I’m not an archivist. I worked in the combat battalions, not support, but I’ve picked up tricks over the years. I cracked open the underbelly of the document and worked my way through the coding.
Clean and clear. Not a digit or line out of place. It had all the hallmarks of an Imperial document—heavy on code, with shielding, redundancies and fallbacks to preserve the integrity.
I sat back and stared at the moon rising over the sea, sending a white path toward the beach, and considered. I would remember something of this magnitude, surely? Or had I conveniently wiped that section of my memory, too?
There is only one bit of my personal history I can’t remember, and it had nothing to do with Noam, dead or alive. The stuff I forget these days was recent. Events from forty years ago and even further back were clear. Whole. Except for that one dark patch—and I had everyone else’s accounts to cover that.
There was one other thing I could do before I gave in to Juliyana’s paranoia. I dug out a screen emitter and set it up on the table and went through the dozen steps to log into my backdoor on the Rangers archives.
I’m not the only high-ranking officer of the Imperial Rangers Corps to build a backdoor safety net for themselves. I know that, because a senior officer taught me how to do it. There were a thousand reasons why it was a good idea, even though it was against regulations—all of them, for the very first regulation was the declaration that no Ranger ever put himself before the Corps and his fellow Rangers. All other regulations spilled down from that tenet.
Only, I don’t like the idea of an enemy locking me out of my own data. Wars are won or lost by the quality of the information used to build strategies. And if ever the archives were to fall into enemy hands, being able to sneak in where they weren’t looking and wipe the archives was the equivalent of keeping a backup gun and two spare blades under your uniform.
So I used a door I hadn’t cracked open in over fifty years.
The serial number on the document was as genuine as Juliyana had insisted it was. Without that serial number I would never have found the document on the archives. It was buried in strange files in an out-of-the-way corner of the archives. The location made no sense at all. No one would think to look there if they were searching organically or logically.
I opened the document. It looked exactly the same as Juliyana’s copy except for the chop.
G. Dalton, Major.
Gabriel Dalton. Noam’s commanding officer. Which made perfect sense.
I sat back, weak with relief. I hadn’t forgotten, after all.
But shit, damn, fuck it. That meant Juliyana was right: Noam had been working for the Imperial Shield when he died.
What the fuck had he been up to?
2
THE DREAMS WERE BAD. I should have expected that, given what was on my mind when I fell asleep in the chair not long after finishing the last of the blue tea. I woke up early, aching still, and not even close to rested.
Andrain’s message was waiting for me, as expected. I thought about breakfast, decided it was too much bother, and headed for the hospital. Juliyana was still in the sealed cot when I left.
Andrain grinned when he saw me. “I heard about last night. On your back in one blow.”
“You heard before my terminal pimped me, or after?”
He lifted my chin, turned it, and gazed at the corner of my jaw. “Some swelling. I’ll scan, just to be sure. Did she apologize?” He dropped my chin and started setting up the scan controls.
“She wanted to know if growing old hurts.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That it was none of her fucking business.”
He spared a glance. He wasn’t fooled. “How are the headaches?”
“I’m looking at one.”
He tilted his head and raised a brow.
“Still having them,” I growled.
“Severity?”
“About seven,” I lied.
“It was about six, last time,” he said.
Damn, I’d forgotten.
“They’re getting worse, then,” he concluded.
“I need one of those shots to snap in my sight,” I said. “It’s getting blurry again.”
“I’ll check to see when the last one was. You can’t have them too frequently. They’ll impact your cognition.”
“Because getting old isn’t doing that already.”
“Lie down and stay still,” he replied, his tone serene. Damn him.
He scanned, frowned at the results, then coordinated three different shots and smiled at me. “There. Feeling better?”
The ache was receding. I sat up cautiously and blinked. I could read the text on the pad in his hands. I managed to scare up a smile for him. “Yes, thank you.”
Andrain rolled his eyes. “Much better,” he agreed. “The jawbone is whole and sound. The local swelling will subside by the end of the day. If you need more analgesics, I’ve primed your printer for something a little stronger. It will make you sleep, so don’t take it if you want to stay alert.”
“Noted.” I got to my feet. Slowly. “Anything else?”
Andrain’s smile faded. I knew what was coming, but it had been a while since the last time, so I braced myself to be polite and nod.
“You know you could avoid all this if you underwent rejuvenation,” he said.
“Damn, why didn’t I think of that?”
“You’re only in your fourth century…there’s so much more you can do—”
I held up my hand. “I’ve had my time, doc. Discussion ended.”
“You’re being selfish.”
That got my attention. “You think?”
“I do. Longevity was the singlemost critical technology and medical breakthrough of this millennium. It allowed humans to set up very long-term projects. A single human, a single vision, could direct projects which required generations to be completed without losing focus or drive. The original vision was held intact over the lifetime of the project. Because of longevity, we can travel to distant stars and set up gates for the others. Before then, we were boxed into a single solar system and doomed, because life goes on and population pressure was killing us.”
