by Daniel Gibbs
“Compassionate Stars and a number of other nonprofits, including the Jewish Galactic Service, Salvation Army, and Humanist Progress have committed to providing initial aid,” Fuentes explained. “We still need to approach the Assembly for a one-time grant so we can supply heavy machinery the refugees wouldn’t be able to replicate.”
“I’m behind that as long as we’re careful not to include any export-restricted technology—which includes the last three generations of industrial-sized 3D printers. The last thing we need is League agents sending the specifications back home.” Spencer expanded the display to show the spinning blue-gray ball of Dulanto. “Andrew, any concerns?”
MacIntosh shook his head. “Dulanto’s near enough to our patrol routes, CDF already checks in on the miners from time to time, and we’ll add a patrol craft or two on a rotating basis. Not much pirate activity out that way.”
“I consider it an adequate compromise between the current competing factions in the assembly and between divergent views of the Coalition at large,” Snow added. “The people involved wouldn’t be citizens, but as General MacIntosh stated, we would be in a position to offer protection until they can stand on their own. As for costs, the amount requested by Vice President Fuentes is minimal when it comes to our treasury yet generous compared to what the refugees have in terms of resources.”
“We’ll also provide advisors who have expert knowledge of our constitution, people who can direct these former League citizens on the best way to set up a functional democracy.” Spencer smiled. “What we consider the best way, in any case.”
“Seems to be working well so far.” Fuentes set aside his tablet. “And at some point in the future, they can decide what they want—full membership in the Coalition, joining the neutral worlds, or maybe they’ll want to go home.”
“In time, I’d like to believe we can develop a methodology allowing us to accept whoever wants citizenship into the Terran Coalition,” Spencer began. “Ed, I know you want that now, but we need to ensure our security first.”
“We could always offer lie detector tests,” Fuentes replied. “Those are allowed in military tribunals.”
“No. They’re forbidden in civilian courts, and for a good reason. It’s a slippery slope to introduce them for any other government function.” Spencer detested the devices because they invaded the brain’s privacy.
“I look forward to the day when we’ve rebuilt enough civilian population centers and healed our nation. Then our citizens will welcome all newcomers.”
Spencer thought about how Fuentes characterized the Terran Coalition, a shining city on a hill. It was a beacon of light in an otherwise dark corner of the galaxy. “Someday. Hopefully soon.”
“Shall I convene the Cabinet?” Fuentes shifted in his seat.
“Absolutely. They all have copies of the proposal. Now’s the time to push for a resolution of this former crisis and to give these people the hope they’ve been seeking.” Spencer rose from his desk.
Snow and Fuentes did likewise.
“The best thing we can offer besides that is freedom.”
Kolossi Landing Field
Aphendrika—Terran Coalition
August 4, 2464
Andreas could not believe the moment was happening. It seemed he would be stuck in—what did a few Terrans call it? Purgatory, a limbo between life and death. But after he helped Jian with his last dose of antibiotics for the day, he couldn’t stop himself from running for the fence.
“I’ll be okay. Suzanne will come by in a while to help pack my things. She’s—been a great help in my recovery.” Jian’s smile was weak, but his color had improved every day since being treated for his gunshot wound. “You go. Be with her. This is your time.”
Andreas grasped his friend’s hand, tears warming his eyes. Kefi. It summed up Andreas’s heart, his soul, as an indescribable joy rolled over him like the winds on Azar III—the winds he would never feel again.
He didn’t despair. The word had come down early that morning, they would all be going to a new home. The Terrans would shepherd them to a planet belonging to no one, unclaimed by any political power. There was talk of it being a protectorship of the Terrans but left to the administration of the refugees. A wild and untamed world. A place of possible danger, yes, but of equal potential. And Andreas would bring his family there, his entire family.
