Ascension

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

Gretswald was looking down, his eyes closed. Nathan felt a tinge of mockery well up at the man’s mysticism, but soon lost it. Nathan had been the same when he had been brought to the Temple. It was unlike any other construct on Mars. Not only was it built from the ground up, and not on the floating platforms that dominated the city but dated back to the most ancient of Martian civilisation – dating back to the late 21st century.

  After the Fall of Earth, it was acquired by a cult with connections to the fledgling Trooper Order. Soon, the cult expanded until it could no longer fairly be called a cult. Terra worship eventually rose to become the second most followed belief on the planet, second to simple atheism. While its tenets were multifaceted, often disagreed upon, and very much unclear – the worship of Terra did embody a universal principle: a remembrance of where humanity came from.

  Gretswald finally turned around and re-joined Nathan, who had been standing on the white-tiled street. Only a few other pilgrims shared the tree-lined pathways. Two others nearby were also touching the wall. Nathan did not. He had done plenty of it when he had lived on Mars. More than enough for many lifetimes.

  Nathan frowned at the emptiness. Despite being Mars’ second largest religion, Terra worship was dwindling. People found more purpose in the military, the media and the arts than the remembrance of a dead world these days. Nathan sometimes thought about the state of Mars’ other religions, remnants of Earth’s ancient beliefs. Neo-Shinto was confined to a single shrine in Loka Prime. Jewish-Agnosticism had only three synagogues. And New Order Anglicanism survived through a single cathedral in the entire system.

  Nathan had learnt that many of the old world’s religions still survived in the rest of human space – but here, they were dying.

  Gretswald looked Nathan in the eyes. He had wet streams under his eyes. Nathan didn’t press. He gave a look that asked if Gretswald was ready to go. Gretswald nodded.

  Nathan took him to a place of pilgrimage approaching the importance of the Temple of Terra – the Trooper bar where Nathan had passed out upon completing his basic training.

  Nathan smiled. It still smelled like gasoline and rubber, despite the lack of both. Some smells were ageless. They belonged to a place and could never be washed away.

  Next to the mechanical door, painted in red-block lettering were the words: ‘Trainee Tavern’.

  Nathan sighed, relieved. He was home.

  The interior of the Trainee Tavern was cool. Two iron-fans spun on the roof. They were just for show. A more sophisticated air conditioning system kept the institution cool. Strewn across the dark plasticine and concrete floors were circular pseudo-wood desks. To the side was a long bar, manned by a multi-armed syn with an ancient flat-screen TV for a face.

  ‘Private Nathan Kunz!’ the screen whizzed to the entrance. On it was a cartoon of a red-cheeked, moustached man. His smile was infectious, and Nathan couldn’t help but break the frown that had marred his face for so long.

  ‘Long time, Hektor!’

  ‘My data-set recalls that you have been absent from my bar for eight years, three months, sixteen days and five hours. Standard measurement.’

  Nathan rubbed the back of his head and looked away from the screen. ‘Yeah. It has been awhile. How’s the tavern holding up?’

  ‘Structurally sound, Private Kunz. Or is it still Private Kunz?’

  The cartoon figure on the screen stopped moving and seemed deep in thought.

  ‘My recently retrieved data has blanks. The last recorded promotion update was sent in five years ago, Sergeant Kunz. This was after your assignment to…’

  More thinking…

  ‘Zona Nox. Extos III. Extos Strip. Galactic South East.’

  Nathan nodded.

  ‘Would you help me fill these data blanks?’

  Hektor hated having data blanks.

  Nathan hesitated and tensed. Finally, he sighed.

  ‘I resigned from the Troopers, almost a standard year after being promoted to lieutenant.’

  ‘Why?’ Hektor asked, simply.

  ‘The Order isn’t the same on the frontier. I could serve the Order’s purpose much better out of it than within it.’

  Hektor’s cartoon image nodded, slowly. Nathan was not sure the syn understood, but who was he to doubt its emotional intelligence? Hektor was hundreds of years old. He had served the majority of Trooper trainees to ever have served. He was probably more human than Nathan. He knew more about what it meant to be human, at least.

