by Jack Halls
Gideon didn’t even notice when the priest stopped talking until a familiar voice echoed out over the congregation. His father, Admiral Ethan Killdeer, stood before the crowd in his formal uniform. The admiral wasn’t particularly tall, but his presence was oversized. His square jaw and hard eyes seemed to be chiseled from stone, and like him or not, he had the respect of every aionian aboard the ship.
Since the explosion, Gideon had barely talked to his father. The admiral had been working around the clock, sleeping in his office at CENTCOM. Given the admiral’s rock-steady voice and checked emotions, one would never have guessed that he was eulogizing his own wife’s memory.
“My friends, in the one hundred fifty-three years since the Leviathan carried us away from Earth’s solar system, I have stood before you on this hallowed ground only sixteen times to remember a crew member who has left this life. Though I may not possess the faith of Padre Diego, I find comfort in his words, and the hope that this ending is only another beginning for Monica and Byron.
“In some ways, we are not blessed as were our human ancestors with the knowledge that we will one day die. To an aionian, death is not a guarantee, and therefore it is all the more shocking when it visits one of our number. The weight of that possibility threatens to crush our spirits if we are not careful.
“Like many of you, I remember a time when death was common. When our human brothers and sisters decided we were a threat that had to be eliminated. I’m reminded now of the thousands of aionians we weren’t even allowed to bury on Mars when we fled. We all hoped that this exodus through the Void would mean an end to bloodshed and sorrow. Days like today remind us that life is fragile, even for an aionian, and we will never eliminate all risk.
“But now, as we stand at the edge of the Void, poised to inherit our Promised Land, we cannot let our courage fail. On Valkyrie, we will start fresh, with the hope that our trouble is behind us. But we are marching into the unknown. We must be prepared for any scenario, even the possibility of more tragedy. I believe in Valkyrie, but it is a birthright that comes with a cost.
“We will be tested, we may lose more loved ones, but I’ve had the privilege of knowing all of you over the centuries, and I know we are up to the task. Monica and Byron dedicated their lives to the dream of Valkyrie, and the best way we can honor their memory is to achieve that dream. We are going to build a new world, not a temporary one like the Leviathan, but a world that will act as the cradle for the Aionian Civilization. You and I are going to build that world standing on the shoulders of the giants who have gone before us. In that way, Monica and Byron will truly become immortal.”
It could hardly be called a eulogy. The speech barely mentioned the deceased, and Gideon realized it was not meant to honor the dead. His father was refocusing their emotions on the task at hand. How he could be so cold, so businesslike was beyond Gideon’s comprehension. His face turned red, and he gritted his teeth.
The polite applause that followed the speech seemed out of place for a funeral, but this was the first time Gideon had experienced one. He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe to stand next to his father as a line of people went by and gave their condolences. Old movies showed it that way. Instead, the admiral had been the one comforting the masses and quieting the inner fears they all harbored.
A gentle hand landed on Gideon’s shoulder. He turned to see the small priest, Padre Diego, with his ever-present smile.
“I’m sorry, Gideon. I’ve known your mother for a very long time, and was lucky enough to call her my friend. We’ll all miss her.”
The only response Gideon could muster was a weak nod as he looked down at his feet. His tears had already dried up.
“I don’t know if you believe in an afterlife, but I do, and I believe it’s a place of joy. If you ever want to talk about it, come see me. At least it might be nice to think about.”
Gideon coughed. “Sure, Padre. I’ll think about it.”
The little man gave his shoulder a squeeze, then turned and walked away without another word.
A huge arm swung behind him and pulled him into an awkward side hug. It was Joseph Uritumbo. Gideon looked up to see wet streaks flowing freely down Joseph’s face. He returned the hug.
“Thanks, Joe.”
Joseph didn’t say anything, just patted Gideon on the back with his meaty hand and walked away.
