by J. N. Chaney
Dash nodded. “Back to the foot thing again. Huh. Well, this is a lot of plants. I’m assuming it’s enough to feed all of us?”
“A little more than that,” Freya said. “Based on calorie content alone, we could feed at least five times as many people as we have here now. Maybe ten.”
Dash whistled. “That’s damned good work, Freya.”
“I appreciate that. But I didn’t ask you to have your meeting here just to fish for compliments. This is actually a bit of a problem. Most plant products are quite perishable. I’m already harvesting bumper crops of all kinds of things. But it’s way in excess of our needs. I’ve worked out a way of storing some of it, using Custodian, but a lot is just going to get turned back into the soil as organic waste.”
“You’re not still expanding the amount of stuff you’re growing, are you?” Ragsdale asked. “Seems pretty pointless if you are.”
Freya shook her head. “I slapped a moratorium on myself for planting anything new. Like you say, there’s no point if we’re just going to harvest it, recycle it, then do it again, over and over.”
Discussion now wandered in the direction of the best way to manage their burgeoning crop yields, but Dash caught Leira’s eye.
“We need more mouths to feed,” he said.
She nodded. “Exactly. We need to start recruiting more people to our cause.”
“There is another, related matter,” Custodian put in, and the group fell silent.
“This station is now at thirty-one percent of its full capacity, in terms of both power generation and utilization. The Dark Metal ingots you recovered from what appears to have been a Golden reserve of the material will allow another increase in production of various types of drones, minelayers, and mines.”
“That all sounds like good news,” Conover said, plucking a small, purplish fruit off a plant and popping it into his mouth. Dash waited for him to wince and spit it out, but he didn’t, he simply said, “I’ve eaten a bunch of these already. Kind of hooked on them, actually.”
“I do not disagree that increased production is desirable,” Custodian said. “However, we now face a limit on that production. Weapon systems such as mines and drones can operate autonomously, under the control of what we term AI. But more sophisticated and capable systems require crews to operate them.”
Conover spit out a pit, tossed it into the soil bed beneath the plant, then plucked off another fruit. “In other words, crews we don’t have.”
“Again, we need to do some recruiting,” Dash said.
Now Benzel stepped forward, Wei-Ping at his side. “I’ll add another angle to this. The Gentle Friends have done enough work with the ships of the Silent Fleet that we’re about as good with them as we’re ever going to get.”
“And they are damned fine ships,” Wei-Ping said. “I can only imagine how good they’d be as privateers.” She gave a dreamy smile.
Benzel held up a hand. “Before anyone gets bent out of shape about that”—he gave Ragsdale a look and got a narrow-eyed gaze in return—“Wei-Ping means that in a purely…abstract sense. It’s just a way of emphasizing how bloody good those ships are. Isn’t that right, Wei-Ping?”
“Oh—uh, well yeah. Of course. Purely hypothetical.”
“Trouble is, we’re starting to feel—” Benzel paused and looked at Wei-Ping.
“Underemployed,” she said.
“Yes, exactly. Underemployed. And you remember what I said about letting the Gentle Friends get bored, Dash, don’t you.”
“I do.” Dash crossed his arms. “Custodian, how are the Forge’s defenses? We’ve been keeping the Silent Fleet here to protect it, but does it need that sort of protection anymore?”
In answer, a holographic image appeared, showing a broad expanse of star field. Dash stared at it, puzzled, then opened his mouth to ask what they were supposed to be seeing. But the view zoomed in until it had resolved a roughly dumbbell-shaped mass of rock and ice. A few tenuous wisps of vapor puffed away from it in straight, conical jets.
“It’s a comet,” Benzel said.
Everyone nodded. Dash still didn’t get it.
“This comet is currently on a long, highly eccentric orbit around this system’s star.”
“Leira’s Star,” Leira said, smiling. Now, everyone looked at her, and she shrugged. “It’s a working title.” She raised a hand. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Anyway, this comet is currently inbound,” Custodian went on. “It will reach the vicinity of this station in about fourteen months. Five of its orbits from now, there is a seventy percent chance it will strike the nearby gas giant, and a two percent chance it will impact the Forge.”
“What’s the period of its orbit?” Conover asked.
“Approximately sixty-eight years.”
“So there’s a two percent chance it’ll be a problem in—what, three hundred and forty years?” Amy said. “Ooh, we’d better start evacuating!”
“I only chose this comet for the demonstration because it is a large body—three-point-two kilometers on its long axis—and a complex one, being unconsolidated dust, rock, and ice.”
“Custodian,” Dash said. “This is all very interesting, but what—”
A rippling series of dazzling flashes erupted from the holo image and lasted about two seconds. When they ceased, the comet was simply gone.
Silence hung for a moment, then Harolyn looked at Amy and said, “Cancel that evacuation, I guess.”
“No kidding,” Dash said.
“That was the Forge’s point defense system. Allow me to replay that in a slower time frame,” Custodian said.
The comet reappeared. Even spread over ten seconds, it was still hard to follow the barrage of energy blasts that first blew the comet apart, then progressively blew apart the resulting chunks, then vaporized the remaining fragments.
