Randolph Lalonde - Spinward Fringe Broadcast 08 - Renegades

by Randolph Lalonde

  As Ayan took her place at the head of the table, a woman with long, multi-coloured hair and bright blue eyes took a place beside Liam at the opposite end. She was Tyra Kim, Liam Grady’s immediate underling in for the position of South Haven Shore Representative. “Glad you could fit us into you busy schedule, Commander,” she said.

  “Careful, or you’ll drool venom all over the table,” Lacey muttered under her breath. Iloona squeezed her eyes shut as if to hold a chuckle in. The British Alliance observer, Sunny, looked at Lacey briefly, raising an eyebrow in comment on her inappropriateness.

  Ayan was preparing to ask what they had been summoned for in her most passive tone when Liam Grady spoke up. “Early this morning, I was approached by a concerned constituent who had heard a rumour that I’ll be leaving Haven Shore and the Rega Gain System.” Tyra stared at Ayan, her lips pressed into a white line, brows furrowed and jaw flexing as Liam spoke. Liam pressed on. “This is true. I was quietly making preparations, getting my office in order so succession could be seamless, but someone must have discovered my intentions early. My plan was to depart a few days after the vote and leave a good interim public servant in my place.”

  “If you leave, our connection to Earth, though scant, will be gone entirely,” said the Carthan Observer, Cory Greene. “I don’t approve, and we will not permit it.”

  Ayan failed to catch a rueful laugh before it escaped from between her lips. She managed to cut it short but not before it had drawn everyone’s attention. The whole situation was so ridiculous that laughter had somehow become the only sane response. Thanks to a few malcontents, Ayan had been virtually hoisted up as the enemy to Liam Grady after they drifted apart and broke things off romantically. It was true that she wanted little to do with him, but she respected his philosophy, education, and engineering prowess. He was also very well liked by Haven Shore civilians, and people like Tyra, with her accusing eyes, led the anti-Ayan brigade with irrational vigour, no matter how Liam tried to temper her efforts. Cory Greene, the Carthan Representative, who had inspired her laughter, was an irritant, but he made it obvious that he didn’t like her either. His largest problem was that he didn’t find much evidence that she was qualified to be the Military Liason. He refused to acknowledge that she carried memories of a predecessor with command and diplomatic training. She didn’t let him or the Carthans get anything from Haven Shore that they didn’t earn, and they were constantly trying to renegotiate for more than they deserved. It didn’t help that she found his observer post laughable in the first place.

  “Did I say something funny?” asked Cory Greene, slowly turning towards Ayan.

  “You’re an observer here,” Ayan said. “Please keep your comments to yourself.”

  “They’re not comments,” Cory Greene insisted. “The Carthan Government is still the primary holder of power in the space around Tamber and-“ he stopped, wide eyed as he watched Ayan slowly raise her finger and place it across her lips, in a shushing gesture.

  Victor Davis and the British Alliance Observer, Sunny Zinnes, were both doing their best to suppress grins at Cory Greene’s silent outrage.

  “I want to be the first to say that Haven Shore needs strong leadership,” Ayan said, ignoring Tyra, who rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “You’ve been there for your constituents, Liam, and you’ve been good on the council. Is there anything we can do to convince you to remain here?” Ayan felt as though she was lying by putting on a brave face and asking him to stay, when it was against her every instinct. It was the right political manoeuvre, however, and he was good for Haven Shore.

  “I’m afraid not. Over the last few months, it’s become plain to me that Haven Shore, the Triton, and even the Warlord seem to have things in order, even though there is still danger on your doorstep. Meanwhile, there are billions of people in this galaxy who are much more in need of help. I plan on taking a spaceliner coreward, to one of the interior systems that were hardest struck by the Holocaust Virus. There will be people to teach, homes to rebuild, and I feel I’ll be of best use there. I’m sorry if this displeases anyone in Haven Shore, but it’s time for me to move on. Since the word is out, and my hope of a clean good-bye is gone, I’ll be leaving today. My second, Tyra Kim, is prepared to take my place and run my office.” He bowed and began saying his personal farewells, turning to Mischa Konev first, who hugged him with great fondness. Sunny Zinnes shook his hand and wished him luck. Victor Davis did the same, adding, “You’re going to tell us how you’re doing once you get comms up.” It wasn’t a question. Liam Grady then wished Iloona and her family the best, and she told him to have a safe journey.

