“Ava, if you ever need anything from me, and I mean anything, all you have to do is ask.”
“I may take you up on that generous offer, depending on how my meeting with the Council of Generals goes.”
“Your meeting with the council?”
“Joenn has lost its Vanguardian. I’ve petitioned the council to take up Erisia’s mantle — over the rather vehement objections of the Hiristall Congress,” Ava says with, strangely, an impish smile.
After hye received word of Erisia’s death, Ava immediately approached hyer parent, Delegate Duanay, and asked to be named as Joenn’s new Vanguardian so hye could honor Erisia. Not surprisingly, that went over like (to use another Granddad-ism) a fart in church, so Ava made a direct appeal to the Hiristall Congress. They shot hyer down without a second thought. It was bad enough when a worthless Wasair represented Joenn in the Vanguard; there was no way they were going to let a disgraced Elatir take Erisia’s place. Undaunted, Ava went over the Hiristall Congress’s collective head and asked to plead hyer case directly to the Council of Generals. In light of the heavy losses we suffered in the battle of the Maku Cobano Expanse, the council agreed.
“They might not accept you,” I say.
“I know. It’s quite possible I’ve thrown away my life for nothing and will return to Joenn as a pariah — if I return at all,” Ava says, though hye doesn’t sound the slightest bit concerned about it, “but I had to try. For Erisia.”
“I admire that, Ava. I truly do, but you need to understand that the Vanguard is going to test you and push you and punish you in ways you’ll never see coming. Being a Vanguardian is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”
With a wistful smile, Ava says, “Saying goodbye to the only person I’ve ever truly loved is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t fear anything the Vanguard can throw at me.”
Respect.
“Well. I’ve taken up enough of your time, sergeant. Thank you again for seeing me.”
“Ava? My meeting with the council isn’t for a couple of hours. If you’d like to stay for a while and talk...?”
“Yes,” Ava says, taking my hands. “I would like that very much.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Sergeant Hauser, Commander Do,” Jozh says. “The generals are ready for you.”
Commander Do and I enter the council chamber. Jozh scuttles in after us and takes his post on the wall. The generals are already here and seated and ready to — well, I don’t know what they’re going to do to me. I might have played a pivotal role in taking down the Black End, but I did so by disobeying my commanding officer, and in the end, I wasn’t even the one who won the day. It’s even odds whether they’ll praise me or roast me. In the words of the late, great Granddad Briggs, a pat on the back is only two feet away from a kick in the ass.
“Sergeant Hauser,” General Ezenti says. “We’ve reviewed the mission log data from your headset and your unit’s headsets, as well as the direct testimony provided by you and your comrades aboard the Black End ship. Before we proceed, we wanted to give you one last opportunity to address the council.”
“I appreciate that, general,” I say, “but I have nothing further to add.”
“Commander Do?”
“No, general,” the commander says. “I have complete faith that the council’s deliberations have been thorough and thoughtful.”
Ezenti glances at each of her fellow generals. They all nod in return except for, surprise surprise, General Gretch, who snorts and waves his hand: Get on with it.
“Let the official record show that Sergeant Carrie Hauser of Earth received a formal reprimand for disobeying a direct order from her commanding officer, Commander Do Lidella Det, during a combat situation,” Ezenti says. “Let the official record also show that Sergeant Carrie Hauser of Earth was also commended for the innovative thinking displayed during the battle of the Maku Cobano Expanse, and for the leadership, valor, and selflessness displayed during her successful mission to destroy the Black End base ship.”
General Gretch sneers at me. I wish I could frame that look.
“In conclusion, the council formally elevates Carrie Hauser of Earth to the rank of lieutenant, and at the request of Commander Do, she shall remain attached to Commander Do Lidella Det’s squadron,” General Ezenti says. “If there is nothing further anyone would like to add, I would call for an adjournment.”
And that’s it. There’s no ceremony, there are no medals, no one offers so much as a congratulatory handshake. The generals simply file out one at a time without a further word. I suppose I should be grateful for such an anti-climactic ending, but that raises the question: is this actually over?
