by Barry Kirwan
"Mortal. Well that’s good news. Stay dead, you sonofabitch!"
He stumbled through the debris and the snowstorm of dust that smelt like coal falling all around, returning to the hole that the ND-induced earthquake had sealed to a crack no more than a fist wide.
"Pierre, can you hear me? Pierre!" He waited. He thought he heard something, but it was difficult to tell. At last the rocks settled through the chamber. After a few moments he heard a voice, depressingly far away.
"C-Captain! I’m down here – my leg’s broken in at least two places, but I’m alive. It’s not a compound break, but some internal bleeding. I’ve travelled pretty far, quite a ride. I believe this was a passage once, very steep. Can you hear me?"
Hell! There’s no way I can get to him through solid rock. "Yes Pierre – I can hear you, but you sound distant. Have you taken the trimorph?" He thought he heard a shaky laugh.
"Very much so."
Blake was grateful these latest drugs didn’t impair mental functioning like the old pain-killers, though the initial shock-negating euphoric effects had evidently kicked-in.
"Is there light down there – can you see anything?" There was no reply. Blake worried he might have blacked out. "Pierre – can you hear me?"
"Yes. Yes, I hear you. Some light. The passage carries on down from here. Can you get a rope to me? The hole might just let it fall down to where I can reach it."
Blake had to decide whether to tell Pierre the truth or not. "Pierre – do you see another passage, another way up?"
Again a pause. "Hole closed up?"
Blake remembered who he was dealing with, and respected Pierre’s intelligence. He shouted back down the crack. "Afraid so."
"How’s our alien friend up there. Maybe you’d better get out of the chamber."
"Dead, as far as I can see." Blake looked around. Several eggs had been smashed. An odor like rotting salmon reached him.
"Captain. There’s only one way out here. The passage going further down – that’s where the light is coming from. I think I’ll check it out, while I can still crawl."
Blake’s heart was thumping. ‘Pierre – wait.’ He fought hard to think of a solution, but knew there was nothing he could do, at least not alone. He heard a clicking noise from across the chamber. The ceiling light was beginning to fade, so he couldn’t see what it was. "Pierre – just wait there a few minutes – I need to go check something out."
"Sure."
Blake guessed that the trimorph was not completely blocking the pain. That meant Pierre was trying to occupy himself to take his mind off it. But Blake needed to know this place was secure so he could come back with help. He moved over to one of the taller-than-him ruddy-brown eggs and inspected it. There was an intermittent vibration, and a dull scraping noise. The shell wall was opaque, but Blake’s torchlight highlighted dark blue veins the size of his forearm just beneath its thick gnarled surface. The egg shivered again. Almost hatching time. He walked over to one of the eggs smashed by ceiling debris. The remnants of the egg revealed the crushed body of a fully-formed Q’Roth – there were some minor differences to the guardians, but it was obviously mature enough to hatch. He and the others, especially Pierre, were almost out of time. He jogged back to the gap, careful not to trip on the loose rocks.
"Pierre – you still there?"
A small, hollow laugh. "I went for a stroll but I’m back again."
Blake guessed Pierre had taken the entire trimorph dose. He decided to give him the whole picture. "The hole is almost sealed, and it’s solid rock – I’m not sure we can get through it with the tools we have here. And the eggs – they’re close to hatching." Blake bit his lip during the inevitable pause.
"What’s the bad news?"
Blake stared up the cliff face and vidded it, just before the light sputtered out. He put the goggles back on.
"Sir – I’m going to see where the light goes. The ND – I’m guessing it went off – the desert will grow really fast now. You should get off Eden while you can, and warn Earth from orbit." His voice sounded far away, weak.