  ‘I still hope you find yourself at home in my bar, Nathan. Once a Trooper, always a Trooper, at the Trainee Tavern.’

  Nathan smiled, sadly.

  ‘Thanks, Hektor.’

  ‘Don’t mention it.’

  The screen retreated and returned to its work, serving a gas-masked trainee a foaming cup of Mercurian lager.

  Nathan indicated a table and Gretswald followed. They sat in silence. Gretswald’s eyes were darting around the bar. Cautious. Curious. Excited. He was fidgeting with the edge of the table, scratching.

  ‘So…’ Nathan broke the silence. ‘You seemed very moved by the Temple.’

  Gretswald nodded but did not speak.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Gretswald finally replied.

  ‘Why do you show so much respect for Terra? You are effectively the leading figure of the Cult of the Defiant. A different religion…’

  ‘But not mutually exclusive, I think.’

  Nathan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table top. His eyes indicated that Gretswald should go on.

  ‘Terra is a part of my history, Nathan. The history I was not told. The history I am now only learning. Remembrance is the key tenet of your faith. Remembrance, and the purpose that brings…’

  Nathan didn’t reply. Gretswald seemed to take that as a sign of disagreement. He sighed.

  ‘I’ve never told you about my background, have I?’

  ‘Sure, you have. Imperial preacher. Father was a preacher and his before him.’

  Gretswald closed his eyes and shook his head.

  ‘That is all true, but…just the surface of the tale. With what I know now, I know much more about my past. It has given me clarity. I know now that Glaris was not created by the edal and ulyx to house their human children but was conquered by Imperia during the first Imperial-Human War. But before I knew that, I was a fanatic in the ways of Imperia. I was taught to repeat its doctrines verbatim.’

  Gretswald looked into the reflective surface of the impeccably polished table-top.

  ‘My father was so proud when I passed my final exam. I recounted the entire Imperial Doctrine word-for-word, from memory, without stuttering.’

  ‘A good student,’ Nathan offered.

  ‘A sheep,’ Gretswald retorted. ‘For now, I know my sheepishness. Not only the facts of human enslavement under Imperia, but that what I was taught, what I recounted, what my father was so proud of for me – was not even the Imperial Doctrine. It was a rudimentary, primitive and completely twisted version of the Doctrine designed to keep our minds simple and obedient. It had none of the complexity of the real Doctrine. None of its subtlety and room for interpretation. It was a tribal text. And I devoted my life to it…’

  Their drinks arrived. Venusian beer for Nathan. Water for Gretswald.

  ‘I am a fool,’ Gretswald said. Both of them ignored their drinks.

  ‘No,’ Nathan said. ‘Not a fool. A fool doesn’t change. You have. You do. A fool would have gone blindly to his execution. You sought forgiveness. You sought evidence. You changed. You embraced truth.’

  Nathan shook his head. ‘You are no fool.’

  Gretswald seemed surprised, but then smiled.

  They didn’t speak as their food arrived, simple fried chips with barbeque sauce.

  ‘We both believe in something, Nathan,’ Gretswald broke the silence, after the chips were done.

  Nathan grunted, trying to catch a glimpse of the astro-races on a screen in the corner of the bar.
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br />   ‘Your faith in Terra inspired my faith in the Defiant. That is part of the reason I respect it so much. One thing led to another. No Defiant without Terra.’

  A large trainee stood in the way of the screen and Nathan fixed his attention on Gretswald, despite his discomfort of the topic. Gretswald continued.

  ‘I know you have reservations with the Defiant. It is what makes your loyalty to him all the more inspiring.’

  ‘It isn’t that,’ Nathan said, then stopped. Too late. Might as well… ‘It all kinda happened so fast. I was saving James because he is my friend, then he ends up becoming some sort of rebel leader, and then some sort of messiah. I think it surprised him as much as it did me. Lucky for us, it seems he makes a good leader. Cause of that, and cause of a lot of other things, I think the Defiant as a nation is a good thing. Something worth following. I wouldn’t be serving it if I didn’t think that.’

  ‘But what about the Cult of the Defiant?’

  Nathan’s frown deepened.

  ‘I don’t like it. I think it is dangerous and I don’t think James likes it.’

  ‘Why?’

