Spectra Arise Trilogy

by Tammy Salyer

  His story explains a lot to me. He’s an idealist, what people had once called an “environmentalist.” Mental maybe. He doesn’t believe the Admin creed that everything exists purely for humanity to exploit.

  So being a gunrunning pawn for the Admin is more in line with your worldview. I keep the thought to myself. I nearly killed the guy, and now he’s taking me on a tour. He’s too friendly to antagonize. Besides, he has his reasons for being out here, as we all do.

  He puts the air tester back into his backpack and takes out a bottle of water. Motioning me over to the railing, he says, “Take a look at that view, Aly. Can I call you Aly? Calling you Erikson makes me feel like I should start with ‘sir,’ or ‘sergeant,’ or something.”

  “Whatever makes you happy.”

  “Beautiful, huh?”

  “I guess. Looks dead to me though.”

  “You’d be surprised. We’ve been able to mix relatively low levels of growth hormones and fertilizers in the soil to make it viable. Even deserts are full of their own kind of life. You just have to learn what to look for.” He takes a swig of the water, caps it, and hands it to me.

  I glance at him. Rough exterior, untamed beard, and shaggy hair aside, he certainly seems gentle. Taking a closer look at his eyes reveals a depth and intelligence I hadn’t noticed when they were still squinted in pain.

  “We’ve been composting and fortifying soil inside the mine for years. There are some real farmers here who know more about it than I do. They started long before I got here. Most of our food still has to be grown in the typical industrial incubation fashion. You know, growing protein and carbohydrate compounds inside bean pods and banana skins, but we’re getting to the point where naturally grown foods are becoming a staple. I had no idea how good a squash could taste until I grew one myself.”

  I take a long drink of the water and smile slightly at the idea of being excited about the taste of a vegetable. He notices and smiles in return.

  Changing the subject, I ask, “So you went AWOL from civil service. Does that make you a fugitive?”

  “No, I’m legal enough. Just not a citizen. That’s how I can still run transport operations with Vitruzzi.”

  “Don’t you think the Admin would be a little skeptical of your colony’s success out here? I mean, there’s no way you got all the materials and equipment I’ve seen since this morning legally. At least, not without boatloads of cash. And there are the guns.”

  His forehead creases and mouth pulls down in a frown. “We’ve been careful about keeping the existence of this colony quiet. Outsiders aren’t welcome. Everyone living here is reliable and we trust each other. Nothing we do is a threat to the Admin, so why should they bother us?”

  “I don’t know. Because that’s what they do. Bother people who aren’t fitting into their grand plan.” And what about me? I’m an outsider. And Vilbrandt?

  He doesn’t say anything, just reaches for the water and takes another drink. Blunt honesty has always been one of my attributes, or possibly flaws. “Bodie, you know that if your crew manages, by some monumental stroke of luck, to get your friends off of the Fortress, the Admin will scour every single planet between the suns until they find you.”

  His frown deepens. “Maybe. But what should we do? Just let them rot?”

  I shrug, unwilling to say it, but that may be exactly what they should do if they want to maintain the relative peace they have out here.

  “Right. Well, that’s out of the question.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice. He knows what’s at stake.

  We stand for another few minutes staring at the landscape in moody silence. I feel as if a load of cement has been added to my already overburdened scaffold of emotions. Am I beginning to care about what happens to these people, this colony? How did I get mixed up in this? I have my own problems, and the future of these non-cits and their hopeless wish to live in a world where the rules make sense should not become one of them.

  Finally, he turns his faded blue eyes back on me and says with a stubborn cheeriness, “I have to get back down to the grow room and take care of some things. A few of us are having dinner at my place after that. You’re welcome to join us.”

  His grin says he is not just being polite, the invite is authentic. I mutter an awkward, “Okay,” and then, more loudly, “thanks.”

