Guided by Starlight

by Matt Levin

  Chet didn’t hesitate. The other two exchanged glances and followed Chet inside. Tanner paused at the doorway, his hand lingering on the frame. He could turn back if he wanted to. He’d already done his job, and Chet could take care of the rest. No, Tanner thought. I’m here for a reason. Because the Natonese people need me.

  He stepped inside.

  He entered a dark reception room. There was a dim light coming from further in front of them, from a living room next to a wide observation balcony. Chet bent his knees low, worked his way to the side of the hallway, and withdrew the plasma handgun from his hip. “Okay,” he whispered. “Stay close and—”

  Chet rounded the corner, only to be immediately shot in the head before he could finish his sentence.

  Paul and Brad both cursed, gripping the wall in fear. Tanner, meanwhile, appreciated the sudden flood of adrenaline that blotted out the instinctive fear surging within. Instead, his mind was mercifully clear of distraction. The first key to their survival was getting Chet’s gun. Otherwise, they’d have no hope of defending themselves.

  That’d be hard with their attacker—presumably Robert Nurm—covering the hallway. But not impossible. Tanner’s hand shot out, wrapped around Chet’s ankle, and pulled the dead man back behind the wall. Plasma bolts landed on either side of his wrist, leaving scorch marks on the floor.

  It was the first time he had ever touched a dead body. A shudder passed through him as he grabbed the ankle. He could feel the skin between the edge of the maintenance pants and Chet’s boots, and it was already colder than Tanner had imagined. The way the man’s body slid across the floor lifelessly struck him as uncanny. Tanner flinched at the blood smear left behind.

  He let anger blot out his discomfort. If Chet was a police officer, Tanner figured he should have been able to see if Robert had registered a firearm. The fact that he hadn’t bothered to check cost him his life.

  “Okay,” Tanner hissed as he pulled the gun out of Chet’s limp fingers. “You two keep this. I’m going to circle around. Just watch this corner and shoot him if he appears.”

  Paul still looked terrified, whereas Brad was at least partially keeping it under control. Tanner handed him the plasma gun. “You can do this,” Tanner whispered, and then crawled away from the two of them.

  He entered a kitchen with a central island countertop. He edged his way past two stools, making care not to brush up against them. It had gotten silent in the penthouse ever since Robert had shot at Tanner, and he didn’t want to alert the MP.

  “I know there’s more of you!” he heard an older man shout. “The police are on their way. Get out now or else!”

  Tanner smirked. There was no way the MP could’ve called the police, with the disruptor still activated outside. Classic bluff, he thought.

  He was in a dining room now. Ornate wooden chairs stretched all the way to the back of the room. Tanner held his breath as he crawled down the line. When he got to the doorway to the living room, he inched his head forward until one of his eyes could see into the adjacent room.

  An elderly man with a wiry body was standing on the other side, a plasma weapon in his hands. Tanner recognized him as their target. He was staring intently down the hallway. “If you leave now, I won’t shoot,” Robert said. “And I’ll tell the police to call off the search when they arrive.”

  Really committing to the bluff, Tanner thought. Also probably lying, since he already shot Chet. He crept forward into the living room, the target’s attention still fixed on the hallway. Tanner was close enough that he could probably reach Robert if he lunged at him.

  Tanner’s right foot grazed a recliner chair, and the MP spun around immediately. He saw Tanner, widened his eyes, and swiveled his arm around to point the weapon at him. Lunging it is, Tanner thought, and leapt at him.

  He wrapped his arms around Robert’s torso before the MP could fire his gun. He had to stay close enough that Robert couldn’t get a shot off. But as they grappled, Tanner’s strength and youthful vitality were more than a match for the aging MP. He wrestled Robert to the ground, kicked the gun out of his hand, and punched him hard in the right jaw.

  Then Robert kicked him hard in the calf. A cramp shot up the entire right side of his body that sent Tanner reeling. Robert used the opportunity to roll on top of Tanner, clawing for his forehead. Always go after the eyes, Tanner thought, his mind returning to a half-remembered self-defense video he had watched forever ago.

