The Expendable Few: A Spinward Fringe Novel

by Randolph Lalonde

  Connie twists towards me and our eyes meet. From where she’s laying on the deck she mouths, “I’m sorry,” and everything gets worse.

  “I’m sorry, Commander,” the guard tells me. “You’ll have to take this up with Fleet Intelligence.”

  Then he blasts me in the face with his stunner.

  Chapter 3 - Trust

  What’s the first thing I realise? My Command and Control Unit, the cornerstone to communication and a device that’s been on my forearm for ninety-nine percent of every day of my life for years, is gone. I’m laying down on a firm cot. When I open my eyes the rest of the picture comes clear.

  This is my first stay in the stockade. Cheap metal walls, moulded plastic floors and ceilings. Old fashioned bars keep me in. A metal toilet and sink are there to keep me clean.

  “Good morning,” says someone from beyond the bars. It’s a woman with black pin-prick eyes and a too wide jaw. It’s like genetics dealt her a bum hand. Why people like that don’t get modifications when they come of age, I’ll never know. “Call me Shannon.”

  Just like that I realise I’m talking to Fleet Intelligence. No rank, no presentation of docket number or charges, and she’s wearing a dark green and grey military vacsuit without insignia. She doesn’t even have a Command and Control Unit. “So, how are you folks going to disappear me? Airlock? Matter recycler with the safeties disabled?”

  “You have a dark impression of us, Commander Patterson,” she says, a little too slowly. I already want to rattle her by the shoulders until answers start falling out.

  “Why did you detain my sister?”

  “She’s a traitor, what the Order of Eden calls a West Keeper,” Shannon says, leisurely crossing her legs and straightening a crease in the sleeve of her vacsuit.

  “Bullshit,” I reply, stretching the word out, weighing it down with my disbelief and outrage.

  “All the evidence is there, Commander. Two months and three days ago, she sent her hundred thousand credits in from our planet-side colony and received an encoded transmission. A few days after you returned from your last tour she started relaying everything you said to the Order of Eden. You really should watch those family status taps. Anyone related to you can track everything you do.”

  I stare at her as these ridiculous words come falling out of her little mouth. It feels like my skull is shrinking. There is no worse enemy to humanity than the Order of Eden. They released a virus that infected artificial intelligences everywhere so they would attack anyone who didn’t send one hundred thousand Regent Galactic credits in. West Keepers are their spies, and, to my knowledge, no one I know has ever met one. “Bullshit,” I repeat.

  “Tell me,” Shannon starts, completely unaffected by the situation. “Has your sister had more interest in your job than usual? Especially through Status Comm? You’re in a sensitive position, overseeing probationers. They’re located across the fleet, and you’re qualified to monitor infantry as well as fleet officers. I see your general aptitude tests scores are relatively high. You’re an intelligent man, think about it.”

  I don’t want to think about it. There’s a better reason behind any evidence she’s presenting here.

  “She was taking that transport to Icarus. From there she would travel to Aphrodite, an Order of Eden world where followers are rewarded for service.” Shannon leaned forward in her chair, her beady dark eyes peering into mine. “Do you know what she traded to reach that kind of status in the Order? It’s like leaping from Ensign to Captain in a week.”

  I search through memories of conversations I had with Connie over the network since I’ve been back and catch myself. There’s no way she’s guilty, why am I even entertaining the idea? “She doesn’t have the access.” The officer in me takes over for a moment. “Let me see the evidence. You have the wrong woman and I can prove it.”

  “She gave them the location of the Sunspire,” Shannon whispers. “That ship that you’ve been checking in on because you’re such a fan of her former crew. The crew that ran her when the ship was called the First Light - Jonas Valent, Ayan Rice, Terry McPatrick, and so on - your obsession with that dark spot of history led her straight to it. Now the Order of Eden are sending ships into the Sunspire’s hunting ground.”

  “I was researching the Paladin incident,” I explain. I don’t know why, something about this bitch makes me want to talk.

