by Jason Gurley
I don't know you, Hatsuye says.
Catrine smiles. No, of course you don't.
I know most of the people in our -- in our field, Hatsuye says. What have you done?
I'm a free agent now, Catrine says again, but until fairly recently I was the second of another resistance agent.
The second, Murray says, looking up. What do you mean?
Second-in-command, Catrine says. First officer. First lieutenant. The person who got shit done. However you want to put it.
Ah, Murray says.
He keeps unwinding. Both legs are free now, and the pile of bandages grows. Murray's skin has a yellowish tinge beneath the wrappings.
I look like I have full-body jaundice, he says.
Hatsuye ignores him. Second for who? she asks Catrine.
Catrine hesitates.
Second for who? Hatsuye repeats.
When Catrine doesn't answer immediately, Hatsuye says, This is a fairly simple equation, Ms. Newsome. Without an answer, you remain in this compartment when we leave. I assume the surface team filled you in on the plan. You know what that means?
I worked for Tasneem Kyoh, Catrine says.
Murray stops unwrapping his hips. Wait, he says.
Tasneem Kyoh, Hatsuye says.
The Tasneem Kyoh? Murray asks.
Catrine nods.
I thought Tasneem Kyoh was dead, Murray says.
She died in the System War, Hatsuye says.
Not true, Catrine says.
Then --
Tasneem's been biding her time since the war, Catrine says. She's in hiding, waiting for the right moment to come out.
Tasneem Kyoh is legendary, Murray says. I can't believe she's alive.
She's not, Hatsuye says. She's lying. You're lying.
I'm telling the truth, Catrine says.
Proof would help, Hatsuye says.
Do you have a wave system? Catrine asks.
Murray points at the wall beside the bed.
Catrine fiddles with the system, then settles on a raw frequency that's crunchy with static. Between the static, however, a woman's voice can be heard.
I heard that earlier, Hatsuye says. Someone else was listening to it.
Meet Tasneem Kyoh, Catrine says.
...hard to remember what things were [static] the Council. Before the Citadel. We're made to work [static] forget to remember. But I remember. I never forget. I remember [static] was stolen away.
Catrine turns the system off.
She's in hiding, seeding the Machine class with these messages, waiting for something to sprout, Catrine says. So far, there's not much. Little uprisings here and there, always crushed by the Citadel.
Where is she? Hatsuye asks.
In hiding, Catrine says again. She's not coming out until she's needed.
She's needed now, Hatsuye says. This revolution needs a face.
If she comes out now, the Citadel will kill her, Catrine says.
Martyrs inspire change, Hatsuye says.
Maybe, says Catrine. But if they killed her now, it would be a story. Not a martyrdom. There aren't enough people in the movement to rise up yet. There's no movement. Most of the system never hears these broadcasts. Most of the system never hears about the little rebellions. They have their own problems.
I'd like to meet her, Hatsuye says. How old is she now?
Must be a thousand, Murray says, unwrapping his belly.
Not quite, Catrine says. She's between five hundred and six hundred years old. I always forget exactly. She never liked that. My memory wasn't good with those kinds of things.
You said the system needs a reason to rise up, Hatsuye says.
They need a reason to believe that freedom matters, Catrine says. Most of them need a definition for freedom. They'd be lost if they had it. They've lived under the Council for so long. Someone needs to remind them of what we once had.
Tonight might serve that purpose, Hatsuye says.
They wouldn't tell me much, Catrine says.
Neither will I, Hatsuye says.
Murray stands up, and unwraps his chest. Two breasts plop out, imprinted with bandage marks.
Catrine stares, then looks at Hatsuye.
Hatsuye shrugs. We have secrets, too.
Murray looks up and sees Catrine staring. What? he asks.
You -- you have breasts, Catrine says.
Yes, Murray says.
You're -- are you a woman?
Hatsuye rolls her eyes.
It's a fair question, Murray says.
Hatsuye walks over to Murray and pulls at the bandages on his head, revealing first one eye, then the next.
