by J. D. Moyer
“I remember the reassurances of the founders as if it were yesterday,” Sperancia continued in the same strange low voice. “An orbiting global museum, for the good of all, that anyone may virtually visit, free of charge. But that was a lie. After the great eruption, the Michelangelo fled into the outer solar system and cut off all contact. It was the greatest art heist of all time.”
“But that was hundreds of years ago,” Jana protested. “I don’t trust them either, but killing them – it doesn’t seem fair or right. At least until we know what they really want.”
“I don’t know exactly why, but what they want is to collect us. They haven’t changed at all. And if we want to resist, we must strike first. Surprise is our only advantage.”
“How do you know they haven’t changed? It doesn’t feel right to attack them for no reason.”
Sperancia grabbed Jana’s wrist and pulled her close. The maghiarja’s grip was powerful, and Jana bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out. “They are thieves,” Sperancia hissed. “They have come into our home to take our young. Would a wolf mother hesitate to kill such an intruder, intent on stealing her cubs? That is my role, as maghiarja, and that will be your role soon. To be the mother wolf of our people, to protect them at any cost.”
Sperancia saw the pain in Jana’s face and released her grip. “You must trust me, child,” she said more softly. “I know far more about these people and what they’re capable of than I can explain to you now. We are in grave danger.”
So Jana had agreed to Sperancia’s plan. If Sperancia was wrong about Maro and the others, then it would be cold-blooded murder. But the old woman was the best judge of character that Jana knew. If Sperancia was absolutely sure that Maro and his companions meant them harm, that was good enough for Jana.
She poked her head into the kitchen before leaving Cristo’s house. “Thank you, Vissenta.” But the women were laughing uproariously at something one of them had said, and didn’t even acknowledge her. Jana slipped back outside, stepping carefully over the smooth, moonlit cobblestones, the crossbow and quiver of quarrels heavy in her arms.
At home she found a pot of tar from her father’s supply shed. She carefully dipped the heads of several quarrels into the tar, coating the iron tips but leaving the shafts clean. Next she filled a wrought-iron hod with hot embers from the hearth. It was a lot to carry, the hod and the crossbow and the quiver. She was sweating by the time she reached the field, despite the cool night air.
Jana crept through the oak trees, off the main path, until she reached the spot where she had eaten lunch with Cristo and Antonio. To her surprise it was already occupied. Ralf and Bina, Filumena’s young cousins, were hiding and spying. The golden balloon hovered silently above the field, its golden lines pulled taut with the breeze.
Bina saw her first, and worriedly poked Ralf until the boy noticed her.
Jana set down her things and put her finger to her lips. “You should both be in bed. It’s not safe here.”
“Then why are you here?” Bina asked. “And why do you have a bow?”
“I’m here to protect the visitors against wild boar. But it’s a secret mission. You can’t tell anyone – not even Filumena.” Bina nodded solemnly, but Ralf furrowed his brow. “Now go. Quickly and quietly. Or I’ll tell your parents you were here.”
Bina grabbed Ralf’s sleeve and pulled him along before he could protest. The children retreated the way she had come, stepping on dead branches and whispering noisily. Bina could keep a secret, but there was a good chance that Ralf would talk. It was too risky to continue – she had to tell Sperancia to call off the plan. They would have to find another way to stop the visitors.
From her vantage point she had a clear view of the golden tents. There were two of them, square-shaped and about two meters high, one half again as wide as the other. The tent fabric glowed slightly in the moonlight, but there was no illumination or stirring from within. Despite the noise from the children, the Michelangelo visitors were asleep, or at least resting quietly.