  Tanner placed his palms on Robert’s shoulders and forced him back. “Get in here!” he yelled down the hallway. Robert punched him in the side of his face, and he spat blood out of his mouth. Then he punched Robert back. The MP’s face recoiled violently.

  “Get in here!” Tanner repeated, and he finally heard two pairs of footsteps racing down the hall. Brad and Paul’s faces appeared above the MP’s left shoulder. “Shoot him!” Tanner said, narrowly dodging another swipe from Robert’s knuckles.

  “Shoot him!” Tanner said again. “Do it now!”

  The report of the plasma gun filled the entire penthouse. And then Tanner found himself touching another corpse for only the second time in his life. He felt the same shudder as earlier, but this one wasn’t as extreme. Still, he didn’t hesitate to push the dead MP off him.

  Tanner got to his feet and glanced at his two companions. Brad still had the weapon outstretched, and he was staring intently at the barrel. “You’ve done a good thing,” Tanner said solemnly. “Robert Nurm was a traitor to all our people. You can sleep easy tonight, brother.”

  Tanner’s head felt dizzy from the adrenaline, like his mind had been running in a mad dash for the last few minutes. As he started to calm down, he thought about all the work left. They’d need to get Chet’s body out without anyone noticing, and capture footage of the dead MP for the Offspring’s outreach efforts.

  Both Paul and Brad looked tired and scared. They naturally turned to him. “What are we gonna do now?” Paul asked.

  That was the way Tanner liked it. He expected the two of them would have lots to tell Owen about how Tanner had saved the whole operation. Maybe news would spread among the rest of the organization. The thought of getting the recognition he deserved, finally, almost made Tanner salivate.

  He stood up straight, steeled his nerves, and projected a sense of assurance. “We have a lot of work left to do,” Tanner said. “Let’s get to it.”

  CHAPTER 38

  * * *

  The planet Calimor loomed so large that it filled the entire viewscreen in the Exemplar’s cockpit. The last time Nadia had seen the vista, she had felt nothing but a sense of wonder, excitement, and opportunity. Now, there was just the pall of dread nestling in her stomach.

  It had been easier, back then, to look past the debris field that formed a permanent, artificial ring around the planet. And now, Nadia could only wonder if she should have heeded the obvious warning of the planet’s orbital graveyard.

  Initial scans suggested that the Union had arrived just before the Exemplar. The shooting hadn’t started yet, but everything was hanging on the edge of a knife. Nadia had been lounging out and enjoying the Ikkren wilderness, all while the entirety of her progress was about to unravel.

  “We have identified two Union warships holding orbit on the far side of the planet,” Derek reported from the pilot’s chair. Nadia had strapped in alongside him, while Boyd was sitting on the edge of his seat just behind them. His hands nervously gripped the sides of his seat cushion.

  “Ignore them and hope they do us the same courtesy,” Nadia said with a light shrug. Hopefully, the Union military’s attention was focused on the unfolding events planetside, so they wouldn’t care about a small vessel imperceptibly far away from their fleet’s position. If the Union did decide to care about them, then at least Nadia wouldn’t have to worry about what came next. Darkly comforting, she thought.

  “I’m not reading any kind of missile lock,” Derek said. She let out a long breath, and she saw Boyd ease his grip on hi
s seat out of the corner of her eye. There were so many steps ahead of them, each more dangerous than the last, that it almost threatened to overwhelm Nadia. All she could do was appreciate that they had made it past the first hurdle.

  They passed into the debris field, the Exemplar’s computer flashing out a string of trajectories to help Derek pilot them safely past countless shattered vessels and ripped-up hulls. This is what is about to become of you, they threatened. Nadia tuned them out.

  After another few minutes, they were safely through the debris field. The planet itself was all that remained in the viewscreen. With a piercing chirp, several new blips appeared on the ship’s scanner. “Are those missiles?” Boyd asked frantically.

