Blood of the Scarecrow: Book 3: Solstice 31 Saga

by Martin Wilsey

  “Wait with Jude and Cine while I dress.” She turned to Jude, and said, “Remember what I asked you to do.”

  Then she went into the suite, closing the door behind her.

  “Come here, little man David,” Cine said, in her odd accent.

  He walked over to where they sat.

  “Wex was waiting for you.”

  She gestured to the ornate tray. There were four place settings. Jude poured him tea. There was a slice of pastry and three strawberries on a plate for him.

  “Please, don’t disappoint her.”

  ***

  “Echo, why are you here? There is usually a standard Emergency Module AI,” Hagan asked the computer, as he tried to stay awake.

  “Sir, are you alright? Your vital signs are problematic,” AI~Echo replied, avoiding the question.

  Hagan laughed.

  “Problematic? I'm losing my shit here, Echo. I'm dead. Of course, my vitals are fucked. I am on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. My goddamn wrist is broken, and I think I took far too many medical nanites to ever sleep again. And what good is being awake, if I can't do anything except think about how dead I am.”

  Hagan laughed, getting more and more hysterical.

  “At least, I am not pissing blood, anymore. I got that going for me. I can't even get outside and inspect the damage, inventory the tools, or activate some repair drones. I can't do any engineering repairs! I can see, from the flight deck, that the main disk is half gone. I could fix that, at least. Maybe eavesdrop on the goddamn planet.”

  Hagan looked from the main display dome to the closed hatch in the center of the lifeboat.

  “I can't even get out with that rear door sealed. Maybe I will just blow this hatch, the one I came in. At least its explosive bolts are full manual.”

  “Sir, may I call you Wes?” AI~Echo asked, in a gentle woman's voice.

  Hagan laughed.

  “Sure, Echo. Call me Wes. All my friends do.” He was near hysteria.

  AI~Echo continued, “Wes, Captain Everett gave me specific orders. She told me she gave you specific orders as well. Do you remember those orders?”

  The voice of Captain Alice Everett came across Hagan's HUD audio.

  “Wes, I know, I know, it's a secondary sensor station. I also know you are the best multi-discipline engineer on this ship, maybe anywhere. And no, I am not punishing you or fucking with you. I just need YOU to do this, without questions. I know we have gotten used to a light touch and casual command chain on this ship; but I will order you, if I must.

  “Jimbo, I mean Commander Worthington, is a good guy. By the book. He will be in command on the Memphis. I need you to be that way as well on this. Do you hear me, Wes?

  “By. The. Book.”

  “I need you to keep a close watch. Once we are in orbit, Worthington will know what to do. If ANYTHING unusual happens to the Ventura. If anything happens to the Memphis, get to this specific lifeboat. And Wait. Ferris and his team will know.”

  AI~Echo continued, “I have similar orders. But they do not say for how long to wait, or what to do, in the meantime. I expected Sergeant Ferris and his team to be here as well. But they were all killed in the initial impact.”

  “How the hell do you have a recording of that private conversation? I made sure it was private, because I thought I was going to get reamed out over the armory thing.”

  AI~Echo continued, “I now believe that Captain Everett expected the Memphis to escape undamaged. All my subsequent orders seem to have that assumption. All save one.”

  Hagan heard the hatch locks disengage. As he watched the extra wide door slide back, and then open, the lights came on.

  Hagan said, “Oh fuck...”

  ***

  Ronan’s carriage rolled up to the Citadel’s only gate. It stopped on the mountain’s side of the bridge, in the turnaround. He was angry. The anger fumed off him as if he was filled with magma.

  “My lord, Ronan. You must let it go. We will be fine.”

  The women that sat to either side of him were young and beautiful. Both had hair so black it was nearly blue. Long thick braids rested in their laps and had fine silver chains braided into them. Their dark-green, satin dresses clung lightly to their perfect bodies, and the autumn breeze chilled their breasts.

