Astral Fall

by Jessica Mae Stover

  “I’m not a soldier.”

  He barely had time to note the next card it turned; a group of humans in light, airy civilian clothes gathered in a huddle, their hands stretched upward toward the viewer: LUCYVIEW PLANETARY POPULATION: 403.65 MILLION.

  “When a…”

  “Commander,” Crave provided.

  It skimmed and flicked another card, but didn’t show it to him. “When a commander, or any soldier, falls from the rise, sometimes the science in the air rubs the science in their suit and it gets shiny and glows.”

  “You dumbing it down for me, kid?”

  “Yes.”

  It thumbed through a few more cards, stopping on the image of two women holding hands in silhouette while looking upward to a yellow dwarf star, just long enough for Crave to read the reflection backward in its C-mask. THE LUCIAN SOLAR STAR WAS DISCOVERED BY INTERSTELLAR MEDIUM HARVATII DONNER, WHO NAMED IT AFTER HER LOVER, LUCY.

  “It’s a chemical reaction built into combat suits for ejected pilots, parajumpers, or anyone who might execute a drop, even deckees. You fall a long enough distance at a high enough speed, and it turns you into a flare so that you are easier to locate and recover.”

  Basic science of combat tech. Took that class when I was sixteen, kid.

  “From afar that chemical reaction makes you look like a meteor—a shooting star. The Lucians consider sightings to be a signal of good fortune to come.”

  It’s talking. Good. The more intel-safe details I give it, the more it talks.

  “They make wishes on them, or should I say, on you. Of course astral falls are good fortune. Your death makes it possible for them to live.”

  “I’m not dead.”

  “Then someone’s wish isn’t coming true.”

  Crave watched it slide through the cards. “How many orbital cycles are you? Shit. Don’t answer that. No use telling me. I don’t know the measurement of your cycle offhand. Wasn’t briefed on the planet’s minor details. Just arrived and wanted a look out at the deck first.”

  The kid turned a card over and held it in front of Crave. Dotted circles marked a map of the planet’s orbit around Lucy: LUCYVIEW’S ORBITAL CYCLE IS 14% SHORTER THAN NATIVE ORBITAL CYCLE, PLACING IT IN THE ORACLE SUNSTAR CATEGORY. THAT MEANS THAT YEARS ON LUCYVIEW ARE 14% SHORTER!

  “Are you saying that upon arrival at the base you requested to observe the view from the rise?”

  “Prefer to see things for what they are before performance-reducing bias sets in. Back home, this place is called the Hellstory.” Crave laughed and felt his lip curl with the darkness of his situation. “Confirmed that much.”

  It put the cards away, taking care to pulse the case seal shut, and slid the container back into his internal kit. “Ridrain command invites new arrivals out to the rise balcony for a bit of collegial substance abuse. Or so number forty-five told me. I’m not a part of the meet-and-greet. I assume that a few minutes of luxurious terrestrial hospitality and an iconic view are enticing to any soldier—or officer—deployed through deep space. It’s a long trip to arrive here. Especially when you travel outside of the Sunway for part of the way.”

  Number forty-five? It keeping kill scores? Keep it talking. Build rapport. Stay alive.

  “I’m called Crave. What about you?”

  The kid dismounted from his chest and waved its right hand, the glove wet with a bright red smear. “You were shot. Do you feel pain?”

  “I don’t feel anything.”

  “Two shots. Two wounds. With care you would neither die from this wound nor the second. Both appear to only consist of tissue damage, and you’ve had treatments… fifty?”

  “Sixty.”

  “The general I took this mask from had two hundred. Don’t you think a C-mask’s too expensive and rare for a general’s pay? And then there’s all those treatments.”

  Political, not my concern. Keep it talking. “Hey, kid, how’d you get so smart?”

  “Thaedra Academy. B-Wing.”

  Bad intel. Thaedra closed eight years ago, and it can’t be old enough to have attended before that. Is it lying?

  It went on, “I heard that it’s been closed for eight years. Number three-two-two first told me. Good! It wasn’t what it once was, after the founding headmaster died. Or was assassinated. Not that the latter was considered officially.”

  Small universe. I shot him.

