With a sweep of his hand, Galt sends a plasma wave at me. I throw up a shield and brace for impact. It slams into me like a runaway train. Before I can switch back to offense, Galt throws another wave at Erisia. Hye doesn’t see it coming. Hye screams as it washes over hyer and throws hyer to the ground, but it’s not done yet. The blazing tsunami crashes into the damaged tower and finishes the job Galt’s G-bomb started. Slate gray stone explodes, hurling shrapnel in every direction. A deafening groan of steel surrendering to gravity’s will fills the air.
Galt turns to me. His lipless mouth spreads in a victorious, fangy grin as an immense shadow falls over us. He bursts away, but I don’t follow. I need to get Erisia out of here.
I race over to hyer. Hye’s so still. Please, God, no, not hyer. Please not hyer.
A roar like an approaching avalanche fills my ears. A wall of rushing air blows my hair into my face.
Oh, God.
***
Erisia’s eyelids flutter. “Carrie?” hye croaks.
“I’m here,” I pant.
“Wha—? You sound...what’s wrong? Why’s it so dark?”
It isn’t, but that’s because of me. My aura is keeping the smothering darkness at bay, but I don’t know how much longer that’ll last. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last.
Erisia forces hyer eyes open. Hye doesn’t try to sit up, which is a moot point; there’s barely any room for hyer to move. My force field is the only thing keeping what used to be a skyscraper from crushing us into salsa.
“Carrie?”
“Galt dropped a building on us.”
“What? He what?” hye says with rising panic.
“It’s okay. We’ll be okay. The others know we’re here but they’re kind of busy. We just have to hold on a little while longer.”
That’s it, Carrie, play it cool. Act like it’s not killing you by inches supporting hundreds of tons of rubble. Pretend you can do this forever if you need to. Fake it until you make it, right?
“Carrie...”
“Erisia, I have to focus. I’m a load-bearing Fargirl, I can’t really talk to —”
“You have to go.”
“You have to shut up and let me do this.”
“Carrie, please don’t —”
“I am not letting you die! Goddamn it, I am not letting someone else I love die!”
Hyer eyes widen. “Oh. Carrie. Um...Carrie, I, uh...I have someone.”
“What?”
“I already love someone. I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.” Hye blinks at me. “What? Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re an idiot,” I sigh. “I said I loved you, I didn’t say I was in love with you. Totally different things.”
“Oh. Ohhhh...” Hyer embarrassed groan turns into a rueful chuckle, which turns into a coughing fit that brings up frothy blood the color of cranberry juice. “Great. Leave it to me to make a bad situation worse.”
“You didn’t make it worse.”
“I didn’t make it better.” Hye fixes me with a look. “You have to leave me.”
“Not happening.” Pain stabs me in the gut, like a runner’s stitch with the volume turned up to a thousand, and Erisia’s prone form fades to a soft blur. “Not like I have a way out anyway.”
“You could warp out.”
“Erisia, no.”
“Warp out. Save yourself.”
“No. I can’t. Warping inside a gravity well would —”
“It’d be quick. It’d be painless. There’s no point in both of us dying.”
“Not happening. Not happening.”
Hye gives me a shaky smile. “You’ve got to go, Fargirl.”
I try to use the fury swelling up inside me, to channel it into my power, but it doesn’t work. My aura starts to fade. I’m tapped. I’m done.
And then the thickening darkness vanishes along with the pressure and the pain. My head spins, and I fall onto my back. Above me, a slab of stone as big as my house floats up and away to reveal a blue sky smudged with swirling gray wisps of smoke and dust.
Someone says my name. I try to answer, but I can’t.
And then it all fades to black.
TWENTY-ONE
I awake with a start, as if snapping out of a nightmare.
It takes a minute for my vision to settle so I’m not seeing everything through a fog. When the haze lifts, I realize I’m in a private medical bay, cozily ensconced in a squishy memory foam type bed. As I’m about to call out, Dr. Forre strolls in, dour as ever.
