by Richard Fox
Nakir raised his hands to his sides and dipped his chin. “You’ve gone far enough.” Nakir made a fist and silver flames roiled up his arm, lighting up the floating dust around them. “How long have you fought us?”
Cable worked his jaw from side to side. He had his rifle in his good hand, the grip just ahead of the optics. If he could manage a hip shot…
He let go of the rifle, caught it by the handle, and swung the barrel up, finger on the trigger.
Nakir snapped his hand over and a silver beam cut through the rifle, slashing across the side of Cable’s leg. The Ranger went down with a cry, twisting to one side to hide the Pathfinder knife from the Commissar.
Cable’s world went quiet, and he became painfully aware of every breath, the feel of blood dripping down one leg, the infuriating twitch in one arm.
“Your Crusade is doomed,” Nakir said, coming closer. “The Geist are endless and all we offer is a final salvation that the Ibarrans would deny you. Why? Why do you fight us? Why make so many others suffer for your stubbornness?”
“You can’t have our souls,” Cable croaked. “Dying is nothing. There’s only one man that can give us salvation, and you ain’t Him!”
“Malal saved an entire galaxy’s worth of souls from the Xaros. Now we will finish his work for a reward that—”
Cable snatched the Pathfinder knife off his belt and slashed up at Nakir with a roar.
Nakir’s glowing hand caught him by the wrist, stopping the blade well short. A dull ache grew through Cable’s arm and he struggled to pull it free. He dropped the blade and tried to catch it with his nerve-damaged hand to strike again, but it bounced off his fingers.
Nakir lifted the Ranger’s feet clear of the ground and silver strands of light crept up his neck.
“The Saint li—”
The light went rigid and Cable seized up.
“She can’t hear you.” Nakir brought his chrome face close to Cable’s.
Light rose through the Ranger’s entire body before it disintegrated. Empty clothes fluttered to the ground.
Nakir went to one knee and felt through the sweat-stained, dirt-choked fabric until he found the golden wire of the harness. He turned it over in black-gloved fingers and twisted the crystal in the back up. Cracked and dark.
He brushed fine dust off the gem, then tossed the harness away.
Nakir picked up the Pathfinder knife and tested the balance, admiring the craftsmanship and the care that had gone into maintaining the weapon years since the Pathfinder Corps had been nearly wiped out. He gripped the knife between his hands and was about to break it when he hesitated.
He turned back to all that remained of the Ranger, then tossed the dagger onto the pile.
Nakir disappeared into the storm.
Chapter 4
Elias.
He was falling. Sinking through a deep darkness with only a single star above. Elias Hale reached out, his arms fighting to move like they were held back by elastic straps. He couldn’t shout for help no matter how hard he tried.
Elias.
He felt ground beneath him, one hand on an edge. He turned over and looked down into a pit where his father stood, one hand raised to him. His mother was there, and his brother, as were Carson and the rest of her Pathfinder team. All stood mute while only Ken Hale cried out to his son.
Save us.
****
“Dad!” Elias opened his eyes to a blinding light. Rubbery arms flopped up against his face and he gasped dry, sterile air. Elias scrunched his eyes open and shut until he made out the blurry back of his hand. An IV line fed into a vein, and a hospital room slowly came into focus.
“Well, well, well, look who’s finally decided to join us,” a woman said.
“Jerry? Jerry, the Emperor’s here and he’s got…Jerry?” Elias tried to sit up. He got as far as lifting his head before collapsing back into his pillow.
“You’re not in any danger at all.” A woman with mixed-race features and long black hair leaned over him. Her skin was a shade of pink that looked like it had never been touched by the sun. She gave him a smile and dabbed at his forehead with a small cloth. “Surgery went very well. Dr. Hal’ten says you’ll be up and about in no time.”
Elias narrowed his eyes at her. She was rather attractive…but something was very off about her. Something familiar. Something that only added to his confusion.
“Where’s Jerry? Is he OK? The colony?”