  She smiles at me, obviously satisfied. “And you happen to have the clearance to see exactly how the Sunspire destroyed a super-carrier while under the influence of the Holocaust Virus. Where were you when you looked up that information? Think for a moment.”

  I was in my sister’s living room, waiting for her to return from the store. “Let me see the evidence,” I repeat. “Please. I have to clear her.”

  “Fleet Legal, Intelligence, and a Parliament representative have reviewed your sister’s case. She’ll be executed in twelve hours,” Shannon says as she stands and starts walking towards the outer door in one motion.

  “She’s innocent!”

  The outer door opens.

  I rush to the bars and collide with them so hard that I’m sure I crack a rib or two. “Please! Give her a reprieve so I can look at the evidence, speak with her representative!”

  “Her lawyer has already applied for a stay, it was denied. We’re reviewing your case next,” Shannon says over her shoulder as she passes through the thick outer door. It slams shut behind her. Grief thickens time, stretching minutes into what feels like hours and days.

  At first I’m frantic, trying to find a way to get my sister free of this situation. “Let me see her!” I shout at the walls, knowing that surveillance is picking it up. “She’s innocent!” And finally, in my desperation I add, “It was me! I’m the West Keeper!”

  I’m dealing with Fleet Intelligence. I know none of it will work. They act on evidence. I could tell them I’m a spy representing every organisation that’s ever stood against the Freeground Nation but without proof they’ll just leave me alone. Taking the blame for whatever Connie’s done won’t save her.

  Whatever she’s done. Just like that, I believe it. Connie has been interested in my history of service, in the supervisor work I’ve been doing whenever we talk on Status Comm. She even put up with me gabbing on about my fanboy fascination with the First Light crew. I believe it all and collapse onto the cot. “Let me see her,” I say to whoever’s watching, hoping they haven’t forgotten their sympathy. “Please.”

  Chapter 4 - Powerless

  Hours pass. Enough hours for me to start thinking that I’ll never see my sister again. I can’t handle it. I’ve seen people fall apart in the service before. I admit that I’ve never sympathised. I thrive in the command structure, love travelling beyond the invisible boarders of the Freeground Nation, and I consider myself a die hard patriot. Just like Jonas Valent when he set out. He lost his parents in a terrorist attack, and it broke him. He didn’t commit to another tour of duty until they cornered him into it.

  When I woke up this morning, I loved Freeground Fleet, even with the complications that it brought into the lives of my friends and family. Right now there’s nothing I hate more, and I’ve never hated so hard in my life. You can’t sit idly while that kind of inferno burns you alive from the inside, so I start doing pushups.

  The cell is only just wide enough for me to go all out, and I welcome the burn when it comes. I’m pumping the deck away from me so hard that I’m getting thirty centimetres of air by the time I hear Connie’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Clark,” she says.

  I slip and scrape my hand, then roll onto my side. The hologram is so perfect that it’s like she’s standing over me in the cell. I know she’s somewhere else, but every instinct drives me to take my baby sister in my arms. “The representative they gave me tried everything, but when you’re guilty...” She sighs, tears rolling down her cheeks. “God, I told myself I wouldn’t fall apart.” She shakes her head.

  “They won’t show me the records.” My
lame way of trying to tell her that I’m doing everything I can. “I can’t even pull rank.” An idiotic way of saying I want to stop what’s happening, but can’t. Her holographic image kneels down and looks me in the eye. I’ve never felt so small and powerless.

  “Mom and Dad are already on Icarus,” she tells me. “It was my idea.” She starts sobbing so hard that she has to heave breath in. “They’re safe, happy. There’s no safer place-” she used to hyperventilate when she was young, and for the first time in a decade she can’t breathe.

  “It’s all right,” I reassure her. I’m up on my knees, wishing I could take care of her one last time. “Just breathe, everything will be fine.” It won’t be.

  Someone injects her with something; I only see a white gloved hand. Just like that, she can breathe again, and she looks me right in the eyes. “I’m guilty. I was approached on the Freeground colony before the riots,” she explains in a rush. “I’ve been spying for the Order ever since so I could move to Icarus. Nowhere is safe if you’re not with the Order of Eden, not even Freeground, and I wanted to leave, to see forests and live in a real colony.”

