HUSH

by Craig Robert Saunders

  ‘The crevasse extends further than my scanners can read,’ said Jin. ‘The weather interferes, the proximity of the anomaly, too...but it is almost certainly further than we can reasonably travel to find another way forward.’

  The Titan faced them, his back to the black slash across the ice. He glowed brightly, a monument to all mankind could achieve. His face expressionless, like a stylised statue in some old European city, a larger-than-life hero. The snow stuck to their environmental suits, but not Jin. His exoskeleton never seemed to tarnish.

  After so long a life, Anna wondered at that. How long had the Titan been perfect? Had he always been this way, or had he been upgraded, or maintained, or...was this simply all he was?

  ‘Lian can’t go on much further,’ said Anna.

  ‘I can make it,’ said Lian. ‘Let’s go round.’

  ‘You can’t, Lian,’ said Cassie. ‘None of us can. We all know it.’

  Lian might be proud, but the doctor didn’t complain, and that spoke volumes to how badly she must be hurting. Anna could hear the doctor’s laboured breath well enough through comms.

  Lian wasn’t the only one. They were all nearing their limit.

  After such a long slog in the snow, then stopping suddenly, Anna’s sweat cooled and that made her shiver despite the suit’s best efforts. She wasn’t far off needing to turn down warmth to maintain oxygen levels. Ulrich’s breathing was heavier than the rest of them. Maybe it took him longer to recover because he was older. Maybe he was hurt worse than he admitted.

  Complaining never made anything easier, she thought. They were all in pain. Scared, too, probably. Nothing they did was going to change that. It was out of their hands.

  But Jin...?

  ‘Cassie is correct. We cannot go down, or around,’ said Jin.

  Anna shook her head. ‘Before anyone says anything stupid, we’re all fucked, and we’re not leaving anyone behind. If we did, it’d make no difference. We can’t make it to that ship so that’s it, right? We’re all dead. We tried. I’m not crying about it, but it’s done.’

  That’s not complaining, she thought.

  No, came a reply from the only man she remembered from her life before Hush. It’s giving up.

  ‘We can’t get across?’ asked Cassie. She didn’t sound panicked...but she didn’t sound calm, either. Only one who didn’t seem fazed about the crevasse that had cut off all hope was Jin.

  ‘Do not give up yet,’ said the Titan.

  Easy for him to say. He can’t die.

  Anna knew that was unfair. She knew this was a second life, the whole of her current existence just a loan, but it was true, just the same.

  He cares.

  That wasn’t in doubt, though, was it? The fact was, he couldn’t save them, and he would just carry on living.

  ‘I believe I can carry you across,’ said Jin. ‘But only one at a time...and it is far from safe. I must go ahead.’

  Cassie paced, lights reflecting from the crystals on her suit. Anna wished she wouldn’t. They might not be able to see the crevasse, but it was there. Anna was used to living low down. The idea of falling scared her more than she thought, perhaps because she’d never experienced it before. She only ever been on the bottom rung.

  ‘Why?’ said Anna. The question wasn’t from distrust, but genuine.

  ‘It is not the signature of a ship I detect, Anna. It is fire, and it can only be recent. We crashed nearly twenty-three hours ago. No other ships were functional beyond that time frame, which indicates heat expenditure in the past hour, two at most in this temperature. I can move faster alone, and I am best equipped against these elements and other....dangers.’

  ‘Night’s coming, and it’ll get colder still,’ said Ulrich. ‘Jin...we’re going to be down to air and no warmth, and after that...’

  ‘I am aware,’ said the Titan.

  If Jin doesn’t go, we die. If he goes, we might live.

  Was that just empty hope?

  Probably. Almost certainly. But better than none.

  Jin stilled for a moment.

  ‘I will return no later than five minutes from now.’

  Ulrich checked his wrist readout, and set a marker.

  ‘Go, then, Jin. Twelve minutes of warmth from my suit. Anyone less?’

