Cry Pilot

by Joel Dane

  “Oh,” I say, not even thinking the word technopath. “Yeah, I—I got lucky.”

  Her gaze sweeps me. “What happened to your shoulder?”

  “I caught a spindle.”

  “You were deployed again? Since Los Anod?”

  My happiness curdles. She doesn’t know about our losses. “Yeah. Belo City.”

  “Against a lamprey?” Her green gaze brightens. “Did you get a specimen?”

  “There were patriots. It got ugly. We didn’t get a sample. At best, we field-tested some gear.”

  “I wish I were there.”

  “You’re not the only one. We missed you like ozone.”

  “Oh!” she says, like she’s surprised that we remember her.

  “We needed a little robotic heartlessness.”

  She actually smiles. “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Now you sound like Cali. How’s the final frontier?”

  We talk about the Flensers for a few minutes, about her classes and squadmates, the ship and the vastness. In return, I brag about the elevators of Ayko Base, like I’m the one surrounded by superior tech.

  Eventually, though, I drag things back into the gravity well. I tell her about the lamprey defeating an extraction probe and zapping a city grid. “We’re deep in the latrine here, Rana. You have any gossip?”

  “Almost everything I know, you’ve probably already heard. They strike in an apparently random pattern, targeting tech and population centers. Nobody knows how, nobody knows why. They self-disassemble after a few hours.”

  “What set them off in the first place?”

  “Nobody knows. One lamprey struck, then two the next month. Nothing for three months, then four within a week. You’re still looking for a sample?”

  “They want a whole dead lamprey now.”

  “Since when? They need an intact specimen?”

  “That’s the theory.” I pause. “You said I’ve heard almost everything you know?”

  She hesitates. “There’s one thing. I . . . I don’t think I’ll tell you.”

  “Will it help? If it’ll help, tell me.”

  “It won’t help.”

  “Okay,” I say, tightly.

  “What? You’re hiding something, too.”

  So I tell her that M’bari is still undergoing tests, and Shakrabarti’s waiting for his baby toes to finish growing and Basdaq is weak and wheezing. I tell her about Elfano. I tell her about Pico and Ridehorse. Her face shuts down, which is what she does instead of crying.

  I try to comfort her and after a time she says, “Tell them—tell them I’ll write Pico’s and Ridehorse’s names in the stars.”

  That’s a Flenser tradition, sending smoke out an airlock, in commemoration of the dead. “Ridehorse would’ve liked that. Pico—”

  “—would’ve laughed,” she finishes.

  We smile at each other for a sad moment, and then a countdown clock appears. 18:63. We don’t have much longer.

  “Maseo,” Rana murmurs.

  “I’m right here,” I tell her.

  “A million miles away. Say my name.”

  “Sarav.”

  Her hood shifts around her face. “I’ll link you if I hear anything.”

  “I’ll link you even if I hear nothing at all.”

  Her smile shines, then fades. “The other thing about lampreys? At the highest levels, they’re calling this an extinction-class threat. That’s why my father pulled me off Earth.”

  “At least you’re safe.”

  “Safer.” She exhales slowly. “You remember Dag Bravska? The hab that exploded?”

  “Vividly.”

  “You were right. A technopath didn’t kill Dag Bravska. A lamprey did.”

  My skin prickles. “They’re coming from deep fucking space? What the—”

  “No, no! They didn’t attack on the way to Earth or anything. But one of them, at least, reached out across ninety million miles . . .”

  “So they—are they really a bio-forged computer virus?”

  “I don’t know. This stuff about a blackout is new to me.”

  “Reached across ninety million miles,” I repeat. “I wish I could do the same.”

  Her green-lensed eyes crinkle. “I’m Class A and you’re a Freeholder. I’m a Flenser and you’re a groundhog. I’m me and you’re you. We’re all wrong for each other.”

  “At least we have that in common.”

  “I’m coming back,” she tells me.

  “To me? To us? To Earth?”