“So concerned about your brother. Jared Hale. That’s a very noble quality.” She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear then gave him a pat on the cheek. “I’m afraid I don’t know any more about your brother.”
“Why don’t you? Am I on the Valiant or…where am I?”
“I think we need to take this a little slow, champ. I have lots of good news for you. For one…you’re on Earth. Phoenix, actually. Welcome home. My name’s Shannon, by the way.”
“Shannon,” Elias said, swallowing painfully, realizing how thirsty he was. His mind was still foggy, but he remembered the name. Someone that looked a lot like her with the same name, but who was much older, back on Terra Nova.
“I’m with the Commissariat, part of the government of—well, let’s not put the cart before the horse,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Awful.” He winced and touched the back of his neck where a patch of flesh felt raw. His hand went down to a beaded chain around his neck. He pulled out a pair of dog tags and his brow furrowed.
“We let you keep those. They were the only sort of personal items that came with you. Now don’t go poking at your surgery scars. We removed one fragment, but the other was too deeply incorporated into your brain stem.” She picked up a plastic mug with a handle and spooned ice chips into his mouth. “You were under for quite a while. Regular old Sleeping Beauty—or Sleeping Handsome if we’re going to be fair. Don’t worry, no one gave you a kiss to wake you up.”
“Where’s my father? Anyone?”
“Cart horse, horse cart. We’ll get to them as soon as we can. Now…can you tell me how you got here? How you ended up in an alien stasis tube and with Qa’Resh probe fragments in your head? Enquiring minds want to know.” Shannon drew back his next spoonful until Elias nodded quickly.
“The Triumvirate captured me on board the macro cannon, took me to the Ultari’s home world and then…what happened then?”
“Back up. Start with the Enduring Spirit leaving Earth.”
“What? You don’t know?”
“Humor me.” She batted her eyes at him. “Please.”
Elias told her of the second colony mission to the distant Canis Majoris dwarf galaxy and how the ship led by his father discovered the first colonists had disappeared and that they’d been enslaved by a Triumvirate of three exiled rulers of an alien civilization. He related how the dwarf galaxy was full of sentient species—contrary to what had been promised when the Qa’Resh offered the Union the chance to colonize it far from the Xaros’ reach—and how Terra Nova had fought off a Triumvirate invasion.
“Amazing,” Shannon said, nodding along as Elias gave the final details he remembered of his father fighting against the reborn Emperor to save him.
“I must have…the probe must’ve been part of the shrapnel that hit me. Is my dad OK? Uncle Jared and his family? Where’s Jerry?”
“I know your father’s alive and well.” Shannon put her hand on his forearm. “He’s the one that sent you back. Luckily, we had the expertise to help you because what he asked for was impossible.”
Elias frowned. “Back? Sorry, things are a little…fuzzy.”
“See for yourself.” Shannon stood and went to the curtains. She threw them back and the morning sun flooded into his room. Elias recognized Euskal Tower—one of the few buildings to survive the first Xaros invasion—and other high rises. In the distance, identical slabs of buildings stretched to the horizon at regular intervals and spacing, like the city had given up on expanding organically.
“A lot’
s changed.” She went back to him and grasped his hand. “A lot. Do you know…how long you’ve been gone?”
Elias frowned and looked at his hands.
“If I was held in stasis, then…”
“Five years.” Shannon breathed through her teeth. “You’re technically old enough to drink, but you’re still seventeen. Physically.”
“Huh…my mom and dad had a time skip after they…they went to some lab deep in the void. Dad missed Uncle Jared taking the first trip to Terra Nova while he was…paused. That’s how he put it—paused. Wait, how’d I get back? No. This means my brother’s—”
Elias tried to roll out of bed, but he lacked the strength.
Shannon touched a panel on the side of the bed and Elias felt a chill move up his arm from the IV. A floating sensation came over him and his eyes lost focus.
