The Supervisor cut him short with a raised a hand. “Start at the beginning, Captain.”
Like a man condemned, Galluzzi took a deep breath. “After a two-and-a-half-year transit, Ashanti popped back into our universe. For the first couple of days, we hadn’t a clue as to where we were. Just lost in the black. The reaction among the crew and transportees was dismayed to say the least.
“We didn’t have enough fuel to invert symmetry, restart the qubit computers, and run the math backwards in a bid to return to Solar System. Not only that, we were so far out in the empty black, the figures were pretty grim when it came to hydrogen/oxygen scavenging.”
“I can well imagine, Captain. Go on.”
“After Astrogation Officer Tuulikki finally established our position, it turned out that we were zero-point-six of a light-year from the Capella star system. We made the decision to run for it. Used what was left of the fuel for a burn, fully aware of how long it would take to reach Capella. But we were moving, which increased hydroxy scavenging. Had a couple of months where we weren’t sure we were going to make it. At least until we hit the break-even point.”
Call that a mild understatement.
Aguila’s expression remained inscrutable, and in association with the scars, it suggested that he was dealing with one hard and tough woman.
“Of course, as we got closer to the Capella system, scavenging increased, which increased our thrust. Bootstrapping, you see. Then, two and a half years ago, we reversed thrust. Began the process of deceleration.”
“Doesn’t sound like anything but prudent and competent spacing, Captain.”
“Yes, ma’am. The problem was the transportees. The hydroponics system had an operational life of four years. We were looking at ten. The only way to extend the hydroponics to last ten years was to reduce the demand put upon the system.”
Aguila’s face might have been carved from cold stone. No trace of emotion showed in her glacial-blue stare.
Galluzzi’s heart began to pound. His mouth had gone dry. “I gave first priority to my crew. If they died, the ship died. We survived the cut in rations because we had a command structure. Discipline. A purpose. A bond that went deeper than mere shared humanity. But the transportees . . .”
Aguila’s eyes narrowed the least bit, her lips pursed. “Did you euthanize them all?”
Euthanize?
“No, ma’am!” Galluzzi choked down a swallow. “They were panicked. Desperate. They could do the math as well as we could. Enough of them worked in hydroponics that it was common knowledge: Over time, feeding that many people, the vats were going to break down. Didn’t matter that we didn’t have enough fuel to invert symmetry in an attempt to return to Solar System, some of them decided they were going to seize the ship, space for Solar System. They made a violent try for the AC.”
Galluzzi winced, remembering the bodies in the corridors. Blood pooling on the sialon.
“We held the ship, ma’am. Beat them back. They withdrew to Deck Three. Before they could reorganize and try for the command deck again, I had the hatches sealed. Welded. But for that, we’d never have saved Ashanti. Or the crew. Or any of the transportees.”
“But you saved some?” she asked thoughtfully.
He couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through him. Tried to still the memories. His hand was jerking despite being stuffed under his belt. The images that lurked behind his every thought drifted up like vaporous apparitions. To tell it to another person, someone who hadn’t lived the horror, left him on the verge of tears.
How did he explain?
“What they did to each other down there? We saw, ma’am. At least in the beginning before they blacked out the cameras. It was . . . It . . .”
He couldn’t stop the shakes.
Stop it! You’re the captain!
He sucked in a breath, flexed every muscle in his body.
“I take it they turned on each other?” Aguila asked softly.
“With the critical ship’s systems isolated from the transportees’ deck, Ashanti continued to function as best she could. A food ration, insufficient as it was, was delivered to them by conveyor from the hydroponics, air and water circulated. Yes, we isolated the transportees, sealed them into Deck Three, but we gave them every support we could. Those were human beings in there. Families. Men, and women, and children.”
“How many are still alive, Captain?”