  “But no one questions, do they? Wear what you’re issued. Follow orders. Look at your legs, Commander.”

  “What?”

  He tilted his chin down to look. Where usually there were legs, instead lay a mess of blood, tissue and bone. Although he didn’t have his hood on, he experienced the sensation of it redframing.

  That’s not me. I can’t feel that. Stomach acid raced up his throat, and in his weakened state his head tipped back, resting against the deck. I’ve lost them. I’ll never get them back. I’m shattered, legless, done—

  He closed his eyes to control his panic. Go to safe memory place. Turquoise waters, the air is warm—I’m on the beach…

  Images of his legs shattering as he fell and struck the deck yielded to the sea from his childhood home. Now that he had the memory, he clung to it, focusing on the rhythm of the waves, letting the crashing sounds of water take him over. If I’m not paralyzed, I’ll get biomech legs. They can be career-enhancing. Zii is a force with his. But I have no feeling from the neck down, and that was… too much red—The only piece of Yviss I brought back was the piece of his hardhood embedded in Charis’ leg—

  “Commander?”

  Crave struggled out of his flashback, comprehended that he was wincing and that it was talking to him, repeating a question.

  “Do you feel pain?”

  He shook his head slightly, and when he could speak again, his voice came out sounding distant and casual.

  “I’m going to bleed out before my unit…”

  The scavenger leaned over him. “Commander, no one is coming.”

  Crave saw his face reflected in the C-mask: lips dry, eyes unfocused, thin, jagged electrostatic Litchenberg scar sprawled under his jaw and up his right cheek to his hairline like a pearly tree of lightning. Trophy from my last roselaurels mission. He remembered the heat of it, how delicious the energy felt as his suit wrestled it down in defense. A familiar battle smell stung his nose. Burning flesh.

  “My unit will come.”

  “If anyone did come, it would be to confirm the kill. There’s no need for that. No one survives a fall from the rise.” It flicked his open suit. “Even officers with trepid gear. Even generals with two hundred treatments. More interesting than that was the deckee who had just as many. How does a common infantry soldier assigned to the Red Theater get two hundred treatments? But no one ever questions, no.”

  “My unit will come. It’s not an opinion; we don’t leave without visual confirmation.”

  The kid motioned, pointing west and ticking off each name on its fingers, “Skregs… Charis… Thwip… Wheck… Not a large unit, was it?”

  I will not confirm our numbers. Tactic: Create value. Negotiate.

  “Novas don’t need a large unit.”

  “Special Forces? Oh Commander, you’re not supposed to tell me that.”

  “You already knew.”

  “I did know, but you might have told me even if you thought I didn’t. After all, you told me the truth of your rank.” It cocked its head. “You’re prepping me on your personal value before offering a barter.”

  “Well, if you have intel on valuable UNP assets, you could be rewarded.”

  “Nice to see you thinking a few moves ahead, Commander. So how would I collect on that reward without getting myself double-crossed and cold murdered?”

  “I’ll tell you how to use your chatter mechs to notify that base up there of my position and status. You do that, and I’ll arrange a reward for you, and immunity.”

  “What was it like? When you fell?”

  “What?”

  Its r
ight index finger extended from its closed fist and pointed upward.

  Keep talking. Survive. “Looked like a calm sea. Then I understood that the waves I saw were actually clouds, that I was skyborne and falling, and I… grabbed for something, anything, to stop or slow my descent, coming up with nothing but fistfuls of air.”

  He saw the kid’s fingers move. What’s it pulsing to its IF?

  Still crouching, it lifted the arm to Crave’s suit and held it over its head, looked upward at the glove toward the sky appraisingly, then let it flop to the ground.

  “Well, Nova Commander Crave, if you’re so valuable, I should sell you to the Lucian military.”

  “Could you trust them? Risky. And if you want currency, I’ll double the value they would offer.”

  “You don’t have the authority to back that offer, and you wouldn’t protect me. You have no reason to.”

  “As of when I docked at Ridrain, I do have the authority.” Crave did his best to make eye contact despite the kid’s C-mask. “And tactically I’m not interested in civilians.”

