Unreconciled

by W. Michael Gear

  Committed some unforgiveable sin?

  It cannot be pride, for I have always doubted my worthiness. Wondered why the universe chose me, of all men, to shoulder the crushing responsibility. I have always lived in terror that I might fail.

  Faith has been the unyielding pillar inside me, my shield and justification. Faith is a wonderful thing: Just believe, and it will carry you through.

  It always has.

  And now, in the midnight of my soul, when I am shaken with doubt, I have to ask: What more do you want of me? Haven’t I given enough? Haven’t my people?

  We have sacrificed so much, suffered, endured, and prayed in desperation. Didn’t we prove ourselves through trial and fire during our incarceration on Deck Three? Didn’t Prophecy promise us that we would begin anew, grow, mature, and flourish on Capella III before venturing forth in service of the universe?

  What we have found here is heartbreaking. In a matter of days, so many are irretrievably dead. In defiance of Prophecy, they are lost forever. I am bereft, crying, “Why?” as I stare up at the night sky.

  What if it was all a lie?

  I look at the faces of my people. They are so close to desolation and defeat. More so than even during the days of the Harrowing and Cleansing.

  The human soul can only endure so much: close to eight years of suffering, with only a nebulous arrival at Capella III to buoy their hopes. Like an intangible dream. But they clung to the seemingly impossible aspiration.

  And then the miracle: Release from Deck Three into the light.

  Only to be ultimately betrayed.

  Hope, promises, anticipation.

  Everything we believed.

  All a deadly deception.

  Was I the greatest of deceivers?

  Those are the questions that haunt me. Now I am faced with a bone-numbing decision: Do I trust in the voice of an untried Prophet? Is Shimal truly the voice of the universe? She has said we need to leave.

  To go . . . where?

  The only avenue left that I can see is to set forth into the forest. To venture into the wilderness as the Prophets of ancient Earth did.

  But, if I can believe the warnings given by Vartan, the forest is death.

  What am I to do?

  What do I trust?

  Where is salvation for me and my people?

  The universe does not make mistakes!

  I must believe. I must believe!

  75

  Vartan fought to stay awake. Overhead, clouds had obscured the night sky. Lightning flashed off to the east, flickers of it illuminating tortured and twisting clouds. The heavens had turned angry, as if to express their rage against all things.

  It had been so long since Vartan had seen lightning. Almost what? Two decades? Maybe more. He fixed his staggering attention on the distant flashes. Desperate to keep his eyes open.

  Had he ever been this exhausted?

  His head, falling forward, banged painfully off the rifle, brought him awake. Flashes strobed in wicked white that shaped the clouds into eerie lanterns. They bathed the humps of treetops, turned the forest into an impossible landscape.

  As Vartan resettled himself, listening to the night chime, he felt the shudder of steps leading up to the hatch.

  Ctein called, “It’s me,” before appearing below.

  “Storm coming,” Vartan told him through a yawn.

  The first distant boom of thunder rolled over the forest.

  Ctein turned where he stood half out of the hatch. “We’re leaving just before dawn.”

  “That’s crazy. Following Shimal out into the forest?”

  “Here’s the plan,” Ctein told him. “The Messiah, the women, and children will form up, march down to the southern end of the mesa. They’re going to take the trail down to the trees. They’ll wait there. Meanwhile, you and I will hide. Watch. When the Supervisor’s people find the base abandoned, they will walk out in the open. When they do, we use the drone to swoop in close, and detonate it.”

  Vartan rubbed his eyes, tried to get circulation back into his arms and legs. Anything to recharge his flagged energy. Shit on a shoe, his head felt full of fuzz.

  “Listen to me. Ctein, I know you were among the First Chosen. But this is wrong. Batuhan is wrong. What worked on Deck Three isn’t working here. Anyone who goes down that trail is going to die.”

  A flash of lightning betrayed the man’s incredulous look. “Do you know what you’re saying? The Messiah gave you an order.”