  * * *

  I’m half an hour early arriving in the darkened communication room, and take a seat to wait for Vitruzzi to show up. Most of the satellite equipment is password protected or encrypted, and I can’t make any of it work. My anxiety is mounting, and I’m at the point where I’ve decided I’m going to take my chances and try to find Rajcik myself if he hasn’t come through yet. The people in the town Desto had told me about have to get to this planet somehow. I’ll start there.

  I spend the time waiting for Vitruzzi thinking over what I’d learned from Bodie’s dinner. I don’t know if I thought the squash tasted as good as he does, but almost anything is an improvement after eating nutrition bars for the better part of a month. Besides Bodie, Strahan, Desto, and Venus were present.

  Their conversations had mostly revolved around the various duties the people of the colony shared to keep the place in working order. Maintenance, digging wells, growing food, the essentials. I kept quiet unless someone asked me something directly but was able to get an idea of the size of the settlement and the dynamic that’s making them successful at it.

  They call it Agate Beach, apparently an ironic reference to the ore once mined here and the complete lack of any large enough body of water nearby to have a beach. It has been occupied for around fifty years. The first people to make it a permanent home had originally been workers in the mine when the Admin ran it, an they’d stayed when the operation was abandoned. The town Desto mentioned is called Hell’s Gate, and lies about fifty kilometers east. All of this served as useful information that my mind had automatically catalogued.

  I hadn’t seen Vilbrandt anywhere in the settlement since we landed and it had been nagging at me. Seeing no need to keep my distrust of him a secret, I asked about him during the meal.

  A secretive glance had passed among them and Strahan’s tight-lipped response had been short. “He’s around. We’re keeping an eye on him.” Whatever the reason for their secrecy, his comment was nonetheless revealing. If they’re keeping an eye on Vilbrandt, they’re undoubtedly keeping an eye on me as well.

  After dinner, Bodie offered me a lift to the mine. Needing some quiet, I’d declined and walked back to wait for Vitruzzi.

  When she finally arrives, we go through the process of checking incoming communications. Still nothing.

  Leaning back in her chair and leveling a look that’s neither embittered nor benevolent, but somehow both, she says, “We’re going to have to go to plan B. If we’re lucky, your team hasn’t already started their assault on the Fortress. If they have, we may never be able to beat the Admin security. We’ll check the uplink queue one more time tomorrow morning, but we can’t afford to wait any longer. I’m sure you feel the same.”

  Distress and mental fatigue pull the corners of my lips into a frown, and I want to scream in frustration. Where is Rajcik? This is the outcome I’d avoided thinking about, but now I have to decide what to do next.

  Again, she seems to be reading my thoughts. “Erikson, you don’t have a lot of options, but you’re free to do what you want.” She stands up and pushes her thick hair back from her forehead, as if what she’s about to say is going to be hard for her. “Truth is, we could use someone with your skills and your background to help us. I know that’s a lot to hope for, considering your priorities. The only other thing you can do is head to Hell’s Gate and barter a ride, if you have anywhere to go.”

  Disentangling her fingers, she reaches into the cargo pocket on her pants and pulls out a stack of Admin-printed cash. “We brought you here without asking you. Maybe you realize the decision saved your life, maybe not. But this money will get you at least as fa
r as the Obals. Consider us even.”

  She tosses the money on my lap and walks out to the lift platform. “I’ll be here early in the morning. If you’re still around, we’ll check the queue. Think hard about what you’re going to do, Erikson. Your bunk on the Sphynx is open if you want to get some sleep.”

  She reaches out to activate the lift. “Vitruzzi,” I say. Her hand stops, hovering above the controls, and she looks at me. “I am grateful. I know I wouldn’t have made it.”

  Without a word, she presses the controls and is gone.

  I don’t know what I’d expected her to do if the situation came to this, but this isn’t it. I sit in the darkening communication room for a couple minutes, listening to the thump of my heart, trying not to hear the whir of thoughts spinning through my head. She’s right, there’s no more time to wait. I’ll leave first thing in the morning. I don’t know what kind of town Hell’s Gate is, but it’s probably best not to walk in there in the middle of the night looking for a lift to the Obals. I pick up the stack of bills she gave me and its heft is a generous reassurance. Especially not with this much cash on me. I may be on the forsaken outskirts of the system, but I’m no longer stuck here.