  “Exterior. Standard operational capture. Evening. Sunstarlight skims surface mists, grazes endless silver swells… Quiet, calm sea. The water recedes. We reach for the surf, but it ebbs farther and farther away from our gloved, outstretched fingers… but the swells aren’t water, they’re waves of clouds—hmm.”

  Is it… narrating what I said I saw?

  It turned back to him. “I want a nebula crawler, clean—no scan tracking, no dirty tech, with a scythe op system and blind clearance for the Sunway.”

  That’s it? Shit, who wouldn’t want to escape the Hellstory and a planet at war? Some bureaucratic fallout afterward likely. It might be controversial, but Leo will sort out the clerical cleanup.

  “You a pilot?”

  “Maybe,” it said. “If I’m not, I’ll just die on that crawler, so what is it to you?”

  “If my unit is here, you give me their location and status, and alert the base, and then we have an agreement.”

  “Their status is dead, Commander. What do I get for telling you that?”

  Nice try, kid. An entire Nova unit doesn’t just die.

  “Then I’ll need visual confirmation.”

  “You don’t want to see that.”

  “That’s what a liar would say.”

  “I wonder how many saw the same illusion of watery clouds that you did when they fell. Were you afraid?”

  “I’m bleeding out. If I die, you don’t have a deal.”

  “How will you guarantee that the UNP doesn’t murder me before I make the Sunway? I’ll have to take you with me and detain you in order to ensure my escape. Risky.”

  It imitated the way I said “Risky.”

  “You’re right, kid, you won’t be able to use the Sunway if you want to leave. If you sail for the Nativity’s interior, you’ll force the UNP to intercept you, since I can’t guarantee that you don’t intend harm, or wouldn’t create it accidentally. You’ll have to use the gate to launch yourself the opposite direction, into back space, and then sail your own way to an independent waystation. I’ll plan it as a basic op—I’ll keep our terms and your existence secret, stay with you until you’re docked at the gate and ready to launch, then jump ship as you hit the sailmark and have my unit recover me, then turn in my report. We’re at the edge of humanity here. You’ll be lost into the black by the time anyone who might violate the deal would look for you, and I have no interest in pursuit. They won’t violate the deal, though. You’re not a combatant, and you’ll have done the UNP a service. Just make sure you swap ships as soon as possible to keep your trail cold. I can show you how to do that. Any other terms?”

  “So easily done.”

  “I have some experience in covert ops.”

  “I’m sure I can trust you. Novas are honorable by reputation.”

  “Yes. If I turn on a civilian informant, then when the news spreads, every UNP informant will stop providing intelligence. Trust is the most valuable currency.”

  “Ah, but you’re a Nova, and therefore a masterful covert ops agent. If you betray me covertly, then no one will know. Although you’re the one laid out now, in the deal you suggest I’ll be the one at risk.”

  “A civilian kid and a small ship against assuring the safety of a Nova is a deal I can make. I can get you what you want. I have the authority, and the UNP comes out ahead in this exchange. No one’s interested in you, kid. I’ll cover you. You’ll be fine.”

  “I see. In that case…”

  “We have an agreement?”

  It laughed. “Loose a Nova? You’re dangerous, Commander. The base tried not to bring you here. However, it would have looked suspicious to be adamant about resisting your deployment. Anyway, I can’t leave the planet.”

  They’re coming. Change subject. Survive. Fuck… my face is numb.

  “Hey, kid—kid, you have any scavenged medical supplies?”

  “Yes. But I can’t use them on fallen soldiers. I tried, but they don’t listen—”

  “Fuck, kid, help me. I have a medpen—seal me up! If you help me pulse my suit, it will scan me and—”

  “You’re shattered, Commander—”

  “I could tether it to yours—”

  “You said so yourself. ‘Shattered and done.’ ”

  I said that aloud? Possible brain trauma.

  “Number two-two-seven cried. Most do. But he sobbed. It was heart-wrenching.” It rocked back on its heels, crouching out of reach. “That’s not something a Nova would stay to see though, is it? Since I’m not a Nova, I will stay with you until the end, Commander. Do you want me to hear your life story? I’m a fair listener.”

  “No.”

  “The others did.”

