by G J Ogden
Summer scoffed loudly and deliberately. Maria was going to add more, but thought better of it, remembering how talk of the pre-Fall civilization turned up the heat on Summer’s already fiery temper. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Aster was unaware of this fact.
“There was also an environmental reason, of course,” he added, casually, as if saying ‘of course’ made it obvious. “The move to megacities allowed for the reclamation and development of huge natural parks. It was important to the people to look after the planet...”
Summer laughed loudly, and Aster realized his gaff, but it was too late; Summer took the opening and launched into him. “You wanted to look after the planet!?” she scoffed, laughing cruelly. Then she strode up to Aster, grabbed his shoulders and twisted him to face the smoke rising from the city. “Nice job, space man, you must be really proud.” She slapped Aster on the back. “But, hey, at least the demand for housing has dropped; the only problem now is having roamers for neighbors.”
Aster shook Summer loose and squared off against her, clenching his fists, ready to strike. There was a tense pause, before Maria broke the silence.
“You really don’t want to do that, Lieutenant,” Maria said. “Trust me.”
Aster’s eyes flicked over to Maria and he saw her shaking her head, urging him to back down. He unclenched his fists and paced away, though he was visibly shaking with rage.
“I see you’ve not lost your special way with people,” Maria said to Summer, once Aster was out of earshot.
Summer smiled back at Maria. “I’d be happy to go another round with you, in case you’d like further evidence of my ‘special’ way of dealing with people.”
“Knock it off, you two,” said Ethan, in the same way a parent might scold a pair of naughty eight-year-olds. Summer and Maria both stared at him, eyebrows raised.
“If you’re all quite finished?” said Talia, after letting out a suppressed sigh. “I believe there is someone who perhaps may be of help.”
The use of ‘someone’ rather than ‘something’ gave Ethan a sudden realization. “Do you mean the old hermit?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Talia. “Miss Salus, there is a curious old hermit who has wandered these hills and valleys for as long as I can remember.” Then Talia’s mind appeared to wander back to her childhood memories of this peculiar character. “I’m sure I even remember being told stories about him as a child,” she added in an off-handed way. “Though that would be impossible, of course, because that would make him well over one hundred years old... Anyway, he visits perhaps once or twice a year, to trade items that he’s acquired on his travels, in exchange for whatever he needs, and a box of cookies.”
“Katie’s cookies?” said Maria, recalling the sweet taste of the delicious amber cookies, as if she’d eaten one only seconds ago. Ethan was impressed that Maria had remembered them, and his sister’s name.
“He passed through only a few days ago,” said Ethan, “We spoke for a time, as we always do. I owe him a debt; he helped me when I came back from the moon base. Perhaps, he even saved me.”
Maria was curious to learn more about this hermit and his relationship with Ethan; she had always wondered what had happened to Ethan, especially in the moments immediately after he had returned to the planet. But now was not the time.
“I don’t know why, but I’ve never even asked him his name,” Ethan continued. “Anyway, he’s certainly never said anything about underground cities, that’s for sure.”
“Not specifically, no,” Talia replied. “But I also always take the opportunity to speak with him when he visits. I trade whatever he needs in exchange for information about the places he’s traveled through. Roamer sightings, animal sightings, that sort of thing. He really is rather well-traveled. Anyway, on one occasion he mentioned stumbling upon a roamer party and bragging about how he evaded them by ‘hiding in a deep place’, as he put it. I thought nothing of it at the time.”
Ethan shrugged. “He could have just meant a cavern of some sort, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. If anyone knows anything, it’s him. But, how do we find him? He’ll be miles away by now, and we don’t even know in which direction he’s heading.”
Maria called Aster back over. Summer winked at him as he approached, and he glared back.
“Lieutenant, recall the two probes out by the camp, and set them to scan high and wide, using this settlement as the origin point,” said Maria. “Have them search for a lone traveler. If he was here recently then he can’t be too far away.”
