by Hugh Howey
“But we didn’t know,” Sigurd said. “Our intentions were for the good of an entire race.”
“That won’t matter,” Odin said. “Our names have been irrevocably tied to this event. The Rebellion will be crushed. The Freya will be destroyed. All is lost.”
“No, I won’t accept that.” Sigurd placed a talon on Odin’s shoulder. “We’ve worked too hard for this to be for nothing.”
“How many Freyan minds are in the sphere?” Odin asked.
“Merovek estimates that number to be in the tens of thousands.”
“It’s not enough.”
“What about the other teams, the other cities? Tangata? Orongo? Hopu?”
“Lost. Killed or captured. You are the only one who returned.”
The floor and walls shook as a boom echoed throughout the ship. A moment later, a voice came through the comm system.
“This is captain Rapa Nui. Our ship is under attack. Repeat, Vitellius is under attack. All soldiers to battle stations.”
Odin turned to Sigurd, his eyes wide with terror. “They’ve found us. We must get to the bridge.”
Together they raced into the corridor. Another boom shook them to their knees, but they picked themselves up and continued running. They burst onto the bridge just as yet another missile rocked the ship.
“Why aren’t you dodging their attacks?” Odin demanded.
Captain Rapa stood up to greet him. He was tall and fit, and wore beads of copper around his neck, signifying his position as captain. “Their first blast took out our auto-navigational system. We’re flying by hand, sir.”
Odin held out the memory sphere. “Use this.”
The captain gave a small shake of his head. “Are you condoning the use of a Freyan mind? That goes against everything the Rebellion stands for, sir.”
“I understand that, Rapa, but this is our only option. We will make an exception, if only to honor those Valerians who lost their lives today.”
Rapa nodded. “So it shall be.” He took the sphere and inserted it into the ship’s acceptance slot.
Merovek’s voice filled the bridge. “It seems we are in a bit of trouble, Sigurd.”
Sigurd took a step toward the view screen. He picked out the enemy ship against the stars—it was banking around for another pass at them.
“Indeed. Can you help us?”
The enemy ship was closing in. A flash of green light erupted from its hull, and the missiles found their mark, causing the Vitellius to shake dangerously.
“Merovek!” Sigurd screamed as he crashed against a wall.
“I am attempting to repair the ship’s auto-navigation capabilities,” Merovek said calmly. “The circuits have been quite damaged and—”
Another impact, the strongest yet, knocked everyone to the ground.
“We can’t take another hit like that,” Rapa said, breathing heavily. “Forget repairing the system, Merovek. You have to fly the ship.”
“That is a highly unusual request.”
Rapa slammed his arm down on the navigation control panel. “Just do it!”
Captain Rapa took his hands from the navigation console as Merovek assumed control of the ship.
The enemy ship released another blast of green plasma, but this time, the Vitellius twisted to the side. The blast flew harmlessly past.
“What about weapons?” Sigurd asked.
Rapa shook his head. “Offline. We won’t last long out here, I’m afraid.”
* * *
Merovek’s evasive maneuvers prevented another direct hit, but he was unable to shake the enemy ship. Odin stood before the view screen, watching the battle unfold. The planet Valeria lay below them, a brownish-yellow orb in the night sky.
“We must jump to hyperspeed,” Odin said.
“And go where?” Rapa asked. “We won’t be safe anywhere in the Four Colonies.”
“Then we won’t go to the colonies,” Odin said gravely. “There is another option.”
“Enemy has ceased fire,” Merovek announced. “But they are still following us.”
“Thank you, Merovek,” Rapa said. He turned to Odin. Honorific medals pinned to his flight suit glinted in the dim bridge lighting. “What is the other option?”
Odin reached down and keyed a few commands into the central console. A holographic map flashed to life at the center of the room, displaying an unfamiliar planet. It glowed blue and green.
“This planet is called Midgard. It is the farthest known habitable prospect world. One hundred sixty-seven light years from our current location.”