“What now?” I ask Commander Do.
“That depends on you, lieutenant,” she says, breaking in my shiny new title. “The council has lifted the state of crisis for the Alliance, which means all Vanguardians are free to return to their homeworlds. However, we still have a great deal of work ahead of us. There are Black End cells to locate, a Vanguard to rebuild...we could use whatever help we can get.”
It’s not an explicit invitation, but the offer’s been made nonetheless; she wants me to stay. I don’t even have to think about my answer.
“I have to go. I have family and friends back home who don’t know whether I’m alive or dead or what, and they deserve to know I’m okay,” I say, but that’s not the main reason why I want to leave. “I need them. After all I’ve been through, I need to — I don’t know. Clear my head. Reground myself.”
Commander Do nods. It isn’t the answer she wanted, but she gets where I’m coming from.
“But I will be back,” I say. “Once I get my life straightened out, I’ll be back.”
“And when you return, you will be welcome,” she says.
She turns to leave. “You were wrong about me,” I say.
“How so?”
“When we first met, you said you believed it wasn’t random chance I inherited Yx’s astrarma. You said I was here for a reason. But in the end, I didn’t matter.”
This isn’t self-pity talking but cold, hard fact. Erisia was the hero, not me. I was just along for the ride.
Commander Do disagrees. “We’d been chasing the Black End for years before you came along. The day Galt arrived on your world is the day everything changed. His defeat at your hands set off a chain of events that eventually led to the Black End’s defeat. And had it not been for you saving Erisia’s life at Pin Gok City, hye wouldn’t have survived to destroy the Black End warship.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You mattered, Carrie. I will never believe otherwise.”
***
I spend my last full day on Kyros Prime on a private farewell tour. I make a couple of orbits around the planet hoping to catch another glimpse of a huumadan but come up empty.
After that, I head to Plaza North for a light lunch at a little café that serves some of the best dammas I’ve found, followed by a plate heaped with crunchies. I take my meal on the outdoor patio to people watch and enjoy the illusion that everything’s back to normal. This particular block suffered minimal damage in the attack and recovered quickly enough, but there are still huge chunks of the plaza undergoing reconstruction. If I close my eyes and listen closely, I can make out the distant rattle and clank of machinery at work.
Problem is, whenever I close my eyes I suddenly find myself back at the Maku Cobano Expanse. Every night since I got out of the regen tank, I’ve awoken screaming from vivid nightmares of the battle. I haven’t experienced anything like it since my first encounter with Manticore, and that took me months to get over. Using that as a basis, my guess is I’ll be dealing with nightmares until the day I file for my Social Security benefits.
Before I head back to my headquarters to pack, on a total whim, I step into a shop that specializes in a very specific form of minor genetic modification. Tinkering with DNA is established science, but it’s strictly regulated because of the high abuse potential. As I learn
ed on Han-Yu Seven, you could muck with someone’s genetic code enough to effectively transform one race into another, so the Alliance restricts the tech to certain medical uses (re-growing lost limbs and damaged organs, for example) and for superficial purposes such as changing people’s hair color. This shop is, for all intents and purposes, a tattoo parlor, but instead of writing on me with a needle, they play with my DNA to manipulate my skin’s melanin. The end result is a design on the inside of my right forearm that, at a glance, a fellow human might mistake for Asian ideograms.
It’s actually Joennese. It says “Fargirl.”
***
The next morning, I wake up, take a shower, enjoy a hot cup of dammas, get dressed, and realize as I check myself in the mirror that my golden blond hair has added a whisper-thin stripe of pure white. It’s barely noticeable at a distance, but it is definitely there, sprouting from the hairline above my right eye.
Seventeen years old and I’m already going gray.
