Galactic Thunder

by Cameron Cooper

  Being cut off from the rest of the galaxy had not impinged upon them very much at all. Anderson Marlow, who had done most of the jumping about the galaxy to visit the isolated cities and worlds and convince them to destroy their datalinks with the array and take back their independence, had almost forgotten that Wynchester was there. It was one of the very last places he had visited.

  That didn’t make Wynchester a backwater. Not in the least. Although most of the rest of the galaxy probably thought it was exactly that—an old, creaky, calcified place which should be left to spend its dying days soaking up the strong white sunlight from Plinio.

  That is exactly the impression I had about Wynchester, too. When Lyth had announced he was moving the Laxman Institute there, it had seemed appropriate to me that the very young technology which Laxman had developed be housed in the very oldest of cities. Then I promptly forgot about Wynchester once more. The old cylinder city has that effect on people.

  Until they visit the place.

  Lyssa had been there more than once, but Lyth had not insisted she call the city home, or even linger there more than she wanted to. Her knowledge of the place let her jump us to within a few kilometers of the Great Lock, which all non-resident craft were required to use. Only resident ships could use the Lesser Lock, on the other end of the cylinder, if it was closer to home for them.

  My first view of the old city that wasn’t an image in the archives was an extreme closeup, which gave me a clear impression of the size of the thing.

  “Damn…” I breathed, staring at the monster-sized structure which filled our view, blocking both Darain, the third planet, and Dara, the planet’s moon. Wynchester used the LaGrange point between the two to stabilize its position around Plinio.

  Wynchester was nothing to look at from the outside. The metal shell was patched, seamed and discolored. I could see bots moving over the hull like fleas, barely visible. If they were the standard size for vacuum-enabled bots, it made the cylinder huge.

  I stared at the thing. “How big is it?” I asked Lyssa, who stood by my shell, concentrating on chatter between her and Wynchester’s traffic control.

  She glanced at me. “The radius of the interior is ten kilometers.” And she went back to her polite conversation.

  I did the math quickly. That made the circumference nearly sixty-three kilometers!

  I studied the cylinder we were floating slowly toward, reassessing the battered exterior once more. I shoved the view feed through to the diner, where Dalton and Fiori, Marlow and Jai were yucking it up over scotch. “Look at this,” I told them, as I fed the view to the screen emitter on the big table they were sitting at.

  I had left the party reluctantly, to come to the bridge for the transition out of the wormhole, so there would be a least one human to speak to the city if needed.

  But there was no need. Lyssa had a prior relationship with the AIs and human controllers, who apparently had no idea they were speaking to a digital entity. Or perhaps they did know and just didn’t care. Perhaps that was a reason why Lyth had moved the Institute here.

  Still, I stayed where I was, staring at the structure, recalling dusty, childhood stories about Wynchester. It had taken a century to complete the construction of the place. The asteroid belt in this system had been mined for resources to build the cylinder, to the point where there were few rocks left in it.

  It had taken another fifteen years to generate a breathable atmosphere inside. A project of such vast size and duration had only become possible once humans had learned how to extend their lives with regeneration therapy. That had allowed one person with a powerful vision, Sawda Ajello, to drive the project forward until it was complete.

  Ajello had become a metaphor for persistence, after that. Children were encouraged to “stick like Ajello”.

  We drifted toward the Great Lock. The elongated rectangular maw showed light beyond it but little other detail. There was a shimmer to the air in front of the slot.

  “A molecular barrier?” I asked Lyssa.

  “A strong one,” Lyssa assured me. “They used to use plasteel doors like a normal lock, but the doors take ten minutes to close properly and the lock takes another twelve hours to fill with air, so they don’t use them unless they have to, now.”

  Twelve hours!

  I reassessed the Great Lock, which looked like a smaller ring sitting upon the end of the main cylinder. The Lesser Lock would be the same, only smaller still, I guessed. The Great Lock rotated anti-clockwise, the opposite direction to the main cylinder, which would offset torque and keep the structure stable. I guessed the Lesser Lock would move in the same direction as the Great Lock, too.

  Now we were closer still, I could see that the “slot” of the Great Lock was actually huge. We wouldn’t just squeeze into it, we would be able to pass through while dancing a jig, if we wanted to. There was room to spare.

  Dalton tramped up the ramp and came over to my shell. “I wanted to see it for myself,” he said.

  Lyssa approached the lock from the starboard side. I could see the silhouette of another ship inside the lock, heading toward the port side, which would be their starboard. I adjusted my understanding of the scale of the thing. We could do more than a jig.

  The lip of the lock was dozens of meters wide. I bent to peer up through the windscreen, to examine the thick edge of the lock and saw the plasteel doors tucked away inside them. The doors were meters thick, too.

  Dalton whistled appreciatively as we moved through the lock, twisting his head to look at every centimeter of the structure.

  Jai, Marlow and Fiori entered the bridge as we cleared the entrance of the lock, moved to the windows and looked out.

  “Have you seen this before?” I asked them.

  “I came here when I was a child,” Jai said. He shook his head, his gaze on the view. “It hasn’t shrunk to adult proportions since I saw it. It still looks enormous.”