A general cry rose up among the bridge staff.
“Preposterous!” Rapa cried. “Are you expecting us to give up our lives for this cause? Abandon our families?”
“The enemy is being reinforced,” Merovek said. “A military blockade has joined the attack force, bringing with it a total of twenty-three ships. They are surrounding us, Captain. What course of action would you recommend?”
Rapa looked over at Odin. The old Valerian’s gaze was stern, and his tiny facial feathers were held rigid along the sides of his cheeks. He took a long breath, then let it out again.
“You are the captain, Rapa,” Odin said. “I will stand by whatever you think is best.”
Looking through the view screen, Sigurd saw the fleet of enemy ships now, like a fuzzy gray haze against the black. This wasn’t a fight they would win. Not by a long shot.
Rapa snapped into action. “Merovek, prepare the jump to hyperspeed.” He turned to Odin. “Do you have the coordinates to Midgard?”
Odin keyed something into the central console. “They might follow us there. But I’m betting they won’t expend the resources. This journey is a one-way trip.”
“Oh, sweet afterlife,” Rapa exclaimed. “Even with the cryopreservation modules, our bodies will be in rough shape when we arrive. If we survive at all.”
“Yes,” Odin said. “Some of us may die in the journey. But we will have achieved an important victory, however small.” He pointed at the planet spinning in the hologram. “Midgard could be a new start. If not for us Valerians, then certainly for the Freya. Long-range scans suggest the planet is rich with minerals, perfect for a new Freyan society. Imagine it! A world of their very own.”
“Long way to go,” Rapa muttered.
“Incoming communication,” Merovek announced. “It’s from Commander Olta of the Valerian Protection Fleet.”
“Patch him through,” Odin said.
Olta’s gruff voice crackled onto the bridge. “Rebellion ship, stand down. You are surrounded and out of options.”
“On the contrary,” Odin replied. “The galaxy awaits.”
“I can promise that you’ll be met with the same resistance in the colonies,” Olta said.
“We’re not going to the colonies.”
“Then you will face adjudication here. Your actions have brought Valeria to her knees. And the colonies are in worse shape. You’ve failed, Odin. And you’ve condemned our entire species.”
Odin was quiet for a moment, looking between Sigurd, Rapa, and the other bridge staff. Then he spoke. “We will make amends. Maybe not today, but someday. The tides will turn, and we will make this right. For now, we must depart.”
“We’ll chase you down and destroy you.”
“I don’t think so,” Odin said. “Why waste your resources on an insignificant threat? You have a world to rebuild.”
“Try me.”
“We will.” Odin took a step toward the view screen. “Merovek, engage the hyperdrive. If we jump to light speed before them, the most they’ll be able to do is follow us. They can never catch up.”
“What if they follow us all the way to Midgard?” Rapa asked.
“I don’t believe they will.”
Suddenly, the bridge was flooded in green light. The opposing ships were firing on them.
“Merovek, now!” Rapa screamed.
Jets of green plasma blazed across the bow as Merovek made a fi
nal defensive maneuver.
It wasn’t enough.
Plasma slammed into the side of the ship at almost the exact same moment that they jumped to hyperspeed. The bridge rocked violently, and then, with a flash of light, they achieved terminal velocity.
For a moment, everything moved in slow motion. Sigurd looked slowly from Odin, to Rapa, to the other techs in the room. Sparks rained through the air like disoriented firebugs, twisting and spiraling in a dizzy dance. The stars through the view screen became a fuzzy blur, as space-time became distorted and convoluted.
Sigurd felt his body stretch out, becoming the size of an entire solar system, and then contract, shrinking to the size of a microbe. His thoughts became jumbled, and for a moment, even his sense of self deteriorated into nothingness.
And then, finally, everything snapped back together as objects, people, and sparks returned to a common thread of reality, and all felt normal once again.
Rapa was the first to come back to his senses. “Merovek, report!”
