by Richard Fox
The judges and prosecutors were huddled together at the bench, the judges’ tone on the verge of shouting.
“Is it true?” Martel asked the general.
“I don’t know where he got that information.” Laran crossed her arms over her chest.
“But it is true,” Tongea said. “The Ibarrans are going to be executed. No trial. No due process—”
“The Hale Treaty is due process,” Laran said. “There are factors you don’t understand.”
“They don’t matter,” Martel said.
Laran’s gaze snapped to the head of the Templar Order.
“Martel, I want all the soldiers of my Armor Corps in Carius Auditorium in one hour. No suits. Am I clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Martel nodded.
She spun around and pushed through the nervous-looking representatives from the intelligence division.
“It’s a trap,” Tongea said.
“She’s no fool,” Martel said. “She trusts that our honor is greater than our pride.”
“No question there. Order the recall?”
“Do it…Templar to wear their tabards and sword belts. I need to visit my armor first.”
Chapter 12
Aignar reached up and caught a baseball with a gloved hand. He grabbed the ball with the other, felt the tight leather against his touch, and worked his grip harder. He reached back and threw it to a towheaded boy, who miffed the catch and went chasing after the ball as it bounced through short grass.
He flexed his toes, the feel of sweat brought on by the summer heat bringing a smile to his face as—
Knock knock
Aignar jerked awake and fumbled with the blanket covering him. Both his arms ended in metal caps just below the elbows and no matter how many years of practice he had, getting out of bed was always an ordeal.
“Aignar! It’s me,” Cha’ril said through the door.
Aignar sat up and swung his too-short legs over the side of the bed. He fit the end of his stump into a receiver in a boot and pressed it home with a snap. His other amputated leg clicked into the other boot, the cybernetic foot already inside.
The knocking intensified.
Aignar wanted to shout for the Dotari to be patient, but he couldn’t. He’d removed his false jaw when he went to sleep and deactivated his throat speaker.
“Aig-nar!” Cha’ril banged harder.
He went to a pair of holsters fastened to his desk where his hands waited for him. He jabbed his right nub into the holster and it locked against the cap, his anger growing as the Dotari kept knocking. He hit the closed metal fist of his prosthetic against the handle and the door flew open.
“Fina—” Cha’ril stared at Aignar’s face, his bottom jaw missing, the gap covered by a tight veil against his flesh.
“I…I forgot. I’m sorry.”
He rolled his eyes and pointed the stump of his other arm to the well-made—and empty—bed where Roland used to sleep. Cha’ril sat down. Plugging in his other arm, Aignar removed a box from his desk, unlatched it with a metal finger, and flipped the top up.
Cha’ril, the normally gray skin around her eyes flush with blood to the point of being maroon, turned away from her lance mate.
Aignar removed the veil and snapped his prosthetic jaw into place. He squeezed buttons on either side of his throat speaker and it came on with a whine.
“Are the Kesaht attacking?” he asked.
“No.”
“Is something on fire?”
“No.”
“Then you had better have a damn good reason for waking me up at…oh dark thirty. Don’t Dotari need to sleep too?”
“Roland’s been arrested for treason,” she said.
Aignar’s brow furrowed in confusion. He pecked at a data slate, then squinted at a message.
“Gideon has to testify. He left me in charge,” Cha’ril said. “There’s a message from him with a time stamp of—”
“I see it.” Aignar pushed the slate away. “Did you hear anything else? A specific reason?”
“His fighting for the Ibarrans on Balmaseda isn’t enough?”
“Roland was fighting the Kesaht, not us…I swear nothing happens this early in the morning.”
“Do you think the Ibarran we rescued on that moon had something to do with this?” she asked. “Roland was angry about the Omega Protocol after he spoke with her.”
“I don’t think the Omega deal is law…officially. We shouldn’t talk about him.”
“He’s our lance mate. He’s in jail. You wouldn’t shut up about him when the Ibarrans had him. Why don’t you care anymore?”
