The Blood Service

by Allen Ivers

  Everyone in Vanguard heard that broadcast. Riley had not only lowered their defenses, he wanted everyone to know it. The concentrated resistance immediately dropped all pretense. Robbed of their foe and presented with an apocalypse, they turned on each other in a bacchanal worthy of the end times.

  The city wouldn’t need an alien threat; the Hellmouth would swallow itself.

  “He’s insane,” Aaron said, still processing the message himself.

  “Thought you said they were friendly,” Solomon urged, his voice cracking ever so slightly. Even he tensed at the oncoming storm.

  “Yeah,” Aaron nodded, “But that’s not what Riley thinks. He thinks he just put every man, woman, and child in Vanguard onto a table and rang the dinner bell.”

  “Sounds like him, alright,” Talania sneered. Whatever poetry and political maneuvering she might have once held in such high regard was now dead weight. Not like she was terribly polite before.

  Bray squared up on his former trainee, “No bullshit assessment, Havenes. We have to assume a Jergad strike force is on its way right now, burrowing under the Wall, completely unchecked. How ugly is this night gonna get?”

  All Aaron could think of was Rimpau, that horde of slavering monsters that rose right from nightmares to swallow up his friends. They laid traps, they butchered the wounded, they killed without regret.

  They had so much hate in them.

  “I don’t know.”

  Bray frowned, “Not a good answer.”

  “I don’t know!” Aaron snapped, “I’m not a gulaw soothsayer! They’re gonna do whatever they want. Riley made sure of that.”

  “That’s true,” Keira mused, “But you’re the one with the hotline to God. No idea as to their thinking?”

  Jensen stood up, “This might all be for nothing. The bugs might not even know what’s going on.”

  Aaron cocked his head, that headache swelling and falling again. The Queen was listening like she was right there in the room with them. He could swear he saw Talania's eyes flash that fra ti blue for just a second.

  The Queen had a sense of humor, at least.

  “Oh, they know everything.” What they chose to do with that information was anybody’s guess.

  Bray was increasingly displeased with this concept, rolling his shoulders. Jensen sidled up next to the ol' Gunny, one word in his giant body: Easy.

  “So it’s only one way?” Keira asked, genuinely curious, “They know you, but not…?”

  “I’ll ask again,” Bray said, not letting Jensen’s large frame diminish his position one bit, “How bad is this going to get?”

  “You and I are just going to go round and round with this, aren’t we?” Aaron wondered aloud. It was a little late for Bray to hop off this bandwagon. Perhaps the old man was having second thoughts about tossing his prestigious career down the toilet bowl.

  “Our first priority,” Jensen interjected, “has to be getting the City calmed down.”

  Eden shifted in her seat, “If the Jergad are through, we have to assume the worst. Wake everybody up and get them to the transports.” She leaned over to Talania, “We do have transports, right?”

  Talania didn’t even meet her eyes, “Riley’s not going to let you get a grip on this city. You turn to run, he'll shoot you in the back.”

  “So let Riley pout,” Nora said, shaking her head. “He can bury his head up his ass while we evacuate the-”

  “He has a two-hundred-meter kinetic battery floating in geocentric orbit and he's crazy enough to do it,” Talania hissed at Aaron, her words cutting the air and commanding attention. Aaron never thought he’d meet someone who could silence Nora with a word and a stare, but there it was. “You made a promise, Aaron.”

  Aaron bristled at that almost threat. Maybe the Queen was right to pick Talania for her form. There was so much hate. In them both.

  “It’s not that we don’t want to,” Eden countered Talania’s energy, “We can’t.”

  “When I have a boo-boo, I’ll ask for your opinion.” The group bristled at that, but Talania refused to back down, “No! I know this man. You back out of his face now, and he'll shove you off a cliff.”

  “How’d that work out for you?” Solomon clapped back from his dark corner, before returning to picking at whatever grime or blood was under his fingernails.

