Wars

by Alex Deva

  The Square did not move, and it did not speak.

  “This is a Builder device,“ continued Toma, articulating each syllable with sharp precision. “And this is not any Builder device. You know what it is, don’t you?“

  The Square still did not move, and it still did not speak.

  “And you know what it means, then?“

  Unable to contain himself anymore, Souček's voice came from the tab:

  “What in God's name does it mean, Keai?“

  The mention of her alien name seemed to have an effect on Toma. She turned swiftly, her physical form looking at Tiessler's tab, and gazed at the priest.

  “That means,“ she said, pointing somewhere abstractly — her projection pointed at the Saudade recording — “that the Squares fucked up badly.“

  “Bree ken Cudner,“ she said, looking around at everybody present in turn, including ken Selloa, “was a Builder. The Squares murdered one of our own.“

  “He was working against us,“ said the Square. Its accent had suddenly changed; it was now decidedly Northern Irish. “He had to be stopped. It was a clear breach of agreement.“

  “And, as such, it should’ve been taken to the Arbiters,“ said Toma.

  “There was no time.“

  “Oh, but there was, in fact, plenty of time,“ she said, theatrically. “For ken Cudner. For his discovery.“

  The Square took a full minute before speaking.

  “There was no discovery. We were thorough.“

  “And yet you missed his Builder equipment.“

  “Do you really have FTL capability? Or is it just a trick?“

  Toma shrugged. “It’s not a trick, and you know it. You’ve seen this starship do it, twice already.“

  “What,“ spoke ken Selloa from the airlock. “You mean that… This, really… I’m not… We are… Where are we exactly?“

  “Later,“ Toma dismissed him.

  The Square’s projection floated gently through the room, and a kind of chill seemed to follow it. It approached Doina, who shuddered, but did not move. Mark was an arm’s length away, and he tensed, ready for anything, but having no idea what to be ready for.

  The Square waited a few seconds in front of the little girl’s face, then slid towards Mark. At first, he tried to look into its light, but there was nothing to focus on there, only an endless void of photons. Eventually, he looked down, then at Doina, then sideways at Zi.

  Following his gaze, the Square moved to Aram, who was laying on his back on the room’s floor. Zi stepped silently to the side, manoeuvring to arrive behind the Square, even though he understood it was merely a projection. The big soldier moved like a huge tiger, unblinking, ready to jump at any instant.

  But the Square jumped first. One second it was hovering above Aram, and the other it was two inches in front of Toma’s face. Everybody flinched; everybody but Toma. Zi ducked, too late, and then turned quickly around.

  “We do not believe you,“ said the Square finally, in a Southern American drawl. “There was nothing there. Builder or not, ken Cudner had nothing. And we did not know that he was a Builder.“

  “First, tell that to the Arbiter. Second: yes, there was, and we have it, and you missed it just like you missed his disguise, and it works, and it depends on FTL, and we have both.“

  “You cannot.“

  “Accept the evidence.“

  “We shall analyse the evidence,“ said the Square.

  “You already have.“

  “We shall analyse it further.“

  “You already know it’s the truth.“

  “It cannot be the truth.“

  “Well, truth has a way of existing regardless of what you or I believe. I mean, it’s been known to happen. Really.“

  “Then,“ said the Square, “there is nothing left to say. We shall not give up. Thus begins the war.“ His antiquated English sounded decidedly odd in his new accent.

  “Not necessarily,“ said Toma. “I have a suggestion.“

  “We do not care about your suggestions.“

  “And yet you will listen to this one, because even you can appreciate that stubbornness doesn’t offset a quadrillion deaths.“

  The Square said nothing.

  “You stop the siege on Earth, right the fuck now,“ said Toma.

  On the tab, Tiessler and Souček perked up.