I fly over to the field at Training Commons One to report in to Commander Do, who has to formally clear me to leave Kyros Prime and return home — one of the minor hassles of living on a world that is way outside the Alliance’s interplanetary communications network. I arrive as Commander Dorr is lining up the remaining members of Commander Do’s squadron, which is down to half its previous roster. Like the commander said, there’s a lot of rebuilding to do, and I choke back a pang of guilt that I won’t be here for it. I’m not too worried, though; I’m leaving the squadron in some very capable hands.
“Lieutenant Hauser,” Johr says.
“Lieutenant Johr,” I say. “Lieutenant Gaartiin. Lieutenant Commander Mells.”
“Abandoning us so soon, Fargirl?”
“I can’t miss you if I don’t go away.”
“You won’t miss us.”
“I won’t miss you, smart-ass.”
“I will miss you,” Mells says. Oh, jeez, Mells, don’t make me cry. I’d like to leave with my dignity intact, thank you very much.
Oh, screw it. “Come here,” I say, embracing Mells. “You keep them safe.”
“I will,” he says.
“And keep her in line,” I say, jerking a thumb at Johr.
“I very much doubt I am capable of that.”
“Damn right,” Johr says. She extends a hand. “Take care of yourself.”
“You too. Gaartiin,” I say, trading handshakes. “Ready to go, commander.”
“Very good,” Commander Do says, “but Commander Dorr has asked to accompany you back to your homeworld.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You have?”
“I wish to satisfy my curiosity,” Dorr says. “I want to see the world that produced —” He waves a hand at me. “— this.”
“Well then, you better brace yourself, commander,” I say. “Time to meet Planet Earth.”
TWENTY-NINE
I can’t help but gasp at the sight of Earth spinning below me, bright and blue. We’ve come in over the northern hemisphere, thousands of miles above Europe and Asia. A splotch of dark gray hovers off the coast of the United Kingdom, threatening a spell of very British weather.
“This is your world,” Commander Dorr says, as unimpressed as ever.
“This is it,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Hm. An entire planet of beings like you.”
“Come on, commander. You know there are only three Alliance worlds with completely homogeneous global populations, and maybe another two known non-Alliance worlds.”
Dorr grunts. Maybe it’s my imagination but I think I catch the briefest glimpse of a smirk.
“I guess this is where we part ways.”
“Are you in such a hurry to be rid of me, lieutenant?”
I smile. “You did come all this way. I suppose I should give you a brief tour.”
“Indeed.”
“Follow me.”
We begin our descent and adjust course toward North America. As we break the atmosphere, I reach into a belt pouch and pull out one of the few things I’ve brought back with me from Kyros Prime, my Protectorate-issued headset, and fire it up so NORAD doesn’t think I’m falling space junk — or worse, another unwanted alien invader.
The East Coast eases into view. We change our trajectory and drop at a sharp angle that should bring me in right over Massachusetts. The coastline surrenders details gradually, and it takes us a few minutes before I can make out the distinct outline of Cape Cod, a flexing arm of a peninsula marking the most southeastern part of the state (no offense to Nantucket).
My headset, long out of touch with Earth’s satellites, finishes recalibrating, and my heart jumps when the first thing I hear is, “Superbeast, Kunoichi, hold tight, because we’re going in hot.”
It’s Sara. It’s my Sara.
“Do it to it,” Stuart says.
There’s a brief silence and then Sara says, “Target is down.”
“Looks like you’re in for a treat, commander,” I say. “You’re going to see my team in action.”
“I’ll let you know if they impress me.”
No you won’t, but I appreciate the sentiment.
My heads-up display fixes on the team’s location (in New Hampshire, which is unexpected) as my comm fills with unmistakable sounds of battle — unmistakable but oddly unfamiliar. It’s been so long since I’ve heard the deep whump of Concorde’s concussion blasts...
“Skyblazer, ignore Mako and get clear! Let Kunoichi handle her!” Matt says. Skyblazer? Who the heck is that?
“What? Why?” a strange voice says — a young man’s voice. New Hampshire comes into focus. I zero in on a section of interstate highway, on a series of dots that develop into more distinct shapes as I close in — people, an overturned box truck, and the gleaming white silhouette of the Pelican.