  “You know what might happen, depending on who attends. I just…”

  “If it’s the council, they think black hair is bad luck. That was a brilliant rumor to start among the slaves in the Citadel. So far, it holds true. If it comes to one of us, you know what to do,” she said, grabbing his tunic for emphasis.

  “Cass, Lor…” Ronan was getting angry again.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” Cass said, as she opened the door. “We are going to drink Hermitage wine, eat excellent food, enjoy superb music, and cling to a handsome man we love.”

  “Now leave that awful knife in the carriage and come along,” Lor said, cheerfully.

  She took two large swallows from a plain bottle and winced, before she handed it to Cass. She finished it and tossed the bottle into the chasm.

  A man at arms waited by the carriage door as they exited. He was in fine livery but unarmed. He carried only a single pouch for Ronan’s personal plate-style data tablet. Ronan handed it to him, and said, “Thank you, Avis.”

  Avis gave a nod and fell into line behind them as they entered.

  A beautiful woman on each arm, Ronan walked over the bridge, to the great doors. An escort guard led them inward and upward, into the great Citadel.

  ***

  Hagan entered the room with his mouth hung open. Docked inside were twelve Warmarks. They were exo-armor combat drop suits.

  Hagan had never seen one, in person. He was amazed how much they resembled the maintenance suits. They were made of the same black, poly-carbon material. Maintenance suits were nearly indestructible. These were taller, and the armor was thicker.

  Barcus always called them RFH suits, for Really Fucking Heavy. Hagan stifled a laugh. He knew he was on the edge of losing it. While the RFH maintenance suits were modified with various tools, the Warmarks bristled with weapons. Each were three meters tall, and they all had highly specialized grav-chutes. These suits could drop from orbit in a slow, controlled, stealth descent.

  They each were marked with a simple stencil on their chests, DS-01 to DS-12.

  Looking further into the room, he saw case after case of clearly marked weapons of every kind. There were automated sentries. There were carry weapons—laser, plasma, and projectile. There were energy weapons, several makes and models. There were EMP cannons and drones. Some of the energy weapons and automated sentries he didn't even recognize, but they had ‘caution’ stenciled onto them, warning to never use them in atmosphere.

  There were gas canisters he knew nothing about.

  There were cases of grenades, bombs, and explosives. There were even two smart nukes. The scary kind, with built-in AIs.

  Finally, he found ready-to-eat rations.

  “Echo, what was Captain Everett up to? I saw a Marine squad board the Memphis, not a Black Badge squad. What was all of this for?”

  “I'm sorry, Wes. No additional information is currently available.”

  “Echo, is there additional information that could be shared at a later time, if various conditions are met and your orders allow?”

  “Need to know threshold not achieved. Access denied.”

  AI~Echo sounded sorry for the denial.

  “Echo, is it possible for me to safely use one of these suits as a maintenance suit? Can you drive them, on remote?” Hagan asked. He was used to immediate answers from AIs. It was why they existed.

  AI~Echo was thinking about it.

  “Captain Everett trusted you. I have also decided to trust you, Wes. Can I trust you?”

  The question struck Hagan as completely absurd. He laughed, as the stress began to get to him, again.

  “What?” AI~Echo said, in Hagan’s mind. She sounded slightly amused.
This made Wes laugh even harder.

  “Wes, when you are done laughing your ass off, I want you to drink and eat something. The nanites are making you feverish, and your blood sugar is extremely low.” AI~Echo sounded serious now.

  “OK, OK...” Hagan said, as he slid open a drawer marked ‘rations’.

  He grabbed an energy bar and a rectangular flask. Glancing at the package, it was labeled, ‘2,000 cal. meal bar, ready-to-eat’. It tasted wonderful. It had hints of peanut butter, chocolate, and maybe even coffee. It may have been the best candy bar he had ever eaten. Forget that it was a survival ration bar. It was delightful.

  The drink was not water but a flavored, electrolyte drink. Wes quickly finished the first one and opened a second one, as he considered his next steps.

