Fall and Rising

by Sunny Moraine

  “Promise me,” he said again, and Adam gave him a small, bemused smile.

  “I can’t promise you anything until you tell me what the hell I’m promising you.”

  Lochlan took a breath. He never would have believed that he would do this, but now he couldn’t see himself doing anything else. It was his path.

  Like everything else.

  “If we get through this alive … Chusile. Marry me.”

  Adam blinked. Stared, his mismatched eyes widening.

  “I know, I know it’s …” Lochlan laughed, trying not to shift his gaze away. “Look, just tell me if you will. Don’t leave me hanging in fucking midair like this.”

  “Why?”

  This time the sound Lochlan made wasn’t exactly a laugh. “That’s not a yes or a no, perfect.”

  “No, I mean … Really. Why?”

  That needed an answer. He hadn’t expected the question, but it did. He searched frantically through the clutter that was himself, and it shouldn’t be this hard to find words for what he was feeling, it shouldn’t …

  “Because I love you. Because I’ve never loved anyone like this. Because I … I want to be with you, you idiot; I want to make a life with you, I want to get old and disgusting with you, and I want … Adam, line and orbit, I want you, isn’t that enough?”

  Adam let out a soft breath and laid two fingers on Lochlan’s lips, replacing them briefly with his mouth. “Yes. Okay? Yes, I will. Calm down, you’ll rupture something.”

  “Oh.” Had he expected a yes? What the hell had he expected?

  Adam cocked his head. “What?”

  “I guess I didn’t think it would be this … easy.”

  “Oh, so I’m easy now. Thanks.” Adam turned over onto his back, pulling Lochlan with him and nuzzling at his jaw.

  “That, I think we’ve already well established.” Lochlan slid on top of him, returning the nuzzle, the sun warm on his shoulders. It wasn’t time to go back yet. He wasn’t really all that hungry.

  “Whatever.” Adam sighed. “Just kiss me for a while.”

  Lochlan did. Then there was more than kissing, a lot more, and kissing in so many delightful places, sighs and laughter and soft cries, and by the time they pulled reluctantly apart, the sun was sinking and the shadows were lengthening, and they couldn’t delay the future any longer.

  But lines, it had been good. And it would be good again.

  It would.

  When night fell completely, they set a bonfire near the ship and gathered around it to roast the meat that someone had brought from the village. The village itself seemed wary of them, its people keeping a safe distance. Adam stood on the outskirts of the gathering and watched people mill around, talking, relaxing on the grass together. It was a warm night, in contrast to the cool one before, but while the mood was genial, Adam could sense an undercurrent of tension.

  “I’m going to talk to them all after they’ve finished eating,” Rachel said. She had approached without him noticing, but he didn’t jump. Perhaps part of him had been expecting her. “Fill them in, offer them a choice.”

  “Good.” Adam sighed. “I think … Tomorrow, something’s going to happen.”

  “Lakshmi told you?”

  “No. I don’t know how I know. I just—”

  “You just do. No, I get it.” She laughed. “I mean, no, I really don’t, but I do.”

  “Someone should get the children away,” Adam said softly. Closer to the fire, Rachel’s children were running and laughing, chasing two others about their age. “Maybe not only for tomorrow. Rachel, whatever comes after this … I don’t think there will be a place for families.”

  “I know.” She moved closer to him, her arms crossed over her chest. “I’ll deal with that. I’m pretty sure that a few people won’t fight. We can send them off with the kids. Get them as far away as possible.” She paused. “We were always going to have to make sacrifices. I think a lot of us know that.”

  “The question is what we sacrifice,” Adam murmured. “Yes. Okay, good.”

  Again, Rachel hesitated, and Adam could feel the shape of what she was preparing to say. “I’ll take the lead in terms of talking. But I think you should speak too.”

  Adam squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Rachel snorted. “None of this is a good idea. There are no good ideas anymore. But I think you should. Even if they don’t know exactly how you’re involved … You’re still at the center of it. You need to tell them who you are, what this is all really about.”