“Just woke up, I see,” he says to the tablet in his little bitty hands.
“Dr. Forre? I’m back on Kyros Prime?”
“Easier to bring you to me than the other way around.”
“For you, maybe.”
“My point.” He glances at me and then back at the tablet. “Though bringing you back here was barely worth the effort. You didn’t suffer any injuries, you were just exhausted to the point of collapse. Nothing a wide-spectrum nutrient infusion and a few days of rest won’t fix. I already took care of the first part. You’re welcome.”
“What about Erisia? Is hye okay?”
“Sergeant Pwamee will be in the regen tank for several hours but hye’ll be fine.” I fall back into my marshmallow of a mattress and let out a cry of relief. “Is that noise normal for your species?”
“Sometimes.”
“Hm.”
“What about the rest of my unit?”
He doesn’t reply.
“What? What happened?”
“Wait here,” Dr. Forre says.
He leaves, granting me time enough to run through every possible worst-case scenario there is to imagine before Grun enters. He takes position at the foot of my bed, spine straight, head up, shoulders back. A fresh gash runs up the side of his face from the corner of his mouth up past the temple. It looks painful, but knowing Grun, he’s delighted to have a new war wound to add to his collection.
“Sergeant,” he says.
“Wing sergeant.” I take a breath. My entire body shudders. “How’s the unit?”
“Mostly minor to moderate injuries,” he says, but I’m not ready to unclench quite yet. He’s giving me the good news first. “We experienced three losses.”
“...Who?”
“First Ranks Knye and Arritigimaku.” His stoic façade wavers for the briefest of moments. “Wing Sergeant Zqurrl.”
A black hole opens in the center of my chest, sucking in my heart and crushing it.
“They all fought bravely, sergeant. They all died bra—”
“Dismissed,” I say. The word is coarse and sharp and gray and flat.
Grun nods. After he leaves, Dr. Forre peeks in. He gives me a sympathetic look, then thoughtfully steps outside to let me have my emotional breakdown in peace.
***
I don’t look up as Commander Do enters my room. I don’t look at her as she takes a seat at my bedside.
“Commander,” I say, barely above a whisper. My throat is raw and shredded from crying.
“Losing a comrade is never easy,” she says, getting right down to business. “Losing someone under your command? That is a unique brand of torment. They trust you to bring them home alive, and when you fail in that —”
“They know everything,” I say, cutting her off. “My unit. I told them everything. Why we were really on Han-Yu Seven. About Galt. I told them everything.”
Without missing a beat or raising her voice or changing her tone, Commander Do says, “And you’re confessing this to me in the hope I’ll punish you, because you feel guilty for surviving. No, sergeant, I’ll not indulge your selfishness.”
“My selfishness?” I snap.
“I understand your pain, sergeant, quite well. I also understand that your people are in pain too, and they need to see that their leader, the woman they knowingly and willingly followed into battle, has survived and endured and is still standing. They need your strength — as does the Vanguard. You’re a go
od soldier and a good leader.”
“Not good enough. People died because of me.”
“And chances are more will die on your watch before this is all over.”
“For what? Did Zqurrl and Knye and Arritigimaku die for a reason, or did they die for nothing? Did we bring down Galt? That was the whole point, wasn’t it?”
Commander Do drops her gaze for a moment. “Galt escaped. He fled as soon as I arrived with backup.”
“So they died for nothing.”
“No. We took several prisoners who are being interrogated as we speak, and our techs are scrubbing their ships’ nav systems. We stand an excellent chance of finally tracking the Black End back to their base of operations.”
“Commander, you’re forgetting the best part,” General Torr says as he marches in, sporting a wide grin. “Sergeant.”
“General,” I say. “I’d think a chance to smoke out the Black End would be the best part.”
“The attack on Han-Yu Seven has given us several grand opportunities. As we speak, a diplomatic envoy is meeting with Han-Yu Seven’s world senate to convince them to withdraw its declaration of neutrality and petition the Alliance for full membership.”