Jana’s job was to wait for Sperancia’s signal – the hooting of an owl, three times in succession – and then fire a flaming crossbow quarrel into the floating golden balloon. Sperancia had observed that the balloon did not gain its lift from hot air; there was no opening, nor stove to feed it. That meant that it had to be filled with a gas that was lighter than air. Jana had only a rudimentary understanding of chemistry, but Sperancia had explained that there were only a few gases that could hold that much weight aloft: hydrogen, helium, and methane. Two of those gases – hydrogen and methane – were highly combustible. Helium would be a much safer choice, but the vast majority of the planet’s helium had been depleted during the Corporate Age. And for all their brilliance and powerful machines, Sperancia did not think that the visitors had a way to produce helium in space.
So the balloon was almost surely filled with flammable gas. And a vast, hot fireball would provide plenty of distraction. Sperancia would slit their throats before they realized what was happening.
After killing the visitors, Sperancia planned to burn their bodies and present the scene as an accident. The townsfolk of Bosa would be disappointed, perhaps even mournful at the loss of their attractive, gift-bearing new friends. But they would be safe from whatever wickedness Maro and the others had in store for them.
Sperancia was confident that she could quickly dispatch the visitors. They were unarmed and practically naked. Even if they were martially trained, it was unlikely they could match Sperancia’s speed and strength. Maro, Livia, and Felix would be dead within seconds.
And yet Jana could not help but imagine everything that might go wrong. What if the air inside of the balloon was not flammable, and her attempt at distraction failed? What if the visitors were more formidable than Sperancia guessed? Yes – she’d seen the old woman kill an animal with a single punch to its skull, but the sick bull had been standing still, unsuspecting. Surely Maro and the others would resist. And what if the visitors had weapons and defenses that even Sperancia did not understand?
And her greatest fear, lingering in the back of her mind: what if Sperancia was completely wrong, and the Michelangelo had merely sent peaceful representatives to Bosa to make friends and share culture? Then they would both have the blood of innocents on their hands.
It was foolish to move forward, especially now that Jana had been seen. Little Ralf was a talkative boy. Her story about guarding the visitors was a poor ruse, even to a child. She had to find Sperancia, wherever she was hidden, and let her know.
Jana hooted, doing her best to imitate an owl, but the sound that resulted did not resemble any bird. She listened closely but heard nothing but the hum of crickets. Cursing quietly, she opened the hod and checked the coals. They were still glowing hot. Maybe it didn’t matter that Bina and Ralf had seen her. Children told tales; who would believe them? Jana set her foot in the crossbow stirrup and used a hook to pull and set the string.
She checked the tents again – there was still no light or movement. Or was there? Yes – someone was emerging from the smaller tent. It was Felix, the shorter of the two men. Did that mean that Maro and Livia shared the larger tent as a couple?
Jana heard three hoots from her left, hoots that sounded much more owllike than the pathetic sound she had made. There was no turning back. She thrust a tar-coated quarrel into the hot coals, immediately igniting it. She set the flaming quarrel into the groove, aimed at the center of the huge balloon, and pulled the trigger.
Jana held her breath as the projectile shot through the air. Her aim was true; the quarrel hit the center of the balloon. And then bounced off and tumbled to the ground, where it burned harmlessly atop the turned soil.
Jana heard a strangled cry. Two figures were struggling near the smaller tent: Sperancia and Felix. Felix collapsed to the ground, clutching his throat. Sperancia whipped the blood off her dagger with a
flick of her wrist and slipped into the larger tent.
Jana froze. Her attempt at diversion had entirely failed. It didn’t matter if the gas inside the balloon was flammable; the material was impenetrable. The quarrel had plunged through the golden leaves but had then met resistance. The balloon had yielded for a moment but had refused to tear or burst.
The walls of the larger tent were shaking, but there was still no light from within, no yelling or screaming. She heard a low, piglike grunt, and sounds that might come from a butcher’s shop, metal piercing flesh.
Jana sprinted toward the tent. Sperancia had insisted that she would do all the killing herself. Jana was too young to have blood on her hands, and even though she had agreed to help with the plan, the decision had been Sperancia’s. But Jana couldn’t just sit by. Sperancia might be injured or dead.
