Field of Heroes

by Craig Saunders

  Armies needed people who knew why there were rules, who felt when it made sense to throw out all the rules and to just shoot the shit out of everything. That’s what Pain was for, though, right? She was there to babysit the crazies. Even Patriot needed a friend.

  We were Patriot and we were badass. Death-blessed Space Marines. Young men and women, full of our own importance, confident...but underneath that? We were scared. Not of dying. Scared of the unknown, of travelling through a portal to a place nobody knew, or could know. Like my lost memories frightened me, it was the futures we couldn’t imagine that terrified Patriot. To fight against an enemy which had us on the back foot for so long on Earth, but not on a battlefield we knew. We would be in their backyard this time.

  The tension was palpable when the ship began a slow burn toward the Keeler Gap.

  As the background drone lessened we began to hear our own thoughts. I didn’t like my own thoughts much. I don’t suppose many did.

  I thought often about those souls in the scout ship who would be the first humans to travel through the portal. Would they die? Would they come back? Meet some unimaginable fate?

  I had no idea. I don’t think even the huge brains had any idea.

  If they came back, there was hope we too might someday return.

  If not, we were going anyway. We knew a probe could get through. We knew the Zoan and Cephal had come through. It was a risk, but what is war? A game of risk every moment it persists.

  My days and nights were filled with breaking up fights while I wanted to get it on right along with them. Maybe that kept me busy as I needed to be to get through the wait.

  We worked, trained, and I tried to keep my soldiers occupied as those above me tried to keep hers in line. Fights still broke out, though. Sergeants and gunnery sergeants who should have known better came to blows in out of the way spots on the ship, of which there weren’t many. A corporal bloodied my lip by accident when she tried to punch out a sergeant and looked so horrified about it I didn’t even ream her. If anything, it was a break from the boredom.

  I couldn’t wait to breach the portal.

  I met Alante Brockner for the first time on the Boston. She wasn’t even climbing the steel walls of the ship in irritation when she bloodied my nose for me. It was fair enough, because I might have been Dawes, the big man in Patriot now, but I was way too big for my boots. She damn near knocked me out of them, and I needed that.

  33.

  Free Love

  - Vidar Dawes

  First time we met, Brockner was sprawled out on a bunk. We didn’t have curtains to draw around our bunks, or any kind of privacy. We were used to it. If anyone got the horn, they just kept it quiet under a rough blanket (green, of course). Even in space with the ships low-grav to contend with, and with the shifting sensation of emptiness and fullness and energy drained so your limbs felt weak and your moods up and down as the spinning ship itself...even so, it always seemed to me that half the bunks on the ship were empty every sleep cycle.

  Maybe it was youth, and maybe the fact that every day might be the last, but the amount of empty bunks next to heaving bunks under those itchy blankets wasn’t much of a surprise. They should have harnessed us to the ship’s drives.

  Brockner was one of a very select group actually able to relax on a ship – capable of staying easy rather than having fight to stay still. It was like she’d isolated herself from the hormones. Not like I felt – kind of shut off – but as though she switched it off wilfully. I didn’t figure on all that right then, of course. I was full of hormones, and part of the problem.

  ‘Hey,’ I said. I rested my arm against her railing on the top bunk. I was confident in my looks, young. I got around, even in war, even on a ship. I had a vague impression I’d been much the same before the war. Hell, the last memory of a woman I had from before the war, we’d been on the hood of that car.

  I fingered my chain – my dog tags and a ring there that I never, ever looked at. That wasn’t a matter of will. I couldn’t. My mind shied away anything in the past beyond my truck.

  Here, now, thinking about my truck and the past and the ring on my chain, I nearly puked all over her. I hid it with a grin like I was all that and a hand basket.

  ‘Fuck off,’ she said, cut me down like a...well, a boy.

  I don’t know why, but she rose in my estimation.

  ‘Big bunk,’ I said, undeterred. Flirting wasn’t a thing. People just tended to shrug, like, why not? Wasn’t like there was much else to do and we weren’t training anywhere near enough to wear us out, even on low rations and nauseous.

  ‘Deaf?’