Hey, hey, whoa, Murray says. That hurts. Let me do it.
Murray pulls and pulls, unwinding the bandages carefully. A shock of red hair emerges, matted and snagged by the wrappings. Two blue eyes, a narrow nose, two sharp cheekbones. Plump, feminine lips.
Hatsuye turns to Catrine, whose mouth hangs open.
Catrine Newsome, she says. I'd like you to meet the real face of the revolution.
She's a little dramatic, Murray says, extending one still-bandaged hand. I'm Evelyn Jans.
Greatfall
Olympus is a prism.
Its great columns and spheres of glass catch the waning Mars sunset and fragment it, spearing shards of light this way and that. The rusty desert surrounding the city dances with thrown light. Tiny beads of light flit through the streets and airways, each containing a Martian. An Olympian. The city is approaching nightfall, its residents struggling to get home, to see their families, to dine and sleep.
Deimos is a great stone, tumbling overhead.
It it pitted and cavernous in places, the enormous chasms plugged with mining scaffolds and building-sized drills and thudding, pounding machinery. The rock is alive with tiny miners and mining bots, all of them crawling through the small moon like ants, like termites.
The rebellion is born anew tonight.
• • •
Hatsuye guides Catrine and Evelyn through the service corridors, moving at a comfortable pace. There are few people about.
Here, she says.
They follow a passage marked with spaceport symbols, tiny rockets emitting cartoonish puffs of smoke and plumes of flame.
We're leaving? Catrine asks.
If you want to live, Hatsuye says.
Evelyn shushes them both. Look, I'm as pleased to be out of that tomb as anybody, but can you please shut the fuck up and focus?
Sorry, Miss Jans, Catrine says.
It's just Evelyn, Hatsuye says. No need to be formal.
At the far end of the passage, the docks are visible. Small transport crafts are scattered about, some in pieces, some ready for flight. Deckhands in gold suits move about the deck, carrying machine parts and tubes and glass sheets and pushing tool carts.
Is this a secret departure? Catrine asks. Because they're all going to see us.
Hatsuye pushes Catrine through a door.
This new corridor is lit only with small strips on the ceiling and floor.
I can't see, Catrine complains.
Hatsuye takes the lead.
It's the jettison deck, Evelyn says. If it's like all of the other ones I've seen, it's only well-lit during evacuations.
We're jettisoning?
Jesus, Hatsuye says. Yes. We are. Can you shut your trap and just follow, or should I knock your teeth out?
Real attractive, Hatsuye, Evelyn says.
But Catrine goes silent.
• • •
The corridor leads to a series of chutes. Each chute is labeled, and Hatsuye inspects each panel until she spots one with a tiny paint chip.
This one, she says.
In we go, Evelyn says.
Catrine stands back as Evelyn opens the chute hatch, hoists herself up, and drops into the tube. She slides away, out of sight, and a moment later a faint whump carries up the chute.
I'm down, Evelyn says.
You next, Hats
uye says to Catrine.
Catrine nervously follows Evelyn's lead, and tumbles down the chute. At the end, she drops onto a very small and circular deck. She straightens up and looks around. The space is no larger than she is, with six alcoves that dip away from her on all sides.
Evelyn is in one of the alcoves, strapping herself into a suit and glass helmet mounted to the wall.
Out of the way, Evelyn says.
Catrine steps into the alcove next to Evelyn's, and begins wrestling with her own suit.
She's clear, Evelyn shouts, and a moment later Hatsuye thumps down. She immediately begins securing herself.
Catrine looks nervous, and Evelyn notices.
We're going to be picked up, Evelyn says. We have people below.
Below? Catrine asks.
On the surface, Hatsuye says, vaguely irritated.
Of Deimos? Catrine asks.
Deimos? God, no. On Mars, Hatsuye says.
Look up, Evelyn suggests.
Catrine does, and sees that the top of the jettison pod is transparent, except for a sort of nose cone.
When we're away, you'll see, Evelyn says.
You'll understand then, Hatsuye says.
Understand what? Catrine asks.