  ‘Four,’ said Lian. She didn’t cry about it, and Jin didn’t waste time with a reply. The Titan moved away from them and back from the crevasse in a blur, fast enough that snow swirled in his passage, and without pause, he leaped.

  *

  36.

  Sculptor of Motions

  Sculptor of Motions (Troop Dispatch/Century Class)

  Ice Field

  3 KM outside anomaly

  Jin smashed down on the other side of the crevasse. A leap of nearly eighty metres, a heavy weight, but slowed, too, by the same propulsion which aided his leap. Even so, his imprint was waist-deep. Even before his leap Jin registered the slowing of Lian’s heart. He had said nothing because his duty was to all, and not to one.

  His wish, his will, was for them to survive – his charges. Like children, perhaps, though he was not a parent. Like any parent, nothing was truly within his control, but his strengths were his, at least, and their fate not yet decided.

  He ran faster than most vehicles could have, hampered only slightly by the uneven, slippery surface. An airborne transport would have been faster, or a vehicle on an even surface, certainly. But here, Jin was the best and only hope they had. His scanners ran every moment he did, on every spectrum, even possible frequency, for threats, signs of life, of movement.

  Sensors were undeniably weakened but there was a signal from the ship, the Sculptor of Motions. Jin found little more than electrical pulses, as though the ship’s beat was slowing, too.

  Jin had long since decommissioned his weapons systems to allow increased power to thought and longevity processors. He turned these down, and boosted energy flow to his offensive functionality, but there was nothing left to fight. Aug bodies were splayed haphazardly around Sculptor of Motions, each broken, unmistakably dead, half-covered by a heavy coat of snow.

  The ship herself was largely intact. Whatever struck it took out the engine drives, but her personnel compartment was barely damaged. The largest heat signature came from the superheated hull of the ship where it had been struck. It still glowed red in places, as though from high-energy weapons. The bodies, too, retained some heat from energy expenditure. With unknown weather conditions, and atmospherics perceptibly different to Earth’s, Jin could not discern a timescale with any accuracy.

  One minute and thirty-seven seconds remained until Lian Skerry would begin to freeze.

  The ship remained quiet with the slightest remnant of life remaining, like the ship was a body, frail, nearly passed but lingering.

  Like she wants to speak, but cannot. A last breath, perhaps.

  He bent at the waist and pulled the partial remains of an Aug’s body from the snow. The wounds indicated heavy weapons – not projectile, certainly, and with the distinctive signature of laser fire. More bodies were shrouded beneath the white sheet. Anything living after this slaughter had been ended comprehensively, and completely.

  Whatever enemy they faced made sure none survived. Parts – organic and mechanical – had been salvaged from the corpses. Heart, head, power, limbs, modules, weapons interior and exterior, all dismantled. Anything worth saving, it seemed, had been taken away.

  But to where?

  The reading from Sculptor of Motions, though low, were still discernable. Jin attempted to contact her once more, and this time, identified himself, and gave his ship of origin. He spoke in hurried tones, something he was unused to. It had been many years since he’d know urgency. Now, fifty-seven seconds away from Lian’s death, he felt it keenly.

  ‘Jin, of Hush?’ said the ship, modulating frequencies, as though she spoke in many different tongues simultaneously.

  She’d been hiding? Perhaps that was what saved her from destruction.


  ‘Sculptor of Motions,’ said Jin. ‘Do you have contact with Hush?’

  Jin afford the ship the same courtesy, and the same caution, modulating his questions so interception would prove difficult. This was an attack – an execution of ships and Augs in Hush’s service by some beings unknown.

  Jin did not know fear. He was hard to kill, but he was not invulnerable, and his caution was not for himself. He was not one now, but five.

  ‘I have necessarily disabled all non-essentials and await rescue.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Jin in quiet, careful conversation with the ship. ‘Will rescue come?’

  ‘Hush must know, and will investigate,’ said Sculptor of Motions. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Jin, ‘but I dislike assumption. Sculptor of Motions, I have the human crew - survivors. Can you shelter or aid?’