  Looking for some Socratic dialogue, Nathan mused. He pressed on, even though he knew that was not the way to beat a Socratic dialectic.

  ‘Because it is blind. Because it raises a human to godhood. A human who is just a boy, thrust into too much too soon. And while a lot of it was Xank, Imperia and those vokken Yellows – I also blame the Cult. They were the ones who put the pressure on his shoulders. The ones who are crushing him…’

  ‘Do you truly think he is being crushed?’

  Nathan was about to respond, then swallowed his words.

  James.

  Crushed?

  But he’s just a boy.

  That you gave a gun.

  That he used to save himself…

  ‘No,’ Nathan finally said. ‘I don’t.’

  The trainee stepped out of the way of the astro-races, but Nathan no longer felt like watching.

  ‘I follow the Defiant,’ Gretswald continued, ‘because it gives me purpose. Something to follow.’

  ‘A nation is something to follow. Serve the Defiant as a nation. You don’t need to follow someone you made to be your god.’

  ‘A nation is confined by its borders, Nathan. Confined by its institutions. As powerful as they may be, they eventually die. They disintegrate and are soon washed over by the sands of time. No, Nathan. Nations are too finite. Too precarious. That is not what I want. That is not what the Defiant needs to be. It must transcend that damned ice-covered rock. It must spread. As an ideal. An invulnerable, immortal and infinite ideology. The Defiant, not James, not the state, but what it all means. The essence of it all…’

  Gretswald paused and took a sip of water before continuing.

  ‘The Defiant is freedom, Nathan. It is a will to acquire freedom. And that is something that is worth spreading.’

  Nathan rubbed his hands together and suddenly felt very cold. Sensitive. A feeling he had last felt a long time ago, when rubbing his silver-T pendant was not just a habit, but something that gave him true solace. Gretswald’s words burrowed deep into him as his words must have done the same a year ago on Zona Nox.

  Nathan had served the Trooper Order for most of his life. Almost every friend he had, had been a Trooper. And they had died wearing the black and red. But for what? What had they died for?

  The Trooper Order had the discipline. Had the weapons, the ships, the manpower. But it had lost its way. It had forgotten its roots. After Ganymede, rather than recalling its duty to humanity, it shrunk further into its shell. It was a decaying empire, and Nathan wept for it.

  For that was what Nathan felt of the nation he had once served with his entire being. A deep sadness. A betrayal. No longer was the Order the deliverer of justice, of freedom. It was stretched too thin, blistering with corrupt governors and too concerned with Black Fleet and pegg to realise the real threat.

  The Troopers had lost their purpose. They were a machine, just doing a job. Just a job…

  But the Defiant…

  Finally, Nathan said: ‘That is something I can follow.’

  Pluto won the astro-race. Nathan didn’t notice.

  “The pursuit of learning is its own reward. But be careful, lest the knowledge you attain put you down the path to ruin.” – Alfred Rechdom, Vice-Chancellor of the University of New London, commenting on the 31st century debate on the use of hyper-advanced AI.

  Chapter 13.

  Academy

  ‘I’ve got more experience in my little finger than you got in your entire body, mister,’ Jilly said, matter of factly, to a bemused registration clerk at the Academy of Nova Zarxa.

  ‘Please, Miss…’

  ‘Mergan. Jilly Mergan.’

  ‘You are far too young to join the Academy,’ the clerk explained.

  ‘Why?’

  That stumped the clerk. The clerk soon recovered and answered. ‘Because that is the rules.’

  Jilly was just about to retort when a boy, just slightly older than her she guessed by his height, sidled up next to her.

  ‘Did you serve in the Battle for Nova Zarx?’ he asked of the clerk.

  ‘No, I didn’t…but what…’

  ‘Did you serve in the liberation?’ he interrupted.

  ‘Ah…ah…no,’ the clerk stuttered, but then stood upright. ‘But that is irrelevant…’

  ‘Jilly Mergan served. She stormed the Keep. And you’re saying she’s too young? Pfft. If that’s a rule, it needs to be changed.’

  The clerk stared at Jilly and the boy for a moment, face paling.

  ‘Let me go make a call.’