“Not sure, ma’am. We inverted symmetry off Neptune with four hundred and fifty-two aboard. Eighty-seven were crew. Three hundred and sixty-five transportees, including the Maritime Unit. As of today, I have sixty-three crew. Counting the children born since transit began, there are thirty-two in the Maritime Unit. We estimate the population of the Irredenta at around ninety to a hundred.”
“So, they’re still sealed in your Deck Three?” Aguila’s expression betrayed nothing. She seemed to be taking the news with an almost stoic acceptance. Why?
“Yes, well . . .”
After the “rats” had devoured themselves, they had “evolved” to be such . . . what? How did he describe the Irredenta without sounding like he’d lost his mind?
“Supervisor, we have a voice com still linked to Deck Three, and on occasion messages are passed. The Irredenta—the word refers to a culturally autonomous region existing under foreign control. Well, they don’t exactly carry on sophisticated conversations. Mostly it’s just propaganda about their Prophets. Their leader is a man named Batuhan. Thinks he’s some sort of messiah. They say he interprets for the Prophets, whoever they are. What they send us sounds like raving. Supposed prophecies about what they call the coming ‘Annihilation.’ Some sort of violent spiritual cleansing of the universe.”
“Messiah? Prophets?” Shig Mosadek, who’d sat silently, now asked.
“The Irredenta’s leader, this Batuhan, is a fifty-year-old electrical engineer. Trained at the university at Ulaanbaatar, he was contracted on Transluna to install a new solar panel array for one of the outlying research bases on Capella III. Instead, after all the bloodshed, he’s ended up as a sort of messianic leader among the Irredenta.”
“Messiahs come in all forms,” Mosadek replied.
“Sir.” Galluzzi fought the urge to pull at his too-tight collar. “If I told you some of the things Batuhan’s Irredenta have done down there, you’d call me mad. That human beings could descend to the kind of demonic . . .”
He winced, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He didn’t dare lose it. Not in front of the Supervisor.
Thankfully Benj said, “We’re forwarding all the records to Vixen. We want you to have plenty of time to review them before we arrive at Capella III.”
Aguila had pursed her lips. “What happens if you unseal their deck?”
Benj spoke. “They’d murder us wholesale. Turn us into sacrifices. Cut up and eat our bodies. All in the name of their—”
“Did you say eat?” Aguila arched a scarred brow.
Shig had straightened, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes.
Benj’s voice strained. “Some sort of belief that the universe must consume itself to be reborn in purity. That’s according to Batuhan and his doctrine of holy annihilation. They think they’re divine soldiers, chosen to carry their truth into the universe. They see existence as warfare. That the universe was designed to hone the fittest through perpetual self-consuming conflict. According to Batuhan’s propaganda, their first trial will be the elimination of all the heretics aboard Ashanti. They see the ship as an interstellar womb, and as soon as they burst out of Deck Three, it will be like a birth of rage and fire.”
“Fascinating,” Shig murmured, his gaze intensifying.
Aguila asked, “Have they said anything about what happens after their arrival at Donovan?”
“Sure,” Benj said. “Capella III is supposed to be the home that nurtures their devel
opment. Their ‘childhood’ as they call it. As they mature, the planet is supposed to be the springboard from which they shall spread out into the universe and either convert or destroy anyone who stands in their way.”
“How did this happen?” Aguila asked.
Galluzzi winced. “I don’t think you can understand until you realize the horror that engulfed Deck Three, ma’am. Like I said, they did the math. Knew that hydroponics could only produce enough to support around two hundred people in the long term. They started with a lottery. Some of the families that were chosen to starve to death didn’t think much of the idea. Embarked on a more sanguine means of decreasing the population.”
Benj said, “Things got ugly in a hurry down there. Think atrocity and horror and no way out. The ones who survived committed the kind of abominations that defy description. They’ve been locked away on that deck for close to seven years now . . . lived in the midst of their self-reinforced insanity. They’ve prepared themselves for the moment of their emergence from Deck Three, and when they do, they expect to initiate a wave of horror that is so terrible it will both consume and regenerate the universe.”
