by Finn Gray
They exchanged dark glances. Peyton was a pilot who had been imprisoned in the Memnon lab at Stone Mountain. Marson, Rory, and Oates had freed her along with many other captives, and she had flown them to safety, but had been injured in the landing and taken to sick bay. Marson could tell by the expressions on their faces that her link with the Memnon base was enough to cast her under a cloud of suspicion as well.
He threw up his hands. “You can all go to the hells.” He turned and stormed out of the barracks. He was done with them all.
Jude watched Marson rush out of the room. He immediately looked at Magda. There was a twinkle in her eye that told him they were thinking the same thing. Here was an opportunity. Magda hailed from a family with deep roots in organized crime. She understood that the easiest people to manipulate were those who believed in the cause but not the system. This Marson clearly believed his comrades at arms would never give him fair treatment. Perhaps Jude could make use of this.
“Hey, Marson! That’s not what I meant, man!” Crane shouted.
“Yeah, we know you saved us,” the one they called Snowman added.
Marson did not reply. He went to the far end of the adjacent rec room and sat with his back to them.
Hunter and Vera exchanged a glance.
Vera held up her hands. “Not me. I have no patience with boys who misbehave. I’ll turn him over my knee.”
Crane barked a laugh.
“And you’d be next,” Vera said sharply.
“All right,” Hunter groaned. “I’ll talk to the kid.”
Jude stood up.
“If you don’t mind, Captain, I’d like to speak to him. He might not be receptive to someone in uniform right now.”
Hunter shrugged. He clearly had other things on his mind.
Jude casually strolled into the rec room. He ignored Marson and began sorting through the selection of tea. Not actual tea leaves, of course. Just the pods that dissolved in hot water. Still, there were several varieties to choose from, which was a pleasant surprise.
“Care for a cup?” he asked over his shoulder.
Marson’s reply was a cold and immediate, “No.” Then he heaved a sigh. “Actually, why not?”
Jude nodded and turned back to the tea. He filled two mugs with hot water from the dispenser, then dropped in the tea pods. He had chosen Lord Green, the preferred drink of people whose pretensions exceeded their resources. Then he winced as he remembered he no longer had any resources. Time to begin accumulating some.
“I’m sorry about your pilot friend. I hope you receive good news about her,” Jude said. Marson shrugged. “They’re the worst sort, your lot out there,” Jude continued, flashing a glance at the doorway that led to the barracks.
Marson barked a harsh laugh. “They’re not my lot.”
“Of course not. Poor phrasing on my part. Cream and sugar?”
Marson shook his head.
“I only meant that the other members of your squad are utterly lacking in gratitude. I heard what you did. That required a great deal of courage and skill, not to mention the willing to risk your life for others.” Jude added cream and sugar spheres to his cup and waited for them to dissolve. Gods, this drink was going to be revolting. He turned and handed Marson his tea.
“Thanks,” Marson said, accepting the cup from Jude, who took a seat opposite him. “But I didn’t do it alone, and the guy who didn’t make it back was everybody’s favorite.”
Jude chuckled and shook his head. “I know the type. I never served, of course, but I have known people like that from other walks of life. I learned early on that it’s not always enough to be on the same team with someone, or even to be the best.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Marson said. “I don’t care about being popular but don’t treat me like I’m less than everyone else. I thought the corps was supposed to be a family.”
“Oh, it’s a family all right. A dysfunctional one.” Jude finally took a sip of his tea. It was not awful. “I can’t blame you for feeling discouraged. Any time a group of people values charisma over performance, it’s difficult for those among us who are hardest-working, most devoted, to get what we deserve.”
Marson’s brow furrowed. He stared down at his cup, deep in thought.
Jude kept his tone conversational. He was merely sowing seeds right now. “My wife sees things the same way, and thankfully we raised our son to value real talent. He won’t have that other sort under his command.” He flicked a glance in the direction of the barracks.
“His command?” Marson asked.
“He is commander of the battlecruiser, Osprey. We hope to join him soon.”
Marson narrowed his eyes. A spark of curiosity gleamed there.
Jude took another sip of tea and then redirected the conversation to small talk. Marson was the only child of social climbing parents who had the misfortune of hailing from Thetis, the so-called colony planet. He had spent his life attending private academies on Hyperion, but always felt like an outcast. His family could afford the tuition, but not the matching lifestyle that the other students enjoyed. He had joined the corps to escape all that.
“I don’t suppose you’d understand, though,” Marson finished. “You’re rich and famous.”
“That is true,” Jude admitted. “But you know what I will never be? One of the nobility. And all because, all those millennia ago, when the colonists landed on Aquaria, my family was common and someone else’s was not.”
“Is that why your son chose the fleet?” Marson asked.
“That indeed had a great deal to do with it. And he is determined to treat those under his command fairly and justly, no matter who their family might be. I expect that’s why he has already risen to the rank of commander.” Jude covered his face and forced a small laugh. “Please forgive me for boasting. I am quite proud of him. He worked hard for what he has.”