He joined hundreds of others gathered by the fence. TCFE officers, men and women who seemed exhausted when close up if Andreas looked beyond their battered armor and crooked visors, separated them into groups of fifty. There was no shouting, no beatings, no anarchy. The criminal elements had been cleaned out after that fateful last riot. The refugees—the true ones—banded together against the threatening few in their midst. Once the first dozen had been trussed up and tossed at the feet of TCFE officers, cooperation had become much simpler.
An officer at the head of each line called out names while the tablet he or she held displayed a hologram of a child’s face.
“Please come to the front in an orderly fashion as your minor’s name is called,” the female officer in front of Andreas’s group shouted. “Have any ID you may possess ready. Liam Harp! Kylee Tarasco!”
Andreas stood on tiptoe. He couldn’t see much beyond the occasional flicker of the holo—no way to make out the face.
“Aidan O’Brien!”
Andreas hurried forward as quickly as he could without shoving. It took every ounce of restraint not to barge through the masses. There he was—Aidan O’Brien, haggard but seemingly well-fed, his eyes red-rimmed and sporting dark circles. The strain of the past month had hardened his countenance, but he broke into sobs when Andreas embraced him.
“Shh, it is all right. I am here to take you home.” Andreas held up his ID, a holdover from Azar III’s League security requirements. “My name is Andreas Stefanidis. Jillian O’Brien, head of her family, aboard the refugee ship Tamara Jean, has granted me temporary custody of Aidan until we are returned to orbit.”
The officer, named Vitarelli, glanced at the line of barges beyond the far side of the fence. Logos of seven different aid agencies festooned the wings. “Let me confirm with our databases, sir.”
A few swipes, and she offered them a tight smile. “Excellent, sir. I’ll need you to sign and retinal confirm.”
Andreas did both, shaking so badly he had to redo the retinal scan twice. Officer Vitarelli didn’t seem bothered. If anything, her expression brightened. Possibly she was just happy her miserable duty was over—or perhaps she could find joy in a reunion even among people who had nothing to do with her own. “Thank you, sir. Please step aside.”
Aidan hugged Andreas as they moved off, unable to speak. Officer Vitarelli called more names, but to Andreas they were muted. He held the boy—near as tall as a man, he noticed—and vowed silently that his family would be there to support the O’Briens however they could on their new world.
“Yira Stefanidis!”
It was then Andreas’s turn to collapse. Yira leapt upon his back. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, not yet, for fear he was imagining the reunion out of his long-standing grief. But her giggles and Aidan’s choked laughter forced him to turn around.
“Baba! Baba, I’ve missed you!” She peppered his face with kisses, her tears mingling with his. “The police people said I can go with you! They told me we can go home!”
“Not our old home, Yira, but yes, we have a home, a new one. We get to build it whatever way we like. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”
“Yes, Baba! Where is Mama?”
Andreas scooped her up in his arms. He pointed up at the sky. “Far above the blue, Yira. She is waiting with your brothers and sisters and our friends on our transport. Once we return, we have one last journey to take—a short trip, so you won’t get too tired.”
“Oh, good. I am tired.” She buried her face in his shoulder.
“Did they treat you well? The officers?”
“TCFE was nasty
at first, but they mellowed,” Aidan answered. “The ones who stole us… they were way worse. I broke an arm trying to fight them, but then TCFE and the police came and got us out—”
“I am sorry you had to face it alone. But you survived. And Yira…” He kissed the top of her head. “Did you look after Aidan for me?”
“I tried, Baba, but he kept getting in the way of the bad men. I couldn’t go after anyone and kick them like I wanted!”
Aidan’s face reddened.
Andreas touched his shoulder. “Thank you for protecting my daughter.”
“I—you’re welcome. Father would have wanted me to be there for her.”
“He was right to trust you. He would have been proud.”
Andreas led them into the encampment, to the tent he shared with Jian and two dozen others.
Suzanne, a tall woman with red hair, was stacking bags beside Jian. She smiled when they approached. “You found them! That’s wonderful.”