  ‘I have three hours before terminal shut down.’

  ‘Can you draw power from me?’

  ‘Can I?’ Sculptor of Motions fell silent for a moment. Thought processes affected by damage or power degradation, or by the ship’s will, Jin did not know. ‘Yes, but capabilities are so damaged power is not the issue. Benefit would be minimal, and during the process you would be incapable of movement at increasing danger. I will shelter and aid until I cease.’

  ‘Can we aid you?’

  Five seconds.

  ‘No,’ said Sculptor of Motions, simply and without emotion.

  ‘I will return,’ said Jin.

  *

  37.

  Taking up the Gun

  Icefield

  ‘If he doesn’t come back in time...what do you want to do? What should we do?’ Ulrich addressed them all, but Lian knew they were thinking about her. She would be first to die.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘Show me,’ said Anna.

  ‘No,’ said Lian. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  She was too weak to stop Anna checking her suit read out, though.

  ‘Ulrich, Jin, whatever we’re doing, do it soon. She needs to replenish, or change suit. She’s down to 3%. You?’

  Jin didn’t reply. Lian didn’t know if the Titan’s comms worked over such a distance, or if he was busy. She saw or heard no sign of him, either, and if he’d met resistance maybe the weather and night hid it anyway.

  Ulrich checked his suit. ‘12%.’

  ‘25%,’ said Cassie.

  Anna’s suit was at 35%, but she needed less aid, and thus less power.

  ‘Doesn’t matter what Jin’s doing,’ said Lian. ‘If he’s not back, don’t waste power or air or warmth on me and at this point, it’s not sacrifice but good sense. Enough,’ she said, closing off further discussion.

  Her body was already shutting down, and all her power was routed to air. Her extremities were numbing. It was only the minimal barrier of the suit’s material which kept her from death in the wind and cold.

  ‘You’re not dead yet,’ said Cassie, and it was her idea that the three of them form the best shelter around Lian they could manage. Lian’s suit readings were on the outside. She was low on meds, and power, and there was nothing they could do.

  Three minutes, no Jin, and her suit on 2%. Maybe another minute until complete failure.

  Four minutes elapsed and Lian began to feel hot and knew, even through hypothermia, her extremities might never come back. She was close to cyanosis. Her eyelids drifted down and thought faded away.

  *

  The doctor didn’t stir when Cassie shook her, but her vitals showed on the suit wristband. She wasn’t dead, but didn’t have long. Cassie had seen enough death to know how swiftly the last of life fled. A second. Cassie couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

  Just carry on, right? Like the worst isn’t going to happen. Like on Earth. Like when you won’t take a lick of the dirty cops’ lollipop, and they’re busy dipping it in whatever powder they can find, taking a cut. Like when they shoot you in the back, and you’re slipping around in your own blood, but still breathing. Like when you follow them home, each of them, and you’re the one on a prison ship to this frozen hell.

  Her chest still ached when she was tired and cold, and here, she was both.

  Lian Skerry’s breath hitched, and her eyes opened.

  Her oxygen’s on bare minimum. She’s freezing. Dying. But we’ll pretend like it’s not happening, right? Because maybe it won’t. Maybe we’ll live. For now.

  Everyone dies. She knew that well enough. She’d died, for a second or two, in a medvan. Then she’d killed. Now, this.

  There was always a choice, for Cassie, and she made it every single day, whether her day was smooth or rough. Give in, or carry on. She hadn’t given in so far. Not even when they’d pulled five bullets from her chest out through the holes in her back.

  ‘Anna,’ she said, her voice shaking a little because she’d set her suit to balance heat and oxygen. ‘You know what to do with that pistol?’

  They’d all wrapped their arms and bodies around Lian, so they were like a frozen ice statue of an octopus. Their orange and grey jumpsuits were stuck hard with snow and now pure white.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Anna. ‘I don’t want to know. I never held a gun. Never wanted to kill anyone.’

  ‘It’s not just about you,’ said Cassie. ‘We’re all in it.’