She pushed through the tent flap without resistance. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. No moonlight penetrated the opaque golden tent walls; the only light was from the faint glow of the material itself. Sperancia lay motionless on the ground. Maro towered over her, arms folded. Livia crouched in the corner, holding a gleaming yellow blade, its tip darkened with blood.
Maro watched her closely, saying nothing. Sperancia groaned in pain. Jana knelt next to the maghiarja. “Sperancia – what should I do?”
Sperancia clutched her hand and tried to speak, but only managed to produce a choked gurgle. Blood trickled from the side of her mouth and ran down her chin. A dark stain spread across her chest, another blossomed from her stomach.
“She is very strong,” Maro said. “Much stronger than an old woman should be. Why is that?”
Jana pressed on the chest wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. She could feel Sperancia’s heart beating against her palm. Soon her hands were warm and wet with blood.
“Why did you try to murder us?” Maro asked. “Have we offended you somehow? Were our gifts insufficient?”
“She did kill one of you,” Jana said, refusing to look at him. Livia slipped out of the tent, presumably to check on Felix.
Sperancia let out a deep groan and rolled over onto her stomach. “Be still,” Jana said, but the old woman ignored her, and with great effort rose to her hands and knees. Sperancia’s body convulsed, her torso buckling violently. With a grotesque choking sound, Sperancia vomited up a small object, which fell to the ground. A moist, black egg.
“Whatever in the world is that?” Maro asked with genuine curiosity.
It was too early. Jana wasn’t prepared. Though the very idea of preparation was absurd; what could she have done besides worry and wonder about what might happen? This moment had always been coming. It made no difference that it was now and not in a few months’ time.
Sperancia collapsed onto her back. She grasped for Jana’s hand and squeezed it tightly with her last bit of strength. Jana met her mentor’s eyes. She knew what was required. They had discussed it many times.
Jana picked up the black egg from where it lay upon the silky golden material of the tent floor. She placed it in her mouth and swallowed it. Maro watched her with fascination.
She expected difficulty, but the egg slid down her throat effortlessly. And then stopped, midway down her esophagus, like a stuck piece of food. A warmth spread from her throat, as if she’d swallowed a shot of mirto.
“Felix is dead,” Livia said, re-entering the tent.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Maro.
“Should I kill her?”
“No. Something interesting has just happened, and I’d like very much to understand it.”
Chapter Seven
Earlier that day
After the council meeting, Maro, Livia, and Felix climbed the hill to return to the field where they had landed. A number of townsfolk followed, and Maro did his best to entertain them and answer their questions about the Michelangelo. Some of the questions were insightful, others inane, but Maro kept his smile and politeness consistent. It was important to gain their trust, at least until he had obtained an adequate number of volunteers. Livia had advocated for just taking whomever they needed, those that best fit the criteria, but Maro had argued that state of mind was of crucial importance for the project. Ideally, each subject would embark upon their path in a relaxed, unperturbed state, as close as possible to their natural state of consciousness.
Arriving at the field, Felix begged the townsfolk to give them a few hours of privacy and rest. The people of Bosa obliged, except for a couple of children who hid in the surrounding oak forest to spy on them. But that was fine and to be expected.
Livia retrieved the folded tents from the gondola, laid them out on a flat bit of ground to the side of the tilled field, and instructed them to assemble. Which they did, slowly and gracefully, like self-folding origami birds.
Both the synthetic silk material and the self-assembly mechanism had been stolen from the Stanford, decades ago. The Michelangelo had its own scientists and engineers, but also an army of spies who proved just as resourceful and productive, intercepting communications among the other worldships. The balloon itself, beneath the thin ornamental gold, copper, and silver leaves, was composed of an intelligent fabric, a strong, silklike membrane capable of gas exchange. Simple electrolysis pods suspended within the sphere produced hydrogen and oxygen as needed; the membrane handled the balance of gases to provide the appropriate amount of lift to the balloon.