“I said MOVE!” Matt shouts.
More concussion blasts — not Concorde’s after all but Matt’s thunder gun — followed by overlapping grunts of effort, yelps of pain, and a metallic pop like you’d hear in a car crash, punctuated by a scream of rending steel and a defiant bellow, the source of which is a massive Joe Quentin-sized person bursting out of the box truck’s roof. Way to make an entrance.
“If I had to guess?” Matt says. “Megalodon.”
“You know you want to say it, dude,” Stuart says.
“We’re going to need a bigger boat.”
“A lot bigger.”
Not the coolest set-up line a girl could ask for, but it’ll do.
I charge up and hit the giant, Megalodon, square in the chest. Nothing fancy, just a good old-fashioned concussion blast that sends her skipping across the asphalt like a stone across a lake. She rolls to a stop in the grassy median. That took the wind out of her, but she’s not down for the count.
Sara’s cloak flares as she spins around and looks up at me. My heart swells as I feel her presence in my head for the first time in forever. No, Carrie, do not cry, not now. You have to finish making your awesome nick-of-time save.
“I can’t leave you people alone for five minutes, can I?” I say.
“They started it,” Matt says.
“Do you require assistance, lieutenant?” Dorr asks.
“No thanks, commander,” I say. “We’ve got this.”
Yes we do.
The gun-toting goons turn tail and run. A few well-placed shots in the back take some of them down, and Missy, who is nothing but a black blur of motion, takes out the rest. Those who stand their ground, the ones in the fancy high-tech suits, fight with the desperation of people backed into a corner. They’re panicking, and that’s making them sloppy and careless.
Not that it matters. They could be in top form, and they wouldn’t stand a chance against us. Time and distance hasn’t diminished our ability to work together seamlessly, not one little bit. A guy armed with a metallic whip winds up to take Sara’s head off. A quick blast stops his charge cold. Sara throws him into the air and lets gravity to the rest. Stuart grabs a big guy with a
steel trap in place of a lower jaw and bounces him off the street like a basketball. I tag him on the rebound with a gravity pulse that drives him through the asphalt and two feet into the ground. We know instinctively when to stay out of each other’s way, when to back a teammate up, when to set up an enemy when to finish him off.
It. Is. Glorious.
The last goon falls. We stand there surrounded by bodies — unconscious, semi-conscious, those who wish they were unconscious, but no one on either side is dead. Good. I’ve had my fill of death.
“Showing off for your friends, lieutenant?” Dorr says, touching down next to me.
“Maybe a little,” I admit. My throat tightens as I turn back to face Sara. She slips her headset off. Tears shine in her eyes. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says with a shuddering breath. She lunges at me, seizing me in a crushing hug, like she’s terrified I might disappear again at any second. Don’t worry, sis. I’m not going anywhere for a long time.
Sara releases me, grudgingly, and only so Missy and Stuart can have their turns smothering me. Matt saunters up to me and tips his mask up. He sighs and shakes his head. Before he can say anything, I give him that kiss I promised him. I feel the surprise on his lips.
“What was that for?” he says as I pull him into a hug.
“I’ll explain later,” I say.
“You better.”
“Oh, believe me,” I say, burying my face in Matt’s chest. “I have one hell of a story to tell you.”
“I assume that’s Lightstorm,” someone says, someone in a suit that is curiously Concorde-esque.
“Yeah. That’s Lightstorm,” Sara says.
“And she’s...been in outer space? Is that right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s trippy.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Looks like I’m not the only one with a lot of explaining to do.
Wait.
I jerk away and gawk at Matt. More precisely, I’m gawking up at him. “You’re taller,” I say, which isn’t as stupid a comment as it seems. He’s always had a few inches on me, but now I only come up to his chin. “Why are you taller? When did you get taller?”
Action Figures - Issue Seven: The Black End War Page 23