  “You stop the siege on Earth, and that will cause the following. Number one, it will prevent us from attacking and destroying your shaders. Number two, it will prevent the rest of the damned Galaxy, including your masters, the Eight, from learning that we attacked and destroyed your shaders. Because there will be no asteroid, however tiny, where they won’t hear about it.

  “And number three,“ she continued, calmly, “it will thus prevent the Eight from punishing the Squares for provoking the biggest war in all time, only because you,“ she pointed her finger, “refused to accept the facts.“

  “You cannot be trusted,“ said the Square.

  “I would normally agree,“ she nodded, “and I have a better suggestion. Once you stop your silly religion and let people go back to what’s left of their lives on what’s left of their planet, you and I stay here to guarantee the stalemate.“

  “Stalemate,“ said the Square.

  “Yeah. We’ll figure out a way. We’ll find a place. That way, none of us will ever risk fucking up.“

  “A… place.“

  “The Vatican,“ spoke Souček, suddenly. This time, both Toma and the Square gave the tab their attention.

  “The Vatican would consider it as a great honour to host the both of you,“ said the priest.

  There was silence. Mark, who had observed the exchange quietly but tensed, could feel nothing but admiration for the Czech priest. After nearly destroying both his belief and his church, he had the power to not only face his enemies, but to offer them his house.

  Doina’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Father,“ she said, softly. “God sees you.“

  Toma smiled a little.

  “Your answer?“ she asked the Square.

  * * *

  Seeing the Earth half-lit again was the most beautiful thing that Tiessler had ever seen. Reports came in from everywhere on the surface, that the Places of Light were slowly but surely becoming thinner and thinner, as people suddenly saw no point in not going home. Some of them returned to their old faith; some of them returned to no faith; some even kept a suitably adapted variant of the Church of Eight.

  That was, until the second day. (A day! A real day! With a sunrise and a sunset! What a wonderful thing!)

  The prophet had appeared in Boston, where a Place of Light had previously occupied the area between Newbury and Ipswich. Tiessler had watched the live transmission, just as most of the rest of the world had. Jean was alone; the Square no longer shone ten centimetres above his head. He had spoken at length, trying to engage the people and asking them to hold their faith, with pathos and argumentation.

  But, where there once stood a great prophet, now the people suddenly saw a desperate blue-haired man.

  And so, in a last-ditch effort to win them back, Jean resorted to his ace in the sleeve. He drew his Korth Kombat, and blew his brains out.

  Souček saw it too. He’d managed to return to Rome, and had reclaimed his office in the Domus Sancta Marthae. He winced at the image, closed his eyes and said a quick prayer.

  Then, he turned and asked:

  “Are you going to make him back again?“

  The Square was silent for a moment, then said:

  “Maybe later.“ And then it was silent, too.

  * * *

  Aram woke up from surgery with a strange, muted pain in his side. He opened his eyes and looked around. The first person he was was Doina, standing at the side of the bed; and there was Mark, standing right next to her. He felt light, and realised that he must be in low gravity; he tried to move a hand, but it was tied down. Mark untied his wrist; Zi came out of nowhere and untied
the other one.

  “Hi there,“ said Doina, smiling happily.

  The Dacian looked down at his wound; a thin, green plaster sheet covered the place, and a narrow, white corset held it in place. He tried to peek under it, but Zi quickly shook his head. He frowned and asked:

  “What happened?“

  “Wonders of the twenty-fourth century,“ said the soldier. “You’re gonna be fine, as long as you leave that as it is.“

  “Wonder my ass,“ said the Dacian. “I was gonna be fine anyway. Dacians are immortal. By the way, where are we?“

  “The Monnet,“ answered Mark.

  Aram groaned. “Not another cruiser,“ he said. “Am I gonna have to beat you up again to get out of this one?“

  Mark smiled. “That’s optional,“ he said.

  Aram looked at Doina. “We won,“ announced the girl, smugly.

  “You won without me,“ he said, faking dourness.

