“That’s enough,” Davi said, putting himself between the two. “You’re confined to the cockpit for the rest of the trip,” he told Foster. “And I don’t want to hear another sound from you, Kipley.”
“Save a guy’s life and-” Kipley started.
“I will sedate you,” Davi told him.
A chuckle from an upper bunk silenced the room. “Glad Olonz isn’t seeing this. He’d be pretty embarrassed you lot were the ones who took him out,” said the man they kidnapped. He surprised everyone when he swung his legs down over the edge of the bunk and leisurely sat up, his restraints falling away. “What? Never seen a two-point-one before?”
“You should have been out for another six, maybe eight hours,” Davi said. He looked the man over and judging from his crooked grin, couldn’t help come to the obvious conclusion. “You wanted to be kidnapped.”
“Well, at least one of you has his wheels turning at full speed,” replied their willing captive. “You owe me a first officer.”
“Olonz, the cyborg?” Davi asked.
“Yup. Guy managed to live almost a hundred years, finally signed on to a nice ship with a manageable crew, and two newbies from Freeground assume he’s not willing to go quietly because he’s got a shiny head. Anderson knows how to pick ‘em.”
“Sorry,” Davi said. “Bad intelligence. I’m surprised we got out at all.”
“I’m not. There are so many holes in Order of Eden security that you might have had a chance without the fake idents I transmitted to Intelligence before you left the Sunspire.” Their captive pulled a thin, palm sized case from his jacket pocket and polished it on his shirt. “The Order depends on people who paid their dues to be on their side. They think because there are millions of people buying into their religion and their organization that the smaller gaps in security will close themselves. Gotta love the honour system. You could have gotten through that mission while waving Freeground colours and singing the Revolution Song.”
“Then why the kidnapping scheme?” Kipley asked.
“He spoke,” the captive said. “Get the sedatives.”
Judge laughed and pulled a patch from one of the medical bags. Davi waved it off as it was offered to him.
“Figure out who I am yet?” asked their passenger.
“Haven’t done the scan yet,” Davi replied. “I’m guessing I won’t have to.”
“Right. That brings me back to the question: ever see a two-point-one?”
“Two-point-one what?” Davi asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.
“Framework,” the captive said as he held the polished case up to look at his reflection. The features on his face shifted, though not in the same way Davi had seen with issyrians. Bone, muscle, and cartilage changed without causing any obvious pain.
When the transformation was complete Davi recognized the face immediately.
“Holy shit, Lucius Wheeler,” Kipley said.
“I’ve had worse greetings,” Wheeler said with a smirk.
It took a lot to make Davi nervous, and realizing that they had one of the ten people in the galaxy every dark ops officer was warned about in their possession was enough to put him on full alert. “Shut it down,” he told Kipley directly. “We’re transporting a package. We never saw what it was, it never communicated anything to us, and we have nothing to say about it.”
“Oooh, shut ‘er down!” Kipley laughed. He was always amused when he was given a gag order. It would bother Davi if he didn’t know from experience that Kipley would keep his mouth shut. The man would hold that secret until his dying day, or until Command released the gag order.
“Fucking great, we have a priority one,” Foster said from the cockpit. “Thank God we’re coming up on the Sunspire soon.”
“Then we’ve got eight hours on a cot, then straight back on mission,” Kipley said. “I bet ya.”
“Hell no, if they’re sending us right back out, I’ll get myself pulled,” Foster said.
“Easy,” Judge placated. “I know it looks bad now, but we carry on. That’s what we do.”
For a moment, Davi considered who he would want on his team, Kipley or Foster. Wheeler was watching the whole scene with a smile on his face, like it was a great big show for his benefit. Foster was one of the best techs and sharpshooters Davi’d ever seen, but Kipley was skilled in close firefights, something they ran into more often then long range combat. He glanced at Foster, who was busy checking their course as Judge tried to convince him that he’d be able to hold together. Foster was broken; it wasn’t something a night on a cot would fix. “I’ll recommend you for removal from duty. Psych will back me up, you’ll get your ticket out.”
