Varken Rise

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  There were far more people here, moving through the different areas. The roof soared up through two more floors and artificial sunlight made it seem as though there was no roof at all. The center of the area was filled with growing plants and a soft mist hung over them from the watering fronds thrusting up among the leaves.

  Then Bedivere caught a glimpse from the far corner of his eye of a familiar figure. He turned to look at the drop shafts, where people were congregating, waiting their turn to step in and be swept upward…or downward, for there were as many floors below ground as there were above.

  Too many people.

  “This way, Mr. Bedivere,” Wolsey said quickly.

  Bedivere dismissed Wolsey from his attention. He tried to scan and index every face, as quickly as possible. He was sure he had seen…someone.

  As he scanned, he ran through the possibilities. It might have been anyone he had met in his lifetime. Their biomarkers and facial features had clicked in his memory, even though he hadn’t consciously recognized them.

  Or maybe it was someone important.

  There was no such thing as a happy coincidence, not these days. If it was someone he knew, then they had to be here because of him. If so, why had they not declared themselves and said hello?

  Because they were not a friend.

  Bedivere reached into his case and pulled out the shielded Baldovini rattler he’d tucked in there before leaving the ship. He dropped the case, pointed the rattler and bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Get out of my way!”

  Heads jerked up. Screams began.

  “Oh, my….” Wolsey said breathlessly, with a little moan.

  Bedivere waved the muzzle of the rattler and people dived away from his range of fire, scattering to one side or the other. The screaming intensified.

  Not everyone dived. There was a knot of bodies at the far end drop shaft, trapping innocents behind them. The men on the edges were turning and reaching into their coats and clothing.

  Bedivere grabbed the hard case and rolled to one side as the bolts leaped toward him, raging red streaks of destruction.

  One of them touched Wolsey, who’d not had the sense to get out of the line of fire. The bolt cut through the center of his chest, leaving a neat hole that rapidly filled with blood. He stood with a puzzled look on his face, before toppling backward.

  Bedivere dropped the case and returned fire, carefully picking out the men who weren’t moving from around their client. These were hardcore professional security guards. They would have a permanent back-up feed, that live-streamed their consciousness so that they would never lose a moment between one generation and the next. They were the expensive sort who were happy to die to protect their client.

  That meant he had to kill them to find out who they were protecting and he had to do it fast because they were trying to shepherd their client to the drop shaft, to get him away from danger.

  And he had to do it without shooting anyone else.

  He processed the decision in the blink of an eye, then took cover behind a support pillar and started picking off the guards.

  Security alarms were blaring and people were still screaming. He barely heard it. Three more down. There were only four of them around the client now and the front two were laying down a blaze of rattler bolts. The smell of burning plants and singed flesh and clothing was strong. Acrid. He would have to finish this before the smoke ruined his sight. The smoke would give him cover to get away, though.

  Time was ticking….

  He picked off one more guard, who fell with a choked cry. That cracked open the shield around the client, who had just reached the drop shaft. At the guard’s cry, he turned to look over his shoulder.

  This time, Bedivere saw his entire face and could put a name to it.

  Kare Sarkisian.

  His rattler lowered all by itself. He stared at the bearded man, trying to process the reasons why Kare Sarkisian would be here. Now.

  Then someone took a shot at him from behind and barely missed, leaving a black streak across the plasteel column he was crouched behind.

  The house security guards had arrived.

  Bedivere snatched up the case in his spare hand and spun to return fire. It was time to leave.

  * * * * *

  Gate Station, Shanta System. FY 10.092

  The insistent ping of the terminal’s alert flag finally woke Catherine from her sleep. She stumbled out to the main room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She had been deeply asleep, perhaps the first good sleep she’d had since Lilly woke her the morning after Bedivere had run.

  The alert was for an urgent message. The code was one that only one other person had.

  She cracked the seal on it and opened it.

  If you love your life as I do, do NOT follow me to Harrivalé.

  b.x

  The door to the other bedroom cracked open and Lilly emerged. She shut the door carefully, then came over to where Catherine sat at the terminal. She was carrying her reader and held it out to Catherine.

  “I had it set to wake me if certain key words were triggered,” she said.

  Catherine took the reader. “Bedivere?”

  Lilly squeezed her shoulder, then perched on the arm of the nearest chair, her hands pressed between her knees. In the dark, with her hair crimped and tangled from sleep, she looked small and vulnerable.

  Catherine scrolled through the headlines captured in the net, trying to make sense of the hysteria and short-hand texts. They were always written to entice a reader to click on them for more. News reporting was more about marketing and revenue generation than it was journalism. The commercial competitiveness meant that no news was ever suppressed and no fact hidden, not if a news feed wanted to make any money.

  The feeds just had to be interpreted.

  “He opened fire on a crowded public space inside the Gu-Xia Gammon research facility on Harrivalé,” Lilly said quietly. “Eight by-standers dead. Then he shot his way out through the building security.”