“Can’t have you getting too upset. I’ve given you a little something-something to smooth you out and help you answer some questions.” She grabbed him by the chin and he didn’t resist. “Good…you’re nice and malleable now.”
Shannon held up a data slate and a diagram scrolled up. “You recognize this? What is it?”
“It’s an engine. A faster-than-light engine,” Elias slurred. “Where’d you get the…” He pursed his lips and sank deeper into his pillow.
Shannon snapped her fingers in front of his eyes and he perked up.
“The foundry schematics were encoded onto the probe fragment that’s still in your head, but the power source is missing. How did this engine work?”
“Astranite.” Elias put his fingertips to his temples and pressed hard. “It’s from the dwarf galaxy where Terra Nova is. You mean you haven’t found any in the Milky Way? We thought…thought it was made during a supernova of a neutron star, which should be impossible, but the math works if the star had a close call with a micro-black hole and the inner core contracted to—”
“Shame.” Shannon rolled her eyes. “We’ve lost the foundry tech, and if we still had it, there’s no code for the fuel either. Now, Mr. Hale…what did your father ever tell you about that deep-void laboratory. Who was he there with?”
“His Marines and the Breitenfeld.”
“Did he ever speak the name Malal to you?” Shannon asked, leaning in and whispering into his ear.
“Who?” Elias turned to her and the tips of their noses bumped.
Shannon sighed and pulled back.
“Your father was a bit too tight-lipped. Shame, but maybe he’ll tell us himself,” she said.
“Dad’s coming?”
“We’ll get to that soon.” Shannon touched the back of her head. “There’s still a fragment in there. Lucky for you, we’ve pioneered a chemical that helps human beings tolerate implants of Qa’Resh technology. We’ve got Compound 12 in your drip. The side effects are minimal. Now that I’ve got enough of our more proprietary drugs in your system, we need to fix something.”
“I feel tingly.”
“Never say your name again.” Shannon became very serious. “That name is heresy. It is a crime. You are Ely Hale from now on. Say it.”
“Ely?”
“Your parents named you after an evil man. You will not repeat that name again. It is an affront to our lords. You understand, Ely?”
“Ely. You don’t look the same. As I ’member.”
“Hmm, interesting. Now you get some rest. We’ll have more for you soon.”
She adjusted his medication and left the room. A guard with a blank visor over his face stood against the hallway wall. She stepped clear as hydraulics hissed shut, locking the door like a vault.
“Keep him isolated. No contact,” she said, then pressed a palm to a biometric reader on the wall. A holo screen snapped on and Commissar Nakir turned to look into the camera, his chrome mask in place.
“He’s hiding something,” Shannon said. “The remaining fragment had some activity before he woke up, but stayed dormant the entire time he was questioned.” She swiped up on the pad and graphs scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
“Fits, as he was true-born but not engineered through the procedural tubes,” Nakir said. “Should he be Turned? We could find out what else he knows.”
“Not with the fragment still present. Do you want to risk it reactivating? Besides, even if it was removed, if we Turn him, he’ll be nothing but a useless thrall. If he has Ibarra conditioning, it would be futile. He’d die before he’ll be Turned.”
“The Ibarrans don’t have their claws in him. He’s as true born as can be. Can you get more out of him?”
“Give me time. We may not even need it if the fragment we removed can do what we need,” she said.
“I’ll suggest we keep options open, but our lords will do as they will.”
“We serve,” Shannon said and ended the call.
Chapter 5
Thomas Hoffman leaned one shoulder against the side of the battlements surrounding the west side of Phoenix. The walls hadn’t held for long, and the section was pockmarked by plasma bolts and blasted apart in some areas. Much of it was crumbling away and Hoffman took some of his weight off the battlement.
Beyond the wall was a wide road leading to a landing pad. A lander was there, running lights winking in the early morning, darkness still behind it. Between the lander and the wall was a field of metal X’s planted in the ground. Hoffman didn’t care to let his gaze linger on the men and women crucified, didn’t like to think about how many friends he might have out there in the fields, or whether or not they still suffered.