  More lightning flashed in arhythmical patterns in the east. The low rumbling of thunder was louder now.

  “He did. And I’ll do it.” The gravity, the exertions, the endless hours since he’d slept last, it all came to weigh on his weary soul.

  The only two women in his life—Shyanne, whom he’d married, and Svetlana whom he’d loved—were gone. One, grieving and heartbroken, had escaped to who knew what fate, the other a rotting corpse that he himself had tumbled over the edge of the cliff. He’d watched in horror as her body smacked off rocks on the way down, each impact shooting colorful specks of invertebrates and bodily fluids until the corpse came to rest on a ledge far below.

  Am I really living this shit?

  He chuckled hollowly. “Go on, Ctein. Tell the Messiah that I’m taking matters in hand. He’s not to worry about a thing. Just follow the Prophet’s instructions.” A beat. “And yes, tell him I have faith in the universe.”

  Just not the same as he does.

  76

  Carrots, garlic, and cabbage weren’t Dek’s idea of the finest of meals, but given that A, they had taste, B, they were incredibly nutritious, and C, that he’d been half-starved, he considered it one of the finest meals he’d ever eaten.

  Talina had boiled the haul in a pan over a Bunsen burner. Then she’d stood guard as he, Kalico, and Muldare had finished off the stew and guzzled water.

  The headache was now at half-strength, his muscles still wobbly, but his blood sugar was climbing. All in all, one hell of an improvement over the wreck he’d been.

  Talina and Kylee had saved his life—not to mention Kalico Aguila’s and Briah Muldare’s in the bargain. Had to admire a woman like that.

  Having left the science dome via the back door, Dek followed along behind Talina as rain fell from a midnight-black sky and lightning—in shapes reminiscent of an old man’s tortured and throbbing veins—streaked, banged, and boomed. Didn’t matter that he was sick-puppy weak, his stomach rebellious from having overeaten. Fact was, he was alive. Lot to be said for that.

  In a contrast as stark as night and day, where he’d been in danger of dying of heat prostration, cold rain now pelted him in a staccato of big drops. Lightning knotted and pulsed in momentary misery—to vanish into afterimages of blackness. He was on the verge of shivering, and his breath fogged white in the flashes of actinic light. Didn’t seem fair.

  With lightning illuminating the way; he stepped over a section of pipe, careful to keep his rifle covered with the tarp Talina had provided him as a sort of rain poncho. He had the thing draped over his head, held the seams together at his throat. Must have looked like a pious Roman seeking the counsel of the gods.

  Behind him, Kalico splashed along in his tracks, a similar tarp keeping her from the downpour.

  “Watch your step there,” he told her. “Don’t trip on the pipe.”

  “I see it,” she returned in little better than a whisper.

  “How you feeling? Let me know if—”

  “I’m a world of better. Thought I was going to die. Never would have made it but for that energy bar you gave me. Thanks for that. I owe you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Shhh!” Talina turned back, irritated.

  Yeah, right. Some sort of distance microphone. As if they’d be heard over the roar of the rain where it beat on dome
s, in puddles, and racketed on old equipment. Not to mention the banging thunder, the crashing of the skies.

  “Careful,” Talina hissed, pointed. “That’s the cliff right there.”

  Dek squinted through the fold in his tarp, caught the contrast between rock and dark pre-dawn empty space. He stepped right, veering away from the edge. Wouldn’t that be the shits? Travel all this way, survive Ashanti, the forest, and heat stroke, just to fall to his death because of a misstep?

  They were edging along the eastern side of the mesa, slipping between occasional aquajade trees that clung to the precipice. The figuring was that the Unreconciled would be planning an assault on the science dome, would be expecting them to sneak down the western side of the escarpment where the line of sheds would provide cover.

  Briah Muldare—arm in a sling—brought up the rear. Holding her weapon one-handed, she kept sweeping her IR-enhanced rifle sight back and forth to ensure they weren’t being followed.

