by J. J. Green
Anahi said, “Strongquist, before you go, I want to speak to you about the current situation.”
“Yes?”
“This latest catastrophe has put everything on a new footing. People are panicking.”
“That isn’t surprising,” Strongquist said. “What do you want to say to me? We’ll do everything we can to catch the perpetrator of this crime, if that’s what it is.”
“I understand that,” Anahi said, “and I appreciate the Guardians’ efforts. But I wanted to know if you can help with the situation here.”
Cariad stared at Anahi. “What situation?”
Ignoring her, Anahi continued to Strongquist, “I’m concerned that things might get out of hand aboard ship. We don’t have any security here, and with feelings running so high, I’m worried someone might get hurt.”
“You want Guardians aboard Nova Fortuna?” Cariad exclaimed. “You want your bully squad to control Woken too? Is that what things have come to?”
Strongquist was looking uncomfortable. “Do you believe your life or other lives are under threat?”
“No,” Cariad interrupted. “No one’s life is under threat. Anahi, we do not need or want Guardians patrolling the Nova Fortuna.”
“We’re in a state of emergency,” Anahi replied. “I just think everyone would feel more comfortable—”
“You would feel more comfortable, you mean. Two guards with weapons standing outside your office and protecting you when you fail to do your job would help you relax a little, right? Have you entirely lost your mind?” Cariad found she was shouting. She breathed deeply, in and out, and went on in a quieter tone. “Half of those people in your office are your personal friends. You want to threaten them with guns?”
Before Anahi could answer, Strongquist asked, “How many are aboard Nova Fortuna right now?”
“About seventy Woken,” Anahi replied, “and roughly fifty Gens helping to run the ship. Some Woken were working planetside when the shuttle exploded.”
“Our resources are stretched at the moment,” said Strongquist. “We’ll have our hands full controlling the situation at the settlement, and we’re doing all we can to catch this saboteur—”
“He or she has to be aboard the ship, right?” Cariad interjected. “To have planted the bomb on the shuttle?”
“Not necessarily,” Strongquist replied. “The shuttles aren’t searched, more’s the pity. A bomb could have been planted on one at any time. The bomber might have secreted it somewhere aboard a ship on one trip, then activated it from the surface when the shuttle returned. They would only need to wait until the vessel came within range of their signal.”
“Still, it’s a possibility the saboteur is among us,” said Anahi.
“I don’t think it’s any more likely than the person living in the settlement,” Strongquist said. “Actually, after hearing Cariad’s new information, and all other things considered, I think it’s very likely that person is a Gen.”
“I’m not surprised,” Anahi said bitterly.
Cariad said, “Most of the surviving Woken are here, and we won’t be taking shuttles to the surface anytime soon. That means the Gens can operate with less oversight and interference.”
“Yes,” Strongquist said. “The shuttle explosion could have been planned with that intention. With that in mind, I believe the best deployment of our resources will be planetside. The Woken who are currently there are at risk. We have to protect them and return them to Nova Fortuna as soon as possible.”
“Looks like you’re just going to have to deal with all these people up here asking difficult questions yourself,” Cariad said to Anahi.
Despite the fact that her blind eyes were hidden behind her visor, Cariad felt Anahi’s glare.
“Unless the situation aboard Nova Fortuna escalates,” Strongquist said, “I would strongly suggest that we devote Guardian resources to more threatening or urgent situations.”
Anahi hesitated before saying, “I understand.”
Strongquist signed off.
“When will you be restoring comms to the surface?” Cariad asked. “I need to speak to Ethan urgently. I was supposed to be aboard that shuttle. He must be thinking I was killed.”
“You nearly took that shuttle? You were lucky. I think ship-to-planet comm can return in a couple of hours. I’m waiting on confirmation of the deaths so I can put out an official notice, and for things to calm down.”
Two hours would have to do. When Ethan saw her name wasn’t on the notice of the deaths, he would know she was okay. Cariad’s comm button chirped. It was Alasdair.
There was only one reason the medic would contact her. Aubriot must have regained consciousness, but Cariad didn’t want Anahi to know. She wanted to be the first Woken to speak to him. “I have to go,” she said to Anahi. “Good luck with your little gathering.”
As she was about to leave, however, Anahi’s interface signaled an incoming comm. It was Strongquist again. When Anahi opened the screen, the Guardian’s face was grave.
“Have you received a message from the surface?” he asked.
Anahi replied that they hadn’t.
Strongquist said, “The Gens must have decided to allow the information to filter through. We just heard from one of the teams planetside that the Gens are refusing our instructions to remain inside while we collect the debris from the crash. They’re stating that any attempts to control their movements will be resisted with extreme force.”
Chapter Twenty
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ethan said.
The Guardian was outside his flitter, about to move on after issuing her command. His response halted her mid-step. She turned back. “It wasn’t a suggestion. All Gens must return to their dwellings immediately.”