  I find a hidden reserve of strength and smile at her. “It’s all right, I don’t blame you. You’re a botanist trapped on a space station,” I explain for her. I even start convincing myself.

  “It was so stupid,” she warbles. “I love you Clark, I’m so sorry.”

  “I love you, Sis.” I reach out and pretend to touch her holographic cheek. The tears flow under my fingers unswept.

  “I have to say goodbye now,” she says, uncharacteristically resigned. The little sister I know is a brawler, a fighter when things get tough.

  “I love you,” I repeat.

  Like a phantom the hologram fades. Desperation and grief take over.

  I picture her being gassed to death in a hollow room. I’m on my feet screaming, hurling myself at the bars so hard that before long, I’m bleeding from somewhere. The pain doesn’t matter. Visions of my little sister and the partnership we had for as long as I can remember stoke the inferno in my head.

  My vision narrows, and the last rational shred of me realises that they’re filling my room with odourless, invisible gas. The difference between the gas I’m getting and what my sister is breathing is that I’ll wake up. The world spins one last time.

  Chapter 5 - Part 1 – Time

  Mad gas. I can’t smell it, I can’t see it, but something is holding me down on my cot. High school wrestling with Sarah Piper comes to mind. A girl with two first names, who was twice my scrawny weight back then. Damn girl took to the mat with me in co-ed phys-ed, and the class laughed as she flipped me down and smothered me to the floor with her soft-yet-crushing bulk. Through one eye I could see the class laughing as I was mashed into the mat. They’re laughing now, as my body feels so heavy on the cot that I try to tap out, and manage to flick my index finger instead. Tap-tap - little tap out. Can the ref see this through the circle of laughing students? My laughter joins in, and the echo reminds me of where I am.

  The cell. I’m sinking into my cot and remembering that my sister is gone forever. I feel guilty for taking a break under Sarah Piper, about spending even a moment without thinking about Connie. My face feels hot, a tear pools in my eye and grows as I refuse to roll my upturned face. Moving is out of the question while pressed under a girl with two first names. Laughter bubbles up through my lips and it turns into a short wail as I regret the strange, amusing mental image. My vision is blurry, like I’m sinking into a shallow pool, then I feel a tear break free of my eye and roll down the side of my face.

  My chest expands and rattles, filling with air. It doesn’t feel natural. It’s as if someone flipped a switch and my body is rebelling against my grief by taking deep, slow breaths. I don’t want to calm down, I want to remember my sister and wonder if she was forced to perform in some elaborate scenario, in some kind of ruse. Maybe I’m a candidate for Freeground Intelligence, and it’s all a test. Holograms can be faked. My sister is smarter than that. The alternative explanations cloud my pain but before I know it I’m remembering sitting at her table after dinner, arguing about censorship and the transit ban. She was never much of a patriot.

  I don’t know how long I had my eyes closed, or what I was doing under those heavy lids, but when I open them, Shannon from Fleet Intelligence is standing over me with some squat-headed doctor. I can tell he’s a doctor because he has a long white coat and those searching eyes. I chortle, surprised by the man with the too-short head. It gives his face an unnatural roundedness. “Commander Patterson, can you hear me?” His head splits in the middle with each word like some kind of pre-school puppet. It’s at the same time horrifying and the most amusing thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Flip top head,” I whisper as I tap my fingers on the mattress - tap-tap, little tap out.

  “What did he say?” Shannon says. The way she speaks, the way she looks is completely normal.

  “It’s the ichni,” says the doctor, his head flapping open and closed with each syllable. “He’s under such a heavy dose that he’s hallucinating.”

  “Will he remember everything we’re saying?” asks Shannon, taking no notice of the Doctor’s unusual physiology.

  “What good would this treatment be if he didn’t? Be careful, his subconscious is wide open.”

  I check the top of my head and, to my relief, find no new orifices through which they can access my subconscious. Then I remember how heavy my hand is and it flops onto the mattress.