  “You won it for us,“ she said. “That alien would be dead if it wasn’t for you.“

  “What? The cricket? Why, what did he do?“

  They started to tell him the story. Aram listened, sometimes incredulously, other times stopping to ask questions. His mood lightened with each sentence, and at the end, he had full command of his usual cockiness.

  “So where’s he now? How did we get out of the ship past him?“

  “He’s here, too,“ said Mark. Colonel Tiessler has arranged one sealed compartment for him, with the correct atmospheric mix. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by the low gravity, although he doesn’t like being locked up, either.“

  “What are they gonna do with him?“

  Mark looked at Zi, and the big soldier spoke.

  “You know, they’re not sure yet. They can’t even talk to him without help from Doi, or from Toma, or Keai or whatever that Builder calls herself. Or himself. Anyway, because he’s kinda helped, they might consider throwing him a bone.“

  “You reckon he likes bones?“

  “Figure of speech,“ smiled Zi. “Give him something in return. Like not send him back where he’s wanted for grand treason or whatever.“

  “So he finally accepted he’s not at his planet?“

  “I think he still suspects a trick. Anyway, he’d need us to take him home, or else he’d need a large number of lifetimes.“

  The Dacian nodded once, then turned back towards Mark.

  “Now. How did we win?“

  When they told him of Toma’s proposal to the Square, he gave a short laugh, then winced slightly.

  “So we bluffed,“ he said.

  “I suppose so,“ Doina said.

  “There was no anti-Square gun.“

  “Not in plain view.“

  He looked a little confused now. “What do you mean? Was there one, or wasn’t there?“

  Mark looked at Doina, and then at Zi. “You’re gonna have to ask your friend,“ he said. “The Builder.“

  Aram looked back at him quizzically. “Hum,“ he said, unsure. “Yeah. Maybe I will.“

  Zi’s tab pinged. He got it out, and answered. “It’s for you,“ he said, giving it to Aram.

  The Dacian held the modern piece of technology with the air of someone who was born surrounded by buckets and buckets of tabs.

  “Congratulations on your recovery,“ said Karel Souček.

  “Gratias tibi,“ answered the Dacian in Latin. Souček sincere smile filled the screen.

  “And thank you, in the name of more people than can be counted, for your contribution on saving humanity.“

  “Anytime. You future guys aren’t so bad, once you stop shooting each other.“

  “Amen,“ said Souček.

  “They told me what you did,“ continued Aram, addressing the priest. “These aliens tried to… eradicate your church, your faith. Wipe it out from history, altogether. I mean, I don’t know all that much about it, but if billions of people share it, I cannot imagine what it meant for you. I mean, as a priest.“

  The priest looked down. He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind and said: “Happens all the time. Common mistake. Could’ve happened to anyone.“

  Again, Aram laughed appreciatively. “You’re like no priest I’ve ever met,“ he said.

  Souček just kept smiling.

  * * *

  A week came and went. Doina was floating barefooted in the middle of Room One, watching a real-time projection of Earth. Tiny pricks of light shone over the planet's natural night: cities, metropolises, space constructions. She found the Monnet and zoomed in on it. A crate — no, two — were just in the process of undocking, and a supply ship was flying about half a kilometre away. She could make out small silhouettes in space suits, doing something to the outer hull of the cruiser.

  “So what did you think about the Church of Eight?“ asked the Square.

  The little girl made a face. “It was fake,“ she said.

  “In what way?“

  “Well. It did not obey God.“

  “In what way?“

  “Shut up. I don’t want to talk about it.“

  The Square’s projection floated right above the room, directly under the closed ceiling iris, spreading yellow light that naturally fitted Doi’s own light.

  “It was horrible and you know it,“ she said, eventually. “Millions of people died because of you. The Builders would never do anything like that.“

  “So you think the Builders are better than the Eight?“ asked the Square.

  “There’s no doubt about it,“ said Doina, and there was no doubt in her voice.