  Ayan felt as though there was a brick turning slowly in her stomach as Liam Grady said an obligatory farewell to Cory Greene, who looked as though he had a fiercely bitter taste in his mouth. Tyra was behind him for every step, and she looked away as Liam Grady regarded Ayan. “I’ve tried to say this more than once in messages,” he said to her in a hushed tone. “And this will be the last chance, so I hope I get it right. I was near you when you needed the help and care of a friend and mentor. Your instinct was to get as close to someone you trusted as you could, so you could feel safe and alive again.”

  Ayan hated him for using that warm, comforting tone with her, but bystanders seemed to fade away as tears threatened to come. The onrush of emotion surprised her; he was bringing back all the hurt she felt over their failed relationship. Even though she regretted the whole thing, they did have some good moments together. Ayan tried to hold on to what she thought they had, but within a few weeks after New Year’s Eve, it became plain that there was no making it feel right, and they were already drifting apart despite the good times and comfort they had at first. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. He normally looked a little less than fifty years old, even though he was over seventy. As she looked at him then, he looked weary, wearing more years than she’d noticed before.

  He continued his farewell, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I took you in the wrong kind of embrace, and I’m more sorry than I can say. I could go on for hours about what I should have done to support you in that time, but that wouldn’t change my mistake. The only solace I have is our short time together, and the lessons you taught me. You’re a boundlessly magnificent woman, and I have no doubt that you’ll only get better with age. Goodbye.”

  It felt as though her head were throbbing, a few escaping tears ran hot down her cheeks and her jaws were clenched so hard she was afraid molars were about to pop. How could he ambush her with this eloquently executed departure? Everything he was saying about their past together rang true. He was admitting to reacting badly when she tried - and succeeded - in getting too close to him just because he was there and she trusted him. He was telling her that he should have countered her instincts, and that the short-lived relationship that followed was wrong, too. How he said it was so condescending that it made her want to scream. To her, it felt like he was telling her that she was once a helpless babe in the woods crying for comfort, for closeness and he caught her, poor clueless Ayan, and took advantage. Hearing herself depicted so aimless, helpless made her want to lash out at him.

  It almost overshadowed the truth she’d come to settle on months after they drifted apart: that he was a good man, and they were wrong for each other. They could have been great friends, and she realised only then, as she stared up at him, furious and hurt, that she expected that they would be on easy talking terms again some day. That promise would die with his departure, and all she could manage to say was, “Good-bye.”

  He waited a moment, looking at her, then slowly closed his eyes and turned away.

  CHAPTER 7

  Over Issel Gulch

  Alice supposed that most of the wilderness fruit pickers she rode with in the transport had never met a ranger. It was a new division based in Haven Shore, and it represented a cooperative training effort between the new Haven Shore Council, the Sunspire, and the Triton. The Rangers would eventually be an elite unit that co
uld take action or give direction in any field. They were sent out on their own to explore the land, learn what scanners couldn’t and make decisions independently. That was the dream, but all the rangers were new, and Haven Shore needed something to trade. The rangers, along with pilots and experts on their regular roster, were outsourced to help the Carthans and several smaller organizations for a fee. The ones that remained behind worked with soldiers to accomplish tasks set out by Haven Shore, like hunting down the remaining framework troops and systems. There had been successes. Thousands of people had been rescued from wrecks long after everyone had lost hope, and framework soldiers were hunted into near extinction. All the rangers suspected that there was one more active Order of Eden bunker, and all of them wanted credit for finding and eradicating it.