  “Do I ask the questions now?” Shannon the Fleet Intelligence officer asks the Doctor in a whisper.

  “Yes, but do not deviate,” Doctor flip-top head replies.

  “Commander Patterson,” says Shannon, raising her voice slightly as if there was something wrong with my hearing. “You are undergoing an expedited trauma treatment so we can get you back onto your feet as soon as possible. Is there anything I can get you?”

  “New doctor,” I manage even though my tongue suddenly seems too big for my mouth. “This one’s too…” I hesitate to finish the thought.

  “Doctor Marlin is the best we have,” Shannon tells me. “You’re in good hands.”

  “Marlin is a fish,” I comment aloud. Just like that, everything made sense. I blink a few times and they’re both gone. The passage of air across my teeth, tongue, down my throat and into my lungs becomes a conscious thing. Thoughts of better days, and a time of innocence begin flowing in and out of my thoughts. At best it feels like my life is being rolled out onto an examination table, at worst it’s as though it’s being repackaged so it can be placed in an overhead bin. Save it all for later, it does this soldier little good spread all over the floor, tripping him up.

  Part 2 – Patience

  I don’t know how I got here, but all that matters is the exercise table on my lap. Put the block in the square cutout. Put the ball in the circle cut out. Punch the octagon button when the red light flashes, the square when the yellow flashes, and when the table beeps I’ve done it all correctly and fast enough. I feel like I’ve been doing it for hours from the edge of my bed. Why is this hard?

  Just as the thought occurs to me, Doctor Marlin - I’ve started calling him Fish - stands up from his fold up chair and fixes me with a grin. “Very good. You beat your best time from Academy training,” he tells me.

  I look back down at the table balanced across my knees and realise that the simple puzzle I was doing is gone. Maybe it never existed. Instead I’m looking at a VX-77, or Vex, as we used to call them. It’s the nastiest handgun anyone in the Freeground Fleet is allowed to carry. My hands remember what I was actually doing: disassembling and reassembling the deadly double barrelled death dealer.

  A pair of hands takes it and the padded lap table away. I look up and the Doctor is leading the way out of the cell. “You have a visitor,” he says.

  I’m still stunned, feeling as though I have been asleep for days. The ache that sat in my belly like a stone doesn’t seem as i
mportant or overwhelming as it once did. My sister was a traitor, and now she’s a dead traitor. Images of her appearing in my cell, or of our past together, don’t come up at the recollection of recent events this time. It’s as if the connective tissue between the fact of her death and those memories has been weakened.

  Mary Reed enters. Her eyes nearly boggle at the sight of me. Still, she doesn’t rush over. Instead she pretends there’s nothing wrong and sits down beside me. “They’ve got you pretty heavily medicated,” she says as she wipes the corner of my mouth with her long sleeve. She’s in loose red and black striped prisoner’s clothing. For the first time I realize I’m dressed the same way. “I’m probably pretty heavily medicated,” I admit slowly.

  She laughs and puts her arm around my shoulders. I didn’t mean to say that last bit aloud, but hearing her laugh feels good. I always enjoyed that, making her laugh. I lean towards her and my head lands in her lap. I close my eyes and see myself picking up that Vex hand cannon, raising it to my temple and pulling the trigger. I don’t know where that ultra-clear image comes from, it’s just there until I feel her hand stroke my face. Life gets easier, everything feels softer.

  “They’re running you through accelerated rehabilitation,” she explains. “A lot like Minh-Chu Buu started when he got back, only with a real kick.”

  “Got you, too,” I tell her.

  “Yup. I thought I’d come in here and break your nose since you got me locked up. I was holding your contraband when they took me in for questioning,” she tells me. “But I’m not one for preying on the defenceless.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “So sorry.”

  “It’ll be okay,” she replies. I’ve never seen her take care of anyone before, but she’s doing a pretty good job. “A little time in the stockade never did me any harm, especially in isolation. Besides, no point in pretending I’m anything other than who I am anymore.”