by M. D. Cooper
“It means she doesn’t treat us like kids. At least not all the time. Now, come on. Let’s go.”
“Is dad going to be okay?”
“Yes, Tim,” Cara said, realizing she was lying because she didn’t know and had to get him out the door. “Dad’s going to be okay.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
STELLAR DATE: 01.14.2982 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Sunny Skies
REGION: Jovian L1 Hildas Asteroids, Jovian Combine, OuterSol
When the missiles hit Ceres, Cara experienced something she had never seen in all the time she had obsessively studied the communications spectrum: a pause.
When passive scans first picked up the series of burns in the Hellas asteroids, all of Sol seemed to hold its breath. Apparently it was unusual to see acceleration burns in those locations, as monitoring NSAI throughout InnerSol began to activate early warning systems.
Once the pattern was clear and the military had turned their attention to the incoming missiles, newsfeeds picked up the trajectories of more than fifty incoming objects. In the grand scheme of traffic, the engine signatures were nothing; however, all of InnerSol had been looking for the Larissa Launches for weeks, and this was the first new clue to bring the topic back to the top of the feeds and renew panic.
Fifty missiles were relatively easy for the Terran and Marsian space forces to pick off with the patrols they had set around the Anderson Collective, already assisting with the evacuation effort. Prior to the missiles sightings, activity had calmed slightly as people again started to doubt the truth of May Walton’s warning message.
As the militaries took action, feeds sparked with images of the missiles being stopped in flight and the questions about the remaining launches were drowned out by images of people celebrating in the streets of the Ceres’ Insi Ring. For a people who seemed so set in ceremony and social constraints, the Andersonians let loose in a wild way.
Cara found herself mesmerized by the personal vids of tourists who had actually traveled to Ceres just to experience the wildness. In a place where the government was trying to get everyone out, no one cared much about people trying to get in, and there were plenty of transports heading to Ceres empty to pick up evacuees. In the initial mayhem, looters and criminals had dominated the feeds coming out of Ceres. Then things had grown more calm as the news settled down. And now the celebrations were back on top.
Through all of it, the vid May had made of Cara had taken on a cultural significance that was frightening and confusing. May had tried to explain what the symbol meant to Andersonian culture, but now there were images of Cara in every Andersonian vid on the feed.
Cara was watching a vid made by a girl her age, when another announcement hit the spectrum that Ceres had been hit by what was believed to be one hundred nuclear missiles.
Her screen froze on the image of a black-haired girl with brown eyes, talking about how wonderful it was to be in a park where people were celebrating the Collective’s salvation. The vid was only an hour old.
New by the constraints of distance.
The first reports were text-only. Then the vids from inside the Collective hit the feeds, scooped up from people caught in street parties on the Insi Ring and spontaneous parades, who found themselves looking up at a sky on fire. Each vid Cara watched followed the same pattern: celebration and laughter followed by a moment of disbelief as someone noticed a vibration in the street, then people pointing up at the sky where Ceres hung like a blue-green marble. Then the sky erupted, and the vid cut off. Thousands of vids hit the streams at once.
The explosions were concentrated on a single point in the ring, one after another, so there would be no question the attack had been planned. They came in dark, no braking burns to alert anyone to such a small object’s presence, until they hit the active scan perimeter and overwhelmed the TSF and Marsian defenses.
Broken, the Ceres ring immediately succumbed to the inexorable forces of orbital mechanics and spun itself apart. The ring broke into five pieces that collided against one another, fracturing again, filling the surrounding space with debris that rained down on Ceres like an asteroid shower. The General Electric Mini Blackhole, one of the greatest engineering feats of the last two hundred years, became the engine that destroyed the terraforming project, as wave after wave of burning debris was drawn to the surface, turned Ceres into a molten hellscape.
The broadcasts continued even as the ring disintegrated. Drones and public sensors gathered and sent data until they blinked out, long after the human inhabitants of the surface of Ceres and its ring were gone.
The first vids made it all seem to happen in just a matter of minutes. Then the replays started, showing how everything had transpired, wasting no time to honor the dead. The lag between InnerSol and the Sunny Skies compressed time and forced Cara to plot vids by timestamp to get a real idea of how long it had all taken.
Cara watched with a growing feeling of horror and fear. Her mind didn’t want to accept that destruction at this magnitude was possible, yet the images were in front of her, looking like an entertainment vid from thousands of angles. She knew it was real.
Fran appeared in the command deck doorway, hair disheveled from sleep.
“Cara,” she said. “Are these alerts true?” She crossed the room to stand behind Cara at the communications console, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Cara appreciated the touch, which came more naturally now. She looked up at Fran, catching the reflection of the latest vid she had been watching in Fran’s augmented eyes.
“Oh, stars,” Fran said in a low voice. “Stars, they did it. This is terrible.”
“We didn’t do it, did we?” Cara asked.
Fran gave her a sharp look. “Why would you think that?”
“We were at Larissa. All of this started when we got to Proteus. We took the Resolute Charity there. That’s what Alexander saw as a threat. Isn’t that what happened?”