Aster acknowledged Maria’s order and then backed away again, but not before again glowering at Summer, who blew him a kiss in return.
Ethan rolled his eyes, but then thought to add some information that could prove useful to Aster’s search. “He walks with a stick, if your probes are able to look that closely. It might help you filter out lone roamers.”
Aster nodded, acknowledging Ethan, then finished issuing the commands into his PVSM, which immediately chimed an alert.
“What is it?” asked Maria.
Aster checked the display. “It’s an alert from the probes forming the perimeter around the city and this settlement,” he said, quickly interpreting the data. “The fires in the city have caused a number of buildings to collapse, which is pushing the dust cloud wider. The probes are detecting dangerously high levels of toxicity, almost off the chart.”
“Then we need to get moving quickly,” said Maria. “How long before it starts to affect the air around here?”
“Only a few hours,” Aster replied, “But meteorological data is showing a storm forming. Nothing too serious, but enough to drive that cloud directly through this settlement. There’s no way to know for sure, but I’d say that in less than twenty-four hours this settlement will be hit.”
“That’s enough time. We should…” Maria began to say, but Aster interrupted, looking anxious.
“Wait, there’s more. There’s something else; it looks like movement. Lots of movement, I don’t understand it.”
Maria moved up beside Aster and looked at the PVSM, checking the feed from the probes. The group remained quiet as Maria cycled through various displays, processing the information; her expression growing more and more grave with each tap of the screen.
“What is it?” asked Ethan, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“I’m afraid we’ve stomped on an ant’s nest,” Maria said, distantly; she was still peering at the screen.
“What does that mean?” said Summer, angrily. “Just speak plainly for once in your life!”
Maria looked at Summer, and again fought the urge to rise to the bait. “It means that the impact of the space station fragment has stirred up a whole lot of trouble. There are hundreds of targets moving away from the city, maybe thousands; randomly, in all directions, including this one.”
“Roamers,” said Ethan, and a chill ran down his spine.
“Or worse,” Summer added, suddenly becoming serious.
Aster looked uncomfortable. “What are roamers?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, space man,” Summer said, and Aster’s face fell.
“How many are coming this way?” asked Talia.
“Hard to know for sure,” said Maria, “their movement patterns are unpredictable. But certainly dozens, and increasing. It could easily be a hundred or more.”
What little color there was vanished from Talia’s cheeks. “One hundred?”
“Yes,” Maria confirmed. “In perhaps a day, maybe two at most.”
“We must accelerate the evacuation,” said Talia without hesitation. “Summer, please send rangers to Hill Top and Riverside. Explain to them what has happened and that we will require refuge. Tell them also to ready their rangers. I will have our caravans prepared immediately.”
“Yes, Administrator,” said Summer, all traces of her usual spikiness gone. “I’ll brief the rangers and double the watch on the walls too.”
“I’m sorry that this mea
ns you will not be able to track down the hermit,” said Talia. “He could be a day’s solid travel away by now, and I’m afraid there’s no way to reach him and return here before we are overrun. You are welcome to join with us, however.”
“Thank you, Administrator, but I think we can find him still,” said Maria, and then she turned to her lieutenant. “Aster, contact base camp and have them prepare the crawler.”
“You mentioned that before, what is it?” said Ethan.
“It’s a ground transport, of sorts,” said Maria. “It was designed for hauling cargo trucks, but it’s also perfect for hunting hermits.”
“Very well, if you can find him, perhaps you can warn him too,” said Talia.
“One more thing, Administrator,” said Maria, just as Talia was about to turn on her heels and leave. “I need Ethan to come with me.” Summer bristled, but said nothing and Maria moved quickly to explain her reasoning. “This hermit, he knows and trusts Ethan, correct?” she said hastily, before Summer decided to speak with her fists. “He’ll be more likely to talk to him than a stranger like me. And I’ll make sure we’re back before the dust storm hits, I promise.”
