The Expendable Few: A Spinward Fringe Novel

by Randolph Lalonde

  “That’s right,” I say. “They stepped right in front of Vindyne and saved as many as they could. I met a few. Some of them are pretty happy to be Freegrounders now.”

  “What did that get them?” Isabel asks. “Vindyne didn’t exactly forget and forgive. Within weeks they had Valent in custody, and where is he now?”

  I look it up idly and find the logs detailing Jonas Valent’s death. My heart sinks. Before I didn’t know for sure, but seeing the footage of him dragging the original Lucius Wheeler out of an airlock before a chemical reaction could detonate him like a bomb makes it real. “He’s dead,” I say quietly.

  “See? They just stumbled in, not taking measure of the situation.”

  “No one knew much of anything current about humans outside of Freeground space back then,” Remmy argues. “Most crews would have done the same thing or worse, we were so closed off. We just didn’t realize it until they brought back stories of the outside. Their experiences out there were so exciting, so incredible to us that they couldn’t be contained. Censoring was pointless, it only encouraged Freegrounders to seek out the truth, and they found it more often than not.”

  Isabel sits back, red faced, turning her attention to her comm unit. Something in what Remmy said got through to her.

  Remmy presses on anyway. “If they didn’t stumble around out there, some other corp would have taken us over because we wouldn’t have worthwhile shield technology, or know who the players were, or have anyone out there who owed Freeground any favours. The Concordians had friends, and when Jonas’ crew saved them, they became Freeground’s friends.”

  “Fine, I get it,” Isabel says quietly.

  “Better to stumble around in the dark, looking for the door than to suffocate in a sealed room.”

  “I get it, okay?” she shouts.

  “They did the best with the knowledge they had,” Remmy won’t give up, even though he’s won.

  “She gets it, Remmy,” I say. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  We read summaries and watch logs well into the night, until we can barely keep our eyes open. Remmy tires out first, followed shortly by Mary.

  When it’s just Isabel and me, and we’re starting to fade she looks at me. “Can I ask you something?”

  “I’ve seen some pretty bad arguments start with those exact words,” I say with a reassuring smile. “But sure.”

  “Why do you idolize the First Light crew? Mary told me you’ve been digging up info on them for years.”

  I’m starting to realize that Isabel, the woman I fancy over every one that’s come before, might not be a big fan of the First Light crew. My answer doesn’t come without a measure of consideration. “They took a challenge and made a difference for us, even though they didn’t have much of a chance.”

  “That’s just it,” Isabel says. “I don’t know that they did much of anything.”

  “Without them we would probably only have a bare understanding of shield technology, our vacsuits would still just be basic environment suits, and there’s a whole catalog of tech they brought back and improved.”

  “It’s just technology though. What good is it if they opened us up to Vindyne? The Order of Eden?”

  “Without them the Order of Eden or something like it would have swept in and taken us over, no problem.” This is starting to look like it might get heated, and I decide it’s time to change tact. “But, in a way you’re right. The technology can’t be the only benefit. I think they also opened Freeground up to other cultures. We even had pretty free access to the Stellarnet for a while. The feeds were a couple months old, but we could see the galaxy for what it was.”

  Isabel’s gaze takes a down turn, she’s looking into her lap. “That was them, wasn’t it?” she admits.

  “I don’t think we would have had that short alliance with Lorander either. They taught us a lot during those three years, and we only caught their notice because they saw what Vindyne was doing to people through our distress messages. If the First Light never rescued those refugees from the Overlord, we’d never have sent those. If we were still closed in like we were, we wouldn’t have had an advanced warning about the Holocaust Virus either, and it would have hit Freeground before we hand a chance to wipe out all our artificial intelligences.”

  “Didn’t Valent cause that? In the beginning, I mean, by releasing his AI?” she asks.

  I remember seeing something about that during the day and call it up after a moment. “Here’s evidence that was just sent from Tamber that shows that the Order of Eden included code from Alice to make people think it was Valent’s fault, or Valance’s doing,” I show it to her and, while it doesn’t provoke an argumentative reaction, it does nothing to raise her spirits.

  “Well, that’s good,” she offers sullenly.

  I shut down the display on my comm and take her hands in mine. “What’s wrong?”

  A tear rolls down her cheek and she hesitates before answering. “I’m starting to understand.” She takes a deep, unsteady breath. “To understand what it’s going to be like on our own out there. If we get through the missions Anderson sends us on, we’ll get turned out on our own. Then what?” Her teary eyes look into mine, and I see she’s terrified. “All I see about these people from the First Light is how they’ve had to fight, and adapt just to stay alive.”

  I pull her into my arms and brush her cheek. Isabel lays her face into my palm and cries. “I’m not like them, or as strong as you and Mary.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I just try to keep her talking. “What about Remmy?”

  That inspires a wet chuckle. “Remmy’s too daft to realize what’s about to happen.”

  I laugh and nod. “When he goes off duty, he really goes off duty.”

  “Like his brain has a switch,” she elaborates. “Wish I had one.”

  The hard won levity starts to drain, and a realization strikes. I voice it before she slips back down into tears and worry. “You won’t be alone,” I whisper against her temple, punctuating it with a kiss.

