here than any Resolution world. In fact, I’d venture to say you have a more diverse ecology than ever existed on Earth before the Collapse.”
“Historical texts, too,” Sam added. “I think now, more than ever, people in the Resolution will want to know more about old Earth.” He shrugged. “Maybe they’ll be ready to face the truth.”
“A smart business leader could turn those initial assets into something long-lasting,” Priscilla suggested, “if they knew their market.”
“And lucky for us,” Telia said, regarding Priscilla with a smile that nearly felt at home on her face nowadays, “we have someone with intimate knowledge of the Resolution and its markets.”
The landing pad on the Ministry roof was rushing up at them, and the fan motors whined as their pitch changed and the hopper touched down with a gentle bump. Sheltered in the entrance to the stairwell there was a woman Telia had only seen in news reports, a straight-backed, clear-eyed woman not much older than her, her clothes tastefully elegant, her bearing commanding. She was pulling her cloak tight against the falling snow, but she seemed genuinely happy to see them.
“Well, I’m glad you got that shit straightened out,” Fellows cracked, hitting the canopy release. “Because now you have to sell it to her.”
Sam and Priscilla exchanged a grin and then shared it with Telia before they stepped out of the vehicle and into a new life. Despite the snow, despite the cold, it was as warm as she’d ever felt.
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