“Those weapons must have fired at least two dozen times in a couple of seconds,” Wei-Ping said, her usually sardonic tone gone, replaced by simple awe.
“Actually, that was a single point defense battery,” Custodian replied. “It is similar to the nova cannon on the Swift, translating its shots through unSpace to give them an effectively zero time of flight. There are now forty such batteries operational.”
“And that’s with this station at only thirty percent power,” Ragsdale said.
Benzel rubbed his chin. “Well crap. What the hell do you need us for, then?”
“This system is too bulky, and its power demands are too high to be effectively mounted in a ship. Even the Swift’s nova gun has a far slower rate of fire.”
“Meaning it’s great for protecting the Forge,” Dash said, narrowing his eyes in thought. “The Forge is great as an anvil, taking the Golden hits. We—that is, the mechs and the Silent Fleet and all the other stuff we’re deploying—are the hammer hitting them back. We need both to be one hundred percent. But neither of them are.”
Dash wandered over to one of the beds of plants and brushed his fingers along something he knew was probably corn but hybridized into something much bigger and lusher than the usual variety. As the others muttered among themselves, Dash took a moment to let the things he’d just learned drift through his mind and settle into the bigger context of their war against the Golden, for the future of the galactic arm.
They had enough food and space for many more people than were currently part of their…alliance, for lack of a better word.
Between its own defensive systems and the ever-growing minefields being sown around the Forge in a stable orbit, the station was now capable of defending itself. And it would only get more capable, as it was progressively powered up.
With every new slug of Dark Metal they recovered and brought back to the Forge, its fabrication output increased.
Benzel wanted a more meaningful, proactive role for the Gentle Friends and the Silent Fleet.
He turned back to the group. “Custodian, give us a star map, centered on the Forge and going—I don’t know
, let’s say five hundred light years in the galactic plane.”
The holo image flickered, becoming what Dash had requested. A multitude of star systems, some inhabited, most not, shimmered across the star map. Dash walked around it then looked back through it at Leira on the other side.
He swept his hand, indicating the map in what he meant to be a decisive way. “Leira, what do you see?”
“A star map.”
“Succinct as always. Try looking a little deeper than that. Work with me, here.”
Leira stepped toward the map, studying it. After a few seconds, she nodded. “Open star systems,” she said, picking up his intent.
He nodded. “We have a cause—keeping the galactic arm alive. We know our mission—defending against the Golden and defeating them. Now, we need—”
“A name,” Harolyn said. “A name, and symbols to go with it, like a flag. Something for people to rally around to join our cause.”
Ragsdale gave a firm nod. “And something for enemies to fear.”
“Something permanent,” Dash said, nodding in turn. “Wherever our flag flies is a place where life will hold control, not the Golden.” He looked back at the plants around them, rich and verdant, then turned back. Energy and purpose filled him, like the energy from a power core. “When people first went to the stars, what was the name of the ship? The one that went plus-light for the very first time?”
Viktor answered. “The Cygnus. Named after an old legend. A large bird that could fly high and long distances, I believe.”
Dash considered that, then smiled. “Custodian, record this. As of now, the Forge is at the center of our new—let’s call it a realm. A place for humanity, for all life, to thrive. It’s the Realm of Cygnus, and we’re at the heart of it. The Forge is its capital, and we’re its first citizens.”
He saw the others whispering or muttering the name, trying it out for the first time. A few nods followed; no one objected.
“That leaves one thing for us to do,” Dash said.
“What’s that?’ Leira asked in a way that suggested she already suspected the answer.
“We grow. We expand the Realm of Cygnus. And we do it at the expense of the Golden, and anyone else who stands in our way.”
3
Dash, flanked by Benzel and Leira, watched the holo image Custodian had projected onto the gallery overlooking the fabrication plant. The automated manufacturing systems still whirred and hummed, articulated arms swinging and flexing as more mines and drones were placed into tractor fields and whisked away for deployment. Custodian had wanted to show them the product of one particular assembly, though. One that was producing a new missile.
“The target I have selected is another comet. This one is in the Oort Cloud surrounding Leira’s Star, on a circular orbit that never brings it starward,” Custodian said.
“Doesn’t sound like much of a threat then,” Benzel said.
“I have selected it not because of any threat it poses, but because it is so distant from this station. A conventional missile would take at least an hour to reach it. Even then, it is at such a missile’s extreme range.”
“Go ahead, Custodian,” Dash said. “Show us what you’ve got.”
“I am firing the new missile now,” Custodian said.
Two or three seconds passed, then the distant comet vanished in a titanic flash of light. Dash actually winced at the sudden brightness, before the holo image toned it down.
“Well, holy shit,” Benzel said. “That was one hell of a blast.”
“The missile was armed with an antimatter warhead. The number of such warheads available is limited by the Forge’s ability to produce antimatter in its particle colliders. The blast radius is also such that it is only suited for long-range engagements.”
“Long-range fights using this missile, which obviously travels faster than light,” Leira said.
“Yes. This new missile has a trans-luminal capability.”