  “Union dropships,” Derek said. “It looks like they’re sending forces on a trajectory for New Arcena.”

  They’re really doing it, Nadia thought. The Union hadn’t fired the first shot, but if it was sending down a landing party, they might as well have. And meanwhile, she was still on the other side of the planet.

  “We need to get down there fast!” Nadia said in anguish. “Derek, is there anything you can do? I don’t care about safety standards. Accelerate as fast as she’ll let us go,” she said.

  “This isn’t gonna be comfortable,” Derek said grimly. He pulled down one of the levers at the pilot station. Nadia felt herself forced into the back of her chair as the engines fired behind them. The planet looked like it was rushing toward them now.

  . . .

  The Endeavor was the first Union warship Tricia Favan had ever seen. Except she had been staring back from the cockpit of her old starfighter. Back then, the Endeavor had been the flagship of the entire Union navy, Philip Eswan was still in his prime and captained the vessel, and both of them had a lot less grey in their hair.

  Even though the ship was now one of the Union’s older vessels in operation, just being on the ship and reflecting on her past life invigorated Tricia. She had hardly minded the long trip past the asteroid belt to Calimor.

  Of course, they had been trying to reach Isadora the entire time, but the refugee leader had maintained complete radio silence. Tricia kept trying to believe that this was all some big misunderstanding, but damn if Isadora wasn’t making it hard to maintain such convictions.

  And it didn’t help that Owen Yorteb kept repeating his line that they had no way of verifying anything about the refugees’ story, and that they could be invaders with an agenda. Tricia mostly wrote that off as needless catastrophizing, but there was a corner of her mind that had never been able to completely dismiss the general’s concerns. Concerns that had been dogging her for the past half-year.

  She stood in the Endeavor’s CIC as various officers flitted by. Philip was on one end of the room, looking at the ship’s long-range scanners to make sure they weren’t about to face any surprises. Owen stood with a small group of marines around a holographic display of the refugee settlement on the planet below.

  Normally, Tricia didn’t consider herself fully awake until she had drunk a third or even fourth cup of coffee. Now, her energy level felt like an overflowing well after just one cup. So this is what it feels like to be alive again, she thought.

  Owen frowned. “Not enough,” he said. “We should deploy more troops. The newars are well dug in.”

  “This isn’t a war,” Tricia said sternly. “Not yet.” Tricia was still singularly focused on confronting Isadora and demanding an explanation for her people’s actions. Owen, meanwhile, seemed like he was in full war mode.

  Plus, Tricia was well aware that every eye in the damn system was now focused on her. Especially all the unsavory elements in the outer rim, plus the Syndicate back in the core worlds. As well as every snot-nosed, starry-eyed journalist looking to make their big break. A military overreaction could morph into a media catastrophe in a heartbeat.

  Hence, a small expeditionary force: a battalion of marines and an artillery division. Their satellite surveillance of New Arcena suggested that the refugees had mustered a militia of several hundreds, but they were hopelessly outnumbered by the total military strength Tricia could deploy.

  But trapping people in a corner led to stupid decisions. She didn’t want to provoke a desperate move from the refugees. As much as Owen would groan and whine and pout, she’d stay committed to the course. A small expeditionary force, and no overaggression.

  Hopefully, landing her troops right outside the colony’s front door would convince Isadora to reconsider her communications blackout. The goal wasn’t to scare them. Tricia just wanted to nudge Isadora back to the negotiating table. Forcefully, if necessary.

  “We’re tracking something,” Philip said from the scanner readout station suddenly. “It looks like we have another ship coming in.”

  . . .

  Isadora reached into the desk—Morris Oxatur’s desk, now loaned out to her indefinitely so she could at least look like she was in charge—and pulled out two pill bottles. One was the anti-anxiety medication that had gotten her through her months spent on the capital. The other contained bismuth subsalicylate medication to ease the nausea. Popping both, she felt the pace of her thoughts decelerate, mercifully, while the raging storm in her stomach calmed.

