All Our Tomorrows

by All Our Tomorrows (epub)

  “All right, all right.” Morgan threw her hands in the air. “I am one hundred percent in favor of attack craft being useful. Essential, even. So bastardize the fighters all you want.” She gazed pointedly at the rig. “But you’re not seriously planning to attach this monstrosity to an Eidolon. It’ll fuck the aerodynamics to hell and back.”

  Devon protested. “Aerodynamics don’t matter in space.”

  “Said by someone who’s never flown an attack craft in space. To be more precise, it’ll screw with the load and weight distribution, which means the flight software will have to be completely rewritten. And where is the power supposed to come from? The Eidolons are beasts, and they’re not designed to leave stray volts lying around unused.”

  Devon leaned on the worktable beside Marlee, who continued to silently watch the tête-à-tête, transfixed by Morgan’s delightful obstinance. “Listen, I know you haven’t had to contemplate military operations for several years, but a few things have changed since your time behind the stick. For one, we’re not amateurs here at Special Projects. The Eidolon Supervisory Artificial is hard at work on the necessary software adjustments for the pilot-ships. Also, Zero Engines have gotten more efficient and smaller in the last five years. We’ll drop one the size of an orange in there next to the weapon, and power won’t be an issue.”

  He stared at Morgan deadpan. “Besides, did you miss the part about how this is a freaking renewable negative energy weapon? No bulky missiles to lug around, and the Eidolons get to destroy the enemy all damn day.”

  “I know, okay. Massive props to the Asterions for inventing this toy, no question. I simply don’t want these magnificent, self-aware ships to be diminished in any way, so…dammit.” Morgan groaned into her hands. “Put me in the simulator, and I’ll see if I can find a way to make it work.”

  Morgan seemed to belatedly remember Marlee was there and winced at her from behind splayed fingers. “I’m sorry. Now that I’m done with my tantrum, for the moment at least, this is going to be far more boring for you than I anticipated. I’ll understand if you want to head back to the Consulate.”

  “Nah. To tell you the truth, I’ve never watched a sim run before.”

  Devon patted the sim chair in the corner. “It’s the next best thing to being in the cockpit! Well, being in the sim chair is. Watching a sim run is the next best thing to the next best thing.”

  “Right.” Marlee laughed. “Then I definitely have to stay and witness it.”

  Morgan shrugged. “Fine, but one last warning: I have a history of overstaying my welcome in sims. If I don’t emerge for five hours, you had better not be here when I finally do.”

  All the responses that formed in her mind were entirely inappropriate to say aloud. “I have a meeting with the Consulate department heads in three hours, so that’s my hard limit. Now get in there and fly!”

  Morgan pressed her hands together at her lips. “It’s been a while since I’ve run one of these. A long while. Nothing to do but do it, I guess.” She eased into the chair, scooted around to get comfortable and affixed the circular sensors to her temples. Paused for a beat before reaching up and attaching the connector to the ports at the base of her neck. Closed her eyes. “Start me up.”

  Devon entered a series of commands in the panel behind the sim chair, then motioned Marlee over as a wide screen burst to life beside the panel. “From here, we can see everything she sees, plus some things she can’t.”

  “What does the program she’ll be running contain?”

  “I’ve created a basic Rasu combat course based on our encounters with them so far. Knowing Morgan, she’ll be fiddling with the parameters inside of five minutes. The sim is recording everything for analysis later, including a ton of data we can’t visually perceive. Basically, you and I are now spectators. Grab a chair and settle in.”

  She did exactly that, sliding a chair from one of the workstations over and scooting it in front of the screen. By the time she’d gotten situated, the scene it displayed was already in motion.

  A cluster of smaller Rasu accelerated into the battlespace and split apart in what looked like a randomized pattern. The next second Morgan was firing. Strafing. Strafing while firing. The perspective jerked upside down, then upside down again, until Marlee grew dizzy just watching it.

  Morgan muttered under her breath from the chair. “The controls are all janky due to the added weight. Stanley’s putting together some adjustments. I’ll feed them into the sim programming as soon as he’s done.”