Foster turned in his seat and stared at him for a moment, obviously surprised. “You’d do that?”
“You need out, I get it,” Davi said. “They’ll treat you and reassign you.”
“I’ve got some mad anxiety,” Kipley interjected. “And a death wish. Think you can get me out?”
Davi fixed him with a look and Kipley retreated. “Shut ‘er down,” he muttered to himself.
“We’ll see how much time off they give us between missions this time,” Judge said. “You’ll have time to think it through, Stanley,” he told Foster.
“Bet you a hundred credits we get sent right back out,” Kipley said quietly, twitching involuntarily as though he was punctuating the point.
“Shut it,” Judge growled.
“Now this is a team,” Wheeler laughed. “If I need anyone aboard your ship, you bet I’ll be requesting you.”
Chapter 18 - Reality Unfiltered
“See? I told you they’d send us right back out after we handed our package over to that Intelligence bitch,” Kipley said with a big grin. “You guys owe me one hundred credits. Each.”
“We never took the bet,” Judge replied.
Remmy couldn’t help but smirk as he watched the team assigned to him go on with their banter. It seemed as though no one really liked Jack Kipley, but he kept prodding Samuel Davi and the one they called Judge. He’d met Davi before on the Sunspire, and couldn’t help but wonder what he and his team had gone through since then. Their team had been whittled down, with a few dead and one pulled from duty, sent into mental treatment.
He watched the three of them as Davi flinched at their shuttle’s sudden dip towards the surface of Uumen. The new members of the team were as awe struck as Remmy was when he first saw the strange features of the issyrian side of the planet. The run down port loomed larger in the forward window as the pilot took her time decelerating. “So, three missions so far?” Remmy asked Davi.
Davi glanced to the pair of soldiers beside him before answering. “Four,” he answered, looking a little nervous.
“What type?”
“All retrieval,” Davi replied. “Except for the first one, taking the Sunspire.”
“Ever replace your intelligence officer?”
“No, Shannon put me on double duty.”
“Ah, she seems like the efficient sort,” Remmy said.
“There was a lot missing-” Davi started saying, but the last half of his statement was drowned out by the sounds of the outer panels popping under the strain of changing altitude.
“What?” Remmy asked.
Davi looked alarmed but pressed on anyway. “There was a lot missing from your report,” he said. “Or at least that’s what it looked like.”
“All the relevant details were there,” Remmy said. “Except for how bad it really is on Uumen. If they knew they would have pointed the Sunspire in a new direction and hit the thrusters.”
“Oh,” Davi said. “How bad is it?”
Remmy smiled and changed the topic. “So who were you retrieving?”
“No one I can talk about, sorry,” Davi said.
“Fair enough. Anyone who has anything to do with what’s going on down here?” Remmy pressed.
“No one I can talk about,” Davi repeated. “So what can we expect to find down
there?”
“Just keep your eyes open and respect everything you see, especially if you don’t recognize it. Oh, and forget everything you think you know about issyrians,” Remmy added.
The fifteen man transport was devoid of conversation for several minutes as it skimmed the tops of the trees and crossed lakes filled with rotting clutches - the former homes of thousands of issyrians. One of Davis’ guards leaned towards Remmy, an accusation in the offing. “You’ve been here almost a month, is it true you’ve gone naive?”
Remmy smiled at the soldier and shook his head. “You mean, gone native?” He looked to Davis. “Scraping the bottom of the barrel for recruitment?”
Davis shrugged, half smiling himself. “His name’s Kipley, and we’re all very proud of him for being able to form complete sentences.” His insult earned him a warning glance. Davi obviously didn’t take it seriously. “He’s right, though, there’s a rumour.”