Grief and despair gnawed at Ethan. Cariad was gone. The one person he felt close to. First Dr. Crowley, then Lauren, and now Cariad. And it wasn’t only that he would miss her so badly. Cariad had been the only friendly Woken he’d known apart from Dr. Crowley. She’d given him hope of a future when Gens and Woken would see eye-to-eye. Her death had killed that hope.
“I said,” he replied through his teeth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The Guardians didn’t want anyone interfering with the evidence from the shuttle explosion, of course. That was why they wanted to get the Gens off the streets. But the command turned his stomach, even if he understood the rationale. He imagined the rest of the Gens would have the same reaction. It was like they were all under suspicion. But Gens had died on that shuttle too. The pilots and cabin crew at a minimum, and there had probably been one or two more returning home after working on the ship.
The Guardian hesitated.
“The wreckage from the explosion must be spread over kilometers,” said Ethan. “Gens can find those pieces. We want to help. Why won’t you let us help you?” As he spoke, a sudden dread seized him. What if he came across Cariad’s remains? But his point stood.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” said the Guardian. “We can’t have hundreds of people tramping all over the crash site and contaminating the evidence. If you really want the person who caused the explosion brought to justice, you need to go home and let us do our job.”
Ethan said, “Right. Because you’ve been doing well so far, haven’t you? How many people died in the First Night Attack? How many died in the stadium bombing? And now this. For all your technology, for all your superiority, you’re useless. All you’re fit for is walking around waving your guns.”
“Look,” the woman said impatiently, “I’m not the one who gave the order, and I don’t have time to stand around arguing with you. Return to your residence. Now.” She rested her hand on the butt of her weapon.
Ethan clenched his jaw. There it was again—the threat of force. It was galling, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not right then and not alone, anyway.
He kicked open the flitter door. The Guardian backed quickly away, her eyes widening in alarm. Ethan
slammed the door closed and stumped off across the lot.
He didn’t go home. He went to Garwin’s house. Twyla opened the door. She too took a step back at the sight of Ethan’s glower.
“Garwin isn’t here.”
“Where is he?”
“He went to collect his credits from the cash office.”
The cash office was a simple bank where Gens could receive vouchers representing credits in return for labor they had performed for the benefit of the colony. They could use the vouchers to buy more luxurious items than the basic food and essentials they were all guaranteed. It was a stop-gap measure until the planetside data systems went live.
When Ethan arrived, Garwin wasn’t in the cash office. The room was empty and the transactions window was closed and locked. Ethan had a good idea of where Garwin would be, however. He went through to the back. As he’d predicted, he found Garwin, along with Cherry, Misha, Phy, a few more farmers, and other Gens who had joined the subversive faction.
“Ethan,” Garwin said as he saw him come in. “I thought we might see you before too long. Cheer up, man. We aren’t going to take this lying down. Here.” He picked up a small device from a pile on a table and handed it over. “One of our engineers put them together. It goes in your ear. Planetside comm, Gens only. There’s nothing in the Manual that says we can’t have our own comm, but I’m betting the Guardians and Woken won’t like it, so do your best to hide yours, okay? Pull your hair forward over your ear.”
Ethan took the device and looked at it lying in his palm. He lifted his gaze to Garwin’s eyes. “Cariad’s dead,” he said leadenly.
Garwin’s cheerful smile faded.
“She was on the shuttle,” Ethan went on. “We’d arranged to meet. I was waiting for her.”
“I didn’t know,” said Garwin. Ethan had always found Garwin hard to read, but the man looked genuinely stricken at the news. “I’m sorry to hear it. I didn’t know her, but she seemed like a good person, and she was a great asset to the colony.”
“She was.”
The gathered women and men murmured their sympathies.
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” said Cherry.
He nodded his thanks. “So we’re here to discuss the latest violation of our rights?”
“Naturally,” Garwin replied. “It’s outrageous. They’re treating us like criminals, and it isn’t to be tolerated.”
“I agree,” said Ethan. “What are we going to do about it?”
“Resist,” exclaimed Cherry. “Refuse to do what they tell us. Confront them.”
“But is this the right time?” Misha asked. “Maybe we shouldn’t draw too much attention to ourselves. It might make the Guardians watch us more closely. They could discover our side project.” The new settlement at the caves was already under construction. It had been given the name “side project” to reduce the risk of eavesdroppers discovering what they were doing. The original settlement was alive with “projects,” and a reference to one more wouldn’t stand out.
“I thought about that,” said Garwin, “but some conflict could work as a useful distraction. If the Guardians are on guard against our violent resistance, they’re less likely to notice other activity, like transporting stores and equipment out of the settlement.”
“I’d love a chance to show them what we’re made of,” said Ethan. “I’m sick of taking everything lying down.”
“We didn’t let them take away our weapons,” Cherry pointed out. “We stuck up for ourselves then.”
“Right,” Ethan said. “And it’s time we did it again.” A rage was rising up in him. He didn’t know if it was in response to the Guardians’ oppression or his grief at Cariad’s death. The events of the last time they’d been alone together, after the incident at the storage shed, kept playing in his head. He’d been cold and argumentative, yet Cariad had been the one who had made the Guardians stand down. She’d possibly saved his and the other farmers’ lives.