  Talania coiled up like a spring under tension. Before, she had been a ball of energy needing direction. Now she was an active explosion at all times, eating her alive. "Suppose you just want to get down on your knees—”

  “Hey!” Aaron barked, a warning, “Don’t start attacking your friends, too.”

  “What’re you going to do, shoot me?” Talania slammed right back, wise-ass till the end — a wise-ass with the high ground.

  Without the consent of the civilian government, he was still a Capital. They all were. He needed her voice if he ever wanted his freedom. She decided how much worth he had.

  Then again, that might’ve been just another empty promise from someone with no intention of keeping it. Didn’t much matter to him. She might grant him freedom for his service; Riley would only grant him more bloodshed.

  He'd take a maybe over a no.

  “Stand easy, Tal." She bristled at the nickname and he hid his wince. Perhaps there was more than the familiarity at play when the Queen chose to emulate the young government agent. "You’re right. We can’t leave Riley unaccounted for. Not with four platoons of angry patriots at our heels."

  "And there's also the added benefit of it being the right thing to do," Talania snarked.

  “Where is he now?”

  Talania rolled out -- was that a sheet of actual paper? Her fingers traced out blotchy lines, and in a few seconds, Aaron recognized the geographical details. “He went to the Mining Pits?”

  Bray nodded, catching on to the thinking, “Aurora’s not a secure facility, never was. And the Forts are all forward toward the Wall. This has controlled access, existing reinforced buildings and terrain. And its supposedly abandoned six kilometers from the city center.”

  Nora ground her jaw a bit, “He let Hell inside and locked us in with it.”

  No, Riley wasn't going to leave this all to chance. Even Solomon could sense it, her thin fingers pawing at the map. “What’s rattlin’ around in your head?” Aaron asked.

  "He thinks he's a hero," Solomon said, “So why is he grabbing the black hat?”

  "Oh my god," Eden said, the only one looking at the monitors, "Thor's Hammer's entering launch prep."

  "At what?" Bray demanded, equal parts incredulous and frightened. That was a chilling tone that Aaron never wanted to hear from a career soldier.

  Eden stepped aside – the screen had a high-resolution picture of the spires of Vanguard – with the Aurora building just off-center.

  Aaron settled into the chair behind Riley's desk. It was well broken in, with a mild squeak as he dropped his weight into it. It instantly felt wrong, like he was now breathing tainted air or had a knife to his back. But he had no more strength to stand.

  “He's laid a trap," Aaron said, "The aliens come pouring into Vanguard to slaughter the population. And he blows the hell out of them – last ditch, big move. Then he comes back in, the conquering hero."

  "The bunkers can't take that kind of punishment…" said Talania, so very cold. "He'll kill thousands."

  "Gun to your head," Jensen said, eying Aaron, "What do you do?"

  Aaron swallowed hard. He knew what he had done before.

  Talania’s eyes went dead, like she was somewhere far away. Reptilian, she turned back like a coiled snake, “You go out there and you kill the son of a bitch.”

  "Wha…" Aaron wasn't objecting. He was just frozen up. No cognitive function left.

  "I like it," Nora chirped, sharing a sadistic look with Solomon.

  “Ain’t so simple, Talania,” Bray chimed in, “Those Pits were designed to keep in three thousand Capital laborers. There’s going to be artificial barricades that m
ake your Detention time look like a spa day. Not to mention the natural hazards of the Mining operation itself. They can die walking across the room wrong.”

  Bray was lecturing a civilian on the conditions Aaron had lived in for almost a year, and the Pits had been comparatively cozy accommodations. Talania might’ve been horrified if she hadn’t been well aware of all of this already.

  “And on top of all of this,” Bray said, “Riley is Orbital. And he has a complement of other Oskies with him, not to mention however many Regulars flocked to his flag. Sieging the Pits is a bad idea.”

  “No siege.” Aaron stood up, “But yeah... I’m going after Riley.”

  “He’ll kill you without breaking stride,” Eden blurted, concern leaping out of her. There was an urgency to her tone beyond just the obvious foul prediction. She still remembered how Carmona died. She didn’t want to see him die the same way.