  She nods. “My father isn’t the only one who plays the game. If I score top of my class, they’ll let me serve a tour on Earth before—”

  The clock flashes, warning us before the link ends. Silence falls. Light from across the solar system glimmers on her cheekbones and sparkles in her eyes. I was wrong the first time I saw her. She’s not the brittle, jagged black of onyx; she’s the deep, endless black of space.

  “Take care of them,” she says.

  I reach out to touch her face. The image ripples around my fingers, breaking into interference waves. Rana places her projected hand over mine, and I almost feel the warmth of her palm.

  CHAPTER 52

  Rana isn’t the only member of Anvil Squad planning to return. Voorhivey bursts into the barracks the next morning, giddy with excitement. “Ojedonn requested transfer!”

  Jag laughs. “He’s coming here? When?”

  “I don’t know.” Voorhivey’s smile makes him look like a kid. “That’s all I heard, I’m not sure. Sarge?” He opens an all-squad channel. “Sergeant Manager? I heard Ojedonn is transferring back to the squad? You don’t know him—he’s from basic—Kaytu broke his knee in a hallway.”

  “I broke his back in a bed,” Cali says.

  A projection appears with Sergeant Manager Li’s face. “He’s not the only one,” she tells us. “I was going to brief you.”

  “How about Rana?” Cali straightens, like she’s about to salute. “Is Rana coming back?”

  “She’s the CE’s daughter?”

  “Yeah,” Shakrabarti says. “She’s in the Flensers now.”

  “Then she’s a long way off,” Li says.

  “Can you—” Cali ducks her head. “Will you ask her special? I mean, just remind her she can transfer. Just so she knows that . . . you know.”

  “I’ll do that,” Li assures her. “I was going to cover this in today’s briefing. After the Belo City blackout, Javelin Command put out a request for troops who trained with the Ayko units. For volunteers. Werz and Gazi are coming, too.”

  “Yin and Yang,” Jag says.

  Ting giggles. “This is so neat!”

  “You didn’t know?” I lens her.

  “Of course not. I don’t monitor everything, silly! Only like a tenth of a third of a fraction of a percent of everything. Also, I’ve been busy.”

  “Busy with what?”

  “Oh,” she says, faux innocent. “This and that.”

  “When’re they landing?” Voorhivey asks.

  “They’re en route already,” the sergeant says. “Almost seven thousand troops are rotating into Ayko Base over the next seven days.”

  “Yeah, but when are they landing?”

  “Two days,” she says, and there’s a ragged little cheer.

  For the first time since Belo City, I stop thinking about the buildings turning black and my lens crashing. And for the first time, I don’t dream about lampreys. Instead, I dream about sitting in the mess hall with Pico and Ridehorse while CAVs roll silently past.

  I wake to a training initiative that sharpens our skills in Intensive Paperwork, Tedious Bureaucracy, and Waiting for Former Squadmates to Return. We grumble about the after-action briefings and fitness recertifications and trauma evals . . . and the deployment alarm.r />
  We hate the alarm, because we’re not being deployed. Other teams roll from Ayko Base, as support for CAVs trying to bag lampreys, but we’re low on the rotation.

  “The bait’s not working anymore,” Ting lenses the squad in the middle of the night. “Nobody knows why.”

  Jagzenka lenses a rude picture. “I’m trying to sleep.”

  “I’m in treatment,” M’bari sends.

  “The pattern of lamprey emergence is vacillating, I think,” Ting says. “I mean, changing. Except it feels like vacillation. Is there a word that means—”

  “Switch it off, fuckhead,” Cali lenses her. “Or I will snap your twig neck.”

  “Sorry! Night, everyone! Have a good treatment, Barleyquan!”

  Barleyquan? M’bari’s first name is Barleyquan?

  The next afternoon, Sergeant Manager Li gathers the surviving members of Anvil Squad in the platoon conference room. Calil-Du, Jagzenka, Voorhivey, Ting, Shakrabarti, and me. Apparently M’bari is recovering faster than expected; he joins us on a projection, though Basdaq is otherwise occupied, undergoing a medical procedure.

