Blood of the Scarecrow: Book 3: Solstice 31 Saga

by Martin Wilsey

  “There you are,” Po said to Barcus, from behind. She held a large, steaming mug of soup in her hand.

  “If you hadn't awakened soon, I was planning to wake you.” She smiled, the implication was clear. She held up the mug.

  He didn't take it.

  “There's something wrong,” he said.

  Unfamiliar alarms sounded from all around. Barcus held his hand out to stop Po from darting away. He laid one hand on her shoulder and took the soup.

  “We lost pressure in dome number three. The grays just discovered it. Everyone’s fine.” He sipped the soup. “You added more chicken.”

  Po noticed the alarm came from the grays. All the grays.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Dome three, two airlocks in. The third held, though. Don't worry.”

  She didn't worry. If Barcus was fine, so was she.

  “It's the pre-membering, isn't it?” Po whispered.

  He nodded.

  “Will some of them die?” she asked.

  He nodded again, sadness clouding his eyes.

  “But not today.”

  “You can't stop it?” she asked, as the alarm silenced.

  “That's the worst thing. It's like it already happened.”

  “What about me?” She was clearly terrified by her own question.

  He said nothing, but his wide smile said all she ever wanted to hear.

  Broadcast HUD comms came on. Worthington spoke.

  “We have a breach in dome three. It cascaded through two inner doors, but the third airlock held.”

  ***

  The chancellor of Earth spent most of his time at his private residence on Calf Island. It occupied the entire island which had been leveled specifically to create several square kilometers as a foundation for his fortress. No roads led to it by land. All supplies, and visitors, had to arrive by air. Traffic was controlled for hundreds of kilometers in every direct.

  He took pride in the fact that the entire residence was a weapon-free zone. No hand carried weapons of any kind on the grounds. No armor, no scanners, no AIs were allowed, either. Except his, of course. AI-controlled turrets of every kind were hidden everywhere, except the innermost sections. The chancellor didn't even trust his own bodyguards with weapons in there. He always carried his, concealed inside his robes.

  Chancellor Dalton watched, via remote security cameras, as his shuttle softly landed in the posh courtyard below the main entrance. Other people’s shuttles were never allowed to land there. Dalton would send his private ship. He didn't watch on a HUD, because he didn't have one. He was secretly phobic regarding nanite-based implant technology. He was paranoid about them. He had seen what his people could do to his enemies by subverting implants.

  A woman emerged first, wearing a black business suit that still managed to showcase her beautiful legs. She scanned the surrounding area, like a predator; and with a subtle nod, a man emerged from the shuttle and repeated her examination of the area.

  When they both nodded in unison, another man left the shuttle on the far side toward the view. All three nodded, and the president of the North American Union emerged. The region he governed came up on a built-in monitor, on the huge console before him. He called it the bench. It was part throne, part judge’s desk, and was designed to intimidate everyone that visited this ornate room.

  The floors were polished marble, and the walls were paneled in ornately carved oak. The ceiling was an amazing dome of stained glass. The chancellor’s desk was raised like a judge’s bench and deep mirrored black, he sat on a high-back chair, a throne.

  There were no seats for visitors.

  The three guests entered the building, following an elderly man dressed in all white. As they walked through the nave, lights turned red, and a delicate chime sounded.

  A guard stepped up and led them to the side of the room where another guard sat behind a table.

  “Please, leave all your weapons and electronic devices here.”

  The two bodyguards looked at their president; he nodded and began to empty his pockets. The guard was surprised that the NAU president had two handguns on his person.

  The table was soon covered with handguns, extra magazines, a small laser cutter, several knives, and other devices.

  The guard replied, “Thank you. You may pick these up, here, on the way out.”

  They turned and followed the tottering man to the next set of double doors that opened, automatically, before them.

  The lights in that room also turned red, and the chime sounded. The setup was much the same, but these men were less polite and pleasant.

  “Please remove all body armor, and completely empty your pockets. Remove your shoes; they have metal in them.”

  All three took off their suit coats and kicked off their shoes as they tossed keys, coins, pens and notepads, wallets, and belts onto the table.

  They stood there as the guard pointed at the woman’s skirt and the man’s pants.

  “All body armor.”

  Rolling her eyes, she unzipped the back of her skirt and let it just fall to the floor, leaving her standing there barefoot, in a white sleeveless silk top, and black lace panties. The male bodyguard followed suit, dropping his pants; and then, the president took off his leather vest and folded it neatly on the table.

  They moved to the third set of double doors. Before she could pass him, a guard stopped her with a hand held out to her sternum. He ripped open her blouse, revealing a white lace bra and a ceramic knife, hanging on a fine braided silk cord, handle down. She drew it off over her head and casually handed it to the guard. The male guard went first, the president second, and finally the woman.

  When she entered, Chancellor Dalton smiled as the lights again turned red; but the alarm was not a small chime this time, it was a harsh but brief siren. He watched as a massive guard grabbed her around the throat with both hands as two more guards each grabbed an arm and all three slammed her against the wall. Dalton couldn't believe she remained conscious, it was so hard.