“Because courtrooms, that’s why. I don’t know how the Dotari legal system works. Is there a lot of stick fighting and spitting involved? Don’t tell me. I’ve had enough cultural enrichment for a while. We are witnesses, my Dotty friend. If we talk about the case and muddle details, it’s all sorts of bad for justice. And us.”
“Then why weren’t we called to go with Gideon?” she asked.
“Beats me…why now, though?”
The color around Cha’ril’s eyes faded away and her quills stiffened slightly.
“I think it’s the Omega Provision,” she said. “I was searching around the Internet, and there’s nothing on them anywhere. Humans are so bad at hiding things. You don’t want the enemy to know something, do a deception operation. At least then there’s a moose-hole for people to get lost in.”
“Moose?”
“Something of interest that can’t be found anywhere? It must be very important to hide.”
“If the Omegas are a real thing,” Aignar shrugged, “then there are some implications.”
“The Ibarrans must have millions of procedural individuals that are in violation. What will the Terran Union do?”
Aignar punched the side of a small refrigerator and the door popped open. He took out a chilled smoothie with a straw, then worked a knuckle against the side of his jaw. It snapped open a half inch.
“What will the Dotari do?” he asked.
She clicked her beak in frustration and picked at the bedsheets.
“The older generation will accept destroying the Ibarrans,” she said, “because tolerating their existence means the end of the Hale Treaty…probably all-out war with the rest of the galaxy. Dotari civilization was caste-based for centuries. We had to be. The voyage from our home world to Takeni—where I was born—was difficult. Every colonist was ranked according to their usefulness to the fleet. When a ship’s systems failed, those at the bottom of the list were sacrificed for the whole—sacrifice a few dozen or lose tens of thousands because no one wanted to die? The void was a harsh place to make such decisions.
“We carried on the tradition once Takeni was settled. Famine? Guess who didn’t eat. No room in the bunker during a radiation storm? We knew who’d be left outside. To sacrifice a part to save the whole is very much a part of who the Dotari are…who we used to be.”
“What changed?”
“Humans.” Cha’ril ran the claw on her thumb along her other fingernails, making small clicking sounds. “You brought a very old form of morality to Takeni when the Breitenfeld saved us from the Xaros. ‘Women and children first.’ Such a notion…but it saved my life. A team of Strike Marines proved they were willing to die for this belief, and once we were resettled on Hawaii and we found ourselves living on a planet with plenty of space and plenty to eat…”
“Things changed.”
“My father was a high-lister, my mother a much lower caste. I was destined to go no farther than my mother, but then Ari and Caas…”
“The Dotari armor that fought at the last battle of the Ember War,” Aignar said. “They have statues in Armor Square.”
“They were orphans. Orphans weren’t even on the ranking lists. Any Dotari adult that adopted an orphan lost rank instantly and they’d never gain it back.”
“Harsh.”
“Takeni was not suitable for us. Our population was slowly
declining even after we made landfall, but that place doesn’t matter anymore. We have our home world again.” She clicked her beak in a gesture Aignar knew meant frustration.
“But Ari and Caas, the orphans, they volunteered to join the armor program once that Doctor Eeks of yours figured out a way for us to take the plugs.” She touched the back of her head, her thumb talon making a tink against the metal. “For orphans to be there at the final battle, to strike the death blow against the Xaros Masters…it brought the old ways into question again. How many worthy Dotari had been thrown away because of a list?”
“Dotari your age won’t agree with killing the Ibarrans to stop a war?”
“I was a worthless baby to the Firsts,” she said. “My mother and I were left behind to the noorla, the Dotari twisted into Xaros shock troops, but human Strike Marines decided I was worth saving—for no other reason than I was just a baby. I do not agree with the Omega Provision. Neither does Man’fred Vo.”
“Haven’t seen your husband—joined, whatever—in a spell.”
“Yes, he needs to speak to you.” Cha’ril touched her stomach briefly, then set her hands in her lap.