  ‘A bit,’ I said and smiled. That was true, at least.

  ‘Answer’s still no. Count of three, and fuck off,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t need it. Armoured, right? I get it. Let’s just...’ I said. I don’t know what the rest of it was. Must have been longer than three seconds, though, because while I was speaking she was rising, and then she knocked my nose flat. I fell. It was the back of my head hitting the deck that stopped me talking.

  Later, when I came round, she picked me up.

  Her fist wasn’t up, which was nice.

  ‘My fault,’ I said, with a small nod.

  ‘No harm, no foul,’ she said, with a nod of her own. Not an apology, and I didn’t need or deserve one.

  I never made the mistake of thinking she didn’t mean what she said again.

  I could have been a dick, I suppose. ‘No’ meant ‘no’, though, and she’d reminded me of not only that eternal truism, but also that ‘fuck off’ meant ‘fuck off’.

  I didn’t take it to heart. I grinned, still dribbling blood down my chin.

  ‘Fair point, though,’ I said, wiping at the mess on my face. ‘And well made. I needed that.’

  ‘Certainly more than you need a fuck,’ she said. ‘Brockner,’ she added.

  We didn’t shake. Why shake hands when you’ve been intimate enough to slam your knuckles into another person’s face?

  ‘Dawes,’ I said.

  She was right, of course. I needed someone to put me in my place and she was it. Funny how you make friends. All the women I’d slept with, all those I’d fought and bled with, this woman hit me hard enough to put me to sleep and I liked her.

  I saw the Admiral on the way back to my bunk. I didn’t salute. She wasn’t marine, but I ducked my head and looked sheepish at her raised eyebrows.

  ‘Walked into something didn’t want to be walked into,’ I said, shrugged.

  She didn’t say a word. She was the big boss on the ship, but I wasn’t staying was I? I figured her high estimation of me didn’t matter much, or wouldn’t for long. We’d be dead, or I’d be gone.

  And then I’d probably be dead anyway.

  I thought about Brockner and the Admiral when I lay down to sleep that cycle. I laughed, and everyone probably thought I had company in the head.

  There really wasn’t much in the way of entertainment on an interstellar ship.

  34.

  Cephal-Hepp

  Kiyoko Jones

  Jones understood the workings and strategy of a ship on the sea. Here, though, her job wasn’t running the ship but overseeing the crew who actually knew what they were doing. And they weren’t all naval officers. Navigation methods out here weren’t of any kind she knew. Very little was, but everyone was learning weren’t they? The fact that she didn’t understand so much of it didn’t disqualify her from a job she’d been doing on huge seafaring ships. She didn’t understand every moving part on any ship, but she did understand people.

  Her job was to keep them functioning. It was their job to keep the ship functioning.

  Like an engineer, she thought vaguely as she moved to the shielded view port on the bridge.

  There, she clasped her hand in front of her, at her belly, and breathed calmly. A short, private, standing meditation. A quiet moment at the helm of a ship the size of a high rise tower.

  Saturn was over a
billion kilometres from Earth. Two hundred years ago that flight had taken more than a year. In 2256, work on the science hub A.U. Nash had begun, but even then the distance and expense of moving material from Earth to what humans regarded as deep space still restricted progress. 2297 A.D., and the Nash was still under construction.

  The Boston wasn’t a slingshot, reliant on orbital mechanics, because of the new drives developed in the wake of the San Diego victory. The Boston and her sister ships were rifled bullets.

  The analogy worked for Jones.

  At last, humans moved faster in space than the Earth revolved around the sun. The Cephal-Hepp drive was shifting the spinning ships four times faster than New Horizon when that tiny probe travelled past Saturn over two and half centuries early.

  Amazing, what a little extra motivation could do.

  The Cephal-Hepp drives were the heart of the A.U.F ships. They could breach the heliopause, of course but interstellar flight wasn’t an option. Cryogenic stasis, suspended animation, foregoing human passengers for robotic passengers, or using only pure AI, and even at these speeds the Boston’s journey to the nearest star would take around 5000 years.