  She looks up at me with what almost looks like surprise.

  “I’m pretty sure Mary has a crush on you,” I inform her.

  Isabel laughs and punches me in the chest. “Be serious!”

  I look her in the eyes and let it all out. “You brought me back, Izzy. My first big feelings were for you, and now you’ve got me. You’ve got me from here to the furthest star, luv.”

  The kiss that follows my dedication is soft, warm, and slow. “Thank you,” she says against my lips when we part. “I think I want to stay just like this,” Isabel says, getting comfortable in my arms. “For as long as we can.”

  I hold her closer until she starts to doze off some time later. I carry her to bed. I didn’t think about our impending future enough to be frightened of our freedom. After seeing her fall apart at not knowing what that future would be like, after our missions were complete, I’m forced to stare it in the face.

  As I lay her down she half-wakes. Her gentle grip on my arm stops me from standing up. I quietly join her. As she drifts off again I lay wide awake wondering; where is my fear?

  Chapter 12 - Incognito

  I learn more in a few days about the First Light crew, what became of them, and how different they were in the time leading up to our mission than I ever thought possible. Through their logs and summaries of events I experience how dangerous the galaxy really was. I follow one of the Samson crew for a while, his name was Ramirez, only to find that he dies needlessly in a battle for the Triton. Within hours of his death a political solution is found. Ramirez and the men he killed all sacrificed themselves for nothing.

  Never is it more clear in my mind that you can’t always know how much a sacrifice means until it’s made. For the first time in my life I question how valiant Freeground’s heroes really are. I begin to think many of them are misguided, blinded by fervent patriotism at first. They discover that’s not enough, but not without paying the price.

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nbsp; They fight for each other. The bonds that tie those people together are personal. At one time they decided they were as good as family so they sought to renew friendships some time after Jonas surrendered himself. Jacob and Ayan the second seemed to find a new love for each other after they meet up even though, by all accounts, they felt like very different people. To someone from Fleet Command their abandonment of Freeground might seem treasonous. The way I see it, they are going towards each other while seeking a life in the greater universe.

  It was their timing that made things difficult. The Holocaust Virus and the Order of Eden were making a mess of humanity. The First Light crew, the Samson crew, and finally the Triton crew’s experiences while the virus was spreading is terrifying. Anything with an artificial intelligence can be infected. It would then check the identities of people around it against a copy of the Order of Eden database and attempt to murder anyone who wasn’t on it. In most cases, that’s just about everyone.

  Some families on Pandem did get the chance to pay. While Jacob and his people were there they kept their forensic software running, collecting data. I know I should have felt something as I looked through the re-enactments. When I reviewed the death of a nafalli family who were sheltering humans who couldn’t afford to pay the Order of Eden membership fee, Mary had to leave. She couldn’t watch as three maintenance bots tore them to shreds. When it was over a very young nafalli crept out from a small cupboard. She cried for hours when her parents wouldn’t move, eventually falling asleep. When she woke she tried to get a response from her father by patting his cheek and plucking at his eyelids. In the end, she curled up against his corpse and quivered in the cold of night. I should have felt something. My critical thinking should have collapsed and I should have been in tears like Mary, but there was nothing.

  I found out what happened to that little girl. She was picked up by survivors and eventually transported to the Triton, where someone named her Zoe. The most recent holographic recording of her placed her with an adoptive mother, and she was visited daily by Ashley Lamport from the Samson, and Panloo Ieem, a refugee. I stared at a hologram of the toddler hanging between their hands for the better part of ten minutes. I didn’t feel relief, but some kind of satisfaction at seeing the child happy. If they never sheltered humans, the whole family would have survived. Most non-humans were left alone unless they got involved with unregistered humans.

  I’m thinking about Zoe’s relatively happy end when we break through the atmosphere and pass over the yellow and green surface of Uumen. Thick forest encroaches on issyrian habitats. Their great clutches, where nutrient rich lakes are contained by domes built from yellow-orange resin are slowly being violated by giant brambles. The brief told me that those habitats were where most issyrians preferred to live. The waters of the clutch extended their lives, facilitated easy chemical communication and was the birth place for their young.

  The brief didn’t prepare me for the grand reality of it. The clutch isn’t just one large dome encompassing the lake, it is several. Some are artfully stacked atop each other, and at the end of the habitat furthest from the encroaching forest you can still see water flowing between the resin bubbles.

  Most of the habitats are abandoned. The encroaching forest, designed to convert habitable worlds to a human friendly environment, is taking one side of the lake. Its persistent growth is visible through the domes, creeping along the shore and inward along the murky bottom.

  “I can see why there’s an issyrian resistance here,” Remmy says as he monitors communications for any mention of our little transport.

  “I’d get closer, but I don’t want to draw attention,” Isabel says. “I’d be pissed if someone came along and messed with my habitat too.”

  “It limits their breeding,” Mary says. “By corrupting their waters, the Order is making it a lot harder for the issyrians here to find mates and have children.”

  “Someone did the reading,” Remmy quips.

