Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing

by George R. Shirer

  John climbed out of the groundcar, grateful to be there in one piece. He stepped through the hotel doorway and, immediately, the street sounds vanished, negated by an antisonic field.

  The lobby of the Hotel Tako was a haze of dark red. Every surface was covered in red plush: the floors, the ceiling, the walls, the furnishings. They all merged seamlessly. The air had a spicy, pleasant scent. Behind a semicircular desk stood a hotel clerk, an older man wearing a red tunic and slacks. His bright yellow hair was a jarring contrast to the lobby’s color scheme. He greeted John with a smile.

  “Welcome to the Hotel Tako, sir. Can I help you?”

  “I have a reservation. My name is John Epcott.”

  The clerk’s fingers slid over a red-tinged infoscreen. “You’re here for the Sufo Retirement Banquet?”

  “Yes.”

  The clerk gestured at an identification plate on the desk. “If you’ll give us your biometrics for confirmation?”

  John placed his hand on the plate, which pulsed red.

  “Confirmed and registered, Mr. Epcott. You’re in room 1-6-9. The locks are keyed to your biometrics. Elevators are to your right.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you need help with any luggage?”

  “No, thank you.” John tapped his shoulder bag. “I travel light.”

  The clerk nodded, his smile fixed. “If there’s anything we can do to make your stay with us more pleasant, sir, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

  The elevator made John feel as if he were riding in a round, red egg. When the doors slid open on the sixteenth floor, he was relieved to see that the red color scheme didn’t extend throughout the entire hotel. He stepped into a soft blue corridor, lined with pale green doors. Their numbers glowed softly in the hallway’s dim light.

  John’s room was all soft curves. A section of the wall was set to display a real time image from the hotel’s exterior. Beyond the lavender-colored balcony, John could see the white knot of buildings that made up the core of Seven Lakes. The remaining walls and the carpeted floor were set to a velvety red. A discreet door led to a small wastechamber, also red. The only furniture present in the room was the circular bed, big enough for two people. The bedclothes were red, yellow and blue.

  As John shut the door behind him, a section of the wall began to flash. The room system began a prerecorded spiel, welcoming him to the hotel, displaying a map to the communal wetchamber on this floor, giving the room system’s specifics and then launching into a list of amenities available through the hotel.

  John let the system ramble on, as he stripped. When the system was finished, John ordered a new color scheme: buttery yellow for the bedroom walls, a darker yellow for the carpet, and frost white for the surfaces in the wastechamber. Then, he studied the floor map, grabbed his shampoo and headed for the wetchamber.

  * * * * *

  The wetchamber was pleasantly traditional, although there were showers along one wall for people in a hurry. The walls and floor were light blue. Airy, fern-like plants had been placed around the space, making it surprisingly cozy.

  There was no one else present when John stepped into the soaping pool. The hygienic synthesizers were top of the line and John dialed up a spicy soap that he applied with a disposable dermal pad. After he was finished with the pad, he slid it into a recycler port and shampooed his hair. He did this briskly, efficiently, knowing that if any Junians stepped into the chamber they would think him some kind of masochist.

  Dripping soap, he stepped into the rinsing pool. Sitting on a waterproof stool, he sluiced away the soap and shampoo.

  Finishing rinsing, John slid into the soaking pool. This was a large, waist-high vessel, big enough for a dozen people. The water here was warm, slightly salty. He sank beneath it, letting the water close over him. When he surfaced, black hair plastered to his skull, amused laughter rang in his ears.

  “I’d recognize that hair anywhere. Hello, John.”

  Surprised, John turned, and found himself facing an old friend.

  “Holy God! Jata Fex!”

  “That’s First Officer Fex to you, guardsman!”

  Jata Fex was a pale, petite woman in her fourth decade with short red hair, so fair that it was almost pink. Grinning, naked as a newborn, she crossed over to the soaking pool and squawked in false consternation as John stood, splashing her with the warm, briny water. They hugged, laughing. Fex pounded John’s back.

  “It’s so good to see you!”

  “You too! When did you become a First?”