What we're doing, Evelyn says.
One thing we should tell you now, Hatsuye says. You don't have the option to back out anymore. If you want out, and you stay behind, you're -- well, safe to say you're a goner. When we hit the planet, and you know what we've done --
Assuming it works, Evelyn says.
Assuming it works, Hatsuye acknowledges. When we touch down, you don't get to quit. You quit, you die. It's harsh, and I sound like a thug, but it's true. Tonight the rebellion becomes real. If you're in, you're in for a messy, tragic, brutal fight.
I can handle it, Catrine says, a little shakily.
Tell me that again when we're down, Hatsuye says.
Evelyn says, Check time.
Hatsuye activates the screenview in her wrist.
Shit, she says.
And she keys in the ejection code.
• • •
The ejection pod is little more than a pebble.
It breaks away from Station Three and begins a slow plummet towards Mars. Tiny attitude jets guide it away from the city far below, and towards the desert beyond.
Time, Hatsuye says.
Watch, Evelyn says.
Catrine stares through the viewport at the receding mining station, and the eroded moon beyond it. She can see stations one and two as well, slowly tracing their arcs around Deimos.
What am I watching for? Catrine asks.
But then it happens, and she knows.
• • •
Deimos lights up from within, like a revived coal in a dead fire pit, and then it seems to bulge. And then it breaks, shattering like a hunk of gray ice thrown against a wall.
Catrine gasps.
Hatsuye inhales deeply, and slowly lets her breath out with a pleased smile.
The mining charges explode in a great chain, and asteroid-sized chunks of the moon are blown outward. The women watch in silence as the debris flowers outward, tearing through the dark sky.
Stations One and Two are quickly swallowed up in the hailstorm, and Catrine holds her breath as Station Three, still large in her view, is punched full of holes. It breaks into large pieces, and then one very large rock smashes into the east wing of the station, vaporizing it.
Hatsuye, Evelyn warns.
That same rock hurtles toward them.
Hatsuye, Evelyn says again.
Hatsuye! Catrine shouts.
All three of them scream, and the rock cuts a blistering path past the jettison pod, so close that its wake batters the pod and accelerates them toward the planet far below. The pod pinwheels, and Catrine fights a losing battle with her stomach as Mars flies in and out of sight through the viewport.
Uprising
The women crawl slowly out of the jettison pod, alive but bruised. The pod lies in the red dirt, huge dents hammered into it, scorched metal hot to the touch.
Catrine falls to the ground, gasping inside her helmet. The glass fogs up quickly, and she realizes she's crying.
Everyone... okay? Evelyn asks.
Hatsuye is the last out of the craft. I'm okay, she says. My arm is broken, I think. I don't have a signal from it. I can fix it later. Are you two okay?
I feel like I've been run through a grinder, Evelyn says, but I think I'm okay.
They both look at Catrine, who rolls over on her back.
Catrine, Hatsuye says. Are you alright?
Catrine's tears subside, and she realizes she's not crying anymore, but laughing.
I don't -- I don't know what's -- what's wrong with me, she says.
She's hysterical, Evelyn says. It'll pass.
Get up, Hatsuye says.
She holds out a hand, and pulls Catrine to her feet.
We should try to contact -- Hatsuye begins, but Evelyn taps her shoulder.
Look, Evelyn breathes.
• • •
They are miles and miles and miles from Olympus. The city is a bright jewel on the horizon. But what has caught Evelyn's eye are the flaming streaks in the sky above it.
Jesus, Hatsuye says. It's going to work.
I can't tell, Evelyn says.
High, high above Mars, Deimos is a hazy nebula of dust and ground-up rock. A thousand tiny fissures appear in the sky as bits of the moon fall into the Mars atmosphere and burn out.
The larger pieces don't burn up so easily. They light up in the atmosphere and carve great fiery arcs through the night.
The fall seems to take forever, and the three women huddle together without realizing they're doing so. The first rock to strike Martian soil is startlingly near, just a couple of miles away. It slams into the ground and sends a terrible vibration through the surface, and the women jump in fright. A giant plume of red erupts into the sky and hangs there.