  “We’re going to Lyssipa,” Mary replies, plucking at her loose fitting, long sleeved green shirt. “I hope everyone else did the reading too, since this place is going to be full of angry issyrians.”

  Isabel gracefully manoeuvres our ship into a slow descent, following the directions provided by port control. “Why don’t they just leave?” she asks.

  “Money,” Remmy replies. “The issyrians didn’t have a firm concept of it when Regent Galactic got here. They were given tons of cash for their land but ripped off for years on everything from building supplies to candy.”

  “Where’d you read that?” I ask.

  “Stellarnet. I’ve been following independent news from Regent Galactic worlds for years.”

  “That’s why they set you up in our group,” Isabel says. “Now it makes sense.”

  “Yeah, well, they also charged me with more counts of contraband possession than all three of you put together. I’d be in jail for a century if it weren’t for Doc Anderson.”

  The buildings below look like metal and concrete versions of the clutch domes and pods. We get a good look as we descend to our landing pad. Balconies and walkways with hundreds of issyrians making their way around come into view. Even at a distance I recognize that most of them seemed subdued, none have the tall, striding carriage I was used to seeing in the few that visit Freeground.

  With a gentle bump our ship sets down on a narrow pad. I check my gear, making sure the pockets of my loose, draw string pants hold a couple days worth of provisions, an emergency medical pack, a few technical trinkets. Under my two-layered long shirt a pulse handgun is holstered in the middle of my back. It’s the heaviest legal weapon allowed on the planet.

  “Everyone got everything?” Mary asks.

  “Yup, don’t forget your ID slips,” Remmy says.

  My thin ID slip is taped securely to my upper forearm. The DNA stamp has been updated so I can match my new name. I remind myself to ask Doctor Anderson who was responsible for getting someone from Freeground so deep inside the Order of Eden that they can modify DNA records.

  The moment the single cabin ship’s hatch opens we recoil. The air reeks of something rotten, and the humidity makes it stick. I have never experienced anything so vile, and to make matters worse, the air is thick enough for us to taste it, a sickening tang on our tongue.

  “Oh my God, what is it?” Isabel asks.

  I ignore her and step onto the long walkway that runs along the outer edge of the rounded port building. The outer structure is built for busier days, with small to medium landing platforms spaced out evenly, enough to accommodate a few hundred ships at once.

  “I think it’s the natural domes, and the issyrians,” Mary says as a group of issyrians pass by.

  They were unlike any I’d ever seen. The shape shifters always looked regal, almost showy when they were on Freeground. Some of them sported elongated necks, or made their smooth skin glisten as their bodies shifted under their suits in little waves and ripples. You never knew what an issyrian would look like from one moment to the next. I was told they could even take the shape of humans.

  These are different. The group that walked past our platform have brown and black spots on sickly skin. The thousands of celia that are normally hidden under layers of shifting skin hang limp along the sides of their faces, arms and backs. One has a dark cavity in his side, as though something dead has been cut away. They all wear painful looking devices that hug them around the middle and circulate fluids through their upper torsos. None of that affects me at all. The shock of sadness comes when I realize that all seven of them, short and tall, are touching each other. Careful prods with flat fingertips on arms, backs, shoulders and faces are shared as they pass slowly. I heard once that it is their custom to do that when they are near death. It is their way of making sure that they are still part of the living universe, and to pass on impressions and emotions chemically. “Everything here is rotting, except for the terraforming forest,” I explain.

  “Are you all right?�
�� Mary asks, coming to my side.

  One of the issyrians look straight at me with big, round, dull blue eyes. I don’t know what to do, so I stare back. It doesn’t matter which organization did this. The issyrians will remember they were human above all else. When my locked stare with the issyrian comes to an end I look to my new comm. It’s a cheap imitation, partially transparent, without emergency medical systems. “We’ll be meeting our contact in twenty minutes. Let’s get going before we run into something unexpected.”

  Chapter 13 - The Hollow City

  The interior of the port building is worse. The lights are dim, the windows are shaded, and in the centre is a pod of water several storeys high suspended in a transparent vessel. It’s made to look like one of the habitats outside, but wisps of green and brown contaminate the fluid within, algae that makes the aquatic section of the port unsuitable for issyrians. Several vicious looking fish swim in and out of the murkier sections of the fluid, I guess they’re bottom feeders, natural garbage eaters who are doing their best to clean things up.

  “Those are fricken huge,” Remmy says, looking at the fish. “That one’s over two metres, easy.”

  We follow a worn yellow line that leads us to the city tram. Once aboard we have the car all to ourselves. “This place looked kinda busy from above, but is almost dead up close. I’ve never seen a port this slow.” Isabel says.

  “There’s a major port on the other side of the planet,” Mary answers. “The human port.”

  “Ah, right.”

  “The people we replaced were actually headed there originally, there are resorts for humans on leave, kind of tourist traps.”

  “I don’t mind a good tourist trap,” Remmy says. “Shops full of decorative jewelry and authentic regional artifacts that really aren’t worth anything. Open bars, gambling everywhere you turn, beaches - fake or real, they’re better than sitting in a star cruiser. I think my favourite thing is the entertainment: no one judges what you’re into, it’s nice and guilt free.”