That started the procession of condolences and hugs that Gideon had originally imagined. Though his heart ached in his chest, his tears were long since spent, and so he responded with thank-yous and a lot of I’ll-be-all-rights that were less truth and more a tactic to get people to move on so he could leave this place.
When the crowd had finally dispersed, Takomi moved across the lawn and hugged him. She was the first one he actually wanted to hug back, and somehow her presence turned on the waterworks again. They hugged and cried for a while without saying anything. When they finally stopped, Gideon wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. His head was pounding, and something behind his sternum tried to escape from his chest. “I’m so sick of crying.”
Takomi laughed as she wiped her own eyes. “I’m so sorry, Gid. I don’t know how to make it better.”
“You can’t. The whole ship’s told me how sorry they are, but not one of them can do a damn thing.”
Takomi composed herself and looked around before she leaned close to Gideon’s ear. “Did you tell anyone else about... you know, the thing about the saboteur?”
“No.”
“Gid, you gotta tell somebody.”
“Who? If there’s a traitor on the ship, how do I know I’m telling the right person?”
“Why don’t you tell your dad?”
Gideon bit his lip. Of course, that was the obvious choice, but it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. “I don’t even know what to tell him. I easily could have misheard what they were saying.”
Takomi set her jaw and took a step forward. She was half a head shorter than Gideon, but he couldn’t help but lean back as she approached.
“Gideon, I hope you are wrong, but if you’re right, it means that somebody murdered your mom and Doctor Marcus. That means they could do it again. Do you want that on your head if you keep this to yourself?”
“You don’t think I’ve thought of that? You don’t think I’ve been lying awake at night wondering if my mom would still be alive if I’d said something earlier? None of this is easy, Takomi.”
She took a step back, her face softened. “Sorry. If you want, I’ll go with you.”
Gideon looked up. “Really?”
Takomi grimaced now that she realized what she was offering. “Um, yeah. I’ll go if you want me to.”
Gideon looked around but couldn’t find his father anywhere. Most people had already left, moving on. They were all sad, sure, but they thought the friends they’d buried were killed in an accident. Most likely, he and Takomi were the only ones that suspected something more.
Gideon looked down at the marker that memorialized his mother. He balled his hand into a tight fist and tapped it on the stone several times. “I hate this.”
Takomi winced. “I know.”
“What if I’m right?”
“Then we’ll figure out who did it.”
“What if I find them?”
“I’ll leave that up to you.”
Their eyes met.
“Right now, I don’t want to think about what I’d do.”
She reached up and rubbed his arm. “Let’s start at step one. Your dad’s probably at CENTCOM. We should find him.”
Gideon snorted. “He’s been at CENTCOM since the explosion. I’ve barely seen him up until his speech, and he didn’t even look at me.”
“I’m sure he’s busy. It’s gotta be chaos up there right now. He probably hasn’t even slept.”
“Neither have I.” He looked up toward CENTCOM, the ugly bulk at the bow of the ship. Tremors coursed through him, but he finally sighed and allowed himself to relax. “C
ome on, if we’re going to do this, we better just go.”
Takomi nodded, and they walked together to the autopod station.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Admiral
THE HOLLOW TUBE of the biosphere was capped off at the bow by a massive structure called Central Command. CENTCOM was more than just the front of the ship, it was a ship unto itself. Heavily armored and provisioned, it could detach from the biosphere and was the crew’s life raft in a catastrophe. It was a huge disc one hundred fifty meters thick, with multiple levels that slowly decreased in gravitational pull as they approached the ship’s axis, like the training levels at the stern of the ship. Halfway up the axis and slightly to their right, dozens of robots repaired the scars of the explosion.
The autopod slowed and stopped at the entrance to CENTCOM closest to the bridge. When the door opened, Gideon and Takomi stepped out onto the platform and walked toward the fortified entrance, where two men sat in a small guardhouse next to the door wearing Sentinel Armor and carrying rifles. One of them stood and came out of the guardhouse as they approached.
“Takomi. Gideon. Good morning to you.”