  The legend of the rangers was already growing, and Alice was proud to wear the ranger skull logo on her dark green vacsuit. The designation of RANGER was used as the death’s head’s teeth. Ringing the top of the skull were the words: EXPLORATION, LEADERSHIP, ENFORCEMENT, and the only part of the promise of the rangers that intimidated her was leadership. She was far more comfortable with the other logo she bore on her chest. Another silver skull with the word WARLORD written beneath it marked her as a crewmember on her father’s ship. There would be no marked intention above the skull, and that somehow made it more interesting to Alice. No one knew what that ship was for, exactly, and many didn’t want to.

  The fruit pickers and perimeter scouts took two three hour shifts per day, and there were hundreds of them. Alice had never taken a ride into the deep jungle on one of their transports, none of the rangers did, as far as she knew. There were only a few shipwrecks in the vast jungles that were left untouched by the events of the battle for Port Rush. Not many survived those landings, and they were easy to map from above, so there was no need for rangers to venture in.

  The perimeter scouts were a different story. They moved ahead of the pickers, making sure that the big cats, curious monkeys, predator birds, and other wildlife were frightened off. They chose where the pickers would work, set up base camps, and reported on interesting finds in the jungle. The hover truck that carried them all into the jungle down a temporarily placed road between giant tree trunks and heavy vines carried over thirty of them at a pace that seemed meandering.

  Alice almost regretted not keeping her vacsuit’s hood up when she boarded the back of the antigravity truck. Young pickers and their parents smiled at her and whispered to each other. Some of the scouts made a point of ignoring her, perhaps having been rejected as a ranger, while a couple of others closer to her age regarded her with surprise. She didn’t know how to talk to these people, having spent so much time away from Haven Shore, either working on the Warlord or ranging across Tamber. She’d never met a picker before, even though she was well aware that a lot of her food came from the picker camps in the jungle.

  The well-worn passenger bay at the back of the truck jostled and one of the scouts sat down beside her. She was around Alice’s age, had green and yellow hair, and wore a reflective orange vacsuit like the other scouts. “Is there trouble ahead?” Alice’s security system projected the young woman’s name and details into her eye; she was Joslyn Bulmer, and was promoted from picker to scout three weeks ago.

  The scout carried the scent of their surroundings with her as though her vacsuit had been through the thick jungle many times, smelling sweet and earthy. “I’m pretty sure I’m going further in, and what I’m after isn’t armed.”

  “Animal, vegetable, or machine?” asked a young Nafalli who wore bright yellow markers instead of a full vacsuit. His dark brown and grey striped fur was matted here and there but mostly clean – impressive considering his job. “We’ve found a few interesting things in here.”

  All eyes were on her, these were only some of the questions that everyone in the transport were eager to ask. If she were running her mission with Haven Shore’s knowledge, she would have been able to use one of their rebuilt skids, and she wouldn’t have to answer any of their questions. Alice didn’t know how much to tell them, but knew hesitating too long would probably make them worried. “I’m chasing after a lost bot.”

  “Does it think it’s a picker or something?” asked the Nafalli, to the mirth of a few riders.

  “It’s just confused,” Alice replied when things died down.

  “Do you think they’ll still need us when they get the bots working?” asked Joslyn. “Bots probably pick faster than people, right?”

  Alice didn’t know what to say; she hadn’t thought much about the people she hitched a ride with, or what they’d be doing if their job was mechanised.

  “I earned my apartment with this job,” Joslyn said. “My first. I was just a kid before, never earned anything myself,” she said proudly.

  Alice immediately recognized how serious these people were about keeping their place, their functions in Haven Shore. She knew what it was to be lost, to have no home, and she realized then that she was surrounded by former refugees. She considered the desperate need Haven Shore, the Triton, Warlord and all the other ships had for precision workers. Bots were the go-to for that kind of work, and she couldn’t imagine many of them getting assigned to something like picking fruit, when humans, Nafalli and a couple of other rarer races were picking tons a day. If the feedback on Crewcast was to be believed, they didn’t mind the work either. “I really don’t know, but I wouldn’t replace you.”