“On what grounds?” Commander Do asks.
“On the grounds that the Black End has declared Han-Yu Seven an enemy.”
Commander Do and I exchange confused scowls. “Forgive me, general, but I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, me either,” I say. “That attack had nothing to do with Han-Yu Seven. Galt was there looking for me.”
“The world senate doesn’t know that,” General Torr says. “Why would it? The Black End didn’t attack your encampment. It launched its assault on Pin Gok City — minutes before Sergeant Pawmee’s unit arrived for its scheduled goodwill appearance, I might add.” He spreads his hands. “The Black End wasn’t targeting you or any other Vanguardian presence. This was a random, unprovoked attack as far as the senate knows — a misconception our diplomatic arm is even now reinforcing.”
“But that’s not the truth.”
“No.” His grin wavers. “Make no mistake, sergeant, I generally do not approve of deceit, but we have an opportunity to turn a world that is at best a neutral party and at worst a Black End collaborator into a full-fledged ally. If we have to, erm...”
“Lie?” I suggest through clenched teeth.
“Omit certain truths, let’s say. One of the keys to successful diplomatic negotiations is knowing what should be shared or withheld — and withholding a detail or two is a small price to pay for the impact this could have. Other nonmember worlds will hear of this incident, wonder whether the Black End might turn on them next, and reconsider their allegiances. If Han-Yu Seven — if the entire Han-Yu Collective joins the Alliance? Ha! We’ll have nonmember worlds lining up to throw in with us.”
“And all it takes to gain their trust is to lie to them.”
The general’s smile disappears entirely. “As I said, sergeant, I don’t relish this deception, but we have to weigh the potential gains from a lie of omission against the potential losses from full disclosure. This could be the event that turns the tide against the Black End. We would be foolish not to capitalize on it. There is far more at stake than our personal principles.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I sneer. “Big picture, the ends justify the means, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few — I’ve heard this all before, general, and it still feels like you’re taking the easy way out.”
“Perhaps,” General Torr says. Maybe I’m imagining the note of regret. I’d like to think I’m not. “If history one day casts me as a villain, so be it. Today, however, I choose to believe we are acting with noble purpose.”
“I pray that is so,” Commander Do says.
“We all do.” Torr turns to leave. “Rest up, sergeant. We still need you.”
“I hate this big picture crap,” I say. “Guy I work with back home throws that argument in my face all the time. It always feels like a cheap excuse to flush our principles down the toilet.”
“I don’t disagree with General Torr,” Commander Do says. “We stand to turn dozens, perhaps hundreds of nonmember worlds into allies. Even if they don’t take an active role in the war, they’ll deny the Black End resources, safe harbor...”
“I get that. I do, but there has to be a better way.”
“I wish that were so. I truly do.” She sighs. “I’ve been with the Vanguard most of my life. I’ve learned that in trying times like these, principles are often the first casualty. That is when we most need people like you, who refuse to compromise, who challenge those in command to do better — to be better than our enemies. Winning a war is pointless if we lose ourselves in the process.”
She leaves me to get my rest, but I can’t sleep or even relax. My mind won’t quiet down. I keep playing the battle of Pin Gok City over and over on a loop, looking for that one moment when I could have done something different. If such a moment exists, I can’t find it.
Not that it matters. I can’t go back in time and save my friends. All I can do is look forward to the next time I have Galt in my sights, to my chance to avenge every last person Galt has killed.
And I don’t care if I lose myself in the process.
***
Dr. Forre releases me later that day. I head over to Erisia’s recovery room and find hyer lying in hyer bed, staring at the wall with the same distant, disconnected look in hyer eyes I’m sure I had a few hours ago. Hye gives me a thin smile as I approach hyer bed.
“How’re you doing, champ?” I say.