As the soldier lifted his visor, Gideon recognized the man as Gavin McLeod.
“Hey, Gavin. How’s it going?” asked Gideon.
“I’m all right, thanks. So sorry about yer mum, Gid. Wish I could’ve been at the service, but the admiral has us guarding CENTCOM as an added precaution.”
Gideon looked behind the guard at the sealed doors. Normally, one guard in fatigues with a sidearm watched the entrance.
“Thanks, Gavin. I need to talk to my dad. Can we go in?”
Gavin scratched his scruffy jawline. “Er... well, we’re only supposed to allow senior officers into CENTCOM at the moment. What’dya need? Maybe I can pass along a message?”
Takomi and Gideon looked at each other.
“It’s sort of private,” said Gideon. “I didn’t even want to tell him over his com.”
A deep voice spoke behind them. “I’m sure they’re not dangerous, Lieutenant McLeod. If you want, I’ll escort them in.”
Gideon turned to see a tall man with a thick red beard and bald head marching toward the door.
Gavin saluted. “Yes, Commander.” He waved to the other guard, and the reinforced door slid open.
Gideon and Takomi saluted as well. Commander Morgan Devereux returned their salute without a hint of emotion on his face. “You said you’re looking for the admiral, correct?”
“Yes, sir. We assumed he’s on the bridge,” answered Gideon as Gavin returned to his post.
“Most likely. Is there any particular reason you both need to see him?”
Gideon looked over at Takomi. She lifted a shoulder in a barely perceptible shrug.
“There’s no specific reason for me to come in, sir,” she said. “I thought I could help Gideon... explain himself better.”
Devereux raised an eyebrow.
“Are you incapable of explaining yourself, Mr. Killdeer?”
“Uh... yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I can explain myself just fine.”
“Hmm. Then I don’t see any reason to bother the admiral with two cadets. If Ms. Tsukamoto’s services aren’t necessary, that is.”
The teenagers shared another look. Gideon cleared his throat and looked Commander Devereux in the eye. “I think it would be better if we were both there, sir, to make sure I don’t miss anything.”
Devereux’s face didn’t change as he eyed Gideon. “Very well. You can both come in, but you better keep it short.”
“Yes, sir,” they each said.
Devereux turned to the entrance. “Follow me, cadets.”
They followed the commander through the entrance, working hard to keep up with his long strides. The door slid shut behind them as they entered the cavernous hallway on the other side. The steel walls were painted a blue-gray color that gave the interior of CENTCOM a distinct military feel, and tended to absorb a lot of the light. They passed a second set of huge doors meant to act as an airlock in an emergency. They were open now, but Gideon imagined that they’d slammed shut seconds after the explosion occurred two days ago.
Their hallway intersected an even larger hallway, which continued in a ring around the entire circumference of CENTCOM. If he started jogging down it now, eventually he’d loop around and end up back here, maybe a day later.
The automated shuttles carrying supplies through CENTCOM stopped for them as they walked through the intersection and into one of the lifts on the other side. Once the door closed behind them, Devereux told the computer their destination, and the lift started up. It took them up one level, then moved horizontally for half a minute before coming to a stop.
When the door opened again, Gideon was looking into the heart of the ship. The bridge was abuzz with activity, as officers conversed around holographic images of autopod networks, sewer systems, and star charts. Dominating the center of the room was a floating hologram of Valkyrie, the world they would soon call home.
The hologram was updated with the best data they had from the planet so far, and although it was much more detailed than the last time Gideon had seen it, the image was still blurry and vague. They’d confirmed the planet had liquid oceans decades ago, but the details of the geography and climate were still estimations at best.
Devereux stepped out of the lift, and the teenagers followed. A moment later, they ran into a mountain of a man, and Devereux stopped. “Ah, Major Uritumbo, could you tell me where Admiral Killdeer is?”
Vincent Uritumbo towered over everyone on the ship except his son Joseph, and probably outweighed Devereux, Takomi, and Gideon combined.