  “That’s new,” said Fex. “I just got the word two days ago.”

  “Congratulations! I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more!”

  “Flatterer! No wonder you’re already an Eighth!”

  John laughed and sank back into the tub. “Is it my fault the Guard recognizes talent when they see it?”

  Fex grinned, pinched her nose. “And I know shit when I smell it.”

  Chuckling, John glanced past Jata, noticing the young man standing shyly by the soaping pool. “Who’s your friend?”

  She turned and waved the young man forward. “John Epcott, I want you to meet Fel Ezep.”

  Fel Ezep was young. John would have guessed he was about seventeen, with short, dark blue hair and a skinny physique. He smiled, shyly, and brushed John’s palms. Jata wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck and grinned.

  “Fel’s part of my crew. One of old Homu’s prize students.”

  John blinked in surprise. “Is Homu still teaching? I thought he would have retired by now. Or died!”

  “That old man will outlive us all,” said Jata. “I brought Fel along to show the old bonegrinder that the Guard’s future is in good hands. Despite what he may think.”

  “Jata, you aren’t going to pick a fight with Sufo, are you?”

  “Disagreements are how the good medic and I communicate, John.”

  “Uh-huh.” John splashed water over her. “Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” she said. “And I don’t really care. What are you doing after your bath?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Sufo’s banquet doesn’t officially start until 2000. Let’s get it started unofficially.”

  “Where?”

  “The nearest bar.”

  John laughed. “Sounds like a plan.” He grinned at Fel. “Take notes, guardsman. You can warn your new crewmates what your First is like when she gets drunk.”

  “I,” said Jata, primly, “do not get drunk. I just get very, very relaxed.”

  “Yes, well, try not to get so relaxed you forget that a couple of Fleet Officers are probably going to be there tonight. The last thing we need is for Sufo’s retirement to coincide with you getting bounced out of the Guard.”

  She grinned. “I’ll do my best.”

  “That,” said John, laughing, “is what I’m afraid of.”

  * * * * *

  The retirement banquet was being held in the Hotel Tako’s special functions room. Unfortunately, the room continued with the hotel’s scarlet color theme.

  Jata winced as she stepped through the doorway. “Merciful pantheon. Who picked this color? A sadist?”

  “What I’d like to know is why the walls and floor are covered in plush?” said John.

  “It was an accident,” said Fel Ezep.

  They glanced at him and Fel ducked his head, curled his fingers.

  “What do you mean?” said John.

  “It was explained in the room system briefing,” said the young man. “When they were opening the hotel, after they installed the nanotech, there was an accident in the lobby. All the surfaces bled together and the red look was the result.”

  “So we’re celebrating Sufo’s retirement at the site of a nanotech incident?” said Jata. She looked scandalized.

  “Oh, it’s perfectly safe, ma’am,” said Fel, quickly. “That was thirty years ago and the hotel systems have all bee
n ice-blue ever since.”

  “Still, you’d think they’d want to change the color scheme every once in a while,” muttered John. “All this red, it’s almost as bad as being back on the Thunderbolt.”

  “I,” announced Jata, firmly, “need a drink. Preferably something restorative.”

  “No,” said John. “Fel, would you go check with the bartender? He’s probably got some health pills behind the bar.”

  As Fel hurried away, John poked Jata in the side. “We did warn you not to drink so much.”

  “Don’t blame me. I jiggered my implant. It should have kept me much more sober than this.”

  “Sure. Blame your implant.”

  They moved deeper into the room. It was already filled with celebrants. Most were older men and women, gray or white haired, dressed in civilian attire. Here and there, though, scattered through the crowd, were other members of the Guard. All wore stiff formal robes in black and green. John and Jata, as Ship Officers, wore blue sashes. Across the room, John spotted a Fleet Officer, his red sash bedecked with colored ribbons. And there, in the same group, was a woman wearing the yellow sash of a Guard Officer.

  John touched Jata’s arm, nodded at the Guard Officer. “Who’s that?”

  “Third Guard Officer Velu.”

  “What in the world is a Guard Officer doing here?”