Aguila’s brow had knit. “What kind of lunacy . . . ?”
Shig placed a mild hand upon the Supervisor’s arm. “Unfortunately, depending upon the reality in which one has existed, atrocity might seem the only possible explanation for existence.”
Aguila asked, “You think people can make a religion of violence?”
In an oddly calm voice, Shig said, “Human beings can create a religion out of anything. It’s hardwired into our genetics. And, when you think about it, it’s a lot easier to make a religion out of mayhem than salvation. Let’s hold judgment until we see what’s on these records Ashanti is sending.”
Aguila turned her attention to Galluzzi. “And what about you and your crew, Captain?”
Here it came. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. Hated the feel of nervous perspiration. “Supervisor, it’s been rough. Most of us who are left, we’re hanging on by our fingernails. Not so many suicides these days. We’ve gotten good at patching ourselves together when we’re on the edge of insanity. Would have given up long ago except that we could see the finish line. We knew there was an eventual end to the nightmare and could count down the days. As soon as we have Ashanti in orbit around Capella III, it’s going to be all I can do to keep my people from storming the shuttles to abandon this ship.”
“Yeah, well, Captain, I don’t want to rain on your hopes, but you might not find Donovan to be the nirvana you’ve been led to believe.”
“After Ashanti? We’ll take our chances.”
“Unfortunately,” she told him dryly, “you will.” A pause. “One last question. Is Derek Taglioni on your passenger manifest? Is he, perhaps, still alive?”
“He is, Supervisor. And I daresay, he’ll be as delighted as the rest of us to set foot on Cap III.”
The Supervisor’s smile had taken on a grim set. “Captain, please understand, this is a fragile colony. A dangerous world fraught with perils to life and limb. As the Corporate Supervisor, I will be enforcing all stipulations as set forth in Corporate contracts. We’ll give your people time to recover, but we’re barely hanging on here ourselves.”
“After Ashanti, anything would be an improvement.”
“Really?” Aguila chuckled. “We have a joke here, we share it with all newcomers: Welcome to Donovan.”
2
“What do you think, Shig?” Kalico Aguila asked as her A-7 shuttle dropped into Donovan’s gravity well. Through the cabin windows on the command deck she could see the reddish glow as atmospheric friction built.
In the pilot’s seat ahead of her, Ensign Juri Makarov monitored the descent.
Shig had been oddly quiet—and more unusual, he’d had a perturbed expression on his usually placid face as he reviewed the hand-held holo that displayed Ashanti’s logs. He sat in the seat beside hers on the command deck. Normally, in the shuttle, he reminded her of a schoolboy, fascinated and delighted by everything. As if the shuttle were a new and magical marvel.
He didn’t look up as he casually asked, “Who is Derek Taglioni? Why did you ask specifically about him?”
“Derek’s a first cousin to Boardmember Miko Taglioni.”
“Ah, I see. The Boardmember is your superior and benefactor, as I recall.”
“That’s a mild way of putting it.” To change the subject, she said, “The way you reacted to news about these Irredenta, that’s not like you. Seriously, what set you off?”
Shig looked up from the holo display. “You must understand. The human brain is more of an analog rather than a digital organ. It’s plastic, and by that, I mean it can be molded, shaped by events. When traumatized, it will struggle to make sense of the violation. Attempt to reconcile and explain the insult. If the trauma is too terrible, the brain will grasp for disparate facts, string together unrelated—even impossible—data to create understanding in the new conditions. Give meaning to everything it has endured.”
“Sure. I understand how brain chemistry works. The bizarre things human beings will allow themselves to believe in an effort to cope.”
“These were Corporate people,” Shig reminded. “Families for the most part. People who were, and I quote, ‘well integrated’ in the Corporate system. They were educated, affluent, and prosperous families who lived their lives in secure and very comfortable upper-status surroundings. Had nice dwellings. Played by the rules and never suffered deprivation—let alone confronted a serious threat to their wellbeing. Living as they did in the center of the Corporate cocoon, they were coddled and protected. Call them the middle of the bell-shaped curve when it came to living the Corporate dream.”