“I believe he’s in his office,” he said in his booming voice. “Why?”
“Mr. Killdeer and Ms. Tsukamoto would like a word with him, if he’s not too busy.”
Vincent smiled at Gideon and Takomi. He put his huge hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “How you holding up, Gid? Everything okay?”
Gideon tried to respond with a convincing smile of his own. “I’ll be all right. Thanks.”
Vincent gave Gideon’s shoulder a small squeeze, then looked up at Devereux again. “I’ll take it from here, Morgan. Thanks.”
Devereux turned and walked away without a word. Vincent led the way as they walked around to the far side of the bridge and through a short corridor. They stopped at a steel door with no markings, and Vincent knocked twice.
“Come in,” said a muffled voice from the other side.
Vincent opened the door and held it for Gideon and Takomi to step inside.
It had been a long time since Gideon had stepped foot in his father’s office, but he noticed it hadn’t changed at all. All four walls of the admiral’s office were covered from floor to ceiling in ancient books, ranging from leather-bound encyclopedias to classic novels. A heavy wooden desk took up the center of the room, its surface completely bare except for a tablet still displaying charts and numbers.
Admiral Killdeer leaned back in a wooden armchair behind the desk, looking up at Gideon and Vincent. His uniform was unbuttoned at the collar, and Gideon couldn’t remember him ever looking so tired. “Come in, cadets. Thank you, Vincent.”
Vincent nodded and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Gideon’s father looked up at him with a sad smile. “I suppose I should apologize, Gideon. I haven’t seen you much since the accident. That’s not very fatherly of me.”
The tone in his father’s voice was unfamiliar territory for Gideon. Despite the show of strength at the funeral, the admiral’s voice now seemed to originate somewhere deep down, a bottomless pit.
“It’s okay, Dad.” Gideon stole a glance at Takomi. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she seemed to be studying the back wall.
Admiral Killdeer stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of Gideon. He reached out and gripped Gideon’s arm. The eyes that were usually so steady were now bloodshot and weary, but they still pierced th
rough Gideon, and he had to force himself to meet his father’s gaze. “How are you holding up, son?”
Gideon dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. “I guess I’m doing okay. I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to feel, so I just…don’t.”
His father stared a moment, then let go of Gideon and sat on the edge of the desk with his arms folded across his chest. “It was more than three hundred years ago, but I still remember every detail of the day they killed my mother. I was ten feet behind her when the bomb went off, meant for me, of course.”
“Dad, I... I’m sorry. I forgot that’s how grandma died, too.”
His father waved off the condolence. “Similar, but not the same. Your grandmother was murdered by a fanatic. What happened to your mother and Doctor Marcus was an accident.”
Takomi turned her head to look at Gideon. With great effort, he forced himself to speak. “Actually, that’s what we came here to talk to you about.”
The admiral raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”
Gideon coughed. “I’m not saying I know what happened, but there’s, you know, the possibility of something. It could be nothing, but I wanted to tell you about it. You’ll probably think it’s stupid, but I have to tell you.”
“Tell me what, Gid?”
He took a deep breath. “Well, on Sunday, Doctor Marcus came over to the house, and I heard him and Mom talking about something. It was hard to hear, so I’m not really sure, but...”
Admiral Killdeer waited for Gideon to get to the point.
Gideon continued. “Doctor Marcus wanted to show Mom something, kept saying he wasn’t paranoid and he had proof. Mom was going to go with him to see it, and she said something about a saboteur on board the ship.”
The admiral’s eyes remained steady, but his nostrils flared. “A saboteur? What do you mean a saboteur?”
“I don’t know. That’s all I heard.”
The admiral turned to Takomi. “Did you hear this, too?”
Takomi stopped fidgeting and looked at the admiral. “No, sir, I wasn’t there. Gideon told me about it on Monday. I didn’t believe him at first, but then the... explosion happened.”