  “That’s because it is,” I replied.

  There were another five ships inside the lock with us, all coming or going. Now we were through the gate, we could see the interior of the lock, which was a semi-dark squat cylinder lit only with proximity lights and warning lights. There were guide lights ahead, too, outlining a gate the same size as the external one.

  Now we were inside atmosphere, I could hear the roar of the reaction engines throbbing against our hull, and not just feel the vibration through my feet.

  “Switching to navigation engines only,” Lyssa murmured. She added, to me, “The city requires it.”

  I nodded. That made sense. You didn’t want reaction engine exhaust fogging up your atmosphere. But that also meant we would be moving very slowly along the cylinder. “How far in is the Institute?”

  “On the far end,” Lyssa admitted. “Close to the Lesser Lock. We will have to land close to this end, on the public platforms.”

  I nodded again. “Lyth said he would meet us on the platform.” The statement hadn’t meant much at the time. I was used to thinking in terms of landing bays with closed doors, not open platforms.

  We all fell silent as the Lythion approached the inner lock, then passed through into a bright, sunny day.

  I winced at the brightness. So did everyone else. Dalton hissed.

  “Sorry,” Lyssa said. The windows shifted to a brown filter, and the dazzle eased. “We’re close to the mirrors, up here,” she added. “But it’s also summer at the moment.”

  “They have seasons?” Fiori asked, glancing over her shoulder at Lyssa.

  Lyssa nodded. “The biosphere responds better to distinct seasons. I believe they also have scheduled drought years, and flood years, too.”

  We all peered through the windows with even more interest.

  I knew that the city spread across the interior of the cylinder. I’d even seen drawings and images of the place as a kid, but none of it had impacted me the way seeing it for myself did.

  It was a nation, not a city. I could see vast tracts of trees, o
pen green land, rivers, even farmed fields. In among them were pockets of buildings—but not cute, rustic single-use structures like Shostavich ran to. There were towers and glittering complexes, tiers and walkways. There were smaller buildings which I guessed might actually be single-use, dotted among them.

  The patches of urban space and open areas curved in a great arc, up either side of the cylinder and overhead. Sixty-three kilometers around, I reminded myself. “How long is Wynchester?” I asked, for the far distant end of the cylinder was blurred by atmosphere and distance.

  “Fifty-five kilometers,” Lyssa replied.

  Marlow blew out a soft breath in reaction to that.

  Everywhere, there were roads and pathways, winding in among the buildings and shooting through the open areas, all of them with ground cars and pedestrians, which were mere dots to our gaze.

  The air overhead was thick with traffic, too, made almost entirely of tiny personal craft. We were the only behemoth in local space. No wonder they wanted us to sit our ass down as fast as possible.

  One of the little craft matched our pace for a minute, and we all stared at it. I could see three people and a fourth empty chair inside the clear dome over the top of the craft. None of the passengers paid us any attention. They were too busy talking to each other. I couldn’t see anyone controlling the thing. I couldn’t see manual controls, either.

  The craft peeled away from our vector and headed down toward the buildings eight or nine kilometers below.

  “Descending,” Lyssa murmured, as the Lythion also sank toward the land beneath. “Gravity increasing.”

  The navigation engines had to work harder to counter the gravity as it increased so we didn’t drop like a very large stone.

  Everyone at the windows was bent to peer straight down beneath us. I went over to the window myself and looked down just as they were.

  There were dozens of square, flat areas below, each a dull grey brown, some of them occupied by interstellar ships, some empty. One of them flashed green around the perimeter. Our assigned platform.

  I could see a narrow road leading up to the platform from the land below, where it joined with broader roads, which snaked around the cylinder in broad curves. Buildings were tucked between the platforms and also beneath them. It was difficult to judge how high off the ground the platforms were raised, but it was more than a few meters.

  Then the view was lost to us, blocked by the platform itself as we settled down onto it with barely a jolt. The engines immediately cut out.

  “Thank you, Great Lock Control,” Lyssa murmured, vocalizing the end of her conversation with traffic control. She turned to me. “Lyth’s car says it is minutes away.”

  “From the other end of the city?” I asked, astonished.

  “I hailed them as soon as we emerged into normal space,” Lyssa said. “And the cars are fast, once they’re in the air.”

  “Clearly,” I replied.

  “I want to step outside. Smell fresh air,” Fiori said. “Can we?” She glanced at me.

  “I suppose so,” I said slowly, for I was feeling a bit lost. “If we don’t go off the platform, I can’t see there would be an issue. Treat the platform as you would a landing bay.”

  “And don’t trip over the city crew,” Lyssa added. “They’ll show up in a moment. I’m lowering the ramp.”

  We all headed for the freight bay. As the inner door of the bay opened for us, I drew in a startled breath as heated air rushed in.

  “Summer,” Fiori sighed, lifting her chin and closing her eyes.

  “It’s hot,” I pointed out.

  “Yes!”

  “I hate weather,” I replied. Irritated, I crossed the bay toward the ramp. It wasn’t just hot. The light beyond the freight bay was dazzling.