  Devon waved a hand toward the chair. “See? Told you. Fiddling.”

  About twenty seconds later, the spins on the screen began to smooth out, as did Marlee’s stomach. Shortly thereafter, the Rasu began exploding—and staying exploded. In minutes, the Eidolon was cavorting through a battlespace that was more Rasu debris than actual Rasu. The flying got fancier, though she’d never accuse Morgan of showing off. Wait, no, she totally would, but she was also confident the woman would unabashedly own it.

  Morgan mumbled something unintelligible, and the Rasu debris vanished, to be replaced with a new, much larger fleet. What in the world could the woman possibly hope to accomplish against cruiser-sized Rasu? Marlee leaned forward and fisted her hands at her chin.

  For starters, the Rasu couldn’t seem to hit the Eidolon. It wiggled and flipped and zagged to skirt every laser directed its way. A massive Rasu grew to dominate the screen—the Eidolon spun and dove a scant few meters below the hull, arcing in parallel as the hull curved. When it reached the underbelly, Morgan fired on the weapons assembly. Crystal shards exploded out from the edges, but everything near the impact point was vaporized, leaving a giant hole engraved into the hull.

  On the screen, the negative energy weapon’s fire presented as a thin silver outline framing a streak of voidness, but she assumed the silver was present merely so they could track the fire for testing purposes.

  The Eidolon pivoted to gain a bit of distance, then reversed and charged toward the opening, firing again. When the firing stopped…starlight shone through a hole burned straight through the cruiser’s hull to the other side. The Eidolon accelerated through the gap, falling into a three-sixty spin to fire on the interior in every direction until it emerged out the other side.

  Marlee whistled in delight. “Damn. I think I just got a little turned on there.”

  “What? Oh. Oh.” Devon grunted and shifted away from the screen, toward her. “Listen, Marlee, I don’t want to go all fatherly on you, but are you sure entertaining those sorts of thoughts is a good idea? Morgan is…damaged.”

  Marlee nodded, most of her focus still on the sim battle, where the Eidolon continued to both dodge incoming fire and slice up the cruiser into ever-smaller pieces. “I know she is. But she’s also starting to heal, and I want to be here for that. With her for it.”

  Devon’s chair scraped across the floor as he turned to face her fully. “I’m not talking about Harper. I mean, I’m absolutely talking about Harper, obviously. But even before they got together, Morgan was a prickly, odd bird. And I say this as someone who was the king of odd birds in my youth.”

  “You’re not one any longer?”

  “Eh, I hide it better now. My point is, that path there?” He gestured toward the sim chair and the woman occupying it. “Devils fear to tread it, and with good reason.”

  She bristled. “Brooklyn Harper didn’t. Fear it, I mean.”

  “Brooklyn Harper didn’t fear anything. She was extraordinarily dumb that way.”

  Marlee wanted to reply, I don’t either. But she exercised restraint and kept the retort to herself, offering a little white lie instead. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll…try to tread cautiously.”

  33

  * * *

  CHALMUN STATION ASTEROID

  Large Magellanic Cloud

  E ren sat on a barstool, nursing a merum tsipouro, and idly watched two Barisans try to shake down a high rolling Anaden at one of the skalef tables. Matching tattoos
in a jagged, abstract pattern were burned into the fur on the Barisans’ right arms. Though he had no idea what the symbol meant, the fact that they brandished identical ones suggested it was a marker of allegiance to some gang, group or ideology. But which one?

  Was this the kind of thing he needed to know now? A couple of Barisan thugs haunting the Chalmun watering holes weren’t a threat to the new Anaden government—but might the group they belonged to be one? As Corradeo Praesidis’ official ‘Chief of Intelligence for Non-Anaden Affairs,’ it felt like he needed to know these sorts of things. Which was why he’d decided to spend an evening at Chalmun Station in the first place, naturally.