“Is that why you accepted a contract on a family barge, Andrain? The romantic notion of finding new worlds, blah, blah, blah?”
Only he wouldn’t be distracted. He shook his head. “The human diaspora which brought us to where we are today could not have happened without longevity. It makes astonishing achievements possible. By refusing rejuvenation, you’re denying humanity your unique contributions.”
“I think I’ve contributed more than enough to humanity’s future,” I replied. “So does everyone else.”
“That’s not true,” he said quickly.
“No? Then why isn’t the empire beating on my door, shoving regen contracts at me, and begging me to return?”
“Now who’s being romantic?” he shot back. “It’s only been forty years. Give ‘em time.”
“Forty-three,” I told him. “If they wait any longer, it’ll be too late.”
Andrain didn’t argue with that, which didn’t make me any happier.
Juliyana had made breakfast and was eating it at the little table, her pad in front of her.
I’d dropped a copy of the genuine orders onto her pad for her to find it, before sleeping last night. Why I had done it, I couldn’t say. I could have lied and said I’d forgotten about the orders. Shoved her out the door and got on with growing old.
She snapped up straight when I entered. “There’s oatmeal.”
“No, thank you.”
Juliyana nudged the edge of the pad with her spoon. “He was working for the Shield, then.”
“Don’t let it get into your head,” I warned her. I sniffed cinnamon and my stomach rumbled. Irritated, I went over to the printer and hit the preset for my breakfast.
“Something is wrong about the whole Drakas disaster,” she said. “There’s more going on than anyone ever admitted to.”
“This is what I meant by letting it get into your head.” I sat and wolfed two forkfuls of eggs quickly, then added, “Even as a lieutenant, you were working with less than complete information.”
“Sure, some of it was above my rank.” She shrugged. “This is completely different. The Imperial Shield are a black hole, they never share anything—”
“They’re called a Shield for a reason.”
“They’re called a Shield because they guard the Emperor. Only that’s just one section. They do all sorts of mysterious things, and they build the array gates, even before the Emperor federalized the array. They’ve never let anyone see the real process that goes into building them.”
“Because they’re grown, not built.”
“They’re bio-mechanical, which means they’re built and grown.” Juliyana looked irritated.
I ate two more quick mouthfuls, to get my stomach to shut up. I put the fork down. “Look, Juli, you can’t dig into this. You understand that, don’t you?”
She sat back. “Why not? Something’s not right and I think it goes right up to the Emperor—”
“Which is exactly why you can’t dig into it. Of course it reaches to the Emperor, in theory at least. The Shield is his to command.” I rested my hand on hers, as gently as I could. “Your father was doing something mysterious for the Shield. Granted. If you want to choose to believe he was just following orders when he died, if it helps, then you should hold on to that. Don’t try to hunt this down. You won’t like where it takes you. Other people won’t like where it takes you. Those orders were buried very deep for a reason.”
Her jaw flexed. No tears this morning. “You could hunt it down. You’re the Imperial Hammer. They’d listen to you.”
I sighed. “I was that woman, once,” I agreed. “I have no military authority anymore. I had none left, even before I resigned my commission. I was the soul survivor of a war that wiped out four battalions and half the Imperial fleet. It destroyed any credibility I had as an effective officer. I did far more to end my career than your father managed.” I smiled to take the sting out of it and borrowed shamelessly from Andrain. “Give it time. They’ll ease off on you, eventually.”
“How long?” Juliyana asked, her tone reasonable. “Fifty years? A hundred? No one will care after that.”
“And neither will you,” I assured her. “Time will take the sting out of it. I promise.”
“Then you won’t help me…”
“I think I was just saying that I can’t help you…and that you shouldn’t dig into this, either.”
Juliyana shook her head, her jaw still tight. “You’re making excuses.”
I quashed the irritation that was trying to build. I wasn’t used to junior officers arguing back. “Very well. Dispute this, then: My last crush shot was forty years ago. I’d have to use commercial passenger crawlers to get anywhere, which would take months. And commercial lines don’t go where I would need to get, to even begin to look into this.”
She opened her mouth again.
“Besides, I don’t have the money to use the cargo lanes, or a crush shot,” I added.
Juliyana closed her mouth. She got to her feet. “Got it.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head as she shoved the pad into her sack and closed the sack. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all.” She slung the sack over her shoulder. “I am sorry about hitting you. I’ll be on my way.” She moved to the door.
“Leave it alone, Juliyana,” I urged her.
She paused with the door open. “He’s your son. I thought you, of all people…” She pummeled the door frame with the side of her fist. “Forget it,” she said bleakly.
The door closed behind her.
I finished my breakfast, even though I didn’t want it anymore.
The next scheduled supply ship was two days away. I tried to ignore the murmur in the back of my brain that Juliyana was on the Judeste somewhere—probably in a shitty dormitory squat down by the wharf level. I reminded myself she was a grown woman. Last I remember, she celebrated her century a while ago.