  It’s still early and I’m way too wound up to sleep anyway, so I climb back up the tunnel to the overlook Bodie had shown me, some deep part of my brain hoping the tranquil view will quiet my thoughts and make it possible to sleep.

  The heavy door thuds open and I reach for the handrail to pull myself the rest of the way onto the overlook. Movement in the corner of my eye alerts me that someone else is already here.

  “Oh, sorry.” Disappointed, I start to pull the door closed.

  Strahan’s voice stops me. “It’s all right.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Wait.” He takes a step forward and I make out the look on his face. The scowl is permanently affixed but muted in the darkness. “Erikson, actually I wanted a chance to talk to you. Will you stay for a minute?”

  I shrug. I’ve had enough one-on-one time with people trying to talk me into things I don’t want to do today. Besides, what’s the use? I’m gone in the morning and I’ll never even see these people again. But, if that’s the case, talking to him now won’t kill me, will it? I pull myself over the edge onto the landing.

  The sky is blazing with a billion stars, each tiny point a dazzle in my eye. It’s beautiful, peaceful in a way that is somehow different from being aboard a ship. Standing here on solid ground, watching them hanging brightly above me, they feel further away and less like a judgment, filling me with the kind of wonder the first Homo erectus must have felt a couple million years ago. There’s a measure of relief in realizing how utterly small and unimportant our fleeting lives are.

  I walk up to the railing and lightly rest my hands along it, not saying anything, just waiting.

  He pulls out his cigarettes and casually leans on his elbows a few steps away from me, pulls one from the pack and sticks it between his lips. Lighting it with a match and cupping the flame in his hands so the fragile spark is hidden, he inhales deeply. Noticing me watching, he asks, with the cigarette dangling from his mouth, “Did you want one?”

  Shaking my head, I respond, “You’ll lose your citizenship if the Admin knows you smoke.”

  “Yeah, well, they can keep those forty-seven years.”

  He’s referring to life expectancy. For a citizen it’s ninety-seven years, for non-cits it’s around fifty.

  We both turn back and stare out over the expanse of the Spectra 6 landscape. Unbroken blackness crawls away from us, making it seem as if we are in space, not standing on solid earth.

  Strahan remains quiet for some time. Finally I say, “So you wanted to talk to me about something?”

  Still focused on the distant skies, he replies, “Do you like to fly, Erikson?” The question is rhetorical and he doesn’t wait for an answer. “I love it. I dreamed of it when I was still a kid on Obal 10. Wanted to be on those big cruisers and see new worlds more than anything. So I joined the Corps when I was sixteen. No way was I going to be stuck in some landlocked job in the civil service. I worked hard to get assigned to a ship, and when it looked as if I wouldn’t get assigned outside the infantry and maybe never go farther than the nearest moon, I worked even harder until I became a pilot. I even thought I was a pretty good one until I met Venus.” He pauses, a faraway grin playing at the corners of his mouth, then resumes, serious again, “I’ve probably seen forty or fifty different moons and planets in this system.”

  He’s getting at something so I just let him talk.

  “And you know what I’ve learned?” He takes another drag on his cigarette. The burning coal reflects in his light-brown eyes, making them resonate with an inner flame. “No matter where you are, it’s the people you’re with that matter the most.”

  I bite back a sarcastic response: Thanks for the lecture. “Uh-huh.”

  “Doug Mason is the pilot of the Sky Serpent. We used to fly together a lot until Venus came along. He’s a good man. Like a brother, really. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get him the fuck away from the Admin.”

  He turns to look at me full on. “And he’d do the same thing for me. What would you do to get your brother free, Erikson? Is profit that much more important?”

  His words are a cleverly laid trap, but he doesn’t know the real effect they have on me. I push away from the railing and turn stiffly, facing him. “Is that it?” My voice is sharp and I hope he doesn’t hear the way it catches for a second in my throat.