Fuck me, Hatsuye yells.
Hatsuye, that's too close, it's too close, Evelyn says, turning for the jettison pod. We have to get out of here, we have to go, we have to go.
Stop it, Hatsuye says, suddenly very calm. There's no way we get clear on foot. Maybe it was an outlier.
We're going to die, Evelyn says.
Catrine says, I think we'll make it. Look.
Another rock collides with Mars, but it's farther away. There's another column of red thrown into the sky, but the vibration this time is fainter.
And then the first one strikes the city like a bomb, and they all fall silent.
• • •
Olympus falls out of sight, obscured by clouds of red dust and several explosions. Hatsuye filters through radio traffic in her suit, listening for any transmissions.
Just an emergency beacon, she says.
Evelyn looks at the horizon in wonder. I can't believe you did it, she says.
Then Catrine gasps, and the women look up to see a stone larger than the sky as it plunges into the atmosphere. The terrible fires of the city illuminate the rock in washes of red and orange and gold, turning it into a glowing coal. The sound is horrendous, a ferocious ripping sound that seems as if it is ripping the sky itself in two. The glass windows in the downed jettison pod crack, and then fall to pieces from the vibration.
Evelyn falls to her knees and stays there, staring up in horror.
Every crack and fissure of the enormous hammer is visible. The remnants of mining structures are still attached to it, mostly scraped away but clinging desperately to the surface.
Catrine can barely stand. The very surface of Mars is shaken by gods.
She turns to Hatsuye. You've killed us all, she shouts.
But Hatsuye is not there.
Evelyn, Catrine says. Evelyn!
Evelyn looks up from the ground. Where is Hatsuye?
Catrine looks wildly around, then points. There, she says.
Hatsuye has made it remarkably far, and is
a small figure in the distance.
What is she doing? Catrine shouts.
Hatsuye drops to her knees, and begins to tear at her arm.
Hatsuye, Evelyn shouts over the intercom.
My arm, Hatsuye mumbles in their ears. My stupid broken ar--
The explosives in Hatsuye's damaged prosthetic arm trigger, and Catrine and Evelyn watch, horrified, as Hatsuye disappears in a powerful white blast. The shock wave knocks Catrine to her back, and topples Evelyn from her knees.
There is no time to grieve.
A shadow as dark as space itself falls across them both. Both women close their eyes as the great Deimos fragment crushes Olympus into dust and churns the surface of Mars into a storm of rock and blood and bone.
NOOR
Matroos
In all his years adrift, he has never seen anything quite like it.
The comet may be one hundred miles away or one hundred thousand. He finds it quite impossible to tell, with no visible points of reference. He is so far from anything that it is as if he is not moving at all. He wonders sometimes if anybody has ever been so deep in the black.
He wonders if he is even within the solar system any longer.
The comet does not even seem to move. A pale coma vibrates around its body, and it has the slightest of tails. He thinks that if this comet were closer to the sun, it might be even more beautiful, with a tail a thousand miles long.
He considers it a privilege to have witnessed it, and wonders if it will be there still tomorrow.
His ship is Matroos, a small craft gifted to him by the Council in celebration of his retirement. For thirteen years, he has drifted slowly, unconcerned by the passing planets and moons. He prefers to keep the navigation system dark, and worries little about collisions.
Should he collide with anything, it would only mean that Uitvinder has requested his return.
Noor returns to his chambers and pulls the curtain closed. He crosses his legs upon the bedroll and pulls a shawl around his naked body. He takes up his notebook, dips his pen in ink, and writes today's letter to Uitvinder.
Today I witnessed your comet. Mayhap it is named already, but I have chosen to name it Koerier, for surely it brings your tidings. Many years from now, my former tribe will see it, and recognize your mark on the sky. For nearly five thousand days I have sailed across your sea, and only now have I seen this great magic. Surely today is a magnificent day. Grateful am I, Uitvinder. Dankbaar. Dankie.