Blake looked down at the small fissure, and felt a sharp pang in his chest. His right hand began to tremble. He made a fist with it and squeezed it hard with his other hand. Shit! Don’t make me do this! Various scenes flashed through his mind – his last encounters with the General; his private parting with his sick wife Glenda; the speech he’d made before departing Zeus I. So many reasons to do as Pierre had stated: the mission; mission before men, his creed since he’d enlisted. And he’d never once failed in his duty before – never. But the memory that kept intruding was of his dead son, Robert, the last time he’d seen him alive, back on the ranch, laughing in the sunshine atop a combine harvester, and then lying dead in a pool of blood in Kurana Bay. He’d always feared the day would come when he could no longer make the necessary sacrifices. He recalled the General’s words about why he’d been picked to lead the Ulysses. But then he remembered his mentor’s earlier advice at his wedding, to consider the options and then follow his heart. Blake made up his mind. His right hand stilled. He bent forward and bellowed through the crack.
"Pierre! You listen to me, real good. Are you listening?"
An uncertain "Yes, Sir," filtered through the gap.
"I’m not leaving Eden without you. Do you understand?"
"Sir – nice of you to offer, but we both know –"
"Have you ever, ever known me to lie?"
Silence.
"So, you go down that passage, you follow the light, and look for another way out. But if there’s nothing, you crawl your ass back to where you are now in six hours. Have you got that?"
"Oui… Yes, Sir." Pierre’s voice was taut.
"One more thing. I’m going to drop my trimorph kit through the crack and see if it gets to you. I just need to wrap it in something to make it roll better. I’ll stick a strobe on it to help you find it." After a minute he had arranged the small package and dropped it through the hole.
"Okay, it’s on its way." Blake waited. He heard the first few bounces then it was quiet.
"I see it… Merde!" Pierre laughed. ‘It’s bounced right down the passage toward the light."
"Well, you now have some motivation to crawl in that direction. You’d better get going."
"Yes, Sir… And thank you, Captain."
Blake stood up. "Thank me later. Get going." He looked round through the vid-vision goggles, then down at the hole, and sighed. Probably two meters of solid rock, he thought, and a whole host of hungry Q’Roth stirring in their eggs, and a near-radioactive desert heading this way. And if he’s bleeding internally he’ll go into shock, lose consciousness and die. And I may have just lost Kat, too…
But as he began climbing the ledge, he thought of his promise to Pierre. Had he made it in the heat of the moment? Would Zack persuade him that the mission – that warning Earth – was the priority? Would Kat, if still alive? He realized they wouldn’t – if he said they must leave, they would follow his orders; and if he said they wouldn’t leave without Pierre, they’d stay. He knew what their preference would be. He prayed that Glenda, and the General would understand the choice he’d just made.
But the one whose comprehension mattered most, was Robert. He paused on the rock face. "Sorry, Son, duty’s second now. A little late for you, I know." He took a breath and resumed, climbing faster.
As he neared the top, clambering upwards more by feel than using the navcon imaging system which was now hopelessly incorrect, he imagined being court-martialed for jeopardizing the mission. He almost laughed at himself. Why on Earth – no, why in hell was he worrying about a court-martial? He’d most probably be dead in the next twelve hours.
Chapter 38
Kidnap
Micah and Sandy killed time in an anonymous beige waiting room, failing to find a comfortable position on the worn leather chairs lining two of the walls. An old-style wooden ceiling fan creaked just fast enough that he couldn’t be sure how many
blades it had. In the high-ceilinged room, it failed to stir the air with conviction, serving little useful function other than distraction.
Sandy had chosen a seat on the opposite wall from Micah. He welcomed the space. He and Antonia had been separated several hours earlier, and he’d debriefed Vince on what Louise had confirmed about the ships – the coming invasion. Despite a muted shouting match behind closed doors between Vince and a doctor, Micah had been given a second booster. Micah hadn’t protested; after what he’d seen via the Optron, a small risk of long-term infertility paled insignificantly against the prospect of an imminent invasion – he needed to be working at full capacity if he was to survive.
Sandy was oddly quiet – he didn’t know her that well, but enough to recognize that some extreme event had come to pass. For the first hour she’d been wearing a ragged dress, then she’d left for half an hour and come back in a hospital gown, and then an hour ago they had given her some Chorazin clothes. Unfortunately, the sight of a woman in Chorazin uniform reminded him of Louise. He hadn’t dealt with any of the conflicting emotions about her sudden death – shock, grief, anger, loss, and hate – but the over-riding emotion was relief. He’d stepped briefly onto a roller-coaster without any safety nets, and was lucky to still be breathing.