Fran squeezed Cara’s shoulder, steadying her. “Everything we’re seeing was planned, Cara. It’s not anyone’s fault but the people who fired those missiles, and it wasn’t us. All we’ve been trying to do this whole time is help Lyssa and others like her. Sometimes you can’t see the big picture until it’s already happened.”
“But what do we do?” Cara asked, distraught. “All those people are going to die. Or they—they’re already dead. The light lag—”
Fran leaned forward to tap the console and turn off the screen. “It’s not going to do any good to sit here watching it. Why don’t you go spend some time with your dad or Tim. Spend time with people you love.”
“I like spending time with you.”
Cara looked up at Fran to catch an unaccustomed expression on her face: surprise. Fran glanced away quickly, nodding at the screen again. “You’re all right too, kid,” she said. “If I had to be anywhere while terrible things are going down, this is a good place to be. Now look, when bad things happen, you focus on the people close to you and the task at hand. I think your dad’s already said things like this, yeah? What do you need to do? What are we doing?”
Cara swallowed, wiping her nose. “We’re going to Traverna to help dad.”
“Closer than that. What are you doing right now? Tasks, Cara.”
“I’m monitoring the comm feed for contact from the Traverna port control since we’re almost within contact range.”
“That’s right. Now how do you do that? I’m not talking about listing to everything. The whole spectrum is a waste of time right now. What’s out there doesn’t matter to what’s in front of us.”
“I need to start a conversation with whoever contacts us first, just like I did back when we were entering Marsian space.”
“Exactly. If they know your name, they’re less likely to shoot you.”
“Really?”
Fran shrugged. “I don’t actually know if that’s true but it’s what I tell myself. I haven’t gotten shot yet.”
Cara gave her a frown. “That’s not verif
ication.”
“It is for now. Are you good to get back to work? Or do you want to go see your dad and Tim?”
Looking at her console, Cara said, “I’ll work. It isn’t going to change anything to talk to them now. If Dad can talk through the headaches.”
“It’s probably better if he sleeps,” Fran said.
Fugia walked in, to stand in front of the holodisplay, remaining silent, eyes focused on the astrogation map, her mouth a flat line.
“You heard the news?” Fran asked.
Fugia gave a shallow nod. “This isn’t what I expected. None of this has been what I thought would happen.”
Fran went to the pilot’s seat and Cara looked between the two women, unsure what to say in response to Fugia’s loss.
Nothing is what you expect in Rabbit Country. You keep your head down and your ears up, ready to run.
She knew Fugia didn’t want to hear that, but it was the only thought keeping Cara from bursting into tears. Unable to shake the image of the brown-eyed girl from the frozen vid, she listed her tasks and placed her hands on the console, focusing her search on the nearing coordinates for Traverna.
“May will be staying in her rooms,” Fugia said absently. “I’m not sure she’ll be going with us when we get to Traverna, unless we need her help.” She sighed. “It might be better if we come up with some excuse, force her to get off the ship. Have we heard anything from Brit?”
“No,” Cara said. “I think Dad got a message from her that she was back on Cruithne but that was a few weeks ago.” She knew that Fugia already had this information, but the woman seemed to want to talk about nothing, just to hear words.
Eventually, Fugia looked up from the holodisplay. “Where’s your brother and the dog? Maybe I’ll go play some zero-g fetch with them. That dog is hilarious.”
“His name’s Em,” Cara said.
“Of course, it is,” Fugia said woodenly. “I should call him by his name. That’s rude of me.”
“He’d probably like that,” Cara offered. “Or you could talk to Lyssa or some of the other Weapon Born. I’ve been meeting them a few at a time. They always like to talk.”
Fugia walked over to put her elbow on the edge of the console, looking past Cara to the door. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “I know in my mind I should talk to them, but I just don’t have the heart to do it right now. Not after what’s happened to Ceres. It was SAIs who did that.”
“Not the Weapon Born,” Cara insisted.
“No, it wasn’t them. But it’s something so terrible that I’m still trying to process it, Cara, and it goes against everything I’ve dedicated the last ten years of my life to achieving.” She swallowed, taking a steadying breath.
Cara had never seen Fugia look so numb. Her usual pointed expression was dulled.
“What I was doing was a lie,” Fugia said. “Every long night waiting for incoming ships, the smuggling, the hacking, the friends I turned away. I’ve shaped my life around all of this, and now here we are. I certainly wasn’t a fan of the Anderson Collective, but I wouldn’t wish this kind of destruction on them in a million years. I thought we’d moved past this kind of war.”
Fran gave a harsh laugh. “You can’t be serious. We’re humans, this is what we do.”
Fugia turned on her, face reddening. “Of course. When was the last major attack of this scale?”
“Maybe not this scale,” Fran said. “But there’s been low level war forever. What do you think pirate interdiction really means? The TSF and Marsians take whatever they want if you don’t have the force to stop them. You know that.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Fugia said. “This is—billions, Fran. I can’t explain how weary this makes me feel.”
“Well, we’re heading into it, so we’re going to be feeling a lot more of it before we’re done. Get your tears out now.”
Fugia’s face went flat as she stared at Fran.