  “She’s my wife, Epcott.”

  Startled, John turned. Behind him stood a short, stout man with coarse, dark skin and short gray hair. He wore the stiff green and black formal robes of a Guardsman, with the blue sash of a ship’s officer.

  Jata arched an eyebrow. “Someone actually married you, you old bonegrinder?”

  Odosu Sufo grunted, and fought to suppress a grin. “It’s good to see you too, Fex.”

  Snorting, they hugged. The old medic barely came up to Jata’s breastbone. He turned to John and eyed him.

  “You’re looking well, Epcott.”

  “You too, First Medic.” John glanced across the room, where the Guard Officer was watching the exchange with raised eyebrows. “We never knew you were married.”

  Sufo shrugged. “I was young, foolish and hopelessly in love. Come along, I’ll introduce you.”

  “I don’t think I’m sober enough to meet a Guard Officer,” protested Jata.

  The old medic chuckled. “Trust me, Fex. Being drunk is the best way to meet a Guard Officer.”

  Sufo herded them across the room, to where his wife waited with the red-sashed Fleet Officer. Sufo made introductions. Iluso Velu brushed their palms and gave Jata an appraising look.

  “So, you’re my husband’s favorite quarreling partner.”

  “Fex isn’t my favorite,” protested Sufo, slipping his arm around his wife’s waist. “I like arguing with you more, Iluso.”

  “You mean you like making up with me more,” said the Fleet Officer, chuckling. Her gaze turned to John. “And the famous John Epcott.”

  “I wouldn’t say famous, ma’am,” protested John.

  Guard Officer Velu reached out and tapped the orange ribbon on John’s sash. “I would disagree with you, Mr. Epcott. Everyone at Guard Command knows what you did at Napiso.”

  “I just kept people alive, ma’am.”

  “You say that as if it was an easy thing to do,” interjected the red-sashed Fleet Officer. Sufo had introduced him as Dodimo Lujo, Seventh Officer of the Second Fleet.

  John shrugged, and glanced away from the group. He spotted Fel, standing uncertainly a little ways away. Smiling, John waved him forward. The young guardsman obeyed, a bit reluctantly.

  Jata glanced at Fel and sighed. “Thank the pantheon. Tell me the bartender had some health pills.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Fel handed Jata three tablets and a glass of water.

  Sufo laughed as Jata swallowed the pills. “Started celebrating early, Jata?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  Fel started to step away from the group, but John reached out and caught his elbow. “First Medic, I don’t think you’ve met Guardsman Ezep.”

  Sufo glanced at the youth. “No, I haven’t. How old are you, young man?”

  “Seventeen, sir,” said Fel, automatically snapping to attention.

  “At ease, guardsman,” said Fleet Officer Velu, openly amused. “We’re not going to bite.”

  “Fel is one of Instructor Homu’s prize students,” said John.

  “Is that so?” said Sufo. He eyed the young man. “What’s one of Homu’s skullkickers doing here?”

  “First Officer Fex brought me, sir,” said Fel.

  Eyes wide, Sufo turned to Jata. “First Officer Fex?”

  “That’s me,” said Jata.

  “Sweet pantheon.” The old medic chuckled. “It seems I’m getting out of the Guard just in time if they’re making Jata Fex a First Officer.”

  Velu flicked her husband’s ear. “Be nice, Odosu.”

  “That’s all right, ma’am,” said Jata, deadpan. “I know he only teases me because he loves me.”

  “Like a granddaughter,” added John.

  “A great granddaughter even,” said Jata.

  “Old age jokes at my retirement banquet,” said Sufo. “Classy. You two should put together a show and take it on tour.”

  “Oh Sufo,” sighed Fleet Officer Velu. “You’re not funny enough to provide material for an entire show.”

  The medic glowered at his wife.

  “Even if you are old as the tides,” she added, after a moment’s thought.

  * * * * *

  Letasu Jeffi had taken over the welcome desk in the lobby and directed a stream of people toward the retirement banquet. The last visitors had arrived a little while ago, leaving Letasu with nothing to do but comm her friends and run efficiency analyses of the hotel’s info system. She was, quite frankly, bored out of her mind.