Two other issues swamped his mind: the Antonia situation – or, rather, non-situation – and the revelation that the Eden Mission building was now a heap of charred rubble and glass.
The booster had helped him straighten his thoughts, but he needed to talk to Vince, who’d promised he’d be back in an hour, four hours ago.
Sandy spoke up, without looking at him, eyes staring straight ahead at the wall.
"Did you know Gabriel?"
He thought at first she meant someone at work. Then it dawned on him, because he’d overheard Vince use that name. "The Cleanser?"
She nodded.
He shifted in his seat. "Well, not really. I mean the time I spent with him wasn’t exactly social, if you know what I mean."
She didn’t smile or nod, just sat, leaning forward, hands on her knees, eyes fixed on the blank wall. A nurse came in and knelt down beside her. She whispered some things that Micah couldn’t hear, mainly because they were in Spanish, which Sandy evidently spoke fluently. The nurse handed her a small folded slip of paper and put her hand on her shoulder. Sandy whispered, graçias as the nurse rose and left.
Micah decided to risk the question. "What’s going on, Sandy? If you don’t mind me asking."
"I know he wasn’t obviously a good man – you know, assassin, and all that. But did you feel he was – that he followed a code, that he had…" She swallowed. "Honor?"
Micah sensed the need in her questioning. "Well, he was professional, that’s for sure. He was a Cleanser – it’s the toughest training system in the world, so I’m told – well, by the vids, you know – but I suppose, yes – he seemed highly disciplined. I knew that whatever he said he would do. He had complete control over me to be honest, and I don’t think he could have done that if he wasn’t completely in command of himself." Micah leant back. This was all a little weird. He’d seen Gabriel in action, and it still made his blood run cold.
Sandy stood up and walked to his side of the room and sat down, a few seats away, and stared at him. He noticed her eyes lacked the full-on self confidence he had seen there before.
"I’m carrying his child, Micah. He made me pregnant this morning, just before he died."
Micah was glad he hadn’t been drinking anything – he would have choked. Once he got over the shock, his first instinct was to ask her if she would have an abortion; the current laws would grant it in a second, as they would assume it was non-consensual. He realized that she had placed him, for whatever reason, in the role of judge and jury, right here, right now. She locked him there in that gaze, demanding an answer. Somewhere inside his brain, the booster-energized neurons connected in a way that enabled him to see what she needed to hear.
"You cared for him, didn’t you? I mean, in that moment?"
She lowered her gaze. "Can you care for someone you’ve just met who was trying to kill you a couple of days ago?"
His mind instantly switched to Louise, then he backed up – Sandy probably didn’t even know Louise was dead. But it was ironic – he and Sandy, right now at any rate, had a lot in common.
She continued. "There seemed such sadness in him. He took lives, I know, but … Oh, I don’t know Micah. It’s stupid. Forget it."
Micah stood up and walked over to her chair, then squatted in front of her, his face level with hers. The words came out of their own accord.
"You could keep it, you know. It would be like a second chance for him."
Her eyes tore at his, and for a brief moment he glimpsed beneath the front to the vulnerable person hidden beneath. He wondered if he should try and hug her or place his hand on hers – he had so little experience. He thought she might cry, but instead she sniffed, nodded, pulled her knees up to her chest, and cradled her shins. He got up and sat on the chair next to her, staring at the opposite wall.
Neither of them said another word.
Micah listened to the rhythmic swishing of the fan to subdue the clamouring thoughts of the impending Q’Roth invasion, and drifted off, oblivious to the fact that Sandy’s sleepy head rested on his shoulder.
Micah’s consciousness flicked on at the sound of harsh footsteps approaching. He glanced at his wristcom – two more hours had passed. Sandy was already awake. Vince strode in carrying a backpack and a small black book – an actual book. Micah detected a momentary hesitation in Vince’s step as he saw him and Sandy side by side, but had no clue as to whether Vince thought this was good or bad. Nor did Vince start with an apology for being six hours late.