Remmy looked past Davi to some of the native vegetation that hadn’t been destroyed yet. The forest the issyrians planted on the planet centuries before was a mess of intertwining vines that were metres thick in some places. Translucent leaves fanned out from the uppermost sections like shards of green-blue glass. There weren’t half as many blooms as there should have been. The forest was dying, and he never had the opportunity to see what was under that canopy of knots. “Going native here would have been an amazing experience thirty years ago,” he said, remembering the recordings he’d seen of issyrians riding sky hoppers between cities, or swimming through the waterways with schools of children. “Going native now, well, that’s something else. They’ve taken us in here though. Don’t even mention Clark’s name, they’re still grieving.”
“Did they actually have enough time to get to know him?” the tall, square-jawed soldier asked. Remmy remembered his nickname from the brief - Judge.
“Issyrians respect the sacrifice he made getting Doctor Marcelles back to them,” Remmy replied. “Losing the opportunity to show their gratitude is just as bad as losing a close friend. Their honour can’t be satisfied, so they’ve built a couple of shrines. A few hundred visit daily.”
“What are they so grateful for?” asked Davi.
“We brought Doctor Marcelles back for them, and as soon as he arrived he joined their underwater habitat.” Remmy recalled the memory of Marcelles quietly submerging himself. He was stoic, set with a purpose that no one guessed at the time. “He taught them a lot in a way that none of us could. Issyrians communicate best on a chemical level through water. Marcelles explained it to me as overhearing someone’s emotions.”
“What exactly did they learn from Doctor Marcelles?” asked Kipley.
“You’ll see,” Remmy said. “For now, just try to take in the sights.” He pointed through the forward viewport to their destination, small in the distance. “They used to have the run of the planet. Now everything is diseased and they have to retreat to the cities. This is one of the only safe ports for issyrians.”
“The packet didn’t say anything about diseases,” said Kipley.
“You obviously missed the section about this world growing more and more toxic to all things issyrian. Birth rates are down eighty four percent and the life expectancy is under thirty. We’re headed to one of the few spaceports that are safe for their kind. The rest have been overrun by human settlers. Business is booming for them. If you can harvest or cultivate a natural resource - hell, if you can hold a shovel - there’s a job for you here.”
“There wasn’t anything about issyrians not being welcome in other ports,” replied Davi. “There were images of a pretty mixed populace in the file.”
“Things are pretty peaceable until the smallest thing goes wrong,” Remmy admitted. “Then you get something like this.” He activated the projector on his comm unit - something that was more of an entertainment bracelet than the Freeground issue comm unit - and started a holographic playback between them. Three issyrians knelt on a well travelled metal deck, surrounded by humans. “This was recorded two weeks ago in one of the upper levels of Port Saunders.”
“Yeah, we saw the intelligence on the human ports,” Kipley said. “What did those three do?”
“They were returning from a labour camp,” Remmy replied, focusing in on the three issyrians. They were sickly in colour, one had an aspiration device installed against the side of his head. A tall human in a tattered Order of Eden West Keeper’s uniform circled them slowly before kicking their joined hands apart savagely. The dark green and blue plated suit made him look hard and imposing compared to his captives. The issyrians cringed.
“I don’t think I want to see this,” said the soldier who hadn’t spoken since he’d entered the shuttle.
Remmy let the recording continue. “You have to understand what’s going on. The disease is just the beginning of what the humans here have done.”
“The Order of Eden you mean,” replied Kipley. “Not all humans are responsible for this.”
“Watch,” Remmy said, regarding the holographic playback. The West Keeper stopped behind them and pulled a hilt from his belt. He activated it, silently summoning a metre long blade with a silver sheen. The audio cracked as the recording of the crowd’s cheers overcame whatever receiver was used to capture the moment. An issyrian glanced behind and, startled at the sight of the blade, grabbed his fellow’s arm and tried to find his feet.
The silver sword cut through his arm and half way through his leg in one swipe. Green, blue, and yellow blood sprung from grievous wounds as the West Keeper savagely tore into all three of the screaming issyrians. “That one is carrying fertilized eggs,” Remmy pointed as an issyrian who had been eviscerated from behind collapsed, a flood of gel spilling from her. Several soft, fist sized globules slid across the cold floor. “They were almost large enough to be introduced into a clean clutch, if she could find one.”
