The Eternal Enemy

by Michael Berlyn

  She decided they were slowed down enough for her to take a chance. She turned, reached for the deck, and pulled herself up. No time to close the door yet. Keep firing. Christ. How many of them are there? A few Hydrans managed to get close enough to touch the deck, to try to scramble up. Straka lased their hands off. And then she looked up, out over the immediate threat, and saw something that made her blood run cold.

  A whole new wave, reaching back as far as she could see, was advancing. They walked over the bodies of their dead cousins, knocked each other down in their frenzied attempts to get to the ship. Straka touched the wall, activating the closing mechanism at last. The door started its slow descent, cutting off her view of the distant advancing wave. That was fine with her.

  After lasing through the narrowing opening, after the eternity of the closing sequence, the bay door closed, mangling several sets of Hydran hands in the process.

  She slumped to the deck, exhausted.

  And then she looked at Wilhelm.

  Wilhelm wasn’t moving.

  Markos knew this rescue attempt would cost them something in time and energy. There were some cutoff points—realistic limits—and they were quickly approaching them. He watched through the small screen and tried to make sense out of what he saw. It was impossible to make out any details or get a true feel for the flow of the battle.

  He started to think that something was going wrong. Still, if it were, Katawba was down there, ready to help, as were Kominski and Markatens in H-2. But it didn’t look right. It shouldn’t be taking Straka this long.

  “What’s going on?” Jackson asked.

  “I can’t tell,” Markos said. “Not through this screen. All I know is they’re still fighting.”

  “Let’s get down there. Now. If they’re still fighting, they need help.”

  “They’ve got help if they need it. There’s no need to move.”

  “We’re going down,” Jackson said.

  “Don’t even think of it,” Markos warned. “Or I’ll do to you what I did to Kominski.”

  Straka knelt on the deck, arms wrapped around Wilhelm’s bloody torso. The skin around his neck had been severed by the Hydran’s attack. Straka needed to cry, to feel the tears roll down her cheeks, but the tears wouldn’t come. They couldn’t.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen, Wilhelm. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be, she thought.

  Straka rocked on her knees, swaying to some unheard heartbeat, a pounding throb in her own chest. She looked at Wilhelm’s quiet face, his clear, crystalline eyes. She wished she could go back and make things right, do things differently.

  “Give me another chance,” she said softly.

  But no one heard her plea. She turned to the Hydran, her immobilized prisoner, and eased Wilhelm to the deck. She stood, rushed to its side, eyes blazing with strong clashing colors, light reflecting off the Hydran’s shiny black body. Straka made her fist rock hard and in the same instant brought a crushing blow down on its chest.

  Something cracked.

  “I’m going to kill you,” she told it, knowing full well it couldn’t understand. “Slowly. In stages.”

  Hand still clenched, still rock hard, she turned back to Wilhelm. Dead Wilhelm.’ Somewhere in the background, Straka could hear voices filtering through, calling her, calling Wilhelm.

  I’m sorry, she thought. Sorry it was you. Sorry it happened.

  It isn’t fair.

  She could hear the voices again. They were coming from up in the control room. She looked up the long ramp and remembered the radio. It had to be someone calling. She didn’t want to answer it, to talk to anyone, to face anyone even over the radio. She would have to tell them what had happened to Wilhelm.

  Still, she knew she had to.

  She turned away from the motionless Hydran and walked up the ramp. She felt tired and old. She recognized the voice as she approached.

  “Are you all right? Straka? Wilhelm? Answer!”

  Straka sat in the control seat, the seat Wilhelm used to sit in, and buried her face in her hands. Her hardened right hand took her by surprise.

  “Straka? Are you there? Wilhelm? What’s going on?”

  Straka softened her hand and flexed it, staring at it as if it weren’t a part of her body. “I’m here, Katawba,” she said. “I’m here.”

  “Straka? Wilhelm? Are you there?”

  Straka realized she hadn’t activated the transmitter. She touched the plate and activated it, then said, “I’m here. Wilhelm is dead.”

  “Is that you, Straka? What did you say?”

  “I said that Wilhelm is dead. The Hydrans got him.”

  “Listen to me, Straka. Get the ship up. There are Hydrans crawling all over it. And there are groups of them forming in the streets with some strange-looking weapons.”

  “Right,” Straka said.

  She started activating H-l, thinking about Wilhelm. They had never been truly close until their imprisonment on Aurianta. And it had been Wilhelm, the best pilot, who had chased Markos on Gandji, when Markos had slammed into the boulder.

  … Slammed into the boulder?

  Everything around her came back into clear focus. Wilhelm may be dead, she thought, but with the Habers death can be a temporary thing. Just like it was with Markos.

  Her hands flew over the activating plates as she brought the ship up. She realized the sooner she got Wilhelm back to the mother ship, the better his chances of being brought back to life.

  Markos had changed him, and now Markos could resurrect him. It was the least he could do.

  29

  Markos knew what was coming and he didn’t like it. Though he knew there was nothing he could do, Straka and the others would never believe him. His wedge docked with the Paladin, and Jackson touched the bulkhead, making the docking permanent.