  The Square vibrated gently, and said, in its pure, genderless voice:

  “I am not so sure.“

  XLVII. Epilogue.

  Alba Iulia, Romania

  2014

  The ancient citadel of Apulum loomed over the modern city, from the top of its great, round hill. Its star shape had been emblematic for the Transylvanian county capital, ever since it had been created in 1720 by a couple of Swiss architects, who were adopting what were then the cutting edge ideas of a Dutch builder called Menno van Coehorn, and who in fact did such a great job that three hundred years later their fortress survived as the best preserved one of its type, in the whole world.

  A red and white taxi negotiated the narrow streets of Alba Iulia, en route from the train station to a hotel. Its single passenger, a man in his late thirties, with short cropped hair and green eyes, looking quite fit for his age, pulled out his HTC One and checked it for messages.

  A red and yellow taxi caught up with it at a red light. This taxi had no passengers; its driver pushed a button on the dashboard which rolled down the right window, just as the other driver rolled down his own window.

  “Hai noroc,“ greeted the red and yellow taxi driver in the Transylvanian dialect. The other answered in kind.

  “How’s it going?“

  “Not bad. I’m thinking to hang around till about lunchtime, then I’m fucking off home. Been working all night.“

  “Fair enough. Don’t wanna work too hard, right? Where’re ya headed?“

  “Hotel Transilvania. Got this Yank from the train station, or English or whatever he is.“

  The first driver leaned to get a better look at the other’s passenger, who was checking his phone again.

  “Hope you get a fat tip. Took a German girl myself the other day, to a hotel up in the Cetate. Showed her the sights, didn’t leave me one damn leu,“ said the first driver.

  “We’ll see, we’ll see,“ said the other.

  “Yeah. Hey, before I forget, boss said to drop by one of these days, your new contract’s ready.“

  “Oh yeah? Suppose I don’t wanna sign it?“

  “You do what’s best for you, buddy. Me, I signed it. I’m not about to go back fixin’ screws at the factory.“

  The traffic light on the right lane turned green. The red and white taxi driver depressed the clutch, shoved his Dacia in gear and started moving along.

  “See ya,�
� he said, rolling up his window.

  The other driver, who was waiting to turn left, watched him go. He squinted and managed to get another glimpse at the foreign passenger. At length, he rolled up his own window, then brought up two fingers to his forehead and said, smiling to himself:

  “Yeah, see ya.“

  His own light turned green; he depressed his clutch and shifted into first gear, signalled left, looked out for anyone late crossing the street, and gently raised his left foot while giving the engine a little gas. He turned towards the ancient citadel, and a thought, perhaps a memory, brought another smile on his face.

  He shifted into second gear, and then into third, letting his Dacia catch up speed. As banks and mobile shops flew by him, he remembered the last time he’d seen that passenger in the other taxi. It had been in a basement in Madan, Syria, a few years earlier. He remembered operating a small video camera while someone else was trying to chop off the head of a bound man, in front of the camera. That bound man had been a friend of the taxi passenger, who was made to stand and watch. He remembered a drop of blood ending up on the camera lens and gently morphing into a weird shape on his viewfinder.

  He’ll do fine, fletcher Keai thought, as he parked the taxi and checked his watch, looking up expectantly at the cloudless blue sky.

  He’ll do just fine.

  THE END

  Thanks

  The author would like to thank all the readers of Starship Doi who have waited this long to read this sequel, and expresses his strongest hope that the wait has proven worthwhile.

  Wait a second, I’m the author. Why am I talking in third person? I hate that stuff, it only makes me sounds pretentious.

  So where was I? Thank you. Your wonderful reviews of the first book are what fuelled this sequel. I truly hope you liked this one too, and I would be really grateful if you told me what you thought about it; just write a review anywhere, like on Goodreads or on Amazon. If you want to tell me your thoughts privately, you’re welcome to email me at me@alxx.se.