“It is.” Jian let her help him stand, grimacing as he got upright on wobbly knees. “This must be Yira.”
“Yes, my youngest daughter. Yira, this is my friend Jian and his friend Suzanne.”
“Hello!” Yira hugged Jian around the middle.
He winced but returned the hug.
“Are they coming with us, Baba?”
“They are, Yira. They’re coming home with us. We’re all going to our new home.” Andreas fought the urge to parade them all to the barges, commandeering the craft into orbit so they could be back together as a grand family once again. Soon enough.
He let them settle into a warm circle of storytelling and companionship, thankful for the chance once more to be free of captivity. Sunset was turning Kolossi’s sky a familiar dusty orange. The first stars, the brightest three, winked down. Andreas dug through a backpack for a tablet, hoping it held an intact astronomy program. He wanted to find Dulanto among the night’s constellations. He wanted to see it for himself.
28
Aphendrika—Terran Coalition
5 August 2464
Captain Jackson Adams sat on the front end of the hovercraft, his jacket zipped against the early-morning chill. First launch should be any moment.
On cue, three barges rumbled to life on the far edge of Kolossi’s landing field. They took to the sky one at a time, joined thirty seconds later by three more barges. A TCFE shuttle swept in from the terminal buildings, maintaining escort as they ascended.
“And here you’d wondered about making a difference.” Gina Wilkes walked to the front of the hovercraft, travel cups of coffee in her hands. “I thought you could use one.”
“Thanks.” Jackson took a sip, letting the steam warm his face. He swiped his jacket sleeve across the hovercraft’s nose, drying the dew sparkling there. “Join me?”
Gina slid up, the cup cradled in her hands. She blew out a feathery breath. “You know, when I was little, my mother would take me to the spaceport and make me watch the shuttles come and go. She could pick out makes and models—thought it was all very fascinating.”
Jackson smiled. “Is this where you tell me you’ll tuck this moment away as another fond memory reminiscent of your childhood?”
“Oh, not a chance. I found it excruciatingly dull. I threw chunks of paving at my brother while she droned on.”
“If you feel the need, I promise I’ll turn my head.” Jackson chuckled. “You’re right, though—I did need to see the results in person. Reading the relocation plan off a tablet isn’t the same thing as watching the ships depart.”
“Kind of Colonel Sinclair to give you the brief shore leave.”
“Oh, he couched it in terms of Covert Action Unit 171 conducting its final sweep through the properties we occupied, one last look for evidence of our stay.”
“I’m sure Brant is having a blast.”
“He is, actually.” Jackson tapped his wrist unit. A slew of comms contacts rippled down the tiny screen. “He checks in after each sweep. I think he’s disappointed he couldn’t find any listening devices or snooping bots.”
“Is that why he was so gloomy? I reminded him we won, but he didn’t seem interested.”
Jackson shrugged. “He’ll get over it.”
More rumbles echoed across the plains. Six more barges launched, followed by another trio.
“How do you think they’ll do out there?” Gina asked.
“As well as they can. The Coalition’s going to help get them going. The government’s leaving it up to nonprofits and private entities to furnish the bulk of the assistance, but I think once they connect with the miners around the gas giant, they’ll be able to boost themselves.”
Gina sipped her coffee. “Too bad we need Sev. I think he’d have hitchhiked on the first barge out if he knew he could build another cabin wherever he wanted, on a world almost free of people.”
“Speaking of the devil, how’s he doing?”
“Skin repair’s holding. The plasma burn was shallow, so that’s a relief.” Gina smirked. “You wouldn’t know he’d been injured at all by the way he carries himself. Though I did poke his wound to make sure he could still react.”
“You didn’t.”
Gina raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Do you even know me?
Jackson laughed again. It felt good to relax, even for a few hours, to enjoy company and a small corner of the world he’d had to infiltrate.
His comm pulsed. “Go ahead.”