  The clerk disappeared from his desk. Jilly turned to the boy.

  ‘You know my name?’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ he shrugged. ‘Tim. Tim Herman.’

  He offered his hand. It was much larger than Jilly, who was quite small, even for her age. She accepted it and shook hard, looking him in the eyes.

  ‘You didn’t need to intervene on my behalf.’

  ‘You’re right. But I did anyway. Let’s just say you were holding up the line.’ Tim grinned.

  Jilly looked around and saw a growing queue behind her. Her face couldn’t help but redden. Mercifully, the clerk returned just then.

  ‘Dean Rekkie says you can be admitted. Welcome to the Academy. Please take these digi-forms and take them to course registration.’

  Jilly thanked the clerk and left. Tim followed.

  ‘You not registering?’

  ‘Already signed up. Was passing through when I thought I’d introduce myself.’

  They passed by an open door. Inside, Marshal Rekkie was pointing at a holo-screen. Infantry tactics. How to storm a fortified position. Jilly took note of which course she would need to sign up for.

  Jilly had seen Marshal months before. He had been sitting on a bench in Underbelly Alpha – at the memorial park. His eyes were hollow. Jilly knew how he felt. She had also lost her family. Thank Terra for Erryn and Yobu. Even if they were off-world right now, Jilly knew they were coming back for her. Nothing could stop Erryn.

  ‘I’m glad he’s doing better,’ Tim said. He frowned. ‘Still missing Mag.’

  ‘You knew his family?’ Jilly asked, eyebrow raised.

  ‘Not as well as I’d have wished.’ A dark cloud seemed to descend on Tim’s brow. ‘Marshal was good to me. A great man…’

  Tim’s face brightened. ‘Have you met Urg’a?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Marshal’s friend. A vacaraptor. Spent a lot of time with him in Red Sand when James, Marshal and the crew went missing.’

  ‘You know James?’ Jilly stopped. ‘Wait…you were in James’ crew? On the bloody trek?’

  Tim nodded. Jilly ran through her knowledge of the Defiant’s recent history, and then silently gasped.

  ‘Tim…of course!’

  Then her expression saddened.

  ‘I’m sorry about your dad…’

/>   Tim shrugged, but Jilly saw a hint of moisture in his eyes.

  They walked together to the course consultant, which tried to advise Jilly not to take military science and instead take some other course that could contribute to the state or corporate affairs of Nova Zarxa. Jilly insisted and the consultant finally signed off on a full military science major.

  ‘What are you studying?’ Jilly asked Tim.

  ‘Military science, like you.’

  They took a seat in the cafeteria and ordered some local-brand sodas off the table’s vending-screen. Two cans shot up from some tubes and landed firmly on the tabletop.

  ‘So, Tim of the Defiant’s personal retinue,’ Jilly began. ‘What is your plan?’

  ‘I’m a mechanic. So military logistics. Need to do the general course before that.’

  He took a sip and then continued. ‘I’m impressed with the Academy. Only a few weeks old and already offering so much.’

  ‘The frontiers been needing an Academy for centuries. Core worlds can’t have all the places o’ learning.’

  ‘You think we’re gonna see a lot more off-worlders?’

  ‘We’re off-worlders, Tim.’

  ‘Naw. Some Zarxans might still be whining, but we’re sharing this planet now. A new Zona Nox.’

  ‘Don’t let some of them hear that. But, yeah. Gonna see plenty of off-worlders. Hopefully some aliens as well.’ Jilly’s eyes brightened. ‘Have you met the edal girl everyone’s talking about?’

  Tim raised his eyebrow, quizzically. ‘No. I haven’t.’

  Jilly’s disappointment was palpable.

  ‘I heard bad things about her though…’ Tim added.

  ‘Like what?’ Jilly almost snapped.

  ‘Imperial spy. Xeno. Right near the Defiant. Scandal.’

  ‘Mozar-skite.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  They both grinned.

  ‘I think she’s pretty,’ Jilly added.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. Nice hair. Pretty eyes. Well, that’s what I know from the photos over the network. I heard she was top of her class at the University of New London’s diplomatic school.’

  ‘Impressive. So…it doesn’t mean anything to you that she’s…’