  “The others. Like number forty-five?” Establish rapport. I just need time. Keep it talking.

  “No. Forty-five, she cursed me for a demon. Forty-six called me mountain spirit, he was far more ethereal, so that cheered me. As much as can be under the circumstances. Some people can almost make you believe in something. One-oh-two called me ‘Skyface’ and begged me to reflect and concentrate the lucylight into his hoodless face and burn his eyes out, some sort of religious death ritual.” It shook its head slowly back and forth. “Military. All that mech training, all of it based on science, and yet they’re superstitious. They’ll believe an unsubstantiated controlling belief system, but not me. It’s a waste of meds. Still, I talk with them.”

  “Then take their gear.”

  “A few times. Most of it’s busted up, and as for what survives, it’s not like they’re able to use it anymore. Base has stopped wasting suits and gear on nonofficers, though, since all they’re going to do is fly in them. May as well use the funds otherwise, and logistically it’s easier if they go down suitless. So I can’t see infantry anymore. When they didn’t issue your unit arrow suits and tricked you into that SI—Special Forces are a protected investment, as you bragged about—it should have signed to you. Aren’t Novas supposed to be rather bright?”

  “Cosmos, kid.” Crave’s vision blurred and his speech slowed. “No need to insult me. I’m already dying.” Wounded. Do not go to sleep. Give safe details. Make it personal. Build rapport. Talk. “Nova trepid suits are the highest grade of gear the military has, so we declined Ridrain’s suit assignment. Stealth, though—no flare. No… astral falls in those suits.”

  “You’re in an SI suit.”

  “I didn’t decline.”

  “Still, you’re an officer, didn’t you notice when they didn’t assign you an officer’s arrow suit?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You chose an SI?” It paused and, because of its mask, Crave imagined it was staring at him, evaluating. “Yes, I see. Like the proverbial general who, for morale, charges into battle without her stripes to show her troops that she considers them her equal, you come here in an SI. To make a statement, yes? In reaction to what you’ve seen of Aitith and the other officers in news captures? Well,
there were other signs you might have noticed. I saw you because of the SI’s flare, though, and I caught you in my net. The others I could not see. They died on impact.”

  It’s lying. They’re coming. But how long has it been? I don’t have long. They should be here by now.

  “They don’t call it the Red Theater for nothing,” he said.

  The kid was still. Lucy’s dying light cast a scarlet glow that caught in the angles of the C-mask and rippled bloody shapes across its fractured face. Wind traversed the deck, filling the silence.

  “Commander, there has been no war here for over a decade.”

  Crave felt the skin of his lips crack with dryness as he almost laughed. This damn kid and its games.

  “I like that story, kid. No more war. Tell it to me while I die.”

  Shit. Crave winced one eye open, then the other. Dry creek bed. Dry creek bed…

  His first sense that something was wrong was that he was disoriented and groggy. Nova sleep was trepid-regulated, so Novas did not wake groggy; it was a sensation that he hadn’t experienced since roselaurels.

  A kid in a Crystal mask, dry creek bed… Water—clouds—I’m falling! No—I hit the fucking deck. Shit. I’m paralyzed.

  Hardhood intact, skull shielded. Good. Skyface resealed it. But why? It’s valuable tech.

  Level-ten pain flashed across his skull. His head didn’t just hurt; it burned as if he had cold fire in his brain. His eyes watered, and although he couldn’t feel his chest, he heard himself panting and shivering.

  “Look at your legs, Commander.”

  Fragments of conversation came back, coupled with bursts of agony. He could remember the kid, leaning over him in his confusion, the shameful feeling of helplessness at the hands of a civilian.

  Skyface’s not here anymore. Said it wouldn’t leave. Told me a story. What was it about? What does it matter, now?

  “Look at your legs, Commander.”

  “No, you’re not here, Skyface,” he said defiantly, staring upward. His mask remained transparent on the left side but his IF was no longer spinning random data, and had reset to the default, basic scan. Above, the black sky still held a blood-red glow. According to a culture card he had glimpsed, this was as dark as it got on Lucyview at this geoline at this point in the cycle. He flinched at the searing pain that accompanied the memory.