He’d hoped he could smooth the difficulties between them when she visited. Now it was too late, and there was nowhere for his regret and sorrow to go. “I say we ignore the Guardians. We leave the explosion debris alone, but we go about our business as usual.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” said Garwin. “Are we agreed?” His question drew nods from all those assembled.
“I’ll spread the word,” Cherry said. “But people are going to ask what they should do if a Guardian orders them point blank to go inside. What should I tell them?”
Garwin said. “Tell them to notify us and we’ll send someone who can give armed support.”
“If we have one-on-one gun battles in the street,” said Ethan, “Guardians aren’t the only ones who are going to get hurt. We should give them a warning. Tell them we’re ignoring their command, and if they try to force us, then we’ll respond with violence. That might make them think twice before trying anything. Strongquist said at the meeting on the ship that they wanted to avoid hurting us. Let’s see if that’s true.”
“That makes sense,” Garwin said. “Cherry, find a Guardian and tell them personally. Say that it’s a consensus decision and you’re only the messenger. I would do it myself, but I want to maintain the impression that I’m neutral in this power struggle.”
Cherry said, “I’ll do it now.” She hopped down from the table top where she’d been sitting and went out.
Ethan told Garwin that he would be available if armed backup were needed before also leaving. His capacity for being around others was at its limit and there didn’t seem much more to be said. As he went, he pushed the comm into his ear. The device immediately activated. Random conversations and messages were passing between the Gens. No one had yet set up protocols for using the new system.
Ethan walked back to the farmer’s dorm where he kept his weapon. It was in the ceiling above his bed behind removable tiles. But when he arrived he didn’t retrieve the gun. He lay on his bed in the empty dorm with his hands behind his head. Conversations between Gens chattered through his ear comm as he thought about Cariad.
He recalled the first time they’d spoken, when Lauren was attacked by the predatory organism. Cariad had arrived, flaming brands of vegetation in each hand, telling him to burn the creature.
Gens always gave him the credit for saving lives on the First Night Attack. The truth was, Cariad had saved many more people than he had. But Gens didn’t like to admit it. She was—had been—a Woken. They wouldn’t admit anything that didn’t fit with their prejudice that all the Woken were against them.
Ethan turned on his side. The loss of Cariad to the colony was great, but the loss to himself was greater. He wished he’d had the opportunity to tell her how he felt. Exhausted by the turmoil of his emotions, he drifted to sleep.
“Ethan, Ethan, can you hear me?” It was Cherry, calling him through his ear comm.
He sat up. “Yes, I’m here. What is it?”
“A confrontation with two Guardians is going down. Can you help out?” Cherry gave him the location. “I’m going there too but I’m on the other side of town. I’ll try to get over as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be there in two minutes.” Ethan stood up on his bed and pushed against the ceiling tiles. He took down his weapon and checked it over.
After leaving the farmers’ dorm, he jogged toward the corner Cherry had named. Four figures stood there: two Guardians, a Gen woman, and a child. One of the Guardians was trying to take something from the child, but the small boy held the object behind his back. The woman, who seemed to be the child’s mother, moved between them and pushed the Guardian away. The other Guardian’s hands moved to his weapon.
“What’s the problem?” Ethan asked as he ran up.
“Your boy could be holding vital evidence,” the Guardian who was trying to retrieve the item said to the woman, ignoring Ethan. “I demand that you hand it over immediately. It’s already been contaminated. Don’t make things worse.”
“Ethan,” the Gen woman said. “Please he
lp. These two want my son to give them this piece of my husband’s shirt.”
“What?” Ethan said. “Why…?”
The woman’s expression was wracked with pain. “He was on the shuttle.”
Ethan looked at the little boy, whose grimy face was tracked with tears. The child brought the torn rag from behind his back and clutched it to his chest. It was covered in dried blood.
“He’s been searching for his father ever since he saw the explosion,” the woman said. “I couldn’t stop him. If I tried, he became hysterical. I’m thankful this is all he found.”
Ethan turned to the Guardians. “Do you really need the cloth? It might be the only thing the kid has left of his father.”
“We do need it,” the male Guardian said. “We need everything. Any piece of debris could be the single thing that holds the evidence that will lead us to the bomber. The child must hand it over now. If he doesn’t, I’ll have to force him.”
“You’re not laying a finger on my son,” the woman exclaimed.
“Then make him hand over the cloth.”
“Wait,” said Ethan. “What if we put the cloth inside something to protect it, and just let the little boy hang onto it for a day or two? It’s going to take you a while to examine all the evidence you find. I’m sure he’ll promise not to touch it. The kid’s lost his father. Don’t you have any sympathy?”
“We can’t afford the luxury of sympathy,” the Guardian said. He turned to his colleague. “Take it.” He raised his weapon and pointed it at the woman.
Ethan pulled his own gun from his shoulder and also raised it. He fixed the muzzle at the armed Guardian. “Leave.”
The other Guardian was unarmed. She looked between her colleague and Ethan.
“Ethan, what’s happening?” Cherry asked through his comm.
