But now he was ten. And his father insisted that he would live much longer.
The physicians were nice enough, but it was still awkward to be sitting naked in a room facing six of them.
‘Well, go on,’ his father encouraged. ‘Give them a try.’
Vadim looked at his new legs, dangling off the gurney. The incisions were already healing and, for the first time, each limb looked to be the same length.
The nurses on either side of him were smiling.
‘They won’t let you fall,’ his father assured.
With a slight push from his arms, Vadim slid his rear off the gurney. Both feet made simultaneous contact with the deck; his knees buckled, and the nurses grasped hold of him.
He glanced at his wheelchair.
‘Let go,’ he instructed. ‘I want to try.’
The nurses looked to his father, who approved. Vadim felt their supportive hands move away. For the first time ever, he was standing on his own two feet.
His father beamed.
‘Look at you,’ he marvelled. ‘Try taking a step.’
This room had once been the only hospital in civilisation. Located on the sole spinning torus of the original Tabit Genesis, the ancestry of every human being in Orionis could be traced back to these cold metal walls. It had evolved with the population over the decades. Gone were the thick lead bulkheads and magnetic shield generators that once protected the mothership’s most precious cargo from interstellar radiation. In their place were six surgery rooms and ten times as many recovery rooms, the most this old structure could accommodate.
Everything and everyone inside was clad in sterile white – except his father, who wore the dark blue Orionis Navy uniform, with the vintage UNSEC cloak draped over his broad shoulders. He towered over everyone inside, and his shadow stretched across the deck to where Vadim was standing.
With shaking knees, Vadim managed to lift his foot. The nurses’ arms were close by as it planted. His legs had never borne so much weight. His back foot followed the front one. Vadim had taken his first step.
The room burst into applause, which made him feel sheepish.
‘Many more will follow,’ his father encouraged.
Vadim scanned the recovery room, hoping to see his mother and friend Atticus, another cancer patient he had bonded with in the last year. But neither was there, and suddenly the physical exertion overwhelmed him. The nurses reacted just in time.
His father relieved them, placing Vadim’s arm over his shoulder.
‘You’re getting stronger,’ he said. ‘Before long you’ll be running the torus faster than Navy cadets.’
Taking a silent cue, the surgeons left the two alone.
‘Where’s Atticus?’ Vadim asked, leaning as he took another step.
When last they spoke, his friend hadn’t looked well. The tumours were in remission, but the smallest effort left him weak and exhausted. On occasion, a nurse would force him to exercise, and those sessions were difficult to watch.
‘Atticus was sent home,’ his father said.
‘Home?’ Vadim said. ‘I thought he was still sick.’
‘He’s well enough to recover on his own,’ his father said. ‘There are other children who need his place.’
Vadim looked towards the recovery area; every bed was empty. Losing his concentration, he stumbled, grasping his father’s uniform.
‘Good,’ his father said, supporting him. ‘Falling is part of learning.’
Atticus always spoke in reverent, awestruck terms about Vadim’s father, and so did everyone else Vadim met. Franz Hedricks had been the captain of the Tabit Genesis when it left Earth. Not that the vessel needed a captain to make the journey – computer systems managed all of the mothership’s functions. But Captain Hedricks made all the crucial decisions once they arrived, from managing resources to establishing the provincial UNSEC government of the new colony. If technology was the enabler of human survival, it was the leadership of Franz Hedricks that guided mankind through its darkest hour.
Atticus’s father was a mechanical engineer for the privateer corporation Lantrek Shipyards. His older brother was learning his craft and preparing to take his father’s place. Atticus had not seen either in more than a year. But his mother looked after him tirelessly, and never left his side in the hospital.
She was beautiful, cheerful, and kind. Her smile reminded Vadim of his own mother, whom he rarely saw at all, especially since her last fight with his father.
Vadim thought of her while taking another tentative step.
‘I wish Mom could see this,’ he said. ‘Will she be visiting later?’
‘She’s away at present,’ his father said.