“Wait. Why?”
“Because you were our ushulra.”
“What does that mess have to do with…wait, are you pregnant?”
Cha’ril’s face lit up. “You know the tradition?”
Aignar slammed his smoothie down so hard the top popped off and grayish liquid splashed onto his table and wrist.
“You’ve been joined for like…ten minutes and he already knocked you up!”
“There was some knocking. Coffee beans are incredible for the libido.”
“I got my wife pregnant during our honeymoon and it was a—it wasn’t bad because we got Jonathan. But we were not ready to be parents. Divorce is a miserable thing and—wait…” Aignar shook liquid off his hand and stopped to collect his thoughts. “I’m happy for you both,” he said. “Very happy.” He lifted a metal finger up, then pressed it against the side of his nose.
“I’m on medical leave until I lay,” she said. “So you’re in charge of the lance.”
“I’m in charge of myself. I think I can manage that…what happens with your…laying?”
“The egg will fully develop in another three weeks. Then, my cloaca will—”
“Skip that part,” Aignar said. “Are you coming back?”
“The egg will remain in a crèche until my term of service is complete, then it will be hatched. It’s a long time to wait, but at the end…”
“I didn’t know Dotari could do that. Humans have forty weeks, then that baby’s coming whether you’re ready or not.”
“Man’fred Vo is very excited. I wish I could tell Roland.”
“The look on his face would be precious. We are all still Iron Dragoons, even if we’re cast to the four winds.” Aignar took a sip of his breakfast.
“I report to the Dotari hospital in a few hours. I need something from you.” She stood up and opened his closet.
“What, exactly?”
She sniffed at the clothes, then pulled a box off a shelf. Inside were the ceremonial robes he wore when he officiated her and Man’fred Vo’s ceremony.
“Aha!” She tucked the box under her arm. “It’s for my nest. For good luck. Are you going to fight me on this?”
“Nope! Take it. You want more of my laundry?”
“This is all I need. I will send you pictures of the delivery, as is human custom.”
“Your egg! Just your egg. When it’s all clean and pretty-looking. If you send me pictures of—I don’t even want to imagine—it’ll be weird between us forever. Understand?”
“Tell Gideon for me.”
“Sure. Can’t wait to explain all this to him. I’m sure it’ll go over like a lead balloon.”
“Goodbye, ushulra.”
“Congratulations.” Aignar raised his cup in a toast and Cha’ril left. “Kids,” he said, setting the glass back down. “Either they’re getting married or getting arrested. It’s like I never left the Rangers.”
****
Lieutenant Commander (retired) Freeman lugged a suitcase down a berthing hallway, his eyes passing over number plates until he reached 137. With a sigh, he pressed a fob against the reader. The door jittered open slightly.
“Come on…” He whacked the fob against the doorframe and the door slid open to a dark room.
“Nothing works on Mars,” he mumbled and the lights popped on. A blond woman in work overalls sat with her legs crossed on his bed. She gave him a come-hither wave.
Someone pushed Freeman forward so hard he pitched forward onto the carpet.
“Sorry,” the woman said as Freeman heard the door shut.
He looked back and a monster of a man set his luggage into a closet.
“What the hell is this?” Freeman asked.
“I’m Masha, he’s Medvedev, and we’re here for your kidneys,” she said.
Freeman froze.
“Stop it,” the big man said.
“You’re supposed to play it up. Tell him the bathtub’s already full of ice. You are just no fun at all,” Masha said.
Freeman drew in a deep breath.
In a flash, Medvedev pulled a pistol from under his shirt and leveled it at Freeman’s forehead.
“No fun, but he is dead serious,” the woman said. “We’re not here for your kidney, Maxwell Freeman, Terran Union Navy—retired. Supposed to be retired. You had a nice corner-office job in Saint George working for an automated construction company until a week ago when you were suddenly and inexplicably recalled to active duty.”