“We got the last of the places cleared out,” Brant said. “It took longer than I thought because, shockingly, Sev is more paranoid than I am.”
“Color me unsurprised, Home. What’s your ETA?”
“Give us ten to get the truck turned in and another fifteen to get to you via public transit, then we’ll be ready to lift.”
“Roger that. One out.” Jackson glanced at Gina. “Half hour before we lift.”
“Plenty of time.”
Jackson took another swig. “This is about the best brew I’ve had since we left Canaan. Where did you get it?”
“I found a place a few blocks from here, not far from the café you liked.”
“Soundwave.”
She nodded. “Grounded Grounds.”
“That’s… a dumb name.”
“Did I say they had excellent marketing? No.” Gina prodded his arm. “But their coffee is divine.”
“I won’t argue the point.”
The drone of barge and shuttle engines rolled continuously from the airfield as vessels kept leaving and a few began returning. Jackson caught a change in pitch from one craft’s engine right as Gina looked skyward. A civilian gig, halfway between the size of the stealth shuttle and a passenger barge, dropped onto the grass thirty meters away. It was a sleek pale-gray vehicle with variable wings that could rearrange for spaceflight and atmospheric maneuvering.
Dwyer hopped out of the hatch before the engines, grinning as if he’d been awarded command of an entire squadron. “She’s a beaut, eh? Coming all the way back with us to Canaan.”
“How’d you manage that? I thought the shuttle was your one and only.”
“I had a good chat with Major Mancini and Colonel Sinclair. I convinced them we might need a civilian model I can, uh, modify so we can better slip in and out of any tight spots. They gave me a small budget and told me to stick within it, make sure I came back with a craft appropriate to the situation, as the good colonel put it.”
Gina gawked. “They let you buy a racer?”
“Well…” Dwyer shrugged, his cheeks reddening as he became very intrigued by his boots.
“Hold on.” Jackson glanced between them. “It’s a racing shuttle?”
“Some Intelligence officer you are. Florio Ionworks Mark Thirteen with quad burst engines, variable-geometry wings, capable of accelerating to—” Gina stopped as Jackson snorted into his coffee lid. She smacked his arm. “What?”
“Must be how your mother sounded.” He winked at her.
Gina rolled her eyes.
/> “So, uh, we’re all set to lift once the LT and Sev get back,” Dwyer said. “I brought down a message for you, Cap’n. Got bounced all the way out from Canaan to Oxford. Family priority. I figured it should come in person since we’re still sticking to operational comms until we’re back aboard for the trip home.”
“Thanks, Warrant.” Jackson held out his arm so they could touch wrists. The message transferred into Jackson’s queue.
Hey. I took a tumble from the skiff in the middle of a windstorm that blew through here last week. Shattered femurs, medics say. The rebuild’s going to take a while, which means Mom has even more to do, in case you’re wondering. Dad’s treatments aren’t going well. Degenerative neurons. Bottom line, the ranch might not make it another two years, or even until next summer. Figured you should know.
Harry
Jackson must have let too much emotion color his expression, because Gina gazed at him. It was possible she’d snuck a peek at his message. He didn’t know how long he’d stared at it.
“Do you need some time?”
“Tell the others to stand by when they get here.” Jackson slid off the nose of the hovercraft. He zipped his jacket. “I’m going to take a walk and get a refill.”
Harry. Damn.
Jackson had reread the message six times before he got to Grounded Grounds. The outside tables were packed with people, but he ordered his new cup and found a chair in the corner of the fenced-off dining area. People of all ages and varied nationalities conversed, the topics hitting on the refugees, the skirmish in orbit, and the asteroid explosion, with a few local matters such as crime thrown in the mix.
There he was, having snuffed out the League’s efforts to incite panic and discord in the postwar Coalition, and Harry’s snide message had snuffed out any pride in his accomplishment. Didn’t Brant warn me about excessive pride? Sure, but can’t I revel in the feeling a bit?