  “It isn’t what it looks like,” Catherine assured her.

  “Isn’t it? Eight people are dead,” Lilly pointed out.

  “They’ll regenerate,” Catherine replied.

  “It’s dangerous to talk that way,” Lilly replied. “If human life becomes cheap because it is just a matter of regenerating, then we’re no better than the transhumans that Glave decried. He killed people, Cat. Just like he killed Kemp. Isn’t it about time we put the question about his sanity back on the table?”

  Catherine swallowed. “If he did kill them and that’s not a certainty, no matter how many feeds report it, then he did it for a very good reason.”

  “A reason that makes sense to him. Perhaps it makes sense only to him,” Lilly replied. Her voice was steady despite the horrible thing she was saying.

  Catherine shook her head. “No. Everything he’s done so far fits within a framework of reason, once you dig deep enough. We’ve all agreed on that. We just don’t know all the facts so far. Whatever they are, they will explain this, too.”

  “There’s footage,” Lilly said softly. “If you really believe what you’re saying, then watch it.”

  Something in Catherine’s gut twisted, spearing her with fear. She held the board out to Lilly. “Pull it up for me.” Her voice was weak.

  Lilly complied, her fingers moving over the screen. Then she turned it back to Catherine.

  Catherine watched the video, which looked as though it had been taken by security cameras inside the building and strung together into a cohesive sequence by eager journalists. It started with Bedivere emerging from a doorway into what was clearly a public area, for people were everywhere. He was with another, much shorter man. They were heading for the big front doors that were visible to the far left of the screen.

  Then Bedivere turned on his heel, his gaze taking in the greenery in the middle of the big area. He dug into the case in his hand and pulled out a gun, then turned and pointed it at the cluster of people milling
around the drop shafts.

  “Get out of my way!” he screamed.

  Then he began firing.

  Catherine made herself watch until the rising smoke hid the view. She watched as he killed five men who were standing and pointing at him, or trying to throw themselves to one side.

  The footage ended. She handed the reader back silently.

  “I’m going back to bed,” she said, getting to her feet.

  Lilly stood, too. “We’re not going to Harrivalé right now?”

  “We’re going home to Nicia,” Catherine said. “Tomorrow.”

  * * * * *

  Mid-Transit, Shanta Gates, Shanta System. FY 10.092

  They arrived onboard the Choi Corsair barely twenty minutes before departure. Catherine had found the tickets for resale at a ridiculously cheap price. People who had been anxious to leave Shanta any way they could only a few hours ago were cancelling their departure or changing their travel plans to less panicked schedules. The alarm over the station being destroyed had already diminished and life was returning to its normal pace.

  The Choi Corsair was a high liner-classed ship. They would return to Nicia in luxury and more quickly than it had taken to get here. Faster was good, in her opinion. Despite the offered tickets only being for cheaper berths, she had taken them.

  Catherine stowed her one bag on a shelf in the tiny quarters she had been assigned and immediately turned to the terminal built into the wall over the end of the bunk. She sat cross-legged on the mattress and started punching in commands.

  Barely five minutes later, the door signaled that Brant was seeking entry. She let him in.

  His brow rose as he saw where she was. “They’ve just announced that it’s going to take fourteen hours to reach the gate.”

  “Fourteen?” She sat back, leaning her shoulder into the wall. “It only took five hours from the gates when we got here. What’s the slow down?”

  “The station hadn’t completed a full rotation,” Brant said and leaned against the wall next to the door, which meant he was standing right next to the bunk, for the room was that small. “We’re farther away from the gates this time. That’s not the only reason. There’s a line-up to use the gates.”

  “I suppose people are still leaving,” Catherine said.

  “It’s people arriving.” Brant smiled. “There are about a dozen emergency ships coming through in the next four hours. They want to keep the gates cleared so there isn’t a bottleneck in front of them when the ships emerge. So this ship and others heading for the gates have been ordered to dead slow speed.” He nodded toward the terminal. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, then it gives you more time to finish it properly.”

  “What is it you think I’m doing?”

  “What I would do. Grabbing every image, every centimeter of footage from Harrivalé before the ship dives into the gates. Then you can spend the time we’re in the hole going through them with a microscopic lens.”

  Catherine turned to face him properly, letting one leg swing over the edge of the bunk. “You would do that? Lilly is set on the idea that Bedivere is space cold crazy.”

  “That’s because she watched the footage she gave you and saw nothing that made sense. So, by default, he must be crazy. If he’s crazy, then everything makes sense once more.”

  “That’s if you don’t dig deeper,” Catherine murmured.

  “You mustn’t mind Lilly’s narrow view,” he said quietly. “She’s distracted at the moment.”

  “About you?” Catherine asked gently.

  Brant gave her a stiff smile. “We’re working it out,” he assured her.

  “Give her time,” Catherine said. “I’ve been where she is and I know how hard it is. The Ancient Terrans had ways to deal with permanent death that are lost to us now. It makes it much harder.”