  Also because the stifling arrogance of Ares was simply too much to take for long stretches at a time. He’d been most relieved when Corradeo had charged Nyx and her Inquisitor brothers with investigating and disposing of Anaden troublemakers. The bitterness he’d stoked toward his Anaden kin during the Directorate centuries ran deep, and he was not interested in diving into the cesspool of Anaden societal machinations.

  But aliens, he knew. He could party and fight and drink and curse with every single Concord species. He’d learned most of the tricks from his brothers-and-sisters-in-arms in the anarchs, then put a polished topcoat on the skill while working for CINT.

  Intellectually and physically, he was qualified for his new job in every material respect. Mentally, though? He’d promised Corradeo Praesidis that he was. For now, he was betting on a sincere desire to not let the man down to keep him marching forward until his soul bought into the deal he’d made.

  He took another sip of the drink. Carefully, just enough to blend in…and take the edge off. He’d slipped the other night at Caleb and Alex’s place, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel too guilty over it since…he cut the memory off before it took hold. Also, far better to slip with alcohol than with hypnols, and in the presence of trusted friends rather than sketchy strangers.

  His gaze was again seeking out the two Barisan thugs when he spotted a familiar Novoloume walking the floor, and he waved Trepenos over.

  Like many anarchs, when the Directorate fell and the rebellion ended, Trepenos Hishai sought stability and a new life in what he already knew—in this case, running a club on Chalmun Station. With so much changing so rapidly during the early days of Concord, there was comfort in the familiar. It wasn’t the route Eren had gone, but he got why many had.

  “Eren, my comrade.” Trepenos placed a hand on his shoulder and offered a warm smile. “It has been too long.”

  “It has. Two years, by my count.”

  “I have no words to adequately express my sorrow over Cosime’s death. I tried to contact you when I found out what happened, but….”

  “But I was at the bottom of a drunken stupor, then somewhere far worse. Even if you’d managed to reach me, I wouldn’t have heard anything you said.”

  “And now?”

  “And now? I’m trying to live. Fairly certain I’m doing a piss-poor job of it so far, but at least I’m giving it a go. Speaking of, one way I’m trying to reengage is by helping out our former boss. See, it turns out, Sator Nisi was really—”

  “Corradeo Praesidis.” Trepenos gestured to one of the screens on the wall. “We do have the news here on this rock.”

  “Right. Sorry. Anyway, it’s my job to keep him and his grand vision safe from ne’er-do-wells with ambition, so I thought I’d look around here and see if any of those were clawing their way up the criminal ladder.”

  “A wise idea.” Trepenos dipped his head gracefully toward the in-progress shakedown.

  It was good to discover his instincts hadn’t totally atrophied. “Yeah, I noticed them. What’s up with the tattoos?”

  “They belong to a group—”

  The floor lurched beneath their feet, sending them both grabbing for the bar. Eren’s drink splattered to the floor as fine dust rained down from the ceiling.

  “The hells was that?” He blinked and forced himself to transition directly into crisis mode. “Are there still buoy cams outside the asteroid?”

  “A few. They’re tied to small lasers used to fry wandering space debris that gets too close.”

  “Can we access them?”

  “Assuming no one’s changed the transmission frequency since the anarch days. One second.” Trepenos instantiated a visual between them. There wasn’t much light until the viewpoint rotated around toward the distant sun.

  “Zeus’ marbles!” A mini-armada of Rasu warships loomed dark and menacing over the cam’s viewpoint. A thousand of them, at a minimum. Twenty or so could destroy the asteroid on their lunch break, so they must be expecting resistance.

  But they wouldn’t find it here. Even under Concord’s domain, Chalmun Station was an outlaw rock—ungoverned and nigh ungovernable. If it crumbled in a torrent of laser fire, no one would be the wiser until a new visitor arrived to dock for some downtime and drinks. No early warning system existed here, so he’d have to create a not-so-early one.

  “Eren, we need to get everyone out of here.”

  “Yep. Give me a jiff.”

  He sent a priority message to Director Navick first, as Navick would take care of informing Commandant Solovy and everyone else.

  Alert! Rasu are attacking Chalmun Station in force. I’m requesting evacuation wormholes immediately, but you’d better distribute that schematic of the asteroid I know CINT keeps in the files to the Prevos, else they’re liable to open the wormholes inside bedrock.