‘Do you know when she’ll return?’ Vadim persisted, trying a larger step.
‘Soon.’ His father dismissed the topic. ‘That’s it. Someday you’ll be stronger than the ones who were born healthy.’
Vadim straightened his posture, trying not to lean.
‘When is my next surgery?’ he asked.
‘Five days from now,’ his father said. ‘For the tumours in your brain.’
‘Will they put in any fake stuff?’
‘Augmentations? Yes. They’ll keep the cancer from returning.’
‘Will I need them for ever?’
‘Not to beat cancer, no. But perhaps for other things.’
Vadim stopped, exhausted from the effort.
‘Really?’ he asked, out of breath. ‘Like what?’
Sensing that Vadim was about to collapse, Franz Hedricks hoisted him up with both hands and placed him gently in a wheelchair.
‘Things to help you command a ship more powerful than the Tabit Genesis,’ Franz said, pushing him down the hallway.
Vadim flushed red.
‘You want me to command a ship?’
‘When the time is right,’ his father said. ‘There will be challenges. Competition. But you have the advantage.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re a Hedricks.’
His father wheeled him up to a window, beyond which the buildings of Tabit Prime curved high overhead. But his reflection captured him most; he saw a feeble, hideous, crippled boy with the towering shadow of his father standing behind him.
‘Atticus dreams of being a Navy captain someday,’ Vadim said. ‘I think he’d be much better at it than me.’
‘He can dream,’ his father said. ‘But that’s as far as he’ll get.’
‘Why?’
His father placed his hands on Vadim’s shoulders.
‘This metal shell once held the last of us,’ he said. ‘We lived in these walls for decades before branching out in the system.’
Vadim knew this story. It was the foundation of his father’s legend, how he reached Orionis only to find their new homeworld ruined by disaster.
‘What happened to Eileithyia?’ he asked.
‘A rogue celestial body, probably a gas giant with satellites still attached, passed near the Tabit star and disturbed the orbits of her planets,’ his father explained. ‘Some believe the object that struck Eileithyia was a captured moon from Eris or Hephaestus. The inferno below is all that remains. We set orbit here because the planet’s distance from the sun is ideal for agriculture and maintaining our notion of time.’
‘Atticus knows people who don’t believe we came from Earth,’ Vadim said. ‘Some think it doesn’t exist at all.’
‘Earth is real,’ his father said, with a hint of annoyance. ‘And it is lost. We learned about the invasion five years into the journey and just prior to discovering Eileithyia’s fate. So we began planning for a life very different from the one we trained for.’
Vadim had heard stories about those early days, but they were more about cruelty than perseverance.
‘Are the Raothri real?’
‘Yes,’ his father said. ‘And their existence shaped the priorities of this colony. To save our species, we needed to cherish, rebuild, repopulate and fortify. These principles
guide Orionis today, and soon it will become your responsibility to enforce them.’
Vadim did not know how to answer. His father noted the puzzled look on his face.
‘You see, the crew chosen for the Genesis motherships were the brightest, strongest individuals from every race on Earth,’ his father said. ‘They are the precious origins we must cherish; and they are the foundation upon which we have rebuilt our civilisation. To preserve their legacy, we have the Heritage Act. To rebuild, repopulate and fortify our species, we have the amniosynth.’
The word rolled off his tongue with disdain. Vadim had heard stories about amniosynths. Everyone knew they were born from machines, and that many of them were monsters. They said a firstborn could tell if someone was an amniosynth just from the way they looked, or smelled. You knew they were different. And dangerous. It was no wonder they were called ‘ghosts’.
‘Vadim, let me make this perfectly clear: amniosynths are the working class of the human race,’ his father said. ‘They have built our ships, our stations, and soon, they will build the mothership that you command. If the day should come when we must face the Raothri, amniosynths will be on the front lines, and firstborns will be their generals. This is the way it must always be. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Father,’ Vadim said. ‘I really do.’
‘Good,’ his father said. ‘Now, as to the whereabouts of Atticus, I had him removed from this facility.’