It wasn’t that cold for a winter morning in Phoenix, but a chill cut down to his bones.
“Really, Hoffman, why do you come up here?” A man came up the stairs and handed him a steaming cup of coffee. “It’s grotesque.” He took a sip of his own drink then looked over both his shoulders. “Grotesque that anyone would raise arms against the regime, of course,” he said quickly.
“I’m no snitch, Sal,” Hoffman said, raising his coffee in thanks. “This is what the refugees see. Earth, maybe the first time any have ever seen her, then the broken defenses of the Terran Union and the waiting harvest of those that failed in that defense.”
“Still doesn’t explain why you’re up here.”
“Helps to understand the mindset of those we’re processing. We’re trying to help them, remember?” Hoffman asked.
“When it’s the harness or death, it ain’t that hard to make quota. That’s all I’m saying. Why is it so damn cold up here? Thought this was the desert.” Sal clutched his coffee with both hands and held it close to his chin, letting steam roll up his face.
“You’re a bit shy on your numbers this week,” Hoffman said. “You get sanctioned again, the Commissars might cut your calorie ration. If you’re lucky.”
“It’s a big ship and we’ve got another one coming in tomorrow. I’ll make my quota. We can’t all be ex-Strike Marine superstars like you.”
“Former Strike Marine.”
“Whatever. Maybe next time, I’ll put a crayon in your coffee instead of cream.”
In the distance, ramps lowered from the transport ship. Hoffman saw the spark of electro whips as overseers herded their refugees down onto the landing zone.
“Got to love this job,” Sal said, finishing his coffee before tossing the cup over the wall, “or you don’t last long at it. Good luck.”
****
Hoffman waited outside a pen whose walls were chain link and extended twenty feet up where electrified razor wire snapped. Inside were a hundred or so ragged refugees, all wide-eyed with fright and wearing little more than the clothes they were captured in. He heard the cries of children and babies and fought to keep his face stern.
“Boss ready?” A hulking guard with a spiked club in one meaty hand put the other on a gate door. The gate would open to a short pathway covered by fencing up to a platform that had another cage over it. The Resettlement Corps had lost a few too many agents before those safety measures had been implemented.
“Not yet.” Hoffman’s heart beat hard as the refugees within milled about. He heard other agents making their pitch in nearby pods and waited for more refugees to divert their attention to their surroundings and not him.
“Now.” Hoffman threw the gate open and sprang up onto the platform. He thrust his hands up in the air and shouted, “Welcome! Welcome back to Earth. I am your relocation advisor and I am here to help you.”
“Traitor!”
A plastic bag used to hold food on the transfer ships flew out of the audience at Hoffman. The bag splattered against the cage and foul-smelling liquid and sludge hit Hoffman’s trench coat.
There was a snarl from the pack of guards and a gate flung open. Four of the brutes waded into the refugees, shoving them aside until they found a middle-aged man standing his ground as those around him drifted away. The man took a swing at the nearest guard and landed it, but the blow did little more than jiggle the helmet. A club came down and smacked into his shoulder with a loud crack. The guards dragged the fighter out and closed the gate.
Hoffman didn’t look as the guards proceeded to kick and beat the man to death. Their response was hardwired and there was no use trying to talk them out of retaliation.
“I am your relocation advisor and I am here to help you.” Hoffman shrugged off his trench coat. “The Great Synod gives you all a chance. Serve and live in comfort and happiness. Otherwise, you will deny their mercy. Some who make the wrong choice…they’re chosen to be harvested immediately. Some who make the wrong choice are thrown out of the Synod’s mercy and into the wild, where none survive. Where none survive. Am I clear on that?
“Many of you have been lied to by the Crusade. That is not your crime. But believing those lies—when you can see the greatness of the Synod for yourself—is a crime. Look. All of you, look behind you.” Hoffman pointed. He’d given this speech so many times, but he refused to let it become rote and passionless like so many other agents.