  When I stepped off the ramp onto the rough, stained surface of the platform, I had to raise my hand against the glare of the light, overhead. I shot a quick glance at the source of the heat and light. Running the length of the cylinder, and down the center of it, was a cable of articulated mirrors which brought Plinio’s light into the cylinder. The mirrors could clearly be turned in and off, or out and on, and I guessed there would be an outer shield that could control the amount of light, too, if they arranged their own seasons in here. When Plinio sank behind the planet, night would drop in here, too.

  I was already looking forward to that. The heat gathered around me like an invisible coat, smothering me with thick air. I was already sweating, something I normally only did when I was exerting myself.

  City crew people were already moving around the Lythion. Just like in normal landing bays, they were hauling umbilicals and hoses to attach to the ship, or pads and meters to inspect the ship. They moved around each other in an intricate, well practiced weaving dance.

  Beyond the platform, and not all that far away, was a bunch of tall buildings with multiple floors and glittering windows. Not all the windows were closed, that I could see. Some of the floors, even the higher ones, were open to the air. The Wynchesterites were enjoying their summer.

  I shuddered.

  Marlow nudged me. “There’s the car.” He nodded to the left.

  The road I had spotted leading up to the platform was there. Just coming into view at the top of the slope was a car which looked similar to the four man one that had paced alongside us, only the dome over the top of it was opaque. It rolled onto the platform and along the front of it, staying on the other side of a thick line painted on the surface.

  Another car followed it.

  I blinked as a third car appeared and all three moved along the edge of the platform. All three had domes which hid their occupants.

  “What the hell?” Dalton breathed.

  “Stay here a bit,” I told everyone, for I didn’t like the anonymous cars and what they might hide. I lifted my voice. “Lyssa, can you hear me?” There was a general pick up at the front of the landing bay for just such occasions.

  “Barely,” her voice whispered back.

  “Ask Lyth if this is him at the ship, and what does he think he’s doing?”

  Before she could answer, the front and end cars opened up, the covers folding back into them and doors opening on either side. Eight people emerged and spread around the edges of the platform, skirting the ground crew, all gazing about with sharp eyes and expressions I recognized.

  Dalton rolled his eyes. “Guards.” He recognized them for what they were, too. None of them appeared armed, but I didn’t think it would matter if they were armed or not.

  Jai turned to me, with a small frown. “I know he was having trouble with the Humanists, but I didn’t think it was this severe.”

  “I didn’t, either,” I admitted, troubled all over again.

  Then the center car opened up and folded back on itself, and Lyth stepped out, wearing a large, warm smile as he gazed at us.

  A shout rang out, guards surged and shriver bolts sizzled across the platform, all tracking toward Lyth.

  “Take cover!” I screamed at everyone around me, then ran for Lyth.

  —16—

  I was once called the Imperial Hammer. I had been a blunt instrument wielded in the name of the Emperor, Ramaker. I’d spent fifty years in active service for the Imperial Rangers, and another unofficial thirty years serving the Emperor himself, although I hadn’t known I was still his instrument until much later. I learned a lot about surviving a crisis in those eighty years.

  I guess the instincts never really wither, especially when you have no time to think.

  I belted across the platform toward the center car. I think I intended to cover Lyth or get him out of the way. Something like that.

  I didn’t move nearly fast enough. Lyth took off even faster than me, running toward his guards, who were converging on the direction where the shriver bolts were still firing from.

  I cursed at my slowness and at Lyth, too. I didn’t have time to articulate it in my mind, but a general what the fuck is he doing? rippled through my br
ain as I changed directions and chased after him.

  I ducked and wove automatically, using every little bit of cover to make my way forward, for multiple bolts were sizzling across the platform. Lyth was doing the same thing.

  Most of the ground crew were hugging the ground, arms over their heads, or cringed behind trolleys of equipment that wouldn’t stop a shriver bolt anyway. But the assailants weren’t aiming for them.

  The guards closest to the attackers surged out from behind their cover as the bolts paused for a moment. Whoever the attackers were, they were also amateurs. If there were two of you, you always timed your shooting so one had a charge on their shriver and could cover while the other loaded a fresh charge box.

  At the same time the guards rushed the attackers, a pure white parawolf streaked past me, stretched out at maximum speed, her lips pulled back to bare her rows of teeth.

  “Hero, stop!” I shouted. But she wasn’t my parawolf.

  She shot passed Lyth, who reached out for her and missed, then launched herself through five meters of air and rammed into the chest of one of the attackers, who had scrambled to his feet, his mouth open and his eyes wide as he saw what was coming at him.

  Another deep belly growl warned me that Hero had called to her siblings. Darb, Vara and Coal scrambled down the ramp and ran silently after her, each over a hundred kilos of muscle and teeth.

  I heard the crunch of bones as Hero took care of one of the attackers.

  The other threw down his shriver and raised his hands, staring at his comrade with sick fear. “No, no, wait!” he cried as the guards gathered around him.

  I got my feet moving again and came up behind Lyth as he stepped up alongside his guards to face the man.

  The attacker wore ground crew coveralls, which explained how he’d reached the ship undetected.

  “Who are you?” Lyth demanded. “Your name.”

  “We can get that from bio data,” one of the guards murmured to Lyth.