  Markos didn’t even want to get out of his chair. He sat staring at nothing in particular, in no great rush to enter the mother ship. He felt weary from the constant impossible battle with the Hydrans, from the hundreds of little confrontations with the crew. His supposed allies.

  And now Wilhelm, their best pilot, was dead for no good reason. He was dead for trying to help some Terran he never met, who might not even be alive.

  “You coming?” Jackson asked.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I’ll see you on board.”

  He was certain they wouldn’t believe him. They were like that—sure of things they knew nothing about. He wondered how far they would push him. Well, they can demand all they want, Markos thought, but there’s nothing that can be done.

  When he finally mustered the strength and entered the mother ship, he could feel a difference in the air. The mood on board was intense. The crew had gathered in the rec room, with Wilhelm’s torn body stretched out on a table. Markos glanced at Wilhelm, then swept his gaze over the crew.

  He had been right. It was obvious in their eyes, in the way they held themselves, in the way they had laid out Wilhelm.

  “Where’s the prisoner?” Markos asked.

  “In the lab,” Straka said.

  Markos turned to leave.

  “Wait,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “No.”

  Markos glanced once more at the crew. They looked hostile. He realized he shouldn’t have stayed aboard H-4 for so long. They had obviously set up some unified plan of action.

  “Then come with me,” he said, “and we’ll talk.”

  “Talk here.”

  “I’ve got a lot to do, Straka. Unless you’ve given up the rescue attempt. If you haven’t, the Hydran has got to be questioned.”

  “He’ll keep. Wilhelm won’t.”

  “Every moment we delay could prove costly. I don’t look forward to spending an additional hundred years finding new Hydran colonies that wouldn’t have been there if we’d acted now. The longer we wait to complete the seeding, the more Hydran outposts we’re goin
g to have to seed.”

  “Wilhelm’s life is worth it.”

  “Wilhelm is dead.”

  Straka locked eyes with Markos. Markos knew what was coming. “So were you,” she said.

  “True. And sometimes I wish the Habers had left me dead.”

  “Just bring Wilhelm back,” she said.

  “Let’s talk about this alone, Cathy. Please.”

  “Talk here—now, in front of everyone.”

  “I can’t do a thing for Wilhelm. I know nothing about reviving him.”

  “Just bring him back, Markos,” she said with a little more force in her voice.

  “Believe me. I would if I could. But you forget—I was on the receiving end of it. Being brought back didn’t make me capable of doing it for someone else.”

  Straka rose to her feet. Markos didn’t like the way her facial muscles were tensed, the way the power throbbed in her eyes. The rest of the crew was tensing up, and he saw that she was leading them. The Old One was nowhere to be seen, and Markatens was probably in the control room, monitoring the systems and keeping an eye on the planet.

  Straka pointed to Wilhelm. “Are you going to bring him back or not?”

  “For the last time, Straka, I can’t. I would, but I don’t have the knowledge.”

  Straka wheeled around to face the crew. “Get the Hydran,” she said. Jackson flashed red. “The rest of you know what to do.”

  They all seemed to hesitate for a moment, grudgingly getting to their feet. Straka turned back to face Markos. “Last chance. Are you going to bring him back?”

  Markos flashed a pure dark blue. He had no idea as to what she had in mind, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He would just have to let it play out. He was telling them the truth. If they chose hot to believe it, that was their problem, not his.

  He was prepared to die at their hands.

  The Old One appeared in the doorway, blocking Jackson’s exit. “What is the problem?” he asked.

  “Get out of my way and there won’t be one,” Jackson said.

  The Old One moved to the side. “Markos? What is this about?”

  “Wilhelm is dead,” Markos said, “and they want me to bring him back to life. But I don’t know how.”

  “Why do they want you to bring him back to life?” the old Haber asked.

  “Ask them,” Markos said.

  “Cathy Straka? Can you tell me, me why?”

  “I can, but I don’t see why I should. Will you bring him back if I explain?” she asked.

  “It is possible.”

  “We want him back because we need his presence. We all cared for him. He shouldn’t have died, especially under those circumstances. His death is a waste.”

  The Old One leaked a little violet tinged with white. “You are a selfish people,” he said. “I, I have always tried to understand why you have this hatred for a change that has to be. Death is a positive step—”

  “I don’t hear Wilhelm saying that. Bring him back and we’ll ask him.”

  “Wilhelm means much to me, me, too. This caring does not mean that I, I want him back, though. I, I am glad he has found peace at last. He is no longer afraid of those things he did not understand.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Death does that. He no longer cares about anything. He no longer is.”

  “You are wrong, Straka. Not only are you wrong, you are selfish. You fear his death was brought about by you. You have no idea of what Wilhelm experiences now. If you did, you would want to let him rest.”

  “He isn’t resting,” she said. “He’s dead.”

  “Let him stay that way.”

  “You won’t bring him back?” she asked.

  “And you still want me, me to?”

  “Yes. You brought back Markos on Gandji. You can bring back Wilhelm, too.”

  “The Old One might be right,” McGowen said.

  Straka wheeled around. “Are you serious? Let him stay there, like that? I’d do the same for you, McGowen.”