  Kylee and the quetzal had vanished somewhere into the storm.

  Dek stumbled over an irregularity, caught himself just shy of sprawling face-first, and wished mightily for night vision.

  The looming side of a shipping container brought him up short.

  Talina took him by the hand, led him forward and into the dark interior. Then she collected Kalico and Briah, saying, “I want you to stay here. Out of the rain. We’re opposite the admin dome. From the front of the container you’ve got an effective field of fire in all directions. They can’t take you by surprise, and they’d be idiots to try and rush you.”

  “And if they do?” Briah asked.

  “We shoot them down,” Kalico growled.

  Dek winced, realizing what a slaughter it would be given Muldare’s and Kalico’s fully automatic weapons. At least for as long as the ammo lasted. Not to mention if the right-handed Muldare could even control the recoil with her weak-side left hand. Then there was Kalico’s pistol, his Holland & Holland, and finally his pistol.

  “Dek,” Talina said.

  “Yes?”

  “The only threat to your position here is that rifle they took from Carson. Your job is to shoot whomever wields it. Take your time, breathe, and barely touch the trigger. Yours is the most accurate weapon we have at distance.”

  He took a nervous breath. “Right.”

  Talina laid a hand on his shoulder, was staring him in the eyes—though in the darkness all he saw was two dark spots in her night-shadowed face. Her voice dropped. “You understand, don’t you?”

  “Understand?”

  “That when they tried to blow up the Supervisor, Dya, Talbot, and Muldare, it was for keeps. Just like when they killed Carson. It’s not academic. Not a game. You’re going to have to kill people before they kill you.”

  “I understand.” Just saying it sent a ripple through his soul.

  “You’re sure?” Muldare asked as she peered out into the night. “You’re the weak link here. The rich boy who never had blood on his hands. You hesitate at the wrong moment, we all die as a result.”

  Kalico said, “I could take the H&H. I’ve become a pretty good shot with a rifle. Save you the—”

  “I got it,” Dek said through a hard exhale, feeling his heart begin to race. “I kill the person with Carson’s rifle. Make sure they can’t use it against us.” He raised a hand to still any reply. “Listen, I lived for years with the knowledge of what the Unreconciled were doing down on Deck Three. Had nightmares about them sneaking up in the middle of the night. Cutting me open while I was alive. And eating my . . . Well, never mind. I got this, okay?”

  Talina slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re becoming my favorite Taglioni.”

  “And how many of us have you met?”

  “Just you. Talk about having an unfair advantage, huh?”

  “What’s your plan, Tal?” Kalico asked.

  “Link up with Kylee and Flute. They’re out on the flank, keeping watch. Once the cannibals move on the science dome, we make our play for the radio.” She smacked a hand to her rifle. “With this and a quetzal, I’m pretty sure that I can get in and out. Once Flute roars and flashes his collar, I may not even have to kill anyone.”

  “Assuming Carson’s weapons are deployed against the science dome,” Kalico finished. “If their shooter is in the admin hallway when you burst in, that would change the equation.”

  “There’s that.” Talina shifted, stepping out into the rain. “As long as we see each other at the same time, it all comes down to who’s faster. Their shooter, or me.”

  “Good luck,” Kalico said softly as the woman vanished into the night.

  Dek slipped out of his tarp, laid it to the side.

  Muldare had taken a position at the open door. With her sore arm braced, she squatted against one wall as she swept the area between them and the admin dome with her IR sight.

  Dek slipped his Holland & Holland from his shoulder, checked the charge and the setting.

  “And now we wait, huh?”

  Muldare said, “I’ve just scanned that roof hatch Talina told us about. It’s closed. From now ‘till dawn, it’s just a matter of me spotting him before he can spot us. But hopefully that shooter is preoccupied, preparing to blow the shit out of the science dome. They do that, and rush the ruins, we got them.”

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Fucking hurts. I tell you, after this, I can stand anything. Raya could pull my teeth and I wouldn’t need an anesthetic.”