“Should we invite Felix to join us tonight?” Livia asked.
“I think not,” Maro answered. “It will be hard enough to rest with the insect noise.”
Their first nights on Earth, venturing away from the shuttle and exploring the ruins of Tunis, had been magical. He’d been lost in a kind of ecstatic rapture, a sensory fugue, and had hardly felt the need to sleep at all. The open skies gave him vertigo, but he surrendered to it, just as he surrendered to the constant assault on his senses from novel, intense sensations: the orgy of life spread across the planet’s surface, seemingly infinite.
And they’d had their own small orgies, the three of them, excited and stimulated by the reality of setting foot on the home planet. They were the first to do so, at least from the Michelangelo. The other worldships had beaten them to it, violating the longstanding agreement that resettling and repopulating Earth would be postponed until all the orbiting worlds could agree on how exactly that should be done. But a rebel group from the Stanford had settled in the Po Valley, a few hundred kilometers to the north, and were now reaching out to the Sardinians.
Maro had his own special interest in the people of Bosa, and had no intention of letting the Stanford settlers interfere with his plans.
Felix retreated to his own tent, somewhat sulkily, and Maro and Livia settled in for the night. He could feel the hard ground beneath his sleeping pad. But he was warm enough – he’d tweaked his metabolism to produce extra heat. He spooned Livia, taking comfort in the familiar contours of her body. He became aroused but chose to ignore the sensations. The children were still hiding in the woods, and the people of Bosa were modest.
“Listen – did you hear that?” Livia said.
“The children?” The young spies – a boy and a girl – were trying to be quiet, but Maro’s hearing was enhanced. They’d been whispering to each other, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“No – someone else. An adult, about fifty meters to the north-west.”
Livia’s implants were linked to the security drones – gnat-sized robots scattered about their perimeter. They didn’t provide visual data, but they sensed heat and movement, and could co-ordinate their sensors to record sound waves.
“Should we alert Felix?”
“No,” Livia said. “Let him rest. It’s probably just a curious person from town.”
“Wanting to gaze at the golden balloon.”
“It was a brilliant idea, my love.” There mi
ght have been a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but he decided to take the comment at face value. The look on the faces of the townsfolk when they’d descended in their gilded craft….
“Wait – there’s a fourth person.” Livia squeezed his hand hard enough that he sat up. Someone was quietly approaching from the east. He could hear the faint rustle of movement across fallen oak leaves.
“It’s just Felix, having a piss.”
Halfheartedly he tried to keep Livia from rising, but she was already up and retrieving her weapon: an electrified, self-sharpening blade. The carbon-steel alloy included significant amounts of copper, silver, and gold. The historic coin metals were pretty, but also excellent conductors, making the weapon that much more deadly. They had other weapons in their arsenal as well: poison darts, lethal gases, sonic stun pods. All unnecessary, Maro was certain, especially after meeting the people of Bosa. The Sardinians were friendly, trusting, and quite docile. It was a wonder they had survived so long with such peaceful dispositions, but perhaps that was just the luck of living on an isolated island abundant with natural resources.
So he was surprised to hear a struggle. Someone was attacking Felix, and from the sound of it was getting the better of him. While that was categorically an emergency, Maro couldn’t help but feel a spark of delight in the idea that Felix might be getting smacked around a bit. Felix was useful, and an unselfish lover, but Maro had always found him to be simpering and annoying. Livia was in love with him and had insisted that Felix join their expedition, and Maro needed to keep Livia satisfied. But Maro wasn’t going to cry if Felix got a little roughed up.
But who was doing the attacking? That was the more interesting question. And it was answered soon enough. The old woman from the council meeting – Sperancia – was suddenly inside of their tent, moving much more quickly than could be expected of a non-enhanced person. She was armed with a dagger – the blade already wetted with blood – and coming straight for Maro.