“Better than I should be,” hye says, an expression of gratitude soured by a healthy dose of guilt. Erisia lost four people from hyer unit, including one of hyer wing sergeants. “You should have —”
I don’t let hyer finish the thought. Neither of us can afford to drown in self-pity. “You would have done the same for me.” Hye nods. “Besides, I think your significant other would be —”
“Don’t,” hye says, hyer hand locking around my wrist with startling force. “Don’t ever mention hyer again.”
“Ooookay. Sorry.”
An expression that isn’t quite anger melts into an expression that isn’t quite despair. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to — it’s that —” Hye sinks back into hyer bed with a low sigh. “You can’t mention Ava, ever. For hyer sake.”
There’s a story here, but I don’t ask for it. It’s Erisia’s secret to tell, hye’ll tell me when hye’s ready.
Which, as it turns out, is right now.
Several generations ago, Erisia begins, Joenn experienced a viral outbreak unlike anything the planet had ever seen before. The pandemic, dubbed the Red Blight, killed nearly half the planet’s population within the span of a year and left a third of the survivors sterile. The Joenns weren’t quite on the brink of extinction, but they were way too close for comfort.
What remained of Joenn’s global government, the Hiristall Congress, took drastic measures that were, under the circumstances, understandable if not entirely reasonable. Anyone still capable of reproduction was urged to start pumping out babies, but only if they passed genetic muster; the Hiristall Congress implemented a mandatory genetic screening program for all fertile Joenns to weed out traits that made the species vulnerable to the Red Blight and other similar diseases.
Over time, a new social hierarchy emerged. Genetically pure breeders, the Elatir, rose to the top and enjoyed a wealth of privilege. Flamir, those who could reproduce but had undesirable DNA — meaning they were likely to produce children vulnerable to disease — were lower on the pecking order, but they weren’t entirely worthless. The government preferred it when Elatir reproduced with one another, but it allowed pairings between Elatir and Flamir if the Flamir in question underwent expensive and risky gene therapy to enhance the chances of producing an Elatir child. Direct breeding between Elatir and Casatir — sterile Joenns with desirable genes — of course wasn’t possible, but Casatir were all
owed to donate genetic material for artificial insemination purposes. As long as you held the potential to benefit the species, you had value.
And then there were Wasair, those who both had bad genes and were incapable of natural reproduction. If you’re born Wasair? Sucks to be you. Joenn society considers Wasair inherently useless and treats them like garbage. They live in ghettos little better than internment camps and are generally kept apart from the rest of society — the Elatir especially, because the last thing the Hiristall Congress wants is an Elatir wasting hyer potential by getting romantically involved with a genetic dead end.
Which is exactly what happened when Erisia met Ava Duanay, the child of a high-ranking delegate to the Hiristall Congress.
Delegate Urna Duanay was visiting the block of government tenements in which Erisia lived, a media entourage in tow, to show fellow Joenns how Wasair were real people deserving of sympathy, respect, and fair treatment. Erisia wound up the star of the story thanks to hyer reputation as something of a local hero within hyer community. Hye was what my grandfather would call a firebrand, someone who didn’t hesitate to rattle sabers and publicly call the Hiristall Congress out on its craptacular treatment of Wasair.
Delegate Duanay took a liking to Erisia and made hyer the face of the Wasair cause. Duanay trotted Erisia out at congressional sessions, press conferences, rallies...Erisia was Duanay’s prize Wasair show pony, right up until the day hye learned that Erisia and Ava, who was Elatir, had fallen in love. Suddenly, all Duanay’s talk of sympathy and respect and fair treatment ceased.
“Advocating for Wasair was damaging enough to hyer political career,” Erisia says, “but news of hyer Elatir child consorting with a Wasair would have killed it entirely, so hye shipped me back to my ghetto and forbade me from ever speaking with Ava again.”
“Which, of course, you did anyway,” I say.
“Of course I did,” hye says with a mild smirk, “and we were excellent at keeping it a secret.” Hye gives me a look. “You’re the only person who knows about us.”
Action Figures - Issue Seven: The Black End War Page 18