  There are only seven of us here—although our total number will swell to eleven soon, then twelve when Rana arrives—which leaves a lot of empty space in the room. I wonder if the Sergeant Manager is making a point. We’ve barely started fighting these things, and we’ve already lost a third of our squad.

  “Are they here?” Voorhivey asks, a little too eagerly. “The rest of the squad? Are they here yet?”

  The anticipation in his voice bugs me, as does my own excitement. I don’t know why, exactly. Maybe I worry that we expect Ojedonn, Werz, and Gazi to fill in for Pico, Ridehorse, and Elfano. Like we’re trying to replace our dead friends.

  “There’s been a delay,” Li says.

  “What kind of delay?” M’bari’s projection asks. “That doesn’t sound probable.”

  “We’ll get to that.” Sergeant Manager Li talks about various housekeeping issues for twenty minutes and takes a breath like she’s getting to the important stuff. “So—”

  “What happened in Belo City?” Voorhivey interrupts.

  “Whole cities crashed,” M’bari says. “Entire enclaves lost power.”

  “Whatever weapon platform the lampreys are based on,” Li says, “they’ve got cellular defenses and cyberwarfare capacity. That’s one theory, at least.” She talks about the other theories: weaponized viruses and cutting-edge patriot munitions. “However, we’re presuming that the terrafixing is reevolving a prototype bioweapon.”

  “Do you think they’re remorts?” Shakrabarti asks.

  Li smiles faintly. “I can’t imagine what else they’d be.”

  “Which isn’t exactly a yes,” Voorhivey says.

  Skepticism is so unlike him that we all stare in disbelief and Shakrabarti says, “Our baby is growing up.”

  “If you want a definite statement,” Li says, “here’s one. The only way to secure a useful specimen is to kill a lamprey before it can dissolve.”

  “How?” Jag asks.

  “We’re support and supply for CAV corps.”

  Cali grunts. “They’re taking us off the front lines?”

  “That’s correct,” Li says. “It’s all about the CAVs now.”

  “Thank the Louvre,” Ting whispers.

  Li gestures to the screen behind her, which shows a lamprey tearing through a complex of transit pods. “Command distributed this video to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation.”

  “Because we don’t already know they’re badass?” Shakrabarti says.

  Li gives a shake of her head. “It’s not that.”

  “The delay,” M’bari’s projection says. “This is why there’s a delay with the others getting here.”

  “Yeah, the lampreys are now targeting—” Li catches herself. “No. They seem to be targeting military installations. We’re cautioned against ascribing intention to them.”

  “Hold up!” Cali says. “They’re targeting us?”

  “When did that start?” M’bari asks Li. “The, um, apparent targeting?”

  “After Belo City,” she says. “However, correlation is not causation.”

  “Yeah,” Cali says. “I’ve got no idea what that means.”

  “That the targeted attacks might have nothing to do with the blackout,” I tell her.

  Cali snorts. “And I might have three tits.”

  “Pretty sure I would’ve noticed.”

  She looks around the conference room. “They’re coming for us. These fatherfucks hacked us in Belo City and now they’re coming for us.”

  “So the lampreys are attacking military transit stations,” Jag says. “And that’s why Ojedonn and Werz and Gazi are delayed?”

  “That’s right,” Li says. “But this is nothing new. Remorts have caused delays before.”

  “Not on purpose,” Voorhivey mutters.

  “Are they okay?” Tingting asks Li. “Gazi and the others? Are they okay?”

  Sergeant Manager Li nods. “They’re fine. In other news, quarantine is lifting in a few days, which means—”

  “I can talk to my folks!” Jag says.

  “In a few days.” Li lowers her voice, commanding our full attention. “And the reason the quarantine is lifting is that the embargo failed.”

  Cali scratches her bald head. “What embargo?”

  “The embargo on lamprey-related information in MYRAGE,” Li says. “As of this morning, MYRAGE is bursting with scans of lampreys. Including ones from Belo City.”

  Voorhivey frowns. “Didn’t Command censor that?”