  Riley. That canteen. That firm but grinding tone that drove under his skin like a thin needle, pulling at the foundations of what he knew. He presented himself as a brother, a friend, but acted like a disappointed father. Superiority didn't give a damn about age.

  “We don’t come to fight,” Aaron said, remembering the man he squared off within that improvised cell, “We’re not going to break in, or blow our way in -- none of that. He’s going to let us in the front door when we show up to negotiate his return.”

  Jensen cocked his head sideways, eyeballing his friend, "You've taken too many blows to the head."

  "Absolutely true," Aaron affirmed, waggling a finger at the big guy, "But we're going to do it anyway."

  Nora shivered at the notion, “And if he decides we’re all past saving?”

  “Then he reduces us to molten slag at the edge of the perimeter. But he won't."

  Talania planted her hands on the desk, looming over Aaron, "This is idiotic. You cannot ask for mercy from this man."

  “Ain’t gonna. Why did he stay, Talania?" Aaron asked, "At all. After the exodus? Why recruit Capitals? Why defy an Empire?"

  "Are you actually asking, or are you on a roll?" Nora quipped at him.

  Aaron pointed behind them, "Service to the People."

  They all turn to look at the words – the only adornment in the room – burned into the archway over the door in block letters. The liturgical phrase looked like an ancient magical ward.

  "I spent two years clerking in a courtroom. Nobody enters that room thinking they did something wrong. He thinks he's doing the right thing. He just wants to be valued for it. He needs it. We give him one chance to turn himself in. If he says no… we bring the fury of an entire planet down on his head."

  “If the Jergad hit the city, and he drops the Hammer…” Bray cautioned, “It’ll be the kind of bloodshed that gets marked up in history books.”

  Aaron looked up at Talania, at her eyes dark brown eyes, catching the reflection of the blue in the darkness. There they were, like they’d never left, staring back at him, almost inquisitive. Thoughtful, curious. Eager, even.

  They were waiting on him.

  “Bray? Trust me now. Work with Talania, get everyone you can underground. We’ll handle Riley. Huah?”

  Bray bristled at the order coming from a Capital, but after a second he relaxed into it, “Always thought I’d die fighting enemies of the Empire.”

  “Oh, Gunny,” Jensen said, clasping his former drill sergeant’s shoulder, “I’m sure you will someday.”

  “Don’t touch me.” Jensen recoiled. Bray nodded at Aaron, “Zu gloriam, Havenes. We’ll get it done.”

  Talania stood tall, giving Aaron a once over, like she was inspecting his face for cracks. Maybe she liked what she found, or maybe what she didn't find. She squinted for half a second, before shaking her head, “Give me a reason to believe, Capital.”

  And with that, she went for the door, Bray on her heels.

  Aaron looked to his team: Eden, Nora, Jensen, Keira and Solomon. They stood around him, the Fifth Floor clan -- what was left of them. They looked back at him with a mixture of faith and fear. The Queen’s words echoed in his head.

  It is in the story, in the telling, that they are lionized: the acts in which people become legends, and the legends are remembered. They were about to do something worth remembering.

  25

  Riley

  They sauntered up to the Pits with their proverbial hats in their hands. But there was no amount of groveling or empty promises at Riley’s feet that would stop what was coming.

  The Jergad were tunneling toward Vanguard with all haste, unabated by the litany of defenses Riley had once offered so freely. It was a little late for the citizenry to cajole him into doing his job after so explosively telling him where he could shove it.

  It was less convincing coming from the famed Aaron Havenes, Capital extraordinaire and resident flower child gone feral. Riley would’ve had the perimeter snap his spine in half at two hundred meters were he not personally curious as to what the Capital had to say.

  Was he here to present himself to justice, at which point a ranged execution would be a kindness? Or was he here to sue for some kind of status quo, a return to normalcy with soldiers on the Wall and control restored?

  But there was one curious truth to it: the current state of affairs might be considered a victory for him were he truly a traitor to the Empire. Aaron was not as compromised as he had once feared.