  He drops the cigarette on the landing and squashes it with a brutal stomp from his boot. “Yeah, I guess it is. Enjoy the view.” Taking one long stride, he disappears down the shaft, leaving me in the wake of his disapproval and disappointment.

  The view suddenly isn’t quite as serene as before. Who is he to judge me? Part of me wants to follow him down the ladder and unload on him, but there’s another part of me that has to admit, regardless of what difference it does or doesn’t make, he isn’t completely wrong. Rajcik and the rest of my crew are dangerous people. They’re not the type to sacrifice profit, and certainly not the type to put themselves in harm’s way for others. What good does it do me to find Rajcik? Will he bother to help me try and save David? Why do I even fly with someone I can’t rely on in the first place?

  The answer is surprisingly simple. There’s freedom in knowing exactly how much your life is worth to others. When the answer is nothing, there are no surprises.

  The chill night air begins seeping through my clothes, staunching my anger. Time to go back to the Sphynx and get some sleep. What are my chances of getting off this rock tomorrow? Best not to think about it yet.

  ELEVEN

  Standing at the rim of a canyon looking over the little town of Hell’s Gate about half a klick away, it’s easy to see where it gets its name. It’s a densely packed, dirty little pisspot of a town with smoke stacks and mud turning the whole thing into a uniform dingy heap. One flash fire and the whole place would be smoldering toothpicks within minutes. Right now, the town is mostly quiet except for a few stray dogs that move around the outskirts looking for scraps. I idly wonder what happens to people who die here.

  Still, for all its ugliness and destitution I can see three interplanetary vessels sitting outside of town. Hopefully, they’re sky worthy. Now I just have to find their owners.

  Turning around for one last scan of the labyrinthine canyon system I’d just come through, I feel confident that I haven’t been followed and start driving down the hillside’s eastern flank. I’d quickly and steadily lost elevation as I drove from Agate Beach into this maze of walls and crags this morning, and the going is now much more gradual after clearing the canyon walls. With a sliver of guilt, I check for confirmation on the navigation console of the ATV I’d stolen. I could probably have found someone to give me a ride here, but I wanted to avoid another encounter burdened with accusations and expectations. They’ll know w
here to find the transport, and I’ll be long gone.

  It’s nearing 0900 hours and more people can be seen up and about as I reach the town’s edge. The place is gritty and claustrophobic with buildings haphazardly placed, leaning on each other for support. Trash and refuse are everywhere, tossed carelessly in the streets. The overall area is smaller than Vitruzzi’s settlement, but more structures fill the space. The air is redolent of oily smoke and unusual food.

  The paths running between the buildings are too small for the ATV, so I ditch it behind a large bin on the edge of town and wave goodbye. Even if I planned to come back for it, I have my doubts that much time will pass before someone steals it or strips it. Unsure of the best place to start searching for passage, I pass between the two nearest buildings onto the widest of the footpaths running through the cluster’s center. Places like this always have a dive where business and drinking can occur, and people with ships seek out those who have something that needs to be shipped. I walk cautiously, but not obviously so. No need to give the impression I’m nervous. Trouble can be dealt with but doesn’t need to be invited.

  Instincts of self-preservation envelope me in their usual configuration: hyper-awareness, cautious movement, and hair-trigger reflexes. I’m here on business and not to be fucked with.

  As I walk, I feel the heat of the morning sun bake into my neck. The bruises from Strahan’s rifle butt and the watchcap I wear are the only disguises I have. If bounty hunters are canvassing the area, it won’t be hard to recognize me. I just have to keep my head down and look as if I belong. Easy enough for someone with my years of practice.

  “Got some spare change? Little money for a hungry man?” says a scruffy beggar, reeking of piss and the disturbing smell of cooked skin, from an alleyway as I walk by. He reaches out to grab my arm, and the red scabs covering his wrists emerge from his own tattered sleeve. His eyes are cloudy and bloodshot, rolling back and forth in his pitted and dirt-streaked face, and he leers at me in a suggestion of a smile. His teeth are all missing.