by Wen Spencer
She took a deep breath and forced herself to listen.
She floated in the white, silent and serine. After several minutes, she thought she might be hearing something faintly. She focused on it, accepting it, allowing no doubt to come to her mind. This was what she was searching for.
I believe.
And the music filled her white space with blinding white purity. It flooded out into the rest of her, pressing on the boundaries of her skin. Trying to expand her.
God was . . .
God was . . .
She could be . . .
"Paige!" Turk was holding her by both shoulders; her feet dangled above the ground. "Paige!"
She opened her mouth and was amazed that the music swelling inside of her didn't spill out. "I can hear it."
"Hear what?"
"The Shabd." She concentrated on the source and pointed to it. "That way."
Turk gazed down at her, too concerned for her to put her down.
"I'm fine. I can find it. Follow me."
At first she could all but run in a straight line, following the sound. But then, as they neared the source, it grew difficult to narrow down. Turk was using the infiltration scanners on the area she was weaving through, listening closely.
"There's debris all through this area," he said. "It could be here."
"It is! It's close!" Paige realized she was walking in a large circle. "It's somewhere right here."
"Shovels would have been good." Turk said. He moved slowly and carefully, examining each piece of buried debris that the scanner picked out. "Here, what do you think of this piece. It looks intact."
She came to stand beside him, and then got on her hands and knees and pressed her ear to the ground.
"Careful of bugs, honey." Turk said.
She laughed. "I think we found it."
She started to dig in the moist loose soil. Worms and bugs squiggled in panic, trying to escape the sudden excavation of their world. She could sense their fear in little bright motes of terror.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she whispered to them as she continued to dig.
It was less than a foot down. It was an unremarkable looking black box about a foot square.
"Is this is?" Turk eyed the box. "It doesn't look very . . .impressive."
Paige pressed her hand to the slick surface. It filled her with calm, as if the glory of God was leaking into her. "Yes." She took her hand away. It might be dangerous to maintain contact. Surely it would like a moth trying to embrace a flame.
24: Georgetown
"Do you know how much the Georgetown has been modified?" Mikhail asked Orin. "Anything you can tell us would help."
"The crèche is set up in the main hanger bay." Orin pointed out. "It's powered off the engine. It's an effective hostage against everyone in Georgetown. He's spent enough time in our landing to know what it means to us. The crèche isn't banks of frozen eggs and sperm to us. It's our baby brothers and sisters and cousins. Families put in as much genetic material as they take out. There's probably a score of babies in gestation. I have a baby brother there. We would do almost anything to protect it."
The Georgetown people were in a corner. If they attacked Hardin while he was sitting on the power source, he could simply shut down the freezer units on the crèche, destroying what was in storage or currently in the incubators. Only the fetuses very close to full term would survive any loss of power.
"I'm sorry," Mikhail said. "I'll try to protect it as much as possible."
"How is it hooked into the power?" Tseytlin asked.
"I—don't know." Orin said. "I do know that they talked about trying to move it to a different location but power source has always been an issue. We've tried salvaging a few warp engines off smaller ships, but they'd always been too damaged. A few years ago, we started gathering money to have Ya-ya build us a power unit."
"Smaller ship." Mikhail said. "We can use the Tigertail to power it. We fly in, land, run power to the crèche and cut all power to the gun batteries, and then bring in the Svoboda."
And a measure of the trust in him, none of them called him insane. Either that, they were considering his family's historically bloody path in the face of opposition and deeming it wiser not to say it to his face.
* * *
Combat was the only time that Mikhail wished he could clone himself. With Turk on Loki and most of his most trusted staff killed in the crash, Mikhail wanted to be on both the Svoboda and the Tigertail when they engaged Hardin. The mission's success rested on the Tigertail shutting down the Georgetown's many laser cannons; Mikhail decided to head up that team. He took with him Tseytlin, Orin Bailey, Ensign Inozemtsev, and what he had left of Reds. With the bridge, they'd lost the Svoboda's main pilot and backup. Lieutenant Belokurov was the only one left that could handle the Svoboda's unwieldy controls in combat situations. That meant Mikhail would have to pilot the Tigertail.
Luck rode with them. It was drizzling as they approached Georgetown Landing. They came in fast and low to the waves, flying in full stealth mode. At thirty kilometers, they'd be in range of the Georgetown guns. Every second they were undetected, the better the chance they'd actually survive.
The ocean was a blur of gray as Mikhail pushed the Tigertail to its limits. The Georgetown loomed far in the distance like a sleeping god.
"We're in range." Tseyltin murmured as they crossed into the cannon's range. A moment later he said, "We've been spotted. Energy spikes on all batteries. Incoming!"
Mikhail jerked the Tigertail sidewise and up. Like guided lightening, the cannon fire cut through the rain. The first strike missed, so close and brilliant that it filled the cockpit with light and a second later there was the thunder as the superheated air sent out shockwaves.