Dash crossed his arms and whistled. “Okay, that is one damned powerful weapon. What’s it called?”
“The schematics for the missile, which were among the data retrieved from the Creator’s archive on Brahe, indicated no name. The only identifier was a numeric one.”
“Well, we can’t call something that kick-ass a one-two-three-four, or whatever,” Dash replied. “Since two comets have given their lives for us now, let’s call this missile the Comet—you know, a sort of tribute.”
“A tribute to inanimate celestial bodies seems rather pointless.”
“Indulge us, Custodian,” Dash said. “Naming things gives them power. And”—he held up a hand— “before you say something like power is derived from generators, not names—I know that. It’s a different sort of power.”
“I knew that. I am not entirely unable to understand your various idioms.”
“I think you hurt his feelings,” Leira said in a stage whisper.
“That is irrelevant, because I have no feelings to hurt,” Benzel said, mimicking Custodian with a mischievous grin.
“Anyway,” Dash said. “We have the Comet, a powerful new weapon system. I can see using some of them to defend the Forge, especially the ones with antimatter warheads.”
“Yeah, I have to admit, the idea of someone firing those into a battle I’m involved in makes me a little nervous,” Leira said.
“Custodian, I’m assuming we can make as many of the actual Comet missiles as we want, right?” Dash asked.
“To the extent the raw materials are available, yes. The antimatter warheads are much more limited. Currently, we have six and can manufacture approximately one more per week, while ensuring sufficient antimatter is available for fuel for the various drones and ships that require it.”
Dash looked over the railing at the Comet missile laid out on the fabrication facility’s floor. “It’s a pretty damned big missile. Too big for the mechs, I think.”
“The Archetype would require significant modification to mount them, the Swift even more so,” Custodian said.
“The Silent Fleet, though, is perfect for them,” Dash replied, turning to Benzel. “Work with Custodian to get the Comets mounted on your ships, starting with the Herald.”
Benzel gave a wicked grin. “Carry those into battle? Yes, please!” He laughed and gave Dash an elaborate salute. “Yes, sir. I’ll get the Herald brought in right away to get them loaded.”
Dash grinned and offered a pretend salute back, then turned to Leira. “Meantime, Conover wants to see us in the War Room. Apparently, he’s got an idea he wants to run past us.”
They left Benzel rallying the Gentle Friends on the comm to start getting the Silent Fleet outfitted with the new missiles. As they made their way to the War Room, Leira gave Dash a keen look.
“Have you noticed we now have a chain of command?” she asked.
“Yeah, I have.”
“I guess I’m your second in command.”
“Which makes me the commander.” Dash shook his head. “How the hell did that happen?”
“You’re the Messenger.”
“Yeah, that just pushes the same question back a step. How the hell did that happen?”
“Sentinel can’t tell you? She’s the one that turned you into the Messenger.”
“Because I was the one who found the Archetype. That’s all she knows. Whoever found it would be the Messenger, and when joined, given the Meld.” He shrugged. “That just makes me phenomenally lucky—or unlucky.”
“I think there’s more to it than that.”
“What? Fate? Two hundred thousand years ago, the Unseen somehow picked me to be the Messenger and then engineered things to make it happen? My sparkling personality?”
“Do you really believe it was just random chance, Dash?”
“Yes. I tell myself that every day.”
“Really?”
They entered one of the Forge’s elevators. The doors closed, then it vibrated slightly, the only indication it had accelerated them to w
hat Conover once estimated to be over two hundred kilometers per hour. Dash looked at Leira and shrugged.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, I think it probably was just chance, yes. Because every time I start thinking it was somehow preordained, or prophesied or whatever, to be me—I don’t know. I just can’t buy it. Not entirely, anyway.”
“Before all this started, when your life was just running cargo on razor-thin margins with the Slipwing, would you have bought”—she gestured around them— “well, any of this?”
Dash shrugged again. His thoughts had already traveled this particular space lane many times, and more so recently. Leira was right, of course. Not that long ago, just the idea of the Unseen, and the Golden, and their war, would have seemed like something out of a holo novel. So was the idea that some force—whether you called it fate, or the long-term machinations of the Unseen, or something else altogether—had brought him to find the Archetype and become the Messenger.
But here he was, riding an alien elevator at two hundred kph through an alien space station as big as a small moon, using the tech from a race that built things out of rare materials, including a giant mech that he piloted in a war against vicious aliens.
Fate?
Nah. Almost certainly not.
Almost certainly.
There was another faint tremor under their feet, then the doors opened.
“Well, however it happened, here I am, and here you are, and here everybody else is,” Dash said, leading the way to the War Room. “For now, that’s going to have to be good enough.”
“Still makes you our commander,” Leira replied.
“Oh, don’t think for a second I’m not really, really aware of that.”
Conover waited in the War Room for them, Viktor and Amy with him. It struck Dash that, also not that long ago, this was it: the five of them, the Archetype, and the Slipwing were the whole Unseen war effort against the Golden. They’d come a long way since.
But they still had a long way to go yet.
“Okay, Conover, you sounded excited about whatever you wanted to show us,” Dash said. “Whatcha got?”