  Brant rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uneasily. “Did Arthur…did you ask him to regenerate? Before the end?”

  Catherine tilted her head. “Has Lilly asked you to regenerate?”

  “Not directly. Connell is insistent, though. He doesn’t understand.”

  “Or perhaps he understands more than you think,” Catherine said quietly.

  “Did you want Arthur to live?” Brant asked.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said softly. “Of course I did.”

  “Even if by continuing to live, he would not be the man you loved?”

  “He would be the man I loved,” Catherine said. “By choosing to live, he would have compromised his principles, although he would have done it for the very best reason in the world.”

  “Love,” Brant said flatly.

  “By choosing to die, by choosing his principles over his love for me, Arthur told me that he wasn’t the sort of man I should have loved at all,” she added.

  Brant’s eyes widened. “You rate love that highly?” He sounded winded.

  She sighed. “Brant, I’ve seen so many principles and moral standards, that they range from one end to the complete opposite of each other at the other end. All principles are society-based values and if you give it enough time, they lose their meaning as culture shifts and values fluctuate. Love, though…it’s personal. It’s about individuals and it shapes individual decisions. It’s more powerful than any principle ever invented.”

  “No matter how strongly a person believes in the goodness of that principle?”

  “I loved Arthur himself, not his principles,” Catherine replied sharply. “They shaped him, yes, but they were not him. Dying at the end of your first life cycle when everyone in the known worlds gets to go on…it’s short-sighted.”

  Brant just stared at her. “I did not know you felt this way.”

  “Waste always offends me,” she said flatly. “Do you know how gate technology was invented, Brant?”

  “I know it took a long time to perfect it,” he said slowly.

  “It took two hundred and thirty-five years to get it right,” Catherine replied. “During all those years, do you know how many project leaders controlled the research and development?”

  “One?” Brant guessed.

  “Just one,” she confirmed. “One woman, Ammyn Heray, spent the better part of three centuries working on wormhole and black hole theories. She learned how to harness the holes to a fixed, known location.”

  “I learned about this in school,” Brant growled.

  “That she invented gate technology, yes. You’re missing the point, Brant. She controlled the project from start to finish. It took centuries. For that entire time, she was able to keep the project driving forward to meet her vision. She didn’t die and the project didn’t die with her. The project wasn’t handed on to a second-in-command who moved it in another direction because he thought he had better ideas. It didn’t founder because the heart and soul of the project wasn’t there anymore. Long life, Brant, has opened up science to generational research that remains cohesive, whole and directed throughout the life of the project. And that’s just one benefit of the extended lives we all enjoy.”

  “That’s science,” he said dryly. “The human spirit—”

  “Would have been extinct ten millennia ago if not for life-extending therapies and regeneration.”

  Brant crossed his arms. “Transhumans would have killed us all,” he said flatly, as if in agreement.

  Catherine shook her head. “No. We would have killed us. All of us. The local systems around Terra were so overcrowded and resources so depleted, that we would have all died off from starvation or some other complication from population pressure. That’s when the first long-range ships were built and people started pushing out toward the more distant stars. The first non-local star system to be colonized was five hundred light years from Earth and it took over seven hundred years to reach it. The people who set off in the ship were the same ones to step onto the new planet.” She looked at Brant curiously. “Did you know there had been generation ships sent out from Earth even before the local planets were colonize
d? Before life extension therapies were common practice?”

  His mouth was set in a tight, hard line. “Let me guess,” he said. “They didn’t make it.”

  “They did come across one of those ships, a century or two later,” she went on, ignoring his anger. Anger was a common reaction when someone’s beliefs were challenged. “The people on it were in-bred deviants bearing little resemblance to humans. They were abominations, as your Faith defines them. They had no idea why they were on the ship, or where it was going, or that eventually, they were supposed to find somewhere habitable and colonize. The knowledge had been lost as the generations succeeded each other. They wandered the galaxy and lived their very short and pointless lives on the ship.” She shrugged. “Long life is what let us escape the local cluster. It’s how humans avoided extinction. Surely, if the human race is the priority, as you say it is, then long life is a good thing?”

  He pushed himself off the wall. “You’re distorting the principle,” he said flatly.

  “No, I’m not the one distorting it,” she said quietly. “Time has done that. The pure human race you worship has moved on, Brant. Don’t you think it’s time you did?”

  The lines around the corners of his mouth were white with fury. Wordlessly, he slapped the door control and left.

  Catherine let out a breath that was unsteady.

  Then she went back to picking through the feeds. Time was running out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mid-Transit, Shanta Gates, Shanta System. FY 10.092

  Two hours later, Brant and Lilly found her at one of the big round dining tables, in the second dining room. This room, unlike the main dining room, was sectioned off into private booths and quiet alcoves. As the ship had still not left Shanta local space, there were no meals available, although the printers and dispensers were there for the hungry. Catherine was one of only five people in the room. The others had taken tables as far away from her as geography allowed, four at one table and a solitary tea drinker at the other.