Vadim’s jaw dropped.
‘Removed? Why?’
‘Because this ward is for firstborns only,’ his father said.
Vadim shook his head.
‘What? Atticus isn’t …’ he started. ‘Are you saying that he’s an amniosynth?’
‘No fault of his own, no more than anyone is to blame for your illness,’ his father said. ‘But your fates could not be more different.’
Vadim could not process what was happening.
‘What’s going to happen to him?’ he asked. ‘I don’t know anyone else that—’
‘His guardians are wealthy,’ his father interrupted. ‘They chose to have him, so they can pay for his needs. But their money takes from those entitled to care by birthright, which is the law of Orionis.’
Vadim was despondent.
‘But he’s my friend …’
‘Which demonstrates precisely why his guardians are so selfish,’ his father said. ‘They believed that their Heritage privileges would apply to him. They now understand that no one is above the law. You won’t be spending any more time with him.’
Vadim felt a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach.
‘Why?’ he stammered. ‘I never said goodbye!’
His father resumed wheeling him down the hall.
‘Much depends on you,’ he said. ‘Now that you can walk, you’ll be spending less time here, more time training, and absolutely no time pursuing trivial interests.’
Vadim’s natural instinct was to turn to his mother. Hid father was a stern man whose nature was proud and imperious. Instances of compassion were rare. When Vadim had last seen his parents together, they had been shouting at one another. And he had never seen his father so enraged.
His mother had been threatening to tell Vadim something that his father didn’t want him to hear. He found himself wondering again what that was.
‘You are my son,’ his father continued. ‘Someday your shoulders will bear the weight of mankind’s survival. You will learn to make hard choices, beginning now with Atticus.’
‘He’s my only friend,’ Vadim murmured, eyes welling with tears.
‘Then triage is your first lesson of command,’ his father said. ‘In our world, Atticus is already dead. Focus your effort on the ones you can save.’
Present Day
Corinth Naval Yards, construction site of the Archangel and main base of the Orionis Navy, was the most secure block of space in human control. Nothing could exist within twenty thousand kilometres in any direction of this fortress without the Navy’s permission.
Grand Admiral Vadim Hedricks operated freely in this world. He travelled with neither announcement nor flight plan, anywhere he chose, and security parted before him everywhere he went. This was his domain, isolated from the political drama of Tabit Prime; his rule was not questioned.
Vadim piloted his shuttle from an Archangel hangar towards the torus station across the shipyard’s scaffolding. The structure was ‘black’, meaning it did not officially exist and was thus without formal name. Navy pilots called it ‘Corinth Able’; a navigational designation for ships permitted to land there, of which there were few. Like its parent facility, Able was completely isolated from contact with the rest of Orionis. Its occupants were exclusively government employees: labourers, engineers, and the crew assigned to the Archangel. Of this group, the latter was mostly firstborns, many with living highborn parents. The rest were privateers and ghosts who voluntarily traded their freedom for living conditions that were as comfortable as it was possible to attain anywhere in Orionis.
Vadim never conducted business here. He visited only to meditate. Descending in the elevator from the central hub, his eyes absorbed the majestic treetops rising from the inner torus to greet him. Most living humans had never seen a tree, let alone a forest. This place was among the best-kept secrets in Orionis, a bioengineering masterstroke. Ferns, pines and oaks filled his view, engulfing him in a green sea of tranquillity. When he stepped onto the hard, packed detritus, there were no guards to meet him – just the watery rush of a nearby stream, and a manufactured breeze gently pushing the leaves above.
Able had cost a fortune to build, and for the moment it belonged exclusively to him. Only highborn money could subsidise such a feat, a fact plainly evident to anyone permitted to see it. Walking among the trees, Vadim occasionally glanced up through gaps in the canopy at buildings where the workers who had toiled to build the Archangel lived.
Very soon, they would find themselves at the crossroads of history.
He breathed deeply, welcoming the damp, earthen air. But then his enhanced olfactory senses picked out the scent of a familiar nuisance lurking among the trees ahead.