“He sounds all right as officers go,” Marson said.
“You remind me of him. You’re bright, serious, and obviously good at your job or else you and that lot wouldn’t be here.” Jude drained his cup. “If you will excuse me, I shall get back to my wife. It has been a pleasure.”
Marson managed a nod, but he clearly had too much on his mind to chat anymore.
“How did it go?” Magda asked when he returned to the barracks and sat down beside her on the bunk.
Jude smiled.
“We had a pleasant chat.” The others were talking. No one was paying attention to them, but he lowered his voice anyway. “And I am confident he will be ours.”
Chapter 8
Arcallia, Hyperion
“I swear someone is following us.” Oates said. He had been certain of that fact for a few hours now, and his constant proclamations were driving Rory mad.
Rory had kept eyes and ears open but he could not see anything in the evening mist. He wasn’t about to admit that to Oates unless he had to. Suddenly, a figure materialized in the distance. It was vaguely human in shape, but it crouched like a lion ready to spring.
“Eleven o’clock!” he warned. “What is that?”
Oates raised his rifle, froze, and then he began to laugh. “That is a work of art.” He laughed harder.
“I don’t think it’s that funny,” he said.
“You’ll understand when you see the statue. And shut up. I told you someone is stalking us.” Suddenly all business, he shouldered past Rory, leaving the young marine gaping at his back.
As they approached the statue, Rory began to make out details. A nude woman, at least three times normal size, crouched on all fours. The fine details had eroded away, but he could tell that, unlike a human woman, this creature had a second set of legs. When he remarked on this, Oates laughed again.
“That’s not a second set of legs. That’s the bottom half of a man. The top half must have broken off.”
“Oh,” Rory said, now seeing what Oates meant. And then he really saw it. “Oh!” He felt his cheeks go scarlet.
�
��My gods, boy. Are you a virgin?” Oates asked.
“What? No, I told you about Jemma.”
“You told me you were in love.” Oates rolled his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve made the pilgrimage to the holiest of holies.”
Rory stopped in his tracks. “My grandfather uses that term. Not my father. My grandfather.” He savored every syllable.
“He sounds like a fine man. Now, come on. I want to make it to the other side before dark.”
A sudden blanket of sadness draped over Rory. He was never going to see his grandfather again. “What is this place?” he asked quickly, forcing the dark thoughts away.
“This was once the Living City of Arcallia.” He pointed up ahead, where the crumbling remains of an ancient stone wall barred their way.
“Arcallia? That’s just a myth.”
“This city took her name from the mythical land.” Oates clambered over a pile of moss-covered boulders. “The Arcallians were trying to recreate what they called the ’natural’ order.”
“And what would that be?” Rory asked, following Oates over the wall.
“No bonds between individuals or small groups. No marriage, no nuclear families, nothing. Everyone was free to be with whoever they liked in whatever way they liked.”
“Oh,” Rory said. “What if they have babies? Who raises them?”
“Everybody. They’re all one big family.”
Rory frowned. Something seemed very wrong with that arrangement. Maybe it was simply too foreign to his own experience.
“What else?”
“No personal possessions, no money. They lived and worked as one community.”
“What’s the point?” Rory asked.
“Their logic was, if everything belonged to everyone, no one could steal from one another.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rory said. “If everything belongs to everyone, what’s to stop the strongest from hoarding everything?”
Oates nodded approvingly. “You’re right. They also had a rule against violence of any kind, including harming animals.”
Rory forced a rueful laugh. “Too bad the Senate never passed a law against violence. The Memnon uprising would have never happened. It would have been against the rules.” He said the last in a mocking tone.
Oates chuckled. “Maybe we should have tried it. We didn’t exactly put up much of a fight, did we?”
Rory had no reply. They followed an ancient, moss-covered stone roadway. They passed the occasional statue, most of which were representations of the gods engaged in hedonistic practices. He tried to imagine even one of these pieces being put on display in Koruza, where he grew up. Koruza was the agricultural belt, its citizens generally conservative in their politics and their tastes.
“So, what ended up happening to the city?”
Oates looked up at the sky and gave his head a shake.
“Things started out fine. The community was mostly comprised of wealthy eccentrics. They bribed the government of Soria to provide protection, and they built this city and walled it off from the world. They enjoyed art, music, dance, and free love. They grew their own food and made the finest wine in the country.”
“What went wrong?” Rory asked.
“Human nature got in the way. They started selling their wine to outsiders. The revenue was supposed to go to the defense and upkeep of the city, but greed is a powerful thing. The leaders started looking for ways to manipulate the rules against personal possessions. Once they realized they could enjoy certain benefits of leadership, they found ways to keep themselves entrenched in power, rather than rotate the leadership duties as the community had always done.”
“How did they get away with it?” Rory asked. “Why didn’t the people just kick them out of office?”