  Adam kept his eyes closed, as if he could simply block it all out. He wasn’t a hero, and if he spoke to them, that wouldn’t change. If anything, they might blame him, might hate him for what was going to happen next, despite the fact that they were free … And did he blame them for that? Would he have felt the same?

  Maybe he wasn’t giving them enough credit.

  Either way.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.” He opened his eyes, gazing at the gathering and then up at the stars. “The ones who don’t fight should take the transport. They should go immediately, while they can. Stay at a distance and be ready to go to slipstream. If this goes to hell … There won’t be a safe place on this whole planet.”

  Rachel nodded. “Yeah. We can set a return time. If they don’t hear from us, they just keep on going.”

  Adam was quiet for a long moment. People would separate, loved ones from loved ones and friends from friends, and somewhere in that crowd was Lochlan, alone with his own thoughts. And yet not alone. Not alone ever again, or at least for the time they both had together.

  Married. It defied belief.

  “All right.” He started forward, heading toward the fire without glancing back. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “You know why we’re here.”

  Rachel’s voice was strong and clear, carrying over the heads of the crowd, and Adam was reminded a little of Naomi at the camp meeting. Rachel was younger, less certain, but that same solidness was in her, the sense of a backbone that could go to steel when it had to. When she spoke, people listened, and a realization stole over Adam. He wasn’t merely looking at a leader for these people.

  Rachel was a general.

  “We’re here because we ran,” she continued. At her side, Aarons stood straight and firm, and again Adam noticed how close they were. “We ran because our own people were trying to kill us. They were trying to kill us because we had the audacity to think that we didn’t deserve to die in a fucking cage.”

  There were nods and a murmur of agreement. A few people cheered, though the cheers weren’t happy.

  “They’re not going to be content to just let us get away. We’re too great a danger. They’re going to be coming for us, and soon. So we have a choice to make.” Rachel pointed at Kyle and Eva at the edges of the crowd. “These people have accumulated weapons. Enough for almost all of us. So we can do one of two things: We can run, or we can stop running. We can stand and fight.”

  Silence. Not even murmurs. Adam looked around at the refugees, but their faces were twisted and strange in the firelight, and difficult to read. Then he froze—there at the edge of the crowd was Lakshmi, leaning on her stick with an odd smile on her old face.

  How long had she been waiting? How long had she known this was coming?

  “Before we decide,” Rachel went on, “I think you should hear from someone who’s been at the center of this since the beginning. He didn’t heal you, but he’s the reason you were healed. Adam?”

  Numbly, Adam stepped forward into the middle of the group. He was thinking of the meeting on the Plain, standing before the Aalim and begging for his life. Begging for his people.

  It was still difficult to say if that had ended well.

  He stopped beside Rachel and cleared his throat. Lochlan lingered on the outer edges; Adam caught glimpses of his brown face and the colored beads in his hair. His eyes. There was strength there, and A
dam took it.

  “My name is Adam,” he said slowly, hesitating a second “I used to be sick, like you. And like the rest of you, I didn’t do them a favor and lie down and die. I ran. I found people who would help me. I survived because of those people.” The words were coming faster now, more easily. All he had to do—all he could do—was tell the truth.

  “That was something the Protectorate couldn’t forgive. Maybe you heard there was an incident? On a planet a long way from here, whose name most of you wouldn’t know? That was because of me.” It was my fault. “They were trying to erase me. They were trying to erase all of us … The Bideshi. I’m not one of them, but they saved me when they had no reason to do so. I think a lot of you know that they’re involved in this, too. I think they will be until the end.” Now there were murmurs again, and they sounded doubtful, but Adam steeled himself and pushed onward.