“We have successfully jumped to hyperspeed. But the enemy’s final attack knocked out many of our core systems. The engines weren’t hit, but our power supply has been damaged.”
“What does that mean for us?” Odin asked.
“I have already implemented power conservation algorithms,” Merovek replied. “But I fear we will only have enough for life support and the deceleration process. Unless we can replace the power conduits, then once we stop, this ship won’t be making another jump to hyperspace.”
Odin nodded. “Very well. How long until we reach the destination?”
Merovek went silent for a moment as he did his calculations. “Three point five generations,” he said finally.
“I can’t believe it,” Rapa said slowly.
“It is for the greater good,” Odin said. “Once we enter the cryopreservation modules, the journey will feel like nothing but a night’s sleep.”
“That may be so, but everyone we have ever known will be dead,” Rapa said sadly.
“Not everyone,” Merovek said. “We are being trailed by a Valerian destroyer. They jumped to hyperspace shortly after we did.”
“Olta’s calling our bluff,” Rapa said. “He doesn’t believe we’d risk such a journey.”
“There’s no way that ship will follow us all the way to Midgard,” Odin said. “Merovek, how about our weapons?”
“Still offline,” Merovek said. “We can’t repair them while traveling at hyperspeed. Once we drop back into normal space, we’ll be defenseless.”
“Then let’s hope that ship turns back,” Odin said. “Merovek, prepare the cryopreservation modules.”
* * *
For three and a half generations, the Vitellius hurtled through space into the unknown. The crew’s bodies lay preserved in cryopods, their bodies locked in a state of deep hibernation.
Sigurd experienced a long, dreamless state of non-existence. Finally, numbness began to give way to the barest of feelings, as glimmers of comprehension fought against the everlasting nothingness. At first, Sigurd believed he was lying in bed at dawn, slipping in and out of sleep, waiting for the sun to slowly rise above distant mountains.
In many ways, Sigurd had never felt more at peace. But as his conscious mind took over, that calm slowly gave way to apprehension. He remembered the virus, the deaths, the fighting. Suddenly, three generations of hibernation wasn’t enough. He wanted to sleep forever, to never have to face his bitter reality again.
After what seemed a solemn eternity, Merovek’s voice drifted into his cryopod.
“Initiating reanimation procedure. Initiating—”
Sigurd’s eyes snapped open when a jolt of adrenaline was injected into his body. He started shivering, the pod only a degree or two above freezing. Another moment, and then a seam appeared in the hazy white dome above his head, the glass splitting open down the middle.
Like an apparition, the scraggy face of Odin appeared. But this wasn’t the Odin he remembered. The creature he saw now was like a shadow of its former self. The few feathers he’d once had on his head were gone, and the skin covering his face and skull was a translucent gray, dark veins eminently visible underneath. He swayed as he stood, and he stooped low, as if he carried a thousand weights on his back.
Odin held out a hand, and Sigurd reached for it.
Sigurd felt brittle bones in his arms, legs, and neck creak and crack as he sat up. With great effort, he pulled himself out of the pod and stood shakily, testing his frail muscles. He let his foggy gaze shift downward, to the tight, leathery skin wrapped around bony legs. His feet were shriveled and deformed, and the talon on the end of each toe was long and chipped. He didn’t dare ask for a mirror, too afraid to face the dilapidated monster he feared he had become.
He looked at Odin, and nearly retched when he saw the horrible state of his friend’s body. Odin, the leader of rebels. Odin the philosopher. Odin the furious one, the wandering saint—now reduced to a jumble of wrinkled skin and rotted feathers.
“Did we make it?” Sigurd asked. His voice was hoarse, a scratchy whisper.
Odin nodded. “We did.”
“All the way to Midgard?”
Odin nodded.
“It’s unbelievable,” Sigurd said, his astonishment briefly allowing him to forget his own wrecked body.
For a small moment, Odin’s eyes shone like fire, lighting up the room. Then they clouded over again, and he spoke cautiously. “We have come a long way, but there is still so much to lose.”