“Think about it. If you’ve built a community based on non-violence and all that other nonsense, what’s your average citizen probably going to be like? A passive type who doesn’t want to harm anyone and probably could not even if he tried. So, all you have to do is identify the few who actually can and will kick some ass, and get them on your side. Then you can do pretty much anything you want.”
“Which is where the revenue from the wine comes in.”
Oates nodded. “It’s the same story throughout history. The people who don’t feel bound to play by the rules will rise to the top, as long as they can get enough other powerful crooks on their side. It wasn’t long before there was a permanent leadership council in place, protected by a security force. And of course, because the leaders held such ‘important’ and ‘demanding’ positions, they required things like their own living quarters, and they certainly did not have time to work like the commoners.”
Rory had no problem visualizing any of this. Growing up a farmer, he had firsthand experience with the elitist attitudes of the so-called higher classes.
“What happened then? Did the community fall apart once the leaders started changing things?”
“A few did, but most of the people stayed. Sure, a few people were getting special treatment or enjoying elevated status, but their own lives were the same, which is all the average person really wants, deep down. Some certainty.”
“Also, they didn’t have to admit they were wrong about their ’natural order’ of things.”
Oates smirked. “You are smarter than I thought. People will go to incredible lengths to affirm what they already believe is true. And so, the leaders kept amassing power, and the commoners went on with their arts and agriculture and indiscriminate breeding.”
Rory finally realized what was so wrong about the concept. “Hold on. If everybody breeds with everbody inside a small population, and no one knows who is genetically related to who…”
“That’s what happened. By the time they realized it was a problem, the gene pool had been badly corrupted.”
Up ahead loomed the ruins of what had once been a massive temple. The remains of stone columns stood like broken teeth. A few walls stood amidst the piles of rubble.
“This temple was the leaders’ response to that problem.” Oates pointed at the ruin. “But we’re not going that way. It’s too open.”
He led the way into what had once been a vineyard. Fat purple grapes hung heavy on the vine. Rory suppressed the urge to pluck one and pop it into his mouth. Despite its lush appearance, the grapes were doubtless teeming with radioactivity.
Soon, they found themselves surrounded on all sides and overhead by grapevines. Rory lost his sense of direction, but Oates seemed to know where he was going. With nothing but the occasional stunted tree to break the monotony, it soon felt as though they were walking in place. Boredom set in.
“You said the temple was a response to the genetic problems?” he prompted.
“People were being born with all sorts of abnormalities. There wasn’t enough new blood coming into the population to help matters. A few astute leaders saw it coming so they addressed it in a sly way. They began teaching that what we would call ‘abnormalities’ were in fact gifts from the gods, and were cause for celebration. They awarded higher social status to those born with deformities. The temple was built as a thank-you to the gods for those blessings, and was a place where the highest among them lived and were treated with near-godlike status.”
Rory shook his head in admiration. “They took their biggest screw-up and convinced everyone to ignore the evidence of their eyes by wrapping it in a cloak of religion.”
“Religion can inspire people to goodness, even greatness, but it can also make the smartest man stupid, the kindest man evil. You can use personal beliefs to justify almost anything. And that’s what they did. The leaders who first concocted this scheme all shared the same ‘gift’ as they called it. Every one of them had both male and female sex organs, so naturally they declared that to be the most elevated status. How much more blessed can you be than for the gods to make you both sexes at once? From there, they created a hierarchy of blessedness, with common people near the bottom, with only
the mentally disabled beneath them. Those births were punishments for sins.”
“That’s not the worst strategy,” Rory admitted. “People would actually want to produce a deformed baby. Or a blessed baby, or whatever.”
“Which means no shortage of sexual partners for those who might have otherwise been treated as outcasts. They also named certain deformities after mythical creatures to give them celebrated status. More than two legs? You’re a centaur. You’ve got webbed hands and feet? You’re a mermaid. Next thing you know, rich fools from the outside world were paying big money to visit here, and to copulate with the gifted.”
“What finally happened?”
“The birth rate declined, infant mortality skyrocketed, life expectancy sharply decreased. By the time Soria suffered its nuclear holocaust, only a fraction of the population survived.”
Rory tried to imagine a society in which its leaders intentionally steered it toward inevitable collapse, and somehow managed to convince the people to celebrate its road to ruin. He could not conceive of it.
“Why knowingly destroy your own civilization?”
Oates let out a grunt. “People say they care about future generations, but very few do. At least, not enough to make sacrifices. They take care of themselves, maybe their offspring, and they tell the masses that fate is in the hands of the gods. It’s a sadly effective tool.”
Oates glanced back at him and his eyes went wide.
He gave Rory a hard shove that sent him tumbling into the undergrowth. He hit the ground hard and an instant later Oates landed beside him.
“What was that about?”
“There’s definitely someone following us. Two someones, and they’re armed.”
“What do they look like?” Rory asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a good look at either.”
Rory shifted around so he could peer back down the pathway. He saw nothing.
“They must be waiting for us to make a move,” he said.