  “I didn’t mean to find you. But I did. You’re why I came back. I don’t want to see our people die, but that’s where they’re headed. As long as the people who want to kill you stay in power, there’ll be more quarantines, more experiments, more torture. More death. You’ve seen that there’s another way. I want to take that way to the rest of the Protectorate. But they won’t let us. They’re too locked into the way they’ve always done things, the way they’ve rejected everything the Bideshi are. Holding on to the things in which they were always taught to believe, no matter what they see. The only way we’ll be able to make this work is by meeting force with force.”

  He sighed, his chest tightening. “I don’t want to fight. I’d be happier not to have to. I’ve seen … so much death. I never want to see it again. But I don’t think I have a choice anymore. We can fight, or we can die. Not just us. Everyone.”

  “Listen to him.”

  Everyone turned, startled. Lakshmi was stepping forward, supported by Skitss, lifting her stick as if in a kind of benediction. “Few know the cost of what he’s saying better than he does. But you do. Haven’t every one of you lost someone? There comes a time, children, when there are no good choices left. When all you can do is the best you can do.” She lowered her head and appeared to say something under her breath, before she lifted her voice again. “It starts with us. With you. Here and now. You may choose one way, or the other, but no one can abstain from the choosing. No one can stand aside and watch it happen. Make your choices, and follow those paths to the end.”

  Once more there was silence, all eyes on the center of the circle. Rachel lifted her head and raised a hand.

  “Everyone who’s willing and able to fight, step forward. Everyone who isn’t, take all the children and go to the ship. Don’t hesitate. We’ve already stocked it with whatever supplies we could scrape together. It’s not much, but it might be enough. Take off, head to the outer edges of the system, and wait to hear from us. If you’ve heard nothing two days from now, go to slipstream and get as far away from here as you can.” She paused. “There’s no shame in choosing that way. Not everyone’s a fighter. And someone has to take care of the people who aren’t.”

  There was a moment where no one moved. A log tumbled down in the fire, sending sparks up into the night sky like little gold and orange stars. Gradually, Adam realized that he was holding his breath, but only when he felt Lochlan’s hand at the small of his back did he let it out.

  Then, one by one, people began to divide themselves.

  Adam had no idea how long it went on, that great separation: people stepping forward, people turning away. He knew only that it hurt, and he saw Rachel blinking back tears as Tamara took Becca and Dion by the hand and led them away. They were looking back over their shoulders, confused and clearly frightened, and Rachel pressed her hands to her mouth and closed her eyes.

  This was good-bye. For some of them, maybe forever.

  Then it was over. What they were left with was approximately a hundred people, mostly young and middle-aged, men and women alike. And there was something harder about them, something colder. A dark kind of understanding.

  They knew what they had chosen.

  “Okay,” Rachel said softly, and lifted her voice again. “Tonight we’ll hand out guns, make sure that everyone can use them. I think we’re limited in terms of the strategy we can employ, and I’m not a peacekeeper, but I’ll be talking to those of you who were. And I have someone who—” She gestured to Aarons. “He knows more than a lot of you, I think. You should listen to him. We’ll work this out. I can’t promise anything, but … we’re in this together, and that has to count for something.”

  She paused and dropped her arms again. “All right. Let’s get to work.”

  They exited slipstream smoothly, quietly, and Sinder lifted his head, gazing out the window of his cabin at the suddenly black space outside.

  It was time. Or close to it, anyway.

  He rose slowly, stretching his stiff legs; he had no idea how long he had been sitting there on the floor in silent meditation, but he felt rested. Refreshed. Ready to take on anything. He would keep that calm center in himself and it would rule him and replace his weakness with strength.

  He went to the desk, and touched the comm a second after it chimed. “Yes?”

  “We’ve come out of slipstream, sir. It’s about three hours until we reach the planet itself. The captain would like to speak to you, if you’ll meet her in her cabin.”

  “Straightaway, Lieutenant.” Sinder began to straighten his suit, then stopped when he realized that merely straightening it wouldn’t do the job. What was he thinking? He needed a shower and a change of clothes; he needed to present himself as he was. A sentinel, a knight—but in that capacity, merely a representative of something far greater.

