by Brett Patton
“You really care about her.” Dr. Arksham’s voice came from the doorway. Matt jumped and looked up.
“Yes,” Matt said. “I do.”
Arksham came to lean over Ione. He put a palm on her forehead, even though the screens read her exact temperature to two-digit precision: 40.13 degrees.
“Why?” Dr. Arksham asked.
Why do you care for her? That’s what Arksham was asking. Matt thought of a thousand instant answers. Planet 5. The injustice. The Union.
“Maybe I’m part HuMax,” Matt said, finally.
Arksham shook his head. “What do you mean?”
Matt spent the next fifteen minutes giving Arksham a brief account of his life, focusing on his father’s genemod tricks and his Perfect Record. He even explained how the Perfect Record had seemed to expand into a frenetic probability calculator when he’d fought Rayder.
When Matt was finished, Arksham nodded. “Genemod. I should have known. I wondered how you were able to beat Rayder.”
“Have you heard of anything like—like what I experienced?”
Arksham shook his head. “No. Never. Your Perfect Record sounds like it betters even a typical HuMax memory. You don’t know what genetic sources your father used for your genemodding?”
“No.”
“We can find out, if you’d like.”
Matt jumped. “How?”
“I’ll have our Last Rising intelligence network run a sequence on you.”
“Do it!” Matt’s heart pounded. After all these years, after Roth’s dismissing him as “not HuMax,” maybe he’d finally have an answer.
Arksham took a blood sample from Matt and ran it into a compact chrome instrument. When he was done, the machine chimed.
“What now?” Matt said.
“Now we wait. This machine just does the sequence. Last Rising techs do the cross-reference.”
“How long?”
“A few days, maybe more.”
Matt sighed, and looked again at Ione. Arksham saw the direction of his gaze and said, “Yes. I’ve had them run her genome too.”
“What did they say?”
“Whatever the rewrite is, it doesn’t cross-reference.”
“Will she recover?” Matt asked.
Dr. Arksham looked at Ione for a long time. When he spoke, he didn’t turn to face Matt. “You should worry about yourself, not her. This plan to ‘change the Union’ is suicidal.”
“Someone has to do it.”
Arksham shook his head and stood up to pace. He said nothing for a very long time. Finally he stopped and turned back to look at Matt.
“A long time ago, a famous man—I forget his name—said something like ‘The measure of a good idea is how hard it is to ram it down people’s throats.’”
“Aiken,” Matt said, suddenly remembering his American Principles class in Aurora University. “It didn’t quite go that way, but I know what you mean.”
“You really think you can change the Union?” Dr. Arksham asked.
“‘If at first the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it,’” Matt quoted.
“Who’s that?” Arksham asked.
“Einstein.”
A nod. “An excellent quote.” But Arksham just shook his head and looked even more troubled.
“What’s wrong?” Matt asked.
Arksham fixed him with tired eyes. “For all Einstein’s ideals, they still built the atomic bomb.”
Matt nodded. “And we learned to stop using them to wipe out worlds wholesale. Change is possible.”
Arksham sighed. “I just hope your change doesn’t start with a war.”
* * *
Matt’s breakfast with Soto and Lena was interrupted by priority comms from Gonsalves, beeping for attention on his slate. Matt turned on the video and saw Gonsalves down in Esplandian’s docks, overseeing the unloading of supplies from Tierrasanta.
“What are we short on?” Matt asked, anticipating Gonsalves’s emergency. It was normal to come up short on important supplies, but Anne Raskin was usually the person who reported it to him.
“We’re not short. We’re plus.”
“Plus what?” Matt said, irritated.
“I think you need to come down here.”
“Why?”
Gonsalves grinned. “Just come on down.”
Crap, Matt thought. Between the late nights and the constant grind of leadership, he didn’t want to play any of Gonsalves’s guessing games.
“Tell me.”
“No,” Gonsalves said, his grin getting bigger. “Just come down. And smile. This is a good plus.”
Matt grumbled, but he knew Gonsalves wouldn’t drag him away for no good reason. He left his breakfast behind and went through the corridors to the docks, with Soto and Lena in tow.
When he got there, he found Captain Gonsalves talking with two slim, dark-haired men wearing casual Aliancia attire. Two very familiar men.
“Peal?” Matt cried, pulling himself along the rail faster. “Jahl?”
Peal laughed and waved as Matt approached. Jahl just nodded, grinning. Matt brought himself to a halt only a meter away from the pair, his mind going a thousand miles per minute. Peal and Jahl, the wunderkind of Hyva. Former Mecha Cadets. One a full Hellion pilot. For long moments, all he could do was stare at them.
“He looks confused,” Peal said.
“Surprised,” Jahl added.
Peal nodded. “After all, how can we possibly be here?”
“Yes, a real problem for their security, he’s thinking.”
Matt frowned. They were right. If Peal and Jahl could find him, could the Union be far behind? Was there a Union warship parked outside Esplandian?