  “Diplomatic answer,” said the Nafalli with a chuff. “She’ll be off-world soon, Jos. Won’t even think of us when she’s on the Warlord.”

  “Leave her alone,” Joslyn replied. “She’s a ranger, they rescue people.”

  “You feed people,” Alice said without thinking. That attracted more than a few smiles. If the conversation was to pick up after that, Alice would never know. The hover truck came to a stop as they arrived at a mid-tree station.

  The platform surrounding the tree was made of durable stiffened cloth, and it hosted dozens of tents. This was where pickers who wanted more shifts and less travel stayed. Other trucks were pulling up, and a load shuttle was rising up into the trees, its cargo most likely filled with fruit. Alice had tried to get signed onto one as a passenger, but they were off limits – too busy to multitask.

  Everyone disembarked in a practiced fashion. As Alice waited for all of them to pass her so she could get off last, one grizzled man with slicked back hair and a broad face put his hand on her shoulder. It was so large that his fingers reached the bottom of her shoulder blade. “You give ‘em hell for us when you get out there on the Warlord, girl. We’ll keep you fed, you keep the war going.”

  He didn’t wait for a reply. Alice couldn’t think of anything to say anyway. As she stepped out of the transport and checked her tracker for the android, she tried to ignore everything she’d seen. Thousands of people were living vastly different lifestyles in and around Haven Shore, and she didn’t have time to consider them. If she didn’t focus and find that bot soon, Haven Shore would be alerted to the absence, then she’d have to explain why she set out to track the bots down alone.

  CHAPTER 8

  The Last Garrison

  “Stop! They’re running us into a trap!” Remmy Sands shouted after his squad of Haven Shore soldiers. They wore combat vacsuits with a battered layer of heavy armour overtop. The rifles they carried bore the scars of several battles, including the Port Rush siege. The Order Knights and a small band of frameworks were losing, but the Haven Shore Regulars’ personal energy shields were depleted in most cases, and they bought into the lure that the Order Knights had set out.

  In a daring tactical manoeuvre, the Order Knights had sent the last of their framework soldiers directly into the fray when the Haven Shore Regulars, with Remmy advising from the rear, entered the command level of the mobile garrison. It was a suicidal effort on the framework soldiers’ part, and the Haven Shore rifles, modified to destroy framework soldiers specifically, ripped them to shreds in
a forty two second long fire fight. The gambit was working, and Remmy was just starting to see it. The Order Knights sacrificed their lesser soldiers to convince the invading Haven Shore Regulars that they were on the brink of winning, and it worked. The Regulars rushed in as though the Order Knights were just more framework peons.

  An explosion rocked the deck of the mobile garrison, and Remmy watched as smoke and debris was blown down the hall in his direction. The tactical screen on his head's up display indicated that the pair of squad members on point, Irinia and Shawn, were severely injured and immediately drugged into stasis.

  Irinia Chen wouldn’t make it; she’d taken critical head injuries and there wasn’t enough of her left. His remaining team of nine were pulling back, dragging the injured with them hurriedly. Remmy waited, holding his rifle at the ready.

  His tactical systems couldn’t detect their enemies, and that told him all he needed to know about the data room ahead. “The Order Knights have had months to set up their defence here, and I bet they’ve been studying Haven Shore from here the whole time.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Sergeant Ouxo, one of the few Issyrians still serving in the lower ranks.

  “You rushed in before you were ready, before you consulted me,” Remmy said, his mood darkening further at the sight of Irinia. Her vacsuit sealed the stumps of her legs and right arm. The evidence of shrapnel piercing her forehead through her vacsuit was gone, except for the broken slats of her armour overlay. The suit had resealed overtop to help stop the bleeding as she sunk into stasis. Even if they could repair her brain, who knew how much of her personality would be intact? Judging from the emergency medical readout on his head's up display, he guessed she’d have nothing but scraps of memory and her former self left when they finished rebuilding her mind. Another soldier who would have to start over.