Mikhail weaved as the cannon fire continued to slash through the gray. The thunder became unending. They were hit and the Tigertail shuddered in his hands.
"We're losing shielding," Tseyltin's voice was tense with the knowledge that when the shielding was gone, the Tigertail would quickly become a slag of falling metal.
Mikhail could see the open hangers at mid-level of the ship. As Orin promised, the secondary hanger stood open, its doors salvaged. The Georgetown was expanding as they flashed toward it, growing to fill his range of vision. They were almost there. Almost.
The universe was washed to brilliance as they took a direct hit. The Tigertail bucked in his hands as their shields failed. They were almost at the hanger, but he had to slow down, or they'd punch through the hanger's back wall into the heart of the Georgetown. Mikhail slammed the VTOL engines into full braking and aimed at the hanger opening. The Tigertail shuddered like it was going to shake itself apart as its VTOL engines fought its forward momentum.
Brilliance hit them again. His controls went slack. All indicators went red as systems failed. The engines died. They hit the lip of the hanger and skipped and then slid grinding across the steel floor. They slammed into the hanger back wall and stopped.
"We made it!" Tseytlin cried.
"If you want to call that making it, yes." Mikhail checked to make sure all the fire suppressors were working. Foam was gushing out of the VTOL engines. Yes, they were down safe, but the Tigertail wouldn't be taking off again without repairs. He seemed to be specializing in one-way trips lately. At least their power unit was still operating, which meant they could carry out his plan. "Svoboda, we're in. Stand by for my mark."
"Svoboda standing by." Kutuzov answered.
Inozemtsev had the Reds in position. Mikhail drew his service pistol and nodded.
Inozemtsev popped the hatch. "Go, go, go!"
The Reds pour out and made sure the hanger was secure.
The laser batteries were connected to the power units in the engine housing via a main line and two backup lines. They had to cut all three lines. Before they could, they'd have to run power to the crèche in the main hanger bay.
Tseytlin rolled a spool of power lines across the hanger floor, playing out the c
able as it rolled.
Coffee was on the door to the main hanger. "It's locked, Captain."
"Blow the door." Mikhail told Tseytlin.
"Wait!" Orin cried pushing through the Reds. "Let me see if I can open it. My family has an access code to the crèche."
Orin punched in a code and the door slid open with dozens of guns leveled at the door. Mikhail jerked Orin back out of the way.
"Hold fire!" Mikhail shouted at his people. Then to the people within the crèche, he shouted, "I'm Captain Volkov of the Svoboda. I'm here to stop John Hardin from leveling this settlement, and as Tsarevich, I've promised that Georgetown Landing will be a free and independent colony of the N.V. Empire and that all adapted from Georgetown will be considered freeborn and fully human."
"You won't be Tsar if you're stuck here!" a woman shouted from inside the creche.
"The Fenrir's engine made it back to Plymouth Station," Mikhail shouted. "That's what Hardin is doing here—he plans to take your engine back. I don't need your engine to return to normal space."
"How do we know you're telling the truth?" the woman said.
Orin put a hand out to keep Mikhail from answering, and called, "Auntie Anna, is that you? It's Orin. He's telling the truth."
"Orin? What are you doing mixed up with this?"
"It's a long story, Aunt Anna, but he's Viktor's clone! He came here on purpose to find the Fenrir. He's a good man."
"Okay, we'll let you in."
Auntie Anna. Viktor's daughter, named after one of Peter the Great's daughter.
Orin went in first, arms high. Mikhail followed behind him.
"Tseytlin, get the power," Mikhail said and then to the people gathered there, he said, "We're setting up an alternate power source for the crèche and then cutting the power to the gun batteries so I can bring in my frigate."
There was a cry of a baby among the machinery.
"We're decanting those that we can, just in case." Anna said. "But only ten of the forty are close enough to term to decant. If Hardin tries to jump out the engine, either this nursery goes with him, or it will be leveled."
Mikhail scanned the room. When the gene banks were new and cranking out Reds and Blue for sale, there had been numbers painted on the gene banks. Each lot would start with the crèche code and then the number of the gene bank that the lot had been pulled from. The gene banks now bore the names of families. Carter. Jamison. Lawson. Bailey. Johnson/McCree. Farther back were the incubators. Each baby was already named. Caroline Carter. Shane Jamison. Heidi Lawson. Viktor Bailey.
Another baby Viktor whose life was in Mikhail's hands.
The tiny fetus was recognizable as a human, complete with fingernails on its miniscule fingers. But he was obviously far too young to survive being taken out of his artificial womb. There were pictures taped to the machines. 'Daddy' was a Red smiling with joy at the camera; such a rare expression to see on a Red. 'Mommy' was a Volkov blonde. And a group picture of the Bailey siblings from the Rosetta. A small stuffed bear sat waiting for the child that now may never be born.
Damn Hardin.