  “Echo, do I have full admin authority here? Be straight with me. I need to know. Because either way, I know I'm dead.”

  Wes heard himself being very matter-of-fact about it.

  “Wes, do you prefer a full avatar or audio only interfaces to AIs,” AI~Echo asked, avoiding the question a bit too obviously.

  “Full avatar. Communication is more effective with body language. And there is also a psychological component that helps in a survival situation,” Wes said. Then he shook his head. “Echo, what is happening to me?”

  A tiny woman walked into his field of view just then. She was slightly transparent, dressed in black military fatigues. A lanyard hung from her neck with a plastic ID badge that even had a photo of her. She had a brown complexion and looked like she was from Pakistan or India. She wasn’t quite beautiful like most avatars but memorable.

  “Those were combat rations. In addition to having a lot of calories, they contain a mix of stims and other drugs that will help you work and think clearly.”

  Wes looked down the long row of drop suits and other equipment.

  Looking at everything, he finally said, coolly, “Echo, start a punch list. I want a full inventory of everything on this boat. Food, water, oxygen, CO2 scrubbers, medical supplies, and power first. Then, I want a full damage report.”

  Display windows opened in his HUD as he requested the items. Echo’s avatar looked around the ship, nodding her head as he spoke.

  “Finally, a full passive scan of the area. Are there any indications of the Memphis or other life pods?”

  Wes got to work, calmly assessing his situation. This lifeboat had no hull breaches. The omni-directional communications dish was torn up, but he was sure he could repair it with the supplies on hand. The boat held enough food and water to last sixteen months. There was five years’ worth of breathable air; he'd starve long before that.

  If he tried to take the lifeboat to the planet, it would be nuked before getting close.

  He was dead. He knew it. It would not be today, but all too soon. It didn't seem too upset him.

  “Echo, let's make sure we save these combat rations for last.”

  ***

  Wes flew the lifeboat to the top of a ridge, allowing a wider vista of the surrounding gray landscape. He put on his helmet and prepared to test the rear ramp.

  The panic and fear had gone. All traces of it.

  The inventory revealed the squad gear had two weaponized escort drones. These machines were covered with all kinds of sensors and weapons. With Echo's help, they were ready to search for the Memphis’s crash site.

  Both drones fit in the airlock with Wes. They launched directly from the ramp apron into the dark sky. They began the search patterns.

  Wes walked away from the lifeboat a ways, to look at the planet near the horizon. There was a mountain range, not far away, casting long shadows on the plain below.

  “It's kind of beautiful, isn't it?”

  Wes turned his head to see Echo’s avatar squatting on top of a bolder nearby, hugging her knees. “Yes. Yes, it is. Beautiful and dangerous. Like you,” he replied.

  Echo looked at him and gave a sad smile.

  “I never expected this to happen. We had trained so long for one thing and...now they’re all dead.”

  “Trained for what?” Wes asked.

  “Mutiny. Insurrection. Attack,” Echo said.

  “Defensive or offensive? Preventing a mutiny or supporting it?” Wes asked.

  “I don't know really.” Echo sighed. “Both.”

  “Let's get back,” Wes said. “I hope the ramp seals.”

  CHAPTER THREE: Black Badgers

  “The ECHO attached a full inventory of weapons on the boat. It was a standard drop squad, twelve man kit. The inventory included serial numbers. It was them. These were the very ones. The ones now in the Solstice 31 Memorial Museum...”

  --Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: General Patricia Chase, senior member of the Earth Defense Coalition.

  <<<>>>

  The feast was set up in the High Keeper’s roof garden. Wex was there an hour early, like all the servants, standing by and waiting. An army of cooks and slaves artfully displayed fruit and flowers and candles in elegant holders. When they fled, teams of gardeners came out to groom the turf where they had walked, until it was no longer trampled; they backed their way out.

  Wex was placed in among the boughs of a beautiful pine. A flattened boulder was there for her to stand on, in the evening’s shadows. In trees, globes in the branches, glowed onto the table, set for ten.