“Have we been pursued?”
“We’re not sure yet. We won’t know until we drop out of hyperspace. We’re at the edge of the Midgard system now, passing the outer planets. We’ll reach our destination soon, and we must be ready. Merovek is waking up the others now. From the initial analysis, it seems that everyone survived the journey.”
Sigurd took a few tentative steps around the room, flexing his muscles, feeling the blood start to flow once again. “I wonder what became of Valeria? Isn’t that strange? For us, all of that feels like yesterday. But for the Valerians, for the Freya we left behind, for the Four Colonies, that was generations ago.”
Odin’s eyes crinkled. “We’ll never know what happened to Valeria. But that is no longer our fight or our concern. We have but one task ahead of us, and that is to protect the memory sphere, to protect the thousands of Freyan souls contained within it. We must deliver them to a new world, to their new home. We will give them a future they never could have had on Valeria.”
“And what of our future?” Sigurd asked. “What will become of us once we deliver the Freya to Midgard?”
“We must not be concerned with such things now,” Odin said. “We have our priority. We pledged our lives for this cause.”
“And we have already given them,” Sigurd said.
“We give even when we have nothing left to give,” Odin said.
* * *
Sigurd and Odin limped to the bridge, where they found Captain Rapa—a thinner, older, weaker version of Captain Rapa—inspecting the navigation equipment. The bridge, once polished and humming, was now in a state of extreme disarray. A thick layer of dust covered everything, and the floor felt slippery with grime. Rapa paced back and forth, shaking his head.
He looked up at them. “Nice to see you two up. But I’ve never seen such a mess. It’s all basically useless. There was an outbreak of Catarian algae that got into the circuitry. It’s eaten through half our electrical systems and clogged up the propulsion drives. I’m amazed it didn’t get into the cryo modules. Merovek, why didn’t you do something about this?”
Merovek’s voice was distant and crackly. “The ship does not have sensors adequate to detect such an anomaly.”
“Well, I guess we should have thought of that,” Rapa said angrily.
“Regardless of the current condition of our ship,” Merovek said, “I project an eighty-eight percent chance of reaching Midgard and finding a suitable location to establish a new
Freyan colony.”
“I’m glad you’re such an optimist,” Rapa said.
“What accounts for the twelve percent failure rate?” Odin asked.
Merovek went silent for a moment, then: “Several factors. The first is the possibility that we have been trailed. One more direct hit to our hull would destabilize the structural integrity of this vessel. We would surely perish. The second is that we may lose power during the deceleration procedure. In that case, our ship would sail past our target into the unknown depths of space, doomed to travel at light speed for the rest of eternity. And finally, it is conceivable that Midgard itself is unsuitable for Freyan activities, lacking the requisite metals and minerals for cybernetic production facilities.”
“That all sounds pretty bad,” Rapa said.
“As I said,” Merovek continued, “those negative outcomes account for only twelve percent of the possible scenarios. Chances are, we will achieve success.”
“Chances are…” Rapa grumbled, and got to work getting the navigation controls back online. “Merovek, make sure everything is in place for deceleration. And see if we can get our guns back online. If we do have a tail, we’ll want to blast them out of the sky before they can make a move.”
“Yes, Captain,” Merovek chimed. “And may I note that the journey here was very pleasurable. We passed within a few light years of some very intriguing star systems. I have compiled several reports which I would very much like to share with you, and—”
“The guns, Merovek.”
“Indeed, Captain.”
The door swished open and a few more haggard techs stumbled onto the bridge and went to their stations. Though their bodies were weak and defeated, and the equipment equally so, they wasted no time in getting back to work, and the ship began to hum once again.
* * *
Sigurd, who was trained only in hand-to-hand and military combat, could only watch helplessly as events unfolded.
“Distance to target: five light minutes // Initiating deceleration sequence in three, two, one.” Merovek counted down. “Deceleration procedure initiated // Systems at 70% // Activating antimatter spark destabilizer.”