  ‘Is this tiny thing going to help against something that can blow a star ship out of the sky?’

  No, thought Cassie, but it’ll give you something to think about instead of how we’re all freezing to death, about a minute shy of hugging a corpse...

  ‘No,’ said Cassie. ‘But if there’s something that powerful around, it serves someone, or something. Maybe it’ll be useful. Maybe? Okay?’

  Anna grudgingly took the pistol she wore in her hand.

  ‘Here,’ said Cassie, pointing, her left hand to Anna’s right. ‘The lights – that’s the charge. No spare cartridge mag, so don’t sweat reloading, but it’s here – below the handle, the release. Like a screw cap, right? Pull, twist, release. Push, twist, seal. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Anna nodded, paying attention to her and not the cold, or Lian, silent between the three of them. Which was what Cassie wanted.

  ‘Point. Hardly any recoil – EC cartridge and magnetic propulsion. No percussive force. Point, shoot. Anything up to around twenty metres and you’d have to be blind to miss.’

  ‘Got it,’ she said, and let out a tiny shocked gasp, which turned to a crazed laughed because Jin returned at that moment.

  The Titan smashed into the ice behind them, moving without pause.

  ‘Jin,’ said Cassie. ‘Hurry. Lian’s...’

  ‘I know,’ said Jin, and that was all he said. Swiftly, he pulled Lian free of their embrace, sealed with ice and snow, and was gone.

  I hope she makes it. Please. Live.

  She barely knew the doctor at all, but they were in this together now. They’d lost enough people. It was time fate, or God, or luck, whatever, gave them something back, wasn’t it?

  Jin came back, and that was good enough.

  When Anna, who was the healthiest and so the last of them to make the journey, arrived at the ship, Cassie cried.

  Not for anything in particular. Not sadness, or joy, certainly. Perhaps it was simply a purging, like a body expelling something which didn’t agree with it.

  *

  38.

  No one Dies

  Sculptor of Motions

  ‘Inside,’ Jin told Anna as he set her down beside the ship. ‘Warmth and supplies. I will watch over us,’ he said.

  ‘Thank...’

  She could barely manage to speak, but he understood – they owed Jin their lives, yet again.

  ‘Lian?’ asked Anna, her shuddering hand on the transport ships’ outer door.

  ‘She will be better. Here. Let me.’ He opened the door for her, and let her inside. ‘I need to confer with Sculptor of Motions.’

  Jin could do that easily enough from outside the ship, and th
e cold could not hurt his systems.

  Once inside Anna found Cassie sobbing and that set her tears running, too. Nobody had died.

  They weren’t just survivors, either. Though far more simply appointed than Blue Sun Dawning, the ship was luxury after the planet’s welcome. Inside the ship was warmth, fine air, and safety. The others had removed their helmets, and she followed suit.

  These people might not be friends, not exactly, but they’d become something to each other. A crew, maybe. A team. They’d shared triumphs and failures. They bore their injuries, tiredness, hunger and somehow managed to smile at the sight of each other, here in a ship with simply things taken for granted – power, and food, and warmth.

  Succour from the cold, and a haven, if only for a short time. There should always be joy to be had in the small things, those day-to-day victories which balance the harsh reality of anyone’s life.

  Ulrich had even managed to fall asleep, snoring harshly but it was a good sound right then. No matter how advanced their suits, and stims, and nutrients, and meds, a human body still needed sleep. They’d slept more than a century, but looking at Ulrich, the first time she’d seen his face relax at all, sleeping seemed like a fine idea indeed.

  She wondered if only having one eye made it twice as tired.

  The sight that gave her most joy, though, was Lian Skerry. The doctor was laid out on an auto-med bed. Behind a transparent shield, lights running up and down her naked form, bruising, scrapes and contusions all evident, she was clearly still living because she looked around when Anna entered the lower deck.

  Cassie laid a hand on Anna’s shoulder.

  ‘We made it this far, right?’

  Cassie’s suit was new. Ulrich had changed into a new suit, too.