  Order would be restored, and he would exult in it. And all would be well.

  Alkor met him at the door. Her expression was cold, stern, her bearing a little aloof. He wasn’t bothered by it. She would see soon enough.

  “Captain.”

  “Mr. Sinder.” She stood aside and gestured for him to enter, which he did with a polite nod. She faced him as the door shut. “So here we are.”

  “Almost. They tell me that we’re about three hours out, still.”

  “Yes. And then I guess we’ll see if this second sight of yours really has something to it.”

  Sinder smiled. “You have a better proposition, Captain? I’m all ears.”

  “I just don’t like the idea of my people being led on a snipe hunt.”

  “What are snipe, anyway?” Sinder moved toward her desk and lifted a small crystal trinket from its corner: a figure shaped like a graceful bird with its wings unfurling. It didn’t completely match the rest of the decor and had the appearance of a gift; he wondered who had given it to her. “I know a lot about ancient Terra, but I don’t know the origin of that phrase. Isn’t it odd, Captain, how we use all of these things without any idea of where they come from? Their true purpose?”

  Alkor arched a brow. “Well, clearly people used to hunt them. When was the last time you slept, Sinder?”

  “You don’t have a lot of faith in me,” he said, turning back to her. “I know you said that you believed that I would find Yuga, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re doubting that now. I don’t blame you. It’s strange. I would doubt it myself if I wasn’t so sure, and either way we’ll soon know.” He closed his hand around the crystal figure, feeling its coolness and weight. “Are your people prepared to make planetfall?”

  “Yes. There shouldn’t be any further problems.” She shifted her shoulders and went to the cabinet on which sat the glasses and decanter. Again, whiskey as a kind of peace offering. Good move. “We’ll take Yuga and the Bideshi—and Aarons—into custody if at all possible, but the officers at the quarantine told us to eliminate everyone else, and I think that’s probably the best move. We don’t have the facilities to hold that many people.” Her mouth twisted as she poured. “I won’t pretend to like it, though. They’re civilians; some of them are children—”

&nb
sp; “They’re threats to the Protectorate. They’re also dead anyway.” He took a long drink, heaved a sigh as the heat of it settled in the center of his chest. “This is mercy, Captain. We can make it quick for them. What’s their other option? Something slow and lingering and painful?”

  “I suppose.” Alkor examined her glass as if there might be an answer lurking in the whiskey’s golden-brown depths.

  “Regardless, be ready for resistance. These people broke out of a guarded Protectorate facility. And they almost certainly have Yuga. Don’t underestimate them. Don’t pull your punches.”

  “I don’t intend to.” Alkor looked up at him, her face set. “I want to be done with this, Sinder. I want this to be over. I want to go to my house on the beach and not think about it ever again. This whole business might be necessary, but it’s not how I wanted to wrap up my career.”

  “I can well appreciate that, Captain. Nevertheless.” He gave her a faint smile. “I know we didn’t get off on the smoothest of terms, but I think we’ve developed a real working relationship. As I said, I’ll make sure the right people hear about the job you’ve done.”

  “Thank you. But like I said, I don’t want to think about this after it’s all over.” Alkor set her glass down on her desk and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I need an hour or so. I’ll notify you when we’re in orbit.”

  “Excellent.” Sinder took a last swallow, then set his own glass down beside hers and turned toward the door. He was halfway across the room when Alkor cleared her throat.

  “Sinder, can I have that back, please?”

  He stopped and glanced down at his hand. The little figure was still nestled in his palm, now warm from the heat of his body. He returned to Alkor and held it out.

  “My apologies. Thoughtless of me. It’s very pretty,” he added as she took it from him. “Where did you get it?”

  “It belonged to my daughter.” She set it back down on the desk, and kept her gaze on it. “I’ll speak to you later, Sinder.”

  He nodded and turned away again. But that final image was strange. A great many things were strange now, were taking on the quality of a dream.