Orin came to stand beside him. "My father was one of twenty boys. He thought six kids wasn't enough. Mom loved him too much to say no, but she hated being pregnant. They have another dozen kids on hold here."
Tseytlin came back. "I've got it set up sir that I can switch over to the new power without disrupting anything here. We kill cut all the power couplers now."
* * *
Mikhail was glad to find that the people of Georgetown Landing weren't completely in a corner. He was getting the impression that cornering an entire settlement of Reds and Blues would be nearly impossible. Those in the crèche had infiltrated up through hidden access points; apparently there were breaks in the underbelly of the Georgetown open to the sea. The Georgies had swum in. There were other Georgies clearing a path for the nearly decanted babies to be carried out. Hardin's crew was scattered wide and were being thinned.
Hardin, however, was locked in the warp drive housing with Mikhail's reds in full combat gear. Ironically, since the terrorist attack on the Queen Mary IV, all warp drive housings on large ships were nearly impenetrable.
"How did he get in?" Orin asked what Mikhail was thinking. "Did you set guards after what happened to Fenrir?"
"Yes, we did. We don't know how he got in. Red Gold came into harbor, dropped anchor next to the engine housing, and next thing we knew, he was in the housing and his men were in control of the guns."
It sounded like how Hardin took his Reds. The 'angel' that Hardin had must have moved Hardin's crew onto the Georgetown. If Mikhail could get onto the Red Gold, he might be able to Hardin's "secret weapon" against him. But it would probably mean, too, exposing himself to the seraphim's mental torture. Was being dragged through his worst memories worth the edge?
He thought of the babies helpless in their artificial wombs. What kind of coward was he that he let them die just to spare him a few dark recollections?
"We need to take the Red Gold." Mikhail clamped down on the fear that facing the seraphim again triggered. "And then we can take Hardin, but we'll have to hurry. He has to realize he's losing control of the situation. He'd jump the moment the modifications are complete."
* * *
Note to self, Mikhail thought, do not piss off the Georgetown people.
In a stunningly short order of time, the Georgies took the Red Gold in an amazing display of abilities. They were not muscle-bound like the crèche-raised Reds, but they were still inhumanly fast and strong and completely ruthless in defending their home. They left nothing for Mikhail's Reds to do but follow him closely as he searched the ship for Eraphie Bailey and Hardin's "angel."
He found Eraphie locked in a tiny closet. She crouched against the closet's back wall, looking battered and wild, and hissed as he opened the door.
"It's okay, Eraphie, its Mikhail. I've come to get you out."
"Mikhail!" She flung herself into his arms. She hugged him hard enough that he worried about ribs breaking. "I was starting to think you didn't get my messages."
"It took me a little while to find them. Where does Hardin have the angel?"
"Down in the forward hold," she released him and took off running, presumably in the direction of the hold. Mikhail followed, dreading having to do so.
* * *
The hold was one vast space stuffed with crates and odd pieces of equipment.
"Are these the engine parts?" Mikhail asked.
"No, no, Hardin's been collecting exotic machines for ages. I think they're peace offerings for the U.C." Eraphie wove through the maze. She disappeared ahead of them. "Here it is."
Mikhail felt the hairs on his arms lift as he walked forward. The quality of the light changed, shifting in invisible waves, like heat coming off hot pavement. But the air was cool, and clean, like a garden after a rain. The smell shifted from damp sea to cut grass to clean bedsheets. He turned the corner after Eraphie and stopped dead.
He'd been braced for a seraphim. This was something else. It writhed in a gaseous sphere held into place by a gleaming cobweb. The creature was as intangible as the seraphim, but seemed smaller by a half. Mikhail could not tell if it was in constant motion, or if it really had as many sets of wings as it seemed to have.
"See?" Eraphie whispered.
"That's not a seraphim," he whispered.
"No, it's a cherub," Eraphie whispered back, although he wasn't sure why they were whispering. "The seraphim are usually close by and will do what Hardin wants because he has it. There."
She pointed and the shadows moved and he realized that a seraphim was coiled in the darkness. Watching. Waiting.
This was the part he was dreading. Opening up his memories and letting the seraphim in. Living through the worse moments of his life to get what he needed.
Mikhail had been angry all that morning. Once again he'd had to get dressed up and attend some infinitely long and boring ceremony while Turk got to stay at home a
nd play. It always seemed unfair that Turk never had to do any of the formal functions. He stomped into the palace and heard the screaming.
Even though his little brother never screamed, Mikhail knew the thin high wails echoing through the vast hallways of the palace were Turk's. The very sound of it filled Mikhail with terror and for a moment he couldn't move. Then he realized something very odd; no one was rushing to see what was wrong. The reds guards by the door stood statue-like at their posts, reacting only to his presence and not to the cries. One of the maids worked in the dinning room, setting the long table for a state dinner. Florist were arranging flowers in the larges vases in the huge foyer. All of the adults seemed deaf to the noise.