  Human passengers would be dead, obviously, but there was another consideration. In five thousand years humans might not even live on Earth.

  Limitations aside, if the journey to the moon and Martian colonies had figuratively been undertaken by twin-prop planes, the new A.U.F. ships were a jump forward on a par with the jet engine.

  No one on the ship understood everything on the ship, but it did come with a manual, didn’t it?

  Halley.

  She’s a little more elaborate than a manual, isn’t she?

  The idea that the ship was basically steering itself always gave Jones a moment of disquiet.

  The view port was shielded, so she could see nothing of Saturn. No word on the scout ships. In two hours three people on the scout ship would make the journey through the portal...or simply cease to exist.

  She wanted to be prepared for either eventuality.

  ‘Open view, Halley,’ she told the ship board computer. Halley complied, drawing up the heavy shields over the reinforced glass. Jones permitted herself a small and private smile at the sight.

  Then Dr. Mamet entered her bridge with an escort, and her mood fell.

  35.

  Lost in Translation

  -Delphine Mamet

  ‘Dr. Mamet,’ said Admiral Jones, with a nod to the petty officer accompanying the doctor to consent to the unasked for visit.

  ‘Admiral,’ said Delphine with a respectful inclination of her head. She turned, and gazed out from the view port.

  ‘Wow,’ said the doctor. ‘That’s...wow.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Jones. ‘It is.’

  ‘Admiral...I...’

  ‘I assume this is the resumption of our usual...sticking point?’

  Delphine Mamet shrugged, almost but not quite, apologetic.

  ‘We have discussed this. At length.’

  Delphine squared her shoulders so her posture closely mirrored that the Admiral always maintained, and looked Kiyoko Jones straight in the eye. Perhaps once Delphine had been relatively shy. A scientific mind, and lost in her work. Now, though? She’d lived through the war on Earth inside a bunker and hardly seen any of the destruction. She couldn’t imagine the horrors those who’d been outside – civilian and armed forces – had endured.

  But looking out of at the view, she couldn’t believe it was only death and destruction out there. If humanity laughed, and created...loved...there had to be more.

  ‘I understand,’ said Delphine. ‘I do. I didn’t see most of the war. Did you know that? I was ‘sequestered’ in Alexandria.’

  Jones eyebrows rose. ‘Sequestered...?’

  ‘Held hostage, then.’

  ‘Hardly a prison, was it?’

  ‘Research facility, detention facility,’ said Delphine, and seesawed her hand. ‘Minds were too valuable to waste, yes? Soldiers, though?’

  Jones gazed at Mamet, and the linguistics expert found the gaze unsettling. Jones’ eyes were near black. Intelligent eyes which she thought saw plenty, and hid plenty, too...

  But not as much as she thinks.

  ‘I know why we’re out here,’ said Delphine. ‘I’m not stupid.’

  ‘I didn’t think you were, Dr. Mamet. Not for a moment.’

  ‘Then you do understand why I push, and push? Halley...’

  ‘Halley is Halley,’ said Jones, but didn’t invite the ship’s AI to this discussion. This was a more personal moment, highlighted by the fact that the doctor kept her voice low and her tone calm. Jones’ was no fool, either.

  ‘Yes, she is. Admiral...they will come again. I can make a very educated guess as to the overt objectives driving this fleet to journey to...wherever. But do you honestly believe there is only one road leading to the Cephal? We simply don’t understand anything like enough...’

  ‘I agree,’ said Jones.

  Delphine’s jaw slapped shut. She’d expected yet another rebuttal of her constant request...always the same.

  ‘Between you and I,’ said Jones, ‘You are a pain in my ass. Not because you’re wrong. Because you’re right...and there is nothing I can do about it. While you are entirely correct, you are, however, unrealistic. I cannot explore a planet. Even if I could? You understand what these seventeen ships can feasible achieve? Not that, Dr. Mamet. And even if this were some larger, longer term plan, such as establishing a forward post, or even a small colony...I’m sure you can fathom why we don’t come all this way to do that?’

  ‘That is not what Earth needs now?’