Ethan looked at Summer, knowing that the last thing she would want is for Ethan and Maria to be alone together. But despite the potential awkwardness of being alone with Maria, Ethan agreed with her logic. Besides, he wanted to find the hermit and find out what he knew. Despite his self-discipline over the last few years, the lure of exploration and potential discovery still pulled at him.
“No tricks this time, I promise,” added Maria, after the awkward silence persisted.
“Fine,” said Summer, staring back at Maria, in a way that made it clear to everyone that it was anything but fine. “But if this is another lie, you’ll find out that there are worse ways to die on this planet than from the Maddening.”
Summer glanced back at Ethan, fixing his gaze with her intense green eyes, before turning her back on him and striding away towards the ranger hut without another word.
Chapter 11
General James Kurren stood in his new office and examined the pictures on the wall. Archer’s old wooden desk had been removed a few hours earlier and replaced with one constructed from a familiar mixture of metal and synthetic materials. Although it was larger, the design matched the desk in Kurren’s considerably smaller office in his barracks.
The smooth metal surface was empty except for a holo emitter and four framed photographs that Kurren had removed from the wall. One of the photographs showed Archer with his wife in a classic couple’s pose, while the other three depicted two young girls; Archer’s teenaged daughters.
The holo emitter on the desk was displaying a report from one of the sector commanders that Kurren had placed in charge of enforcing martial law in each of the districts on the UEC moon base. The current report was from one of the habitat zones, though Kurren hadn’t paid attention to which; he had his back to the recording and was only vaguely aware of it. The holo image showed a soldier in blue armor, helmet removed, reading an injury report: ‘Twenty four injured, two serious perhaps critical, two dead…’
The report continued in the background as Kurren removed another frame from the wall – this time a photo of Archer in formal uniform – and tossed it onto the desk behind him. It landed amongst the others, cracking the glass and pushing the pile closer to the edge of the desk.
The door chime sounded. Kurren turned around and tapped a square panel on his PVSM, shutting off the holo, before pressing his hands behind his back. “Enter,” he commanded.
The door slid open smoothly and First Minister Kuba entered, followed a few seconds later by Major Darien, whose progress was impeded by a mechanically-assisted leg-brace covering his leg from foot to hip. In addition to the brace, Darien still required the use of a more primitive metal crutch in order to maneuver himself into the room. A large healing-patch covered the left side of his face and eye and extended over his head, which had been shaved completely smooth. Darien eventually reached the center of the room and stood unsteadily in front of Kurren, with Kuba to his right side, making no attempt to help steady him.
“Sit down, Commander, before you fall down,” said Kurren, sounding and looking irritated.
“Thank you, sir.” Darien reached for one of the chairs in front of Kurren’s desk and drew it towards him, causing it to screech noisily across the metal floor. He then lumbered around it and slumped heavily into the seat, letting out a long sigh of relief as his acute discomfort slowly abated.
Kuba took a step towards the second chair.
“You may stand, Acting Governor Kuba,” ordered Kurren, stressing the word ‘acting’. Kuba sloped back to his previous position, all the while wearing his Archer-inspired half-smile.
“The SAR mission recovered one ejection pod, sir,” reported Darien, stretching the mechanically-assisted limb out in front of him. “I’m afraid the other pilots are lost. That leaves us with two able-bodied pilots, but the ships were all damaged beyond repair. I can look at reconfiguring some fighter trainers and repairing other damaged ships, but that will need the Flying Corp to comply and they are currently…” he paused, searching for the right word, “unwilling to assist, to put it mildly…”
“All lost?” The news made Kuba edgy and he began to fidget with a ring on his index finger. “But this is terrible news! We should not have committed so many of our key assets to the attack; we are now left weakened!”
“Do not question my orders!” Kurren barked, causing Kuba to shrink back, as if Kurren had raised a hand to strike him.