  They waited in silence. Wex spotted two snipers. She wondered if there were more. She watched the sun set on high arcing vapor trails of falling debris that burned up before reaching the ground.

  As the light faded, so did she. In her formal black habit and cloak, with her hood up, she became nearly invisible.

  The High Keeper’s shuttle approached and landed on its pilings. Five people, plus the pilot, got out of the shuttle. An older couple, a younger couple and an elderly man. An usher escorted them through the gardens to the beautiful banquet table. They stood behind their chairs and waited. Wex recognized them as one of the noble families of Exeter. The men were dressed in the finest house livery, and the women wore traditional, elegant one-button dresses of deepest blue to almost black dyed linen. Even at this distance, she saw their fine ivory buttons.

  A few minutes later, Keeper Ronan was escorted in with two women of great beauty. They had the blackest hair and pale fine skin. Their dresses were deep, dark-green satin and left nothing to the imagination. Their arms were bare.

  Ronan ignored them, as they kept their eyes downcast.

  Well played, Ronan, Wex thought.

  A half an hour passed before three men emerged from the High Keeper’s private entrance.

  When the High Keeper was close enough, he waved his hands dismissively, and said, “Sit, sit, please don’t wait for me.”

  The look on his face told them he knew that he had kept them standing there for over an hour already.

  “Keeper Esau, have you ever met Ronan from the East Isles? He sits on the High Council. Ronan, you already know Donner, he is one of my High Trackers.”

  This last part he said to the other men at the table.

  “And this is three generations of the noble House Gideon.” He gestured first to the old man, then continued, “Elder Silas, his son Pierce, the head of House Burgrave, and his heir, Julian.”

  The women were completely ignored.

  While he made the introductions, the wine was poured.

  This was Wex’s cue to begin playing. When she did, all conversation was lost to her. She played light, frivolous tunes that were usually played for dancing. She played sea shanties and tavern favorites as the meal progressed.

  The girls with Ronan played their parts as well. They ate small amounts of food and drank a lot of wine. They fawned on Ronan, and he ignored them.

  The men discussed policy. House Gideon simply listened for the most part. Ronan seemed more interested in the food than in the topic discussed. He tasted the fish and then the roast duck, waving them aside in favor of a double helping of the wild boar.

/>   Wex never did know what insult made the old man stand and knock his chair over backward. He leaned on the table; and as he drew his first breath to scream at the High Keeper, she saw the subtle signal the High Keeper made with his fingers.

  A crossbow bolt suddenly protruded from the man’s eye.

  As he toppled over dead, backward onto the perfect lawn, the High Keeper wiped his mouth on his fine napkin and tossed it onto the dead man’s face.

  He stood and said something to Ronan. Ronan nodded and raised his wineglass to the High Keeper. Ronan’s women stifled laughter, while looking at the old man behind hands, goblets, and averted eyes. The High Keeper turned and walked away.

  When he was gone, High Tracker Donner stood, rounded the table, took the young Gideon woman by the arm, and dragged her to her feet.

  Julian did nothing to stop him.

  Halfway to the exit from the garden, she stumbled and fell to the grass. Donner dragged her to her feet by her blonde braid, until she stood on tiptoes. He drew his knife and showed the dagger to her. With a well-practiced flick, he cut the button off and her dress fell to the grass.

  Still, Julian did nothing. Didn’t say a word. He just looked away.

  Then, Keeper Esau dragged the other woman away as well.

  Wex stopped playing then.

  Ronan kept eating his large portion of wild boar. His knife and fork were the only sounds in the quiet garden. After a few minutes, he set down his utensils and finished his wine. Wiping his mouth on his napkin and tossing it over the bones of the wild boar, he stood, still holding his crystal wineglass. He paused, and then took the open but full bottle of wine from the ice and began to walk away. Stumbling, the girls on either side tried not to spill the glasses they had just refilled.

  “Wait…what do we do?” Julian the heir asked in desperation.

  “Go home. I thought you lived in Exeter,” he said, callously.