No. Gonsalves wouldn’t be standing there comfortably, watching in good humor. That meant Peal and Jahl had—
“You defected from the Union?” Matt asked.
“Like we loved it there so much,” Peal said.
“No big surprise,” Jahl added.
Matt nodded. Peal and Jahl had been “invited” to Mecha Training Camp as an out for some highly illegal hack work they’d done on Hyva. They’d never really been good obedient Mecha Corps—they’d looked at their status as a way to get deeper into the Union systems.
“How did you find us?” Matt asked.
“It wasn’t easy,” Peal said.
“Don’t worry, the Union is too stupid to put it together,” Jahl added.
Peal frowned. “For now.”
“The probability that they will do the deep-cover research necessary to determine this location is very low—”
“But nonzero.” Peal cut his brother off.
Nonzero. Esplandian’s docks seemed suddenly chill, and Matt shivered.
“Essentially zero for the hacks at UARL,” Jahl argued.
“But you have to admit—” Peal began.
Matt rolled his eyes. If he let them continue, they’d argue for hours. It was what they did. He cut Peal off. “Why the hell are you here?”
“And it’s great to see you too,” Peal said.
“You know what I mean!”
Jahl saluted. “We are here to join your great and valiant forces, sir!”
Matt reddened, embarrassed. “Don’t do that.”
Peal elbowed his brother. “Tell him.”
“Tell him what? That it’s easy to put together fake Union reports about Matt Lowell being lost in a Mecha exercise and the disappearance of Major Soto and Lena Stoll? Or what we found when we unsealed his records? Or that it’s just a hop and a jump from that to conclude the Union doesn’t have any qualms about using genemods like us, any way they want?”
“No. Tell him the important part.”
Jahl frowned. “Shouldn’t we at least sit down first, have a drink, something?”
“Tell him!”
Jahl groaned, looking visibly uncomfortable. “The Union has expanded Pushback II to include ‘unspecified Corsair locations in near-Union space.’”
Matt swallowed, feeling the blood rush out of his head. “They know where we are.”
“No,” Jahl said.
“But they’ll be looking,” Peal added.
Captain Gonsalves’s grin had disappeared. He cleared his throat. “I think I could go for that drink now.”
* * *
After shots of vacuum-distilled whiskey in Hector and Federico’s private dining room, the full story came out.
It seemed the Union was expanding Operation Pushback II to target specific Corsair factions, including the Cluster, Last Rising, and what they called “nonspecific close-range Corsair incursions.”
Peal and Jahl brought comprehensive files with them, and the video and text glowed brightly on the NPP screens in the darkened dining room. The list of resources dedicated to the mission was staggering. Not just Helios and Juggernaut, but a half dozen new Warship-class fast-recharge Displacement Drive ships. Over a hundred Demons and twelve hundred Hellions were listed as supporting.
“If they find us, Esplandian is dust,” Gonsalves said morosely.
“They have to find us first.”
Gonsalves nodded, but remained glum. “Not only that, but the Union had noted ‘recent upsets in the Last Rising faction, with significant shifts in their overall activity.’”
“So they know I killed Rayder,” Matt said.
Peal looked confused. “He died on Jotunheim.”
Matt and Gonsalves exchanged glances.
“What?” Peal asked.
“So the Union didn’t know Rayder led Last Rising?”
It was Peal’s and Jahl’s turn to look confused. Matt brought them up to date on what had happened. The duo sat silently as he talked, but their slack expressions spoke of complete amazement. They rocked back when Matt told them about deprogramming the Last Rising members, and his plan to bring the truth to the Union.
“You’re a crazy man,” Peal said.
“And that’s why we love him,” Jahl added. But he wasn’t smiling. His face was creased deep in a frown, worried.
“We can help,” Peal said.
“We already have a team of five thousand informants in the Union.”
“Ninety-eight percent of whom are known, and being fed incorrect information,” Peal replied.
“By us,” Jahl added.
Peal grinned. “Well, not by us anymore. But you understand. Your information is not necessarily accurate.”
“We can cross-check it,” Jahl said. “Interpolate and synthesize.”
“But we can’t hack,” Peal added. “FTLcomms hacking is tricky. They’ll have decaying neutrino trails to back-trace—”
“—unless we use proxies—” Jahl said.
“—but even proxies can be matrixed—”
Matt’s laugh interrupted the arguing twins, making them turn and stare at him. He held out a hand. “It’s good to see you guys again. Welcome to the team.”
Jahl looked confused. “You trust us?”
“We could be working for the Union,” Peal added.
“Not a chance,” Matt said. “If it was the Union, you would have shown up with a half dozen warships.”
Peal laughed. “True. They aren’t good at subtlety.”
Jahl took his hand. So did Peal. And in that moment, Matt was content. His team was coming back together. What an amazing stroke of luck.
Unless—they actually were working for the Union.
When Peal and Jahl had left, Matt met privately with Gonsalves. “Have the Last Rising analysts look into their back trail. And have them double-check everything they do.”
Gonsalves nodded, looking relieved. “Thank you.”