  So, when the lobby doors opened, she perked up and welcomed the newcomers with a genuine smile. The smile didn’t flicker as Letasu saw that the newcomers were Jurkuroi. The Hotel Tako prided itself on being a cosmopolitan hostelry. They had served offworld guests before and Letasu knew they would again.

  The Jurkuroi were a smallish people. Most weren’t taller than five feet. They were dusky skinned, with long thick hair that was often streaked. To the Junian eye, their features were generally pleasant, with slightly up-tilted noses, wide eyes and small, expressive mouths.

  There was nothing out of the ordinary about this group, in Letasu’s limited experience. An older male wearing a brown shipsuit beneath his orange cloak, approached the desk.

  “Excuse me, young lady. Is this the Hotel Tako?”

  “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

  “We’re here for the Sufo retirement banquet,” said the Jurkuroi, smiling.

  “Oh! I think they’ve already started the meal, but it’s just down the hallway, in the Ruby Room.”

  “Thank you,” said the Jurkuroi. “Nodicwi.”

  He stepped aside and a younger Jurkuroi stepped forward, holding some kind of perfume bottle. Smiling, the Jurkuroi directed a fine mist into Letasu’s face. She jerked back, startled, before her eyes rolled up and she collapsed, unconscious.

  “Seal the doors,” ordered the older Jurkuroi, Savogh. “Lock this place down.”

  Hoxo, their infospecialist, nodded and walked around the welcome desk. Nodicwi had pulled the unconscious girl out of the way.

  “The hotel is sealed, gorxoar,” reported Hoxo. “And I’m using the building’s comm repeater to set up an interference barrier. No one inside will be able to comm anyone outside.”

  Savogh nodded. “Zej, make sure this floor is secure. Nodicwi, prepare out little party favor.”

  Nodicwi was kneeling by the unconscious Letasu. “What about the girl, sir? She’s pretty enough to bring us a good price at the slave markets on Olqan Five.”

  Savogh snorted. “Stop thinking with your glands, urwak. We’re not here for profit, we’re here for vengeance. Do your job and leave the thinking to your
betters.”

  * * * * *

  “It looks like Sufo’s having a good time,” said John.

  Jata glanced up from her fish soup and followed John’s gaze. Sufo was seated at the central table, laughing and chatting with his tablemates.

  “Don’t tell the old bonegrinder I said this, John, but he deserves this.”

  “Why, Jata Fex! Are you going soft on the old man?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  Jata scowled, brandished her tableware. “Careful there, guardsman. I’ve got a spoon and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  Seated next to Jata, Fel Ezep watched this banter with a bemused grin. His gaze swept over the aptly named Ruby Room. The hotel’s red color scheme continued here, but mercifully, the surfaces weren’t covered with plush velvet, and whoever had designed the room, had used different shades of red in the decor. Small, circular tables were arrayed around the room, in a loose spiral, with the central table occupied by the guest of honor. Fine linen tablecloths covered the tables, which were set with handcrafted glass place settings. Bouquets of faintly luminescent flowers, green and blue as well as red, sat in the center of the tables.

  Young, attractive wait staff moved about the Ruby Room, depositing fresh dishes, bearing away used plates and replenishing drinks. Fel noticed, though, that a small knot of servers had formed around the room’s circular door. An older man was poking at a small infoscreen, looking irritated.

  “What’s going on over there?”

  Jata looked over and shrugged. “It looks like they’re having a problem with the doors.”

  John frowned. “You’d think they would have run some routine maintenance before the party began.”

  Fel put aside his spoon and started to rise. “I think I’ll go check it out.”

  “It’s probably nothing, Fel,” said Jata.

  “Probably, ma’am. But I’ll feel better if I know that for sure.”

  After he’d left the table, John glanced at Jata and grinned. “You can definitely tell he’s one of Homu’s students.”

  Fel made his way through the tables, smiling and nodding. As he approached the door, he heard the older server swearing under his breath. The man was scowling at the infoscreen set into the wall, next to the doorway.