Kurren stepped out from behind the desk and took slow, measured steps towards Kuba with his hands still held behind his back. The approach was deliberately unhurried, and with each solid thud of Kurren’s boots on the metal floor, Kuba appeared to shrink smaller and smaller. Finally, Kurren reached Kuba and stood over him, peering down at the nervous little man. “Do not question my orders, Acting Governor. Ever.” Kurren’s voice was calm, measured and thick with menace.
“Apologies, General,” said Kuba, meekly. “I did not mean to offend, I am simply stating my concerns.”
Kurren glowered at Kuba for a moment longer, before walking back behind his desk. Despite having his back to Kuba, each thud of Kurren’s boots on the deck still caused the politician to flinch.
“I had to send men I could trust, unequivocally. Men who would not hesitate at the crucial moment,” said Kurren with his back still facing his two guests. He paused, staring up at the remaining photos of Archer and his family, deliberating which one to discard next, before turning again to face Kuba. “Neviah’s suicide run could not have been predicted.”
“Of course not, General,” said Kuba, smoothly and convincingly enough to hide his disagreement from Kurren’s scrupulous gaze. Kuba knew that GPS had sent a ship on what essentially amounted to a suicide mission before, during the raid on the warship five years ago, and so a similar tactic in the face of similarly desperate odds, should have been predicted, or at least considered a possibility. The fact that Kurren had not realized this gave Kuba pause; it highlighted a weakness in Kurren’s tactical analysis, and his arrogant refusal to admit his own mistakes increased the odds that he would make more of them in the future. Kuba had sided with Kurren for purely selfish gain, but although he had never liked the man, he’d always had complete faith in Kurren’s abilities; a faith that had now been shaken.
“Nevertheless, the fact remains that our position is weakened,” Kuba continued, with sufficient delicacy that it did not incite another angry reaction from the General. He waited for a moment, and when Kurren did not interrupt, he continued. “You still have the full support of the Security Corp, and we are at least fortunate that Major Darien survived…”
“Thanks…” said Darien, sarcastically.
Kuba smiled crookedly at Darien, not picking up on the sarcasm, and continued, “...but many of the leaders who instigated this coup have now been lost. And for the Commander to be
seen publicly in his current condition would demonstrate… weakness.”
Kuba paused again, half-smiling at Darien, before looking back towards Kurren, waiting for his permission to continue.
“Get to the point, Kuba,” said Kurren, growing wearier of the politician with each word that he uttered.
“The point is we need to show a strong chain of command,” Kuba went on, gaining confidence. “We must show the people that we are united at the top. So, until Major Darien can resume his duties in the field, you must pick a new second.”
Kurren peered at Darien, slumped in the chair, looking part-machine, part-man, and half-dead. “Do you agree with this assessment, Major Darien?” Kurren asked.
Darien thought for a moment and then let out a conciliatory sigh. “I hate to admit it, but Kuba’s right. Our two surviving pilots are loyal, but green; someone with more seniority would help until I’m back on my feet.” Darien tapped the metal leg brace with his crutch as he said this. “Should I look up some suitable candidates?”
Kurren’s eyes flicked back to Kuba, watching for any indication of smugness in the politician’s eyes, hoping for an opportunity to wipe the satisfaction off his face, but Kuba’s expression did not alter from its default, Archer-like smile, so instead he simply grunted an acknowledgement.
“I’d rather it not be someone new, but I think we have no choice,” Darien continued. “What with the recent violent uprisings against martial law in some sectors, our remaining associates are required to command the garrisons, to ensure we can maintain our authority.”
Darien reached over to activate his PVSM, wincing in pain as he did so, and quickly began to compile a list of potential officers who held the rank of at least lieutenant and who were not already their co-conspirators with an existing command. There were not many to choose from. He sent the records from his PVSM to the holo on Kurren’s desk, and seconds later five faces appeared in a line, with their service records displayed underneath.