But at the door, Gonsalves paused. “Is it worth trusting them?”
“I think they’re on the level,” Matt told the troubled captain. “And if they are, they’re worth our entire team of informants and analysts. They could easily make or break this plan.”
“Or we can simply keep our heads down and stay out of Union business,” Gonsalves said.
“Do you really think we can, now?”
Gonsalves was silent. Matt used the moment to press his argument. “Yeah. We can keep our heads down. We could hide, and wait while they wipe out all the Corsair worlds. We could sit and watch while they go on to take the Aliancia and the Taikong—”
“They wouldn’t do that!” Gonsalves cried.
“You think not?”
Again, the captain had no answer.
“We can wait until the entirety of humanity is Union, and we can watch as they round up all the HuMax and genemod, and do what they want to them. And we can hope they never, ever find us, and keep spinning on this rock in the middle of nowhere. Because if they did find us, there’d be nothing left for us to do. We couldn’t possibly defend against a force that big, not even with every Last Rising world at our disposal.”
Gonsalves fell silent and leaned back, as if considering Matt’s words carefully. “How much do you trust these two?” he asked again, finally.
“Ninety-nine point nine percent.”
Gonsalves nodded. “I’ve taken worse odds. But . . .”
“But what?”
“It’s the tenth of a percent that gets you.”
Matt put a hand on Hector’s shoulder. “Hector, if we don’t do something now, we die.”
* * *
As Matt was drifting off to sleep, he was roused again by the shrill of his slate. Should turn the damn thing off, Matt thought, struggling up from his doze.
Matt shrugged off the zero-g sleep harness and blinked up at the slit windows that looked out over Esplandian’s desolate surface. His slate’s screen spilled chill light in the dark room. Matt grabbed it and scanned the short message.
DR. ARKSHAM: Ione’s coming around. Thought you’d like to know.
Matt’s heart raced. How is she? Is she okay? Why hadn’t Arksham told him to come down? He wanted to shout a thousand questions at the slate. But that was stupid. Better to find out for himself.
He threw on the first pants and shirt he could find and rocketed down the tunnels to Dr. Arksham’s office. Curious eyes watched as he passed, but Matt didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting down to see her.
Matt caught himself at the last corridor. What if she was a monster? What if she had been completely transformed? Was that why Arksham hadn’t ordered him to come see her?
Matt shook his head. No. Maybe Arksham was just being polite. Maybe he didn’t think it was his place to order the leader of Esplandian around. Whatever reason, it didn’t matter. He’d have to take that as it came.
He made himself go down the last corridor. He paused for a moment outside the door, trying to get his rushing breath in check. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
Inside, the lights were up full bright, and Matt squinted against the halos. Dr. Arksham and one of his nurses bent over a figure in a hospital bed, still lying prone. A slim hand, free of the cooling bag, rose for a moment, before coming to rest again on the table. She’d moved!
Matt flew closer. Ione’s eyes were open, but they were so sunken and bloodshot they almost didn’t seem human anymore. Her voice croaked reedily as she tried to speak. Her wrists were so thin they were little more than sticks. She had a long way to go for a full physical recovery.
But she still looked like Ione! Matt’s heart surged with hope. Maybe the transformation wasn’t as radical as he’d thought, or maybe she’d somehow fought it off.
“Ione,�
�� Matt said, coming up beside the doctor and nurse.
“Mr. Lowell, I don’t know if now is the time for reunions,” Dr. Arksham said. “We have tests to perform, and—”
Ione’s eyes found Matt’s. “Matt,” she gasped.
She recognized him. Matt pushed past the doctor and gave her a quick embrace. It was like hugging a bundle of reeds. “Ione,” he said. “I—I missed you.”
Ione nodded, her lips turning upward into a painful smile. “I . . . too.”
“Mr. Lowell, really, I have to insist,” Dr. Arksham said.
“So do I!” Matt snapped. “Give us a moment, will you?”
Arksham looked unhappy, but backed away. Matt took Ione’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. Her bones were as sharp as knives. She tried to return the grip, halfheartedly.
“How do you feel?” Matt asked.
“Bad,” she breathed, trying to laugh. “But . . . better, I think.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Matt’s heart soared. She was going to be all right. They could pick up where they left off. They could have a life together.
Ione gripped his hand more tightly. She grimaced and swallowed, as if in pain.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Still hurt,” she said, voice strengthening.
“We really need to get some real food in her,” Dr. Arksham said, his voice firm. “And we need to run tests.”
“Of course,” Matt said. Arksham was right. She needed to get on her way to recovery. He let go of Ione’s hand, but she didn’t release her grip.
Matt grinned. She didn’t want to let him go.
Ione grimaced again, squeezing his hand tighter. Painfully tight.
“Ione—”
“Something’s wrong,” she croaked, her eyes going wide.
Arksham and the nurse rushed over. “Where does it hurt? What’s wrong?”
Ione shook her head from side to side. “No, no, something wrong, get out, get away!” Her voice rose to a panicked, near-ultrasonic pitch.