‘Admiral Lao,’ Vadim called out.
The Hera OPCOM stepped from behind an oak, wearing a Navy flight jacket and a smug look, as usual.
‘What a coincidence, running into you,’ Vadim said. ‘What do you want?’
‘We need to discuss the Gryphon list,’ Lao said.
‘What of it?’ Vadim said, walking right past him.
‘The highborns disprove of the selections,’ Lao said, following.
‘Combat proficiency is agnostic to lineage,’ Vadim said. ‘The best pilots passed.’
‘They question whether Captain Lyons was objective in his assessment.’
‘A ghost has no reason to play favour to a pool of firstborns,’ Vadim snapped.
‘That may be,’ Lao said. ‘But the fact remains.’
‘What fact?’
‘That some of his selections are guilty of conduct unbecoming,’ Lao said. ‘Decanto has been seen worshipping.’
Vadim might have smiled, if the mere sight of Jang Lao didn’t inspire such venom.
Dominic Decanto was the son of firstborns Ferdinand Decanto and his wife Marianne Antiqua, who owned the largest investment bank in Orionis. According to Captain Lyons, Dominic was one of the more skilled pilots in the pool, possessing formidable mastery of the Gift. His highborn grandparents were both deceased.
The remaining highborns of Orionis wanted to dilute the influence of the deceased and ensure that their own lineage would be represented among the most prestigious positions on the Archangel.
‘Unless it affects his performance, I couldn’t care less,’ Vadim said.
‘Maybe you should, considering he worships the Red,’ Lao replied.
Orionis had no laws explicitly prohibiting people from worshipping. But freedom of religion had never been declared as an inherent right of Orionis citizenship. Most
of the ancient religions had disappeared, although some highborns were trying to keep their faiths alive. But the Navy kept close surveillance on the shadowy cult that worshipped the Raothri. Some very alarming discoveries had emerged from this effort, including an alleged plot to detonate nuclear weapons in the hope of drawing the alien species to Orionis to complete their extermination of humans. The cultists aspired to invoke a ‘rapture’, in which their Raothri gods welcomed them into their kingdom.
Any suspected affiliation with the cult was managed with the urgency of terrorist investigation. But Vadim had good reason to doubt Lao’s claim.
‘It’s an ugly scenario,’ Lao said. ‘A reputable highborn name dragged through such filth.’
‘I hope for your sake you’re just the messenger,’ Vadim warned.
‘Oh, I am,’ Lao said, resuming his stroll. ‘Of course, witnesses are reluctant to come forward, given the family name. But we have more evidence that implicates two other Gryphon pilots as well.’
‘I’m sure the case against them is equally strong,’ Vadim said. ‘What do the highborns want?’
Admiral Lao’s smugness vanished.
‘Pilots Solomon, Adams, and Nkembeh all failed,’ he said. ‘Their parents were generous contributors to the Gryphon programme.’
‘I see,’ Vadim said. ‘What would they have me do?’
‘Fix it,’ Lao said.
‘These men are proud competitors,’ Vadim said. ‘How do you think they’ll feel about being unjustly promoted?’
Lao rolled his eyes.
‘Sooner or later they’ll all end up in a Gryphon, though they won’t have the distinction of being “first class”, so to speak.’
‘Or serving on the Archangel,’ Vadim said.
‘Yes, that as well,’ Lao acknowledged.
‘Your highborn masters are fortunate to have you in their service,’ Vadim said. ‘Before you waddle back to them, I want the status of our preparations to defend Orionis.’
‘Sir,’ Lao said, reddening. ‘The Calypso, Vienna, and Melbourne have all reported. The Calypso will remain close to Eris in case Ceti attempts an orbital bombardment. The Vienna and Melbourne will orbit the moons to herd any stragglers back towards the Archangel. The corporations have been asking questions but believe this is just an exercise. Though that isn’t likely to be the case for much longer.’
The Tabit Genesis Page 29