  “Apparently they missed a game port.” The sergeant’s lens glimmers with data. “Opium Civil? A player falanx scoped the lamprey and spread the word until half of United North Africa was peering through their port.”

  I don’t react to the words Opium Civil; I don’t glance at Ting. I don’t doubt for a moment that she cracked the embargo after beating the corpos’ technopaths and worked through that gamer kid Loa to spread the news. She wanted people to know what Pico and Ridehorse died fighting. She wanted their families to know.

  “So why not drop quarantine today?” Jag demands, rubbing a rosette on her neck. “Why wait?”

  “Because procedure,” Li tells her. “Now, if you don’t mind, to the point. With the quarantine ending and our brief reduced to CAV support, you have a choice. This fight is moving into a new phase and Javelin is the tip of the spear.”

  “Javelin is the tip of the javelin!” Ting says.

  Sergeant Major Li quiets her with a look. “The fight is moving into a new phase. You can stick with Javelin or request assignment to one of the branches. If you choose the latter, you’ll be placed in the Garda or the Army—”

  “Or the marines, right?” Cali asks.

  “In theory.”

  “What about you, Sarge?” I ask. “Are you staying?”

  “I was seconded to Javelin to help a squad of untested soldiers face the lamprey threat. Except I don’t see any untested soldiers in this room. I don’t see any slippers. I see warriors. Yes, I’m staying. This is a fight I believe in. This is a squad I believe in.”

  I start to say something, then close my mouth.

  “Kaytu?” Li asks. “Something to add?”

  “No, I just wanted—” I feel myself flush. “I wanted to say something smartass like Pico, but I’m not good at smartass.”

  “Look on the bright side, prez,” Jagzenka tells me, pitching her voice like Pico’s. “At least you’re good at dumbass.”

  Cali slugs Jag in the shoulder. “Ha!”

  “I don’t need a decision now,” Li tells us. “There’s no rush. You’ve got till tomorrow.”

  “I’m glad there’s no rush,” M’bari says.

  “Nobody knows la
mpreys better than the troops of Ayko Base. We are the tip—” Li glances at Ting. “We’re the bleeding edge of the warhead. I won’t blame anyone who sticks with their initial career plan, their promotions and bonuses. But this fight? This is a long slog through an acid swamp with nothing on the other side but blood and tears.” Her eyes are as intense as her voice is quiet. “And none of you want to miss that.”

  Jagzenka shoots me a look and lenses, “Sarge needs to work on her rousing speeches.”

  Except we both know she doesn’t. Blood and tears is music to our ears.

  “Questions?” Li asks.

  I scratch my bandaged shoulder. “What’s the salary?”

  “You’re so gutter,” Cali mutters.

  Li lenses the pay schedule.

  “Sweet biyo!” Ting blurts.

  “Gehenna,” I gasp. “That’s stockholder pay.”

  “You’re already a stockholder, you splice,” Shakrabarti tells me.

  “I own one share.”

  “Check your portfolio again, Kaytu,” Li says.

  I check, and am struck dumb. I’m worth one hundred and one shares in Shiyogrid. Most Class C shareholders own thousands, and Rana’s family probably owns millions, but still . . . one hundred and one shares. That’s massive for a roach.

  Cali hunches a muscular shoulder. “I’ve got a question.”

  “Yes, Private?”

  “That guy in Belo City, the patriot commander you talked to? Remember him?”

  Li half smiles. “Vaguely.”

  “Any word on who he is? Or what he’s after?”

  “Not a peep. And I don’t expect one. We’re soldiers, Calil-Du; we’ll never see the big picture. I’m not sure there is one. Belo City—”

  Ting pipes up with, “Maybe there’s only a lot of little pictures! I mean, like a mosaic!”

  “Belo City,” Li repeats, “isn’t even Shiyogrid turf. It’s Unidroit, and no doubt they’re already grinding that patriot group into chewable paste.”

  “Maybe that’s what he wanted,” M’bari’s projection says.

  “Maybe it is,” Li says, and her flat gaze sweeps the room. “But for once the question is, what do you want?”