I got on with my life. Such as it is. I have no official role in the family corporation. Although if I wanted to, I could send Farhan, the current CEO, a request and have an official title, even an office, before lunch. That razor-thin majority shareholder position gave me leverage. I just didn’t care to use it.
I had come back to the barge to live as far outside the mainstream fuss as was possible. I could have really dropped out by applying for a homesteading license on some still-fertile ball. Built a cabin and slept in the rocking chair each day. Only, who would give me a license?
At least the Judeste had to give me room and board. Farhan had been reluctant, though. Forty years ago, I had been a white-hot magnet for all the ills of the empire, and all the bad graces, too. And I was claiming my right to live on his barge.
The last forty years of letting the world pass by should have made up for that. Last night had been an aberration.
I visited the park level and stressed my hips with walking too far in summer-level heat. Was there a single joint anywhere in my body which hadn’t noticed the impact with the deck? It kept me from admiring the roses and the willows as I usually did.
That just made me cranky.
I went back to my apartment and scowled at the table and two chairs and the second armchair. I broke them down and fed them back into the recycle chute. Shoved my armchair back into its usual position, facing the beach, and sat.
My battered old pad was tucked between the cushion and the arm. There was years’ worth of distraction on that thing, but I stared at the waves instead, until the headache was too bad to focus.
Andrain’s knock-out painkiller sounded really good, by then. I pushed my finger into the printer, got the shot and rolled onto the refreshed cot and sealed it tight.
Deep twilight, cool air, white noise. The perfect conditions for sleep.
So, of course, I didn’t. For two hours.
Until I did, and then I dreamed.
And I’d been hoping the analgesic would shove me into the deep sleep phase and by-pass all the crud in my sub-conscious.
Yeah, wishful thinking. More fool me.
Noam looked younger than he did when he died. Younger than he had before his first rejuvenation. He sat on my beach, with his bare feet pushed into the cool sand under the trees, his arms on his knees, staring out at the waves with his eyes narrowed against the glare. His golden hair ruffled in the sea breeze, brushing his brow in a way he’d never let it do while in uniform.
“Tide will turn soon,” he said.
How the fuck he knew that beat me. He’d never stepped foot on a planet that wasn’t a war zone.
“We’re good, this far up the beach,” I told him.
He considered and shook his head. I wanted him to look at me, only he wasn’t reading my mind, right then. “Nope,” he said simply.
Look at me! I tried to shout, but my throat wouldn’t cooperate.
“You’ll stay here, though, right?” he added.
I looked at the flat ocean, my heart screaming, my pulse thready. It was the same ocean. It never changed its essential nature, even though it could have moods. Only, what was that on the horizon?
My focus wouldn’t kick in, yet my pulse jumped another notch or two. What was going on out there? Was that…a wave?
The horizon threshed and shifted. I couldn’t see properly, damn it. And the pain in my head was building, the harder I tried to make my eyes cooperate and focus properly.
Something was coming.
Something was coming.
Something was coming.
I blasted out of the cot like a silk-skinned smart bullet, to sprawl on the cold floor, sweat-soaked and breathing way too fucking fast.
The fear from the dream had followed me into wakefulness. I propped myself up, shivering, trying to off-load the sensation of doom heading in my direction with a loaded shriver and
bad intentions.
I didn’t need an analyst to interpret the dreams—they were nearly all the same theme these days. I was sick of the repetition. I get it, okay? Clock’s ticking. Message received. Dismissed.
The concierge was flashing.
Grateful for the distraction, I got to my feet in slow stages, taking my time, then moved over—okay, I shuffled. Over to the panel, pressed my finger against the pad.
The screen cleared and wrote the message.
You spent a year digging into the Drakas thing after Dad died. What if your breakdown was their way of getting you out of there, where you were digging too deep?
J.
Damn stubborn. Relentless. Irritating…
A storm brewed over the ocean. Dark clouds on the horizon. I shivered and switched off the wall and left it smooth obsidian black.
Then I went back to the park. At least there, the sun was shining and birds were singing, even if it was too fucking hot to walk. I could sit on a bench.
I walked, instead. Sitting let me think too much.
I’d learned not to probe the blank spot in my memory, or anywhere near its borders. The year after Noam died was too damn close to the event horizon. It didn’t stop me from juggling the meta-question in Juliyana’s message, though.
Discounting any hidden agendas, one came down to the fact that the blank spot was damned convenient. It pushed me away from examining anything in that time period too closely.
I shivered despite the heat and kept walking. The turbines were running, so the leaves rustled overhead, sending leaf-shaped shadows skittering over the path, dancing like motes.
That was the last thought I had.
It wasn’t like waking, this time.
Things came together very slowly. For a while, I didn’t feel the need to make sense of anything. I drifted.
I listened to sounds with childlike wonder, none of them familiar to me.
Sense does return, eventually. With it comes dismay. A sinking sensation.
“Oh, your pulse just jumped. You’re back with us. Hold on—I’ve sent for the doctor.”
Hammer and Crucible Page 2