  McGowen shook his head. “No thanks. If I get it, I get it. I’ve lived enough for two people. I’m not greedy.”

  Straka shook her head. “Have it your way. But I still want him back.”

  “I don’t,” De Sola said.

  “What’s the matter with you two? Are you crazy?”

  Markos couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw McGowen grin.

  “No, Straka, we’re not crazy. And we’re not crazed. We don’t need to live forever. But I want you to know that if you should get it, I’ll do everything I can to revive you,” McGowen said.

  “I want you to know the truth, too, Cathy,” Markos said. “I can’t revive Wilhelm. I just don’t know how. When it comes to something like that, I guess I’m not really a Haber.”

  “No, you’re not!” she shouted. “You’re a freak!”

  Jackson appeared in the doorway. “He’s loaded on board the wedge. Are you ready?” he asked.

  Straka rushed forward, almost knocking Jackson out of the way.

  “Wait a minute!” Jackson shouted.

  But she kept going.

  “I think the plan is off,” Markos said.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with the Hydran, then?” Jackson asked.

  “What were you planning to do with him?” Markos asked.

  Jackson didn’t answer. Markos hadn’t really expected him to.

  “Put him back where he was, Jack. I’ll question him in a few minutes.”

  Jackson looked to the rest of the crew. Markos followed his gaze. They were leaking red from their eyes, nodding slowly. Markos was back in control, for whatever that was worth.

  Markos approached Straka’s cabin with great trepidation. There was no predicting her mood, and Markos feared the worst. He stood outside the door for a moment, hand touching the strange Terranmade bulkhead, a stress-formed piece of alloy its creators had never imagined would be touched by a creature like him. He wondered what NASA 2 would think if they knew where their ship was.

  Markos braced himself as he entered the cabin. Straka was on her bunk lying on her back, hands tucked beneath her head, legs crossed at the ankles. Just like a human, Markos thought. She did nothing to acknowledge Markos’s presence.

  “I’m sorry. I liked Wilhelm, too,” Markos said.

  Straka unlaced her fingers and sat up. “About what the Old One said in the rec room …”

  “Yes?”

  “I didn’t want Wilhelm to die. I feel responsible for his death.”

  “Could you have saved him?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Really?”

  “There were so many of them, and there was so little time. I keep thinking that he would still be alive if we hadn’t gone down there to get that prisoner.”

  “Perhaps,” Markos said, “but there’s no real way of knowing that. Sometimes I think I did the wrong thing by changing all of you. I think it might have been better if I’d just given the Paladin back to you and forgotten this insane war with the Hydrans.

  “There was no need to involve any of you. If I hadn’t put you in that pen, Wilhelm might have been alive now. There are just too many ‘ifs.’ If I hadn’t been changed myself, if I had let you go, if I had left Kominski behind, if I’d insisted the Old One stay behind. It doesn’t do us any good. That’s all past. We’ve got the future to consider.”

  “All but Wilhelm.”

  “True. But what about the rest of us? What about the inhabited planets throughout the Galaxy? There are the Hydrans, and they still must be dealt with. You’re going to have to put aside your grief and guilt. We’ve got work to do. This planet has been seeded, and we’re wasting precious time here. We either move on or go down to the surface for the Terrari. But the decision must be made now.”

  Straka looked away from Markos, looked at the deck, and Markos knew what he had to say.

  “I was wrong, Cathy. And I’m sorry.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s my fault Wilhelm is dea
d. I divided us. I created a rift. If we’re ever going to get anything done, we have to work together.

  “Let’s get that Terran down there. All of us. We’ll work as a team. You have my complete support.”

  She looked at him.

  “Really.” Markos extended his arms in a gesture he hadn’t even considered for years.

  Straka threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Markos could see that the edges of her eyes were tinged with red. He was never happier to see that color.

  The first thing they did was link up. Markos felt it was necessary to bridge the gap that had opened between them all. They stood in a tight circle. Everyone aboard the Paladin was there, the bridge unattended. The last real linkup had occurred long ago and, more importantly, had occurred before Wilhelm’s death. As the old Haber touched hands with the others, he said, “Watch for our friend Wilhelm.”

  When the Old One grasped the last two hands firmly, the linkup was complete. At first the strange ceremonial type of communication held nothing new, but as Markos felt the others’ barriers melt, felt their thoughts mingle with his, he could see Wilhelm in his mind’s eye. He could detect Wilhelm’s presence in the group, just as if Wilhelm were alive, standing next to Straka or Martinez. He was still with them.

  The grief they each felt mingled and mixed together, diluted and dissipated slowly until it completely disappeared. Markos could feel the difference in Straka. The barriers dissolved completely and their egos disappeared. They were in contact with each other’s essences, mingling their selves and raw primal instincts, baring parts of their minds normally hidden. There was no horror felt, nor was there shame. They were what they were—no more, no less—each an individual, unique in countless ways, and yet identical to each other, sharing countless aspects of life.

  When the linkup was over, Markos released his grip on the others. He looked around; something was wrong, out of place. He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but as he scanned their faces, he saw that they shared the same feeling. And then he realized what it was.