  A small guard stepped up and placed a complex tool beneath her left bicep and cruelly attached it. With a sick, clicking, saw sound, she screamed as the prosthetic arm tore away from her shoulder. Blood splashed onto the white marble as she struggled, but it was only from the dermal layers.

  “She stays here,” the short guard said, casually.

  They reluctantly turned and followed the old man to the next room through a door to the right this time.

  There they waited for three hours and twelve minutes.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: The Drive Factory

  “The means, methods, processes, and designs of the Harvesters is highly classified. I am very reluctant to have any of this technology openly discussed here.”

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

  <<<>>>

  “How the hell did you two get up here? The hatch was damaged and welded shut.” Worthington crossed the top of the Sedna and approached the leading edge of the ship that overlooked the vast hangar. “Are you OK, man? You kind of look a little worse.”

  Barcus had his head in Po's lap. He was pale again.

  “I ate too much and overdid it,” he said, weakly.

  “At least there was no blood in his vomit, this time,” Po said, as she brushed her hair out of his eyes. He made no attempt to sit up when speaking to Jimbo.

  “You should let Dr. Shaw look you over again. Just for the science of it, if she can't help you.” Worthington sat down, hung his long legs over the edge. His coveralls were already dirty; the fine dirt that came off the ship didn't bother him.

  “Ben says the grays are doing great work, but they don't convey their method back to Ben very well. It's kind of creepy,” Worthington said, uncharacteristically. “They can extrude repair materials, like bees making a beehive. Like fabrication in place.”

  “How do they know what to do, if Ben isn't telling them?” Po asked.
/>
  “They somehow requested the full schematics for the ships. Suddenly, they were working on them.”

  Jimbo shook his head.

  “They started fixing everything, from hull breaches, in various compartments—reinforcing weak spots that might have failed in flight—to live power conduits repair. I can’t understand the priority order they choose.”

  “We have been watching them eat the old machines.”

  Po pointed to the giant derelict hulking maker machine in the back of the hangar. Spiders marched to it, periodically, restocking with material to do repairs. Wex, Cine, and Jude cut chunks off and tossed them down for the grays as well as out to people for our fabricator.

  “I just wish I had a better idea of how long this will take,” Worthington said.

  “In six days, we will take 400 grays and fifty Javelins from pods to the hangar base, and they will begin putting it in order while we are gone. Three days after that, we will leave 3,000 more grays here to care for this base,” Barcus said. He rose up, onto one elbow, to drink some water Po offered. “Then, you will order me to take us all to the Iosin and this all gets really interesting.” He laid his head back down.

  Worthington looked out over the hangar as Barcus spoke. Pools of light scattered about as the grays provided light as they worked.

  “You know I trust you, Barcus. I know there is some really weird shit going on with you. Can you tell me anything more?”

  “Have you ever seen a Harvester ship?” Barcus asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes. My first duty as an ensign was on an old troop transport that was converted to a prisoner transport to the Harvesters. I actually got to see thirteen of them. They are huge.”

  Jimbo seemed uncomfortable.

  “We'd drop people off and pick up the finished grav-cores. Mostly the grape-sized ones used in grav-plating and foils. Sometimes full-sized, mass drives.”

  “What happen to the prisoners?” Po asked. “Did you pick them up as well when their sentences were completed?”

  “In the eighteen months I served, we picked up only one. The Harvesters move at near the speed of light while out. He said he had worked in the Harvester factory for ten years, perceived time. He was fit and healthy and in good humor, at first. Until he discovered 312 years had passed on Earth, he was broke, and the economy had tanked. Everyone he ever knew was dead,” Jimbo added. “He would be dead before his friends from the Harvester were released. Even with longevity treatments.”

  “Most of them just stay. It's not a bad life,” Barcus said.

  “Why did you ask?” Jimbo watched him slowly sit up, with Po's help.

  “Because in nine days we will go to the Iosin, and it is very much like a Harvester. Just as the grays are like the EMs. The Iosin will take us back to the Sol system.”

  “Relativistic speeds? How long?” Worthington asked, not questioning how he knew.

  “We will arrive in December of 2631,” Barcus said.

  “My wife will be pleased. I'll be home two years before I am expected.” Jimbo wasn't smiling. He knew it would be over two years that she had not heard a word via quantum comms.

  “Your family is safe. Just shave that beard before you see them.”

  Barcus laughed, holding his belly.

  ***

  Six days later, the 400 gray spiders seemed to already know they were going to the surface and what they were taking. The pod that housed the Javelin nuclear missiles had been quietly unloaded and, somehow, precisely split in half. With the Javelins returned to it they were loaded onto the STU by the grays that settled and functioned as a pallet as the other units strapped it down.

  Worthington stood on the ramp of the STU, addressing everyone. They had all showed up to see them off.

  “We will be back tomorrow. Try not to blow anything up while we're gone.”

  Just then, one of the Warmarks walked up. The top opened, and it was Hume driving it.

  “Barcus said he wasn't up for the trip and recommended I go along with DS-06.” She climbed in the STU and the ramp closed.

  The flight was smooth and direct; and as they entered the atmosphere, they received a hail from Ronan.