“What?” Fran asked. “You want me to coddle you some more? You wouldn’t do it for me. If I’m going to be some kind of role model for Cara, there, I’m not going to lie to your face. Obviously, we’re on the edge of terrible things. You don’t need me to tell you that.”
Fugia stared for another few seconds, then blinked and lowered her face. She smiled slightly. “You’re right.”
Fran sighed. “Don’t tell anyone.”
The smaller woman straightened, squaring her shoulders, and turned to look at Cara. “Pardon me. I think I lost my mind for a second. It’s back now. I know you’ve got enough to worry about without me raving like a lost person.”
“It’s all right,” Cara said. “I understand. I think I feel the same way.”
“Then we’ll depend on Fran as our resident hard-ass,” Fugia said, giving Cara a tentative grin that hinted at her usual self.
A response on the communications array drew Cara’s attention. They had a ping from the Traverna port control. Cara acknowledged the signal and verified their registry information.
“They just pinged us, Fran,” Cara said.
The engineer waved a hand without looking up from her screen. “Don’t tell me about it. Do your job, Communicator. Smooth the way so we get a good berth. I don’t want to be out by the refueling stations. Turn on that charm, girl.”
Cara rolled her eyes. The image of the Andersonian girl left her mind as she focused on her headset, selecting the voice channel indicated in the broadcast’s general info signal. She sent a communications request and cupped her headphones against her head, listening to the low hum of dancing static.
After a minute, a bored voice answered, “T-Control. What do you want?”
“Hi,” Cara said, making her voice as bright and interesting as she could muster, pushing away every sad thought hanging over her mind. “My name’s Cara. What’s yours?”
“What?” the controller asked, sounding both annoyed and curious.
In another three minutes, Cara had the woman describing her life on Freeport Traverna in and far edges of the Hellas asteroids, all too glad to be talking about anything but Ceres.
PART 3 - TRAVERNA
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
STELLAR DATE: 01.15.2982 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Raleigh, TSF Regional Materiel Command
REGION: High Terra, Earth Terran Hegemony
Visible through the maglev windows, the white spire of the Heartbridge headquarters on the horizon kept a knot of worry in the bottom of Jirl’s stomach. Petral had assured her that any attempts to track Jirl’s arrival back in Raleigh would be blocked, but she couldn’t simply place her trust in systems she couldn’t see. She expected company security around every corner, ready to escort her back to Arla for an interrogation.
Arla thinks you’re still on Cruithne, she told herself. Arla thinks you’re on an extended tryst with Rick Yarnes.
Still, the confrontation with Arla was inevitable. She had spent the trip from Cruithne catching up on the newsfeed responses to Cara Sykes’ warning to the Andersonians that death was coming for their ring. As expected, Ceres was in chaos. After news leaked that the government had known about the threat prior to Cara’s open message, commodity prices skyrocketed, and the local space was so crowded with privateers waiting for berths on the ring that collisions were happening hourly.
The Collective’s government struggled to maintain the semblance of an orderly evacuation in the face of public pandemonium, but the first slots had gone to party members and their families, and then been overrun by pirates and privateers responding to black market bribes and then using force to move people off the ring.
The terraforming project stopped as project managers and engineers left, abandoning workers on the surface. The stoppage would likely result in the loss of decades of progress according to talking heads.
During one news session, Petral had remarked, “At this rate, it won’t matter if missiles hit the ring or not.”
The Terran Assembly and Marsian Congress were still debating how to
respond to the humanitarian crisis on Ceres. While their militaries had been brought to ready status, neither had moved to offer resources to the Anderson Collective to guard against any incoming missile attack. The Collective had initially arrayed its fleet in a protective pattern, but they were quickly recalled to deal with pirates and emergency response.
Jirl looked down at her hands in her lap, then up at Brit sitting across from her. The major was dressed in her black armor, a bag between her boots on the floor containing various weapons they had smuggled through the lax shipping center security. Petral sat next to her with the case holding Tristan in her lap. Petral was dressed in a crimson shipsuit covered in utility pockets. A web harness snaked from her belt over her shoulders, hung with various network connection tools. Jirl couldn’t help thinking of her as some overly stylish systems repair person. Petral’s gaze was fixed on the near distance. She had explained earlier that she would need to monitor several waypoints on the maglev system where it would automatically scan the passengers and send information back to the TSF. She had overridden the system but didn’t trust that system defenses wouldn’t find her workaround.
Ngoba Starl sat next to Jirl, wearing a dark blue suit with a lime green bow-tie and pocket square. His hair was full of tight curls and combed to one side of his forehead. He enjoyed the many second looks he’d received as they walked through the grimy shipping control center, surrounded by porters and transportation drones. Petral had led the way, also drawing looks. Two of Starl’s bodyguards sat next to him, a man with bristle-white hair named Burroughs and a woman with augmented purple eyes and short brown hair named Fletcher. Both had been fastidiously unfriendly.
The maglev was following the same path she’d taken many times with Arla to the TSF Materiel Acquisitions center. They would be stopping at the same marble-covered station where she had met Yarnes just a month ago. Petral had verified that Yarnes was in the area, so it would be Jirl’s role to step off the maglev alone and engage the colonel.