"We need another Optron, Micah. Where can we find one?"
He pondered for a moment, his head still clearing. "NLA Tech – they have one. It’s more experimental, but it works on the same principles. MIT’s is better but further away."
Vince lifted his wristcom to his mouth – "NLA Tech – twenty minutes, tell them to get it ready… Well, wake them up then!"
He turned to Micah and tossed him the backpack.
"Put these on."
Micah opened the bag to see it contained a grey Chorazin uniform. He nearly dropped it onto the floor. Then he just shrugged. Why not? He stood up and was about to head for the door when Vince stopped him.
"Change here, we don’t have time. She’s seen you before and I’m not interested."
Micah frowned but shifted to the side of the room to change, as Vince turned to Sandy, who had not even acknowledged him yet.
Vince said something to her in Spanish. Micah wondered if he was the only person in NLA who didn’t speak Spanish.
He saw her face raise, defiant. "Si,’ she said. It was clear to Micah that Vince didn’t approve, but he nodded acceptance, and held out his hand to ask her to stand up. Micah was fumbling with his new underwear, and just at the critical moment, they both turned to him, and watched inappropriately, Sandy folding her arms, head cocked to one side.
"Is the booster working properly?"
"I’m not sure," Vince replied. "That doctor was disagreeable. He may have slipped him a placebo."
Micah, underpants now in place, snapped back at them. "Pack it in, will you?"
Once dressed, Vince gestured for Sandy to stand next to Micah, while he began searching for something on his wristcom.
Sandy leaned over to Micah, and whispered. "Such a fuss over a little thing."
He gave a short laugh. "Glad to see you’re feeling better. And yes, the booster is working fine, thank you very much."
"Don’t hit on pregnant women, Micah. Bad form."
"Okay you two.’ Vince broke in, "Put both your hands on this book and repeat after me."
"What?" Micah said. "You’re not serious!"
Vince’s poker face invalidated Micah’s remark. "Listen up, both of you. Louise was an Alician ag
ent. I have a serious security breach, and since most of my people reported to her directly, I’m swearing you both in. The few people I do still trust are carrying out more demanding orders, if it makes you feel better. And before you ask, you have no choice, I’ve been granted additional temporary powers under the National Security rules."
Micah fidgeted, while Sandy stood resolute, accepting it already. A thought occurred to him. "Did you swear in Antonia too?"
"Not a placebo after all," Sandy murmured.
"As a matter of fact, yes."
"What’s her mission?"
"Not your concern. Now, may we proceed? There’s a matter of some urgency to take care of."
Micah knew he had some bargaining power. It was probably his last opportunity, and he needed to put something right. He straightened up.
"I want my father’s jacket."
Vince flared. "Now it’s you who can’t be fucking serious. Stop screwing around and get on with it."
Micah folded his arms. "You need me, or we wouldn’t be here. And you need me much more than you realize. What’s more, you need me voluntarily, for due process I suppose. I want the jacket."
"Do you have any idea how difficult that’s going to be?" Vince’s forearm muscles flexed.
"Definitely not a placebo." Sandy said. "And Vince – do you know how beautiful you are when you’re angry?"
"Christ!" Vince closed on Micah. "Why? Why is it so important – or are you just trying to screw me over here?"
Micah stood his ground. "Because – and it’s not the booster, Sandy – it’s because I never got a chance to understand my father, nor him me. We parted on bad terms – shitty terms if you must know – and he’s long dead now. So, when I die in the next few days, which is pretty much my conclusion on the future for all of us, I want his jacket, the only meaningful part of him I have left, on my back."
Sandy’s hand moved to touch Micah’s. She jutted her chin at Vince. "Do it, Vince. Impress me."
Vince clenched his teeth, turned, and kicked a metal stool right across the room, clanging noisily against the wall. A nurse appeared at the doorway, but evacuated after a withering look from Vince. He put his hands on his hips, breathed out heavily, and then smoothed down his Chorazin tunic, and lifted his wristcom to his mouth. While he spoke he glared into Micah’s eyes.