“How do you—”
Medvedev motioned to a chair across from Masha. Freeman looked down the barrel, then crawled into the seat.
“We know plenty, Mr. Freeman. We know about your time on the Europa during the Ember War and we don’t blame you for choosing a quieter life after all that was over—not that then Admiral Garrison ever wrote you stellar performance reports.”
“That man was a tyrant,” Freeman said, wagging a finger.
“We also know why you were recalled from retirement,” Masha said. “Seems you’re true born, and that puts you in a unique position in Earth’s current political situation.”
“Breaking and entering. Kidnapping. Now you’ve violated the Naissance Act by even discussing how I was born. Who are you two and what do you even want from me? Should be pretty obvious I’m nobody,” Freeman said.
“Don’t sell yourself so short. You’re very important, Mr. Freeman.” Masha leaned forward and cupped her chin. “Especially for a particular someone.”
Medvedev tossed a data slate onto Freeman’s lap displaying pictures of him with a woman his same age hiking together, selfies with the Phoenix skyline in the background, her in swimwear floating in an inflatable tube.
“Salina? Do you know where she is? What happened to her?” Freeman asked.
“She’s here on Mars.” Masha perked up. “Such a story between you two. Meet at a conference a few months ago. Whirlwind romance. Then she just vanishes off the face of the Earth.”
“Senior Chief Salina Humboldt was ‘reassigned’ to Mars,” Medvedev said. “The Terran government found reason not to trust her.”
“You mean our government?” Freeman looked at the big man, then to Masha. “Oh no…oh no…this can’t be happening. You’re…” His voice fell to a whisper. “…Ibarrans, aren’t you?”
“We’re here to save your Salina,” Masha said. “Earth will never let her out of the hole they stuck her in. She can either rot in prison to the end of her days…or you can help us get her out.”
Freeman looked at the data slate and a smile crept across Masha’s face.
“You won’t…you won’t hurt anyone?” he asked.
“No.” Masha made a face. “If there’s any sort of an…incident…during our operation, then there’s all this back-and-forth of blood for blood and ‘you broke my stuff now pay for it.’ Who needs
that?”
“Help us and you can go with her,” Medvedev said.
“To where?”
“Home. Her real home,” Masha said. “Navarre is a lovely place. Beaches, fine mountain views. You’d think you were in British Columbia. The two of you will love it. Or go back to St. George and live in your tiny little apartment. Alone. Forever.”
“You’re serious?” Freeman asked. “You can do this?”
Medvedev holstered his pistol.
“We are duly sworn agents of the Ibarra Nation,” Masha said. “Of course you can trust us. Lady Ibarra sends her respects and—” she reached under a pillow and brought out two devices—one identical to his key fob, the other a tooth “—she sends the most wonderful toys. The key fob has an IR broadcaster and the tooth has a quantum dot communicator.”
“I don’t understand,” Freeman said.
“You have been assigned to the brand-new Crucible gate over Mars,” Masha said. “As a true born and as one with a history of distinguished service on a void-ship bridge, you’ll be working the command center.”
“OK…” Freeman shrank into his chair as Medvedev pulled a pair of dental forceps from his pocket.
“She’ll explain the rest after the not-so-fun part is over,” Medvedev said.
Chapter 13
A diamond-shaped drone flitted over between blood red boulders, hesitated just above pink sand, the repulsors stirring up a weak cloud, then shot straight up. A gauss barrel emerged from the center of the drone and it swung around.
A single bullet sliced through the thin air and blew through the drone with a muffled crack of plastic.
Aignar bent his gauss cannon arm at the elbow and scanned the surrounding field of rocks that reached up to his armor’s waist servos.
“Range complete,” sounded in Aignar’s ears. He turned his helm to his lance commander.
“Sir, that was only table II. We not doing table VI?” Aignar asked.
“Range control shut us down,” Gideon said. “General recall notice for all Armor. Dragonfly’s inbound.”
Aignar cycled gauss shells out of his cannons and cut the power to the magnetic coils.