  “Good morning, Captain.” Ronan in his casual way, said, “I thought you'd be gone by now.”

  Stu pinpointed the origin of the transmission and saw that it was Exeter.

  “A few more days,” Worthington replied, in his best professional voice. “Can I be of service?”

  “Actually, yes. It appears I have been the victim of a rather large conspiracy. I am currently at the northern residence in Exeter.”

  Stu brought a visual up on long-range optical. Ronan's palace seemed to be surrounded by a vast crowd. It cannot be called an army, but there are about 10,000 people closing in.

  “They knew to wait until the moon had set and the relay went dark. The shuttle pilots just took off, with both shuttles. Then, this mob just emerged. I've never seen anything like it. Even if the house guards used every arrow, we will still be overrun. This is a home, not a fortress.”

  “We can be there in three minutes to evacuate you and your family,” Jimbo stated.

  “No. I can't leave the staff to this fate. Do we have any other options?” Ronan asked.

  “I believe we do.”

  Jimbo looked at Hume and smiled.

  ***

  The west garden had been surrounded with a great iron fence. It was topped with beautifully shaped florets. But it could not withstand the crush of people with hammers. They spilled in, like a raging flood over the banks of a river. The residence was too far away for them to just scream and run toward it. So, the crowd moved slowly, like a storm front. People, armed with bows and swords, moved to the leading edge. Someone in the mob was the first to notice. There was a white streak in the sky, something falling. The thing struck the ground hard, less than a hundred paces before the crowd.

  “You should be running,” said a voice that boomed like thunder. It was incredibly loud.

  Their advance faltered. A few men screamed and attempted to drive the others forward. Another called for the archers to aim and fire.

  Thousands of arrows bounced off DS-06, as its plasma cannons deployed over each shoulder. Two thick, blinding beams of light tore into the ground ten feet in front of the crowd. It left a trench a dozen feet deep in front of the attackers, with a pool of magma burning at the bottom.

  This was enough to make half the crowd break and run. The trench had burned an arc 200 meters wide into the ground. Another volley of arrows came. A few of the mob tried to jump across the molten ground, some even made it. They were allowed to approach a little closer at a run, before they were mowed down with projectile weapons fire that was loud and frightening as it poured from the forearms of the Warmark.

  The rest of the crowd ran. Fire flowed around a group of more disciplined forces, like a river around a boulder. It was obviously the leader and command staff. A grenade was launched into its center, leaving only a crater.

  A shuttle flew overhead and deployed a huge cylinder with a parachute over the residence. The Warmark destroyed it with a single shot, but did not destroy the shuttle, even though it could have easily.

  Hume opened a channel.

  “Captain, the crowd has been dispersed with minimal loss of life. I made a big mess, though.”

  “I can see that,” Jimbo said. “Ronan, come in. The main body of the attackers has been sent packing. What is your status?”

  “I watched the whole event from the west tower. Remind me to never piss off that soldier,” Ronan said, as DS-06 turned and faced the tower.

  In one great leap, it flew up 300 meters into the air in a long arc, landing softly on top of the west tower, right behind a startled Ronan.

  The top of DS-06 opened, and Hume climbed out. A Frange carbine on a single point sling came out with her from its storage.

  “Hello, Ronan. Nice to see you again.”

  He relaxed and smiled. “I should
have known.”

  Hume extended her hand for him to shake, letting the carbine hang in front of her flat stomach. He shook her hand.

  “We are coming in to the private pad. You might tell them to hold their fire.” Worthington’s voice came from the Warmark. Ronan nodded to Burke and he turned and spoke into a radio.

  “Are you going to be alright here? We can evacuate you to the East Isles. The STU can hold a couple hundred, in a pinch.”

  “I have two shuttles en route from there now. Both full of troops. Enough to tip the balance, if they come back. They would never attack East Isles. They’re testing me, though. So soon. Do you think I will have to use a nuke to make them behave?” he joked.

  “It's your planet. Don't break it,” she said, as they saw the STU fly over and quietly land on the pad.

  ***

  “Barcus, I talked to Ben, the Memphis’s AI, about relativistic effects,” Po said, as they lay naked together in their bunk.

  “Jesus, Po. Weren't you a slave that couldn't read a few days ago?” Barcus laughed and instantly regretted it, holding his belly.

  “Don't change the subject; we'll talk about Jesus later. Nobody talks about him, but everyone mentions him. A lot.” Po shook her head, getting back on topic. Barcus felt the entire length of her naked body next to him.

  “Time is not constant? It will seem like only a few days, but it will really be nineteen months?” she asked.

  “Yes. And that won't even get us close to home, just a tiny fraction of the way. Most of the trip, we will be using FTL drives,” he confirmed.

  “Our weight will grow to infinity?”

  “Not our weight, our mass. Like the Harvesters, the Iosin will control containment for the plates and drives while their mass is almost infinite.”

  “So the grav-plates under our feet are controlled by adjusting the containment field, not by controlling the gravity.”

  Po was getting aroused.

  Maybe the pain was not that bad...

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: The Onion of Conspiracy