“Turn it off,” Lieutenant Davi as the West Keeper worked feverishly to cut the life from the resilient issyrians. One of them appealed to the crowd, the middle one struggled as the soldier eagerly cut into him, and the young mother desperately tried to reach out to her young with her good arm.
Remmy let it play until one of the eggs burst and an issyrian who hadn’t found its shape yet formed a mouth and learned how to scream. “Tell me they don’t have every reason to hate us.”
“You’ve gone native,” Kipley said, suddenly and inexplicably furious. “It’s true, you care more about these shifters than you do about getting intel that can save your own people. I’m here to save Freeground, to keep us alive and out of all the political bullshit that’s happening out here.”
“Freeground has discarded us,” Remmy said, keeping his voice down and his temper in check. “Even if you found the answer to all their problems they’d still find a way to shut us out and give credit to some Puritan Party breeder who will retire from the military to run for office in the next term. I’ve seen the future, Kipley - anyone with a mind of their own has - and you aren’t in it.”
“They said we can earn our way back,” Kipley replied. “And no other squad has done better than us. I’m not going to fuck that up by getting involved with a bunch of aliens.”
“Do you realize how much we could learn from the issyrians?” Remmy shot back. “You think framework technology is impressive? They have technology and an understanding of harmony that we haven’t dreamed of yet. The only reason this world is being overrun by humans is because the issyrians didn’t know anything about human greed, or our bullshit sense of entitlement,” Remmy replied. “Oh, and we’re the aliens here.”
“You keep talking as if we have something to do with this, but we’re from Freeground, and we know how to live together just fine,” replied Kipley.
“Then what the hell are you doing in the ass end of space with no way of getting back home until the political will changes?” Remmy replied. “I read your file, Jack Kipley, you’re a fuck up with assault charges who hasn’t fit in for about sixteen y
ears. Do you think anyone wants you moving in to their neighbourhood?”
It looked like Kipley was about to get to his feet until Judge put a hand on his arm. “Fuck you,” he said with so much hate that Remmy actually regretted pushing his point. “Just fuck you, man,” Kipley finished as he looked away.
The sound of the shuttle setting down on a landing platform resounded. “What did they do?” Judge asked as they prepared to disembark. “They had to do something to piss off the deck officer.”
“Those three were workers, they were just trying to make a few credits to get extra food and supplies for their household,” Remmy answered as he pulled rain ponchos from a net overhead. “The day before a group of resistance fighters bombed a garrison on the other side of the planet, in New Gibblin. Put the Order of Eden’s nose out of joint so they ordered voluntary executions.”
“Voluntary executions?” Kipley scoffed. “That doesn’t even sound-”
“It’s where West Keepers volunteer to execute random issyrians,” Remmy interrupted. “Most Keepers are happy to do it. It takes a special kind of asshole to rise to that rank. I hope I get a chance to kill one before I leave.”
“Oh yeah, easy,” Kipley said. “Kill a senior officer and get the whole damned Eden Fleet down on us.”
“Not so far,” Remmy replied. “Mary’s already killed three in her spare time.”
“You really did leave a lot out of your report,” Davi said.
Chapter 19 - Gone Native
“I think I liked grabbing Wheeler more,” Kipley said as he walked alongside Davi through the outer tunnels of Trest.
“Shut your hole,” Davi replied. “I know you don’t respect the job, but you’ve got to keep a lid on our last few missions. They’re classified for a reason.” He’d said it before, and was beginning to think that Kipley would never learn. It was a good thing he was hell in a firefight, one of those marines who liked the violence too much.
Samuel Davi tried to focus on Remmy and the pilot who led them through the labyrinthian complex. There were more issyrians than he expected. The Freegrounders were ignored by most as they passed. The few that paid attention ensured that they made eye contact. A couple of them seemed curious, the rest regarded them with sneers that put any human’s expression of ire to shame. Half were carrying small arms that looked like they were found or captured, making the threat of being shot to pieces if they made the wrong move very real.
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