  Dek, his rifle across his lap, sank down, back to the wall beside Kalico. “We come all this way. Cross thirty light-years, survive by the skin of our teeth, and we’re trying to kill each other?”

  Muldare whispered, “We gave them every chance. Came here to help them. Sometimes you gotta stamp out rot where you find it.” Under her breath, she added, “Come on, fuckers. Step out and give me an excuse to shoot, will you?”

  Lightning strobed again, illuminating the admin dome across the way. In that instant, Dek saw someone emerge. “Got movement.”

  He pulled up his rifle. Used the sight’s IR to watch a woman hunch against the rain and run toward the barracks dome next door.

  “Wonder what that’s all about?”

  “That’s where the children are,” Muldare said. “Assuming our intelligence is right.”

  “Children,” Dek whispered. “So, we kill all the adults? What are we going to do with the kids? Murder them, too? Hold them responsible for the accident of their birth?”

  In the back, Kalico murmured, “Scarred like they are, they’re branded for life. No matter where they go, what they do, they’ll be known as man-eaters from here on out. Talk about outcasts, there’s no coming back from that kind of stigma.”

  “I wouldn’t want ’em around,” Muldare muttered under her breath. “It’d give me the creep-freaks every time I saw them.”

  Lightning almost blinded him: Thunder cracked in a detonation that jarred him half out of his skin. Might have been a condemnation from the gods.

  77

  With careful fingers, Vartan inserted his hand-crafted detonator and pressed it into the square of magtex with gentle and even force. As he did, the storm roared; waves of rain kept pounding the dome overhead. He huddled in the radio room, squinting in the dim illumination provided by the last functioning light panel.

  What was he forgetting? His fatigue-addled brain wasn’t working. Be a miracle if he didn’t blow himself up.

  On the table sat the radio. The last link to the outside world. The place Aguila’s people would ultimately try for.

  He started as a violent crash of thunder shivered the dome around him. Rattled him clear to his bones. Left him panting, scared half out of his wits. Loud bangs that sent the heart skipping weren’t a good combination when fooling around with explosives.

  It was the Messiah’s order. Vartan sho
uld have thought of booby-trapping the radio room. Should have been stone-cold obvious. That he hadn’t was a sign of his exhaustion. His fear and despair.

  The Messiah’s latest orders were that they leave at first light. Just as soon as they could see. Ctein would lead the way, followed by the women and the children. Then the Prophet and Batuhan, with Vartan and the three remaining men in the rear. The supposition was that in that order, Shimal would be protected.

  Shimal, for God’s sake? She was the Prophet now? The universe’s voice to humanity?

  Prior to her first muscle spasms, her growing problems with coordination, she’d been notable only for her fertility, having borne the Messiah four children in the eight years of their captivity in Ashanti. What possible reason did the universe have for choosing a woman as meek and submissive as Shimal?

  To look at her now that she’d been chosen was to see the fear bright in her dark eyes, the quivering of her jaws, and disquiet on her thin face. From her expression, she was more prone to throwing up than imparting the universe’s wisdom.

  And she orders us to leave?

  Under his breath, Vartan whispered, “Damn it, Messiah, why don’t you listen to sense?”

  Where would they find food? According to the reports, nothing but some of the local animals was edible. Not to mention descending the south trail to the forest.

  The forest?

  Vartan been there. Watched his team die and vanish before his eyes. Petre’s team had taken the north trail. And disappeared without a trace. This wasn’t symmetry inversion, not even null singularity physics. The math was simple: leave this place and die.

  Now, based on Shimal’s utterance in a moment of confusion and terror, the Unreconciled were going to trust themselves to that selfsame horror? They were going to believe that the universe would protect them?

  Vartan blinked against the gritty feeling in his eyes. Wiped his hands on his loin wrapping, and carefully prepared a length of thin copper wire from a spool he’d found in one of the sheds. This he tied to the detonator. Stringing it out, he tied the other end to the chair leg.