  She had come to terms with the stresses and anxieties of her job. She had gotten used to the constant feeling that she wasn’t doing enough, that catastrophe was right around the corner. Realizing that her fears were usually abstract and unfounded was what got her through.

  Now, her fears were all very immediate, and very tangible. She had spent every waking hour picturing the complete destruction of New Arcena. The plasma-scorched bodies of everyone around her. The mangled walls of the settlement, and the utter destruction of any hope her people had. Was that really the price of survival?

  What was even worse was how much time she had. If she had still been back in her office on Obrigan, she could have distracted herself with all the duties of running the settlement operation. But now, everything other than combat preparations had ceased, and Russ was taking point on that front.

  In some ways, it was easy to forget that she was still in charge. Russ had advised her to remain visible to the militia and the non-military workforce, so she had been spending most of her days giving encouraging speeches.

  She still attended the strategic planning meetings, often only attended by her, Russ, Riley, and the head of the local militia, but Isadora had started to feel that the other three were mostly talking to each other. Especially Russ and Riley. It was like the two of them had a private language, a set of nonverbal cues and glances, that they used to communicate, effectively shutting her out. It was just as well. Isadora had zero military experience, having never even so much as shot a gun in her entire life. And she was fairly confident Russ and Riley knew what they were doing.

  Still, even a successful defense of the colony would involve a massive body count. Back when she ran for office in Seattle, her old speech coaches had always told her to make eye contact with as many audience members as she could. She couldn’t do that now. Not with Russ’ 80% estimate floating in her head. When she was talking to a huddled mass of militia members, they just looked like ghosts to her.

  It felt gut-wrenching, trying to inspire hundreds who were likely doomed to die under her orders within the coming days and weeks. She had been suffering from bouts of nausea and vomiting ever since she had landed on Calimor and learned how dire the situation really was.

  Isadora heard an entry request blip on her terminal, indicating that someone had come to see her.

  She knew what this was. Union forces had already deployed. They’d be on the ground soon, and the shelling would follow. She would be ferried to an underground bunker the colony’s workers had built hastily at the nexus of the subterranean tunnel network, where she would be safe, hopefully, from any artillery strikes.

  That was, assuming there was still any safety to be found at all.

  . . .

  Nadia felt like a concentrated tidal w
ave was hitting her body. Derek was pushing the Exemplar’s acceleration to the max of what was possible given the strain on their bodies. Nadia’s arms were practically hugging the back of her seat to stabilize herself. It was necessary, however, with the Union dropships closing in on New Arcena. They were still too far out.

  The Exemplar cut through the atmosphere. The entire ship rattled as winds buffeted them from all sides. Nadia felt her body jerk to the left and the right.

  It was almost exactly as she remembered from the last time she had flown in. She heard the same light pelting of the dust particles picking at their hull. Felt the same rocking and violent creaking of the ship as it cut through the cloudline.

  And then, finally, stability. They tore through the bottom edge of the planet’s billowing red-orange clouds, and the same canyons and mountains that had so enthralled her last time came into view.

  But there was no time to enjoy the vista now. Not while Union guns were trained on New Arcena. And while Russ was pushing their people toward all-out war. “We should arrive at New Arcena in fifteen minutes,” Derek said, checking the computer. He eased their speed into a more comfortable range to facilitate an easy deceleration into landing.

  So, Nadia thought, this might be the last fifteen minutes of my life.

  That somehow felt worse than when she had been in an actual firefight, back when they were still desperately trying to wrest control of the settlement from the Junta expeditionary force. When you were in the moment, it was hard to get too philosophical about death.

  But having a timeframe to actually contemplate it—would it hurt? What would true, eternal nothingness feel like?—terrified her. Her thoughts turned to her parents, still frozen in cryo aboard the Preserver. She imagined a future where they were thawed out, only to be informed that their only daughter had been woken up well before them and had already perished. Tears stung the edges of her eyes.