  ‘No. It is not. There is more urgency than that. We’re treading water back home right now. In the future, will they come again through other portals? Or, will a different race come? Is there something nastier than the Cephal and the Zoan out there? Possibly. Maybe even likely. That terrifies me. What terrifies me more, and what the A.U., and all of Earth fears more, even, than that?’

  Dr. Mamet inclined her head. Looking at Jones right then was hard, because of the ferocity of her expression. The Admiral didn’t look scared at all, but when she finally explained, Mamet understood without doubt that her request would go nowhere.

  ‘Dr. Mamet, if they come again before our mission ends, we cannot survive. We won’t have the chance to go back and have a do over. We will be extinct.’

  Delphine Mamet sighed deeply.

  ‘I understand, Admiral. I do. And you’re right. I just...’

  ‘It’s what you love, isn’t it?’ said the Admiral, softening slightly. ‘It’s not just about the world, is it? This is your passion.’

  ‘Ever since I was a child. I wanted to know everything. Every language. And an alien language?’

  Delphine smiled, and the Admiral softened again, until she smiled in return.

  ‘I do not have the resources at my disposal to hunt for the Rosetta stone, Dr. Mamet, even if I wished.’

  Delphine saw the depth of feeling in Jones expression, in her rare moment of unguarded candour.

  Delphine nodded. ‘If...if there should there be a safe chance, one which does not jeopardise Earth’s primary objective?’

  The Admiral laughed. ‘You are truly a pain. Yes. On my word. But I will not jeopardise our planet for that chance,’ said Jones. ‘If we find anything. If there is a chance. And if it does not conflict with my necessary goal? I will bring you your Rosetta stone. Because while I wish you were wrong, but I know you are right, and that troubles me more than anything. More than the thought of failure. But I promise you that should I face a choice between possible success in the future or success now...’

  It was the best Delphine could have hoped for. She knew her need to understand the Cephal, to communicate, was personal more than altruistic...that she was being unrealistic, too. But that need burned.

  ‘I understand,’ said Mamet, her tone remaining calm, and quiet, for she appreciated candour from the Admiral
she didn’t, perhaps, warrant. ‘I do. You would choose the devil you know.’

  ‘I always have,’ said Jones. This last admission seemed very personal indeed, and Delphine was almost embarrassed in the face of such bare, pure expression...one which looked like guilt, and sorrow.

  ‘I am sorry to be a pain in your ass,’ said Delphine, trying to dampen a situation she was suddenly uncomfortable with. ‘Ms. is fine, by the way,’ she added. ‘Doctor always felt too...I don’t know. Not me.’

  Jones laughed then and unexpectedly but happily Delphine realised that the Admiral of the Fleet wasn’t an island. She was human. For the short instant Jones’ stony expression had fallen away Delphine saw that the Admiral was actually attractive.

  It was seven years since Delphine had been on a date, or even had a chance to. She took a breath and decided to take a chance right then, a whispered moment in the bridge of a star ship.

  ‘Admiral. Would you consent to have a dinner with me?’

  The Admiral frowned, and Delphine thought she’d made a misstep.

  ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

  Delphine nodded.

  The Admiral smiled again and Delphine liked that smile.

  ‘How often you get to have a dinner date on the way to Saturn?’ said the Admiral. ‘I accept, Ms. Mamet. On one condition.’

  ‘No business?’ guessed Delphine.

  The Admiral raised her eyebrows, both agreeing with Delphine’s guess, and asking if that was acceptable.

  Jones’ nodded.

  Delphine realised she didn’t even know Jones’ first name, but they were both saved from any kind of awkward small talk, or attempts at an eye-catching entrance.

  A lieutenant approached, gave a polite cough.

  ‘Yes?’ said Jones.

  ‘Ma’am. Scout ship returned. Reports uploaded through Halley,’ said the lt., glancing at Mamet.

  ‘Speak freely,’ said Jones.

  ‘They’re alive, and unharmed, and Ma’am? There’s a planet.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Delphine.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Jones. She and Mamet shared a look. Wonder, fear. ‘I’m sorry, Ms. Mamet, but this might have to take precedence. But tonight, eight?’