  The next one went to his current boss, of course.

  Sir, the Rasu are hitting Chalmun Station. Make sure Concord’s on it, if you will. If I’m not back on Ares by tomorrow, look for me at the Concord HQ regenesis lab.

  He grabbed Trepenos’ hand more forcefully than was polite. “We need to move people out of the tunnels and into the most open spaces. Here, Bogno, Purgatory, anywhere else you can think of. Concord should be opening wormholes to evacuate people any minute, but the easier we can make it to accomplish the evacuation, the better.”

  Trepenos’ skin gleamed in agitation. “But what about the club?”

  Eren winced as another strike shook the walls, now with greater force. In the distance beyond the doors, someone screamed. Arae. The tunnels were shoddily constructed and apt to collapse if so much as a feather landed wrong.

  “I don’t think the cavalry is going to arrive in time to salvage much of this rock. The best we can do is try to save as many of these despicable, sorry souls as we can.” His mind darted back to the night he’d spread the anarchs’ message from this very location. “And get me access to the loudspeakers.”

  A terse response arrived from Director Navick. On it. Eren, don’t be a hero and get yourself killed again.

  He knew all too well the surreal punishment of too many regenesis round trips in too short a time. But in the moment, it never had mattered. Certainly wasn’t going to today.

  Trepenos removed a tiny dot from the inside of his sleeve and stuck it on Eren’s collar. “Here you go. I keep it handy for when the patrons get a bit out of control.”

  Corradeo responded next. I’m interfacing with Commandant Solovy as we speak. Stay safe.

  Why was everyone so bloody concerned about the state of his skin? Oh, maybe because of that whole suicidal—

  The air started to shimmer barely ten meters in front of them; a golden oval ring tore open the air, revealing what he thought was one of the CINT training rooms at HQ on the other side. Good enough.

  He leapt up onto the bar and pressed the mic dot. “Attention, everyone! Those shakes and rumbles you’re feeling right now are not part of the evening’s entertainment. Bad news: the Rasu, this week’s incarnation of Evil Monsters from the Depths, have come calling on our favorite asteroid. Please proceed in a calm and orderly fashion through the wormhole located front and center of the bar. When another wormhole pops open near you, feel free to traverse it instead.”

  Hundreds of eyes stared at him. “Come on, you wankers
! If you want to breathe your next, get your ass through a wormhole. And don’t punch anyone on the other side when you arrive, okay? They’re saving your lives, you ungrateful sots!”

  The walls shook yet again, this time hard enough to nearly knock him off his perch and to the floor—then everyone was running, shoving and falling. Eren sighed. “I said calm and orderly….” But his amplified voice was buried beneath the rising clamor.

  He climbed down off the bar and nudged Trepenos around the raucous line that was pressing toward the wormhole leading to HQ. “Go, my friend. Live to fight another day.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll be right behind you. I’m just going to try to help get a few more of these miscreants out of here first.”

  “But—”

  He unceremoniously shoved the Novoloume through the wormhole.

  34

  * * *

  CONCORD HQ

  Special Projects

  The Rasu frigate closing from eighty meters in front of Morgan’s position crumbled apart into sifted sand and winked out of existence. She reversed thrusters and accelerated backward, as she was definitely skirting the red zone of the negative energy weapon’s reach.

  A buzz at the base of her skull asserted itself through the sim and into her awareness, like a bee digging into her spine. Stanley?

  The Connexus has generated an emergency alert.

  The Connexus was the military arm of the Prevos’ Noesis, and she’d only reconnected to it yesterday because Devon had insisted it held important file repositories on the latest military weapons and tactics—files he’d be referencing during their testing adventures.

  Emergency evacuation assistance is requested at Chalmun Station Asteroid, LMC, which is under Rasu attack. Authorization CZA-16D21 Bravo Omega. Schematic attached. Take care in opening wormholes, as the interior is laden with narrow tunnels. Areas with suitable open space are marked.