  No, this was something else. Human error and human growth? Mistakes were made, and now we made the honest effort to make amends.

  How adorable. With a wake of casualties behind him deep enough to buoy a gunboat, there was little restitution that could be made.

  Crimes required justice.

  Or worse still, he was here as an undercover agent all right — but not of the Jergad.

  The Capitals had shown their true colors, as every advisor had warned him they would. As his own gut had warned him. When the Ministry came knocking, they would not point the finger at a young man drafted into the service in a desperate time with little training or conditioning; they would blame the Commander.

  Unless Riley could give them some other meat.

  The Oskies searched the prisoners at multiple checkpoints as they advanced deeper into the Pits, each subsequent search more thorough than the last. Against all expectations, they were clean -- not so much as a sharpened bit of wood on their persons.

  Six soldiers, no weapons.

  The mystery deepens.

  Riley ordered them separated and observed, isolating them into individual blocks. Together, they would direct all communication through Aaron, but alone they might let slip their true purpose. Curiously, they sat silent with a rather conceited demeanor. They did not engage the cameras or the interviews in any way, like they would rather wait for what punishments may come.

  It was highly disquieting. Something was wrong, but they just weren’t finding it.

  Time to be drastic.

  Riley’s command center had been cobbled together on the top floor of the Apartments, sweeping away a half dozen small shrines and altars someone had constructed in vain pagan rituals. There were no walls or delineations like the lower floors, but a wide-open loft, allowing the Oskies the freedom to establish themselves as they wished.

  The giant studio was now strewn with barely organized equipment, nearly a dozen different screens and feeds, including Thor’s Hammer satellite photography and closed circuit feeds from Vanguard population centers. There were frequent recorded broadcasts urging the citizens to seek shelter in their bunkers, sealed away until reinforcements could secure the city.

  Such reinforcement hadn’t even been dispatched. The hundred or so Regulars who had assembled were in such disarray that they were enjoying a warm meal in the Apartment’s lower levels. But that didn’t wash the foul taste from their mouths. Humans were in danger and they were on orders to sit it out.

  Grumblings of discontent had made their way to Riley’s ears, but that didn’t stop them from following
their orders or carrying out their duties. These were the Empire’s battalions; their families were safe light years away.

  Even still, those were their charges being left out to bleed. It didn’t sit well. With anyone. Even Riley’s neck itched.

  Two of the more obedient grunts brought Aaron for presentation, his forearms bound together behind his back and irons clasped about his ankles, like they were bringing him as the accused before a magistrate.

  He looked terrible -- dried blood gone crispy on his forehead, a bloody bandage soaked through, and his clothes stained with mildew. It had been months since he’d had a shower, and a patchy beard adding to his feral look. He looked like a man dead several times over, but refused to stop walking.

  “Did they fish you out of a dumpster?” Riley asked, genuinely concerned at the man’s condition.

  Aaron looked down at his clothes, “You like ‘em? They were free.”

  “The previous owner is… alive?”

  “No idea,” Aaron said, “There has been a lot of killing tonight.”

  Riley leaned on a table, sitting on one hip as he gnawed on a ration bar. He sniffed away the grime that had started collecting his nose from the tainted air. “That’s nothing. You know, when they hit the city, the first warning is going to be a 3.2 earthquake. Rolling thunder. As they burrow. The quake will get worse… and then they hit. Whole thing takes less than a minute from first detection to first blood.”

  "That's when you draw blood, is that it?"

  There was no point in feigning friendship or building a relationship now. Those ships had sailed off the edge of the map. Today’s interaction would bear a bit more natural hostility to it.

  And this interrogation had to have a bit more direct bargaining involved.

  Riley wiped his lips, scraping the dry flakes of dehydrated paste away. “A lot of people have read about them. Only a handful will know what to expect. If they listen to the broadcasts, they’ll be in the bunkers.”

  “You’ve got to go back.”

  Riley glanced over at Aaron, dismissive, “They didn't want me there. Your little friend was very clear on that."