“I’m well aware of the demographic,” she replied. “The Board wanted well-balanced families, the kind whose profiles didn’t indicate potential trouble when they reached the colony. Families who’d immediately and seamlessly integrate into colonial society.”
“Right,” Shig agreed. “Kindly folk who’d just do their jobs and expect to be taken care of in return. If they had any overriding passion, it was for their family and raising their kids. Perfect young trade professionals.”
Kalico stared out at the curve of Donovan’s horizon as the shuttle’s pitch changed; g-force pushed her down into her seat. “And then they come out of inverted symmetry. They’ve just spent two and a half years of ship’s time living inside cramped quarters. Their nerves are already frayed when they’re told that if they survive the next few months, it might be another seven years before they reach their destination. The hydroponics, designed for a four-year life span, can’t support four hundred and fifty people for another seven.”
“Things begin to degenerate. They panic. Some try to seize the ship, and Galluzzi seals them into a single deck.” Shig rubbed his brow with a nervous hand. “Galluzzi’s people recorded the condition of the stripped human bones that came down the chutes for hydroponics reprocessing. My suggestion is that you don’t mistake these reports for cozy bedtime reading. At least not if you want a good night’s sleep.”
“That horrible?”
“The transportees were dying of starvation. Each corpse represented protein, fat, and life. But what does it mean? How do you justify surviving by eating your companions?” Shig smiled wistfully. “In religious studies, we have a term: sacred abomination. It’s when something is so abhorrent and appalling, its very profanity makes its practice sacred. The ultimate reconciliation of opposites.”
“What do you mean by abomination?”
“The people locked on that deck were receiving insufficient rations. They were murdering men, women, and children. Their best friends. People they had lived with, laughed with, and knew intimately. Dismembering their bodies, stripping muscle from bones, removing and eating organs. Sometimes even the bones were smashed for marrow. Brains removed from skull
s. How did they justify such atrocities? They made it a religious event. A form of communion.”
“Dear God.”
“And, of course, they understood that sex was the reconciliation of death. Its polar opposite. If you are going to celebrate one, you must pay tribute to the other.”
“Maybe I’ll skip the reading.”
“Suffice it to say that all those cheery, happy, normal, coddled-and-protected families suddenly found themselves trapped in the kind of violent and profane terror that shattered their psyches. The only way to survive atrocity was to commit even greater atrocity. And they did it year after year. Locked in that seeming eternal hell of Deck Three.”
She didn’t have to know the intimate details to understand, having spent too many hours on Freelander. Just the thought of the ghost ship made her stomach turn queasy.
Shig raised a finger. “And into the mix, you must throw agency: Batuhan. The charismatic leader who tells you that it isn’t your fault. It’s just the way the universe is. You aren’t an abomination but a divinely selected agent about to remake reality. Suddenly you are serving a higher calling. Sure, you murdered and ate babies, cut fellow human beings apart and drank their blood, but through that communion they are reborn into purity.”
“That’s creep-freaked.”
“That’s the religious mind at work in an attempt to rationalize and condone abject horror,” Shig replied. “Or have the lessons taught by Freelander eluded you?”
“Believe me, I was half expecting Galluzzi to tell me that, like Captain Orten on Freelander, he’d ordered the murder of all the transportees.”
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Shig tapped fingers on his chin. “Aboard Freelander the crew developed their curious death cult, worshipping the ghosts of the people they murdered and threw into the hydroponics. On Ashanti, it’s the transportees who are murdering each other, who have developed their own cult. Leaves us wondering if this is random coincidence. Or, with a sample of only two, if there is something about being locked in a starship—faced with starvation, atrocity, and time—that triggers the religious centers of the brain.”
Unreconciled Page 2
