by Alex Kings
The chiming of his tablet was a welcome distraction. He answered it with a voice command.
“It's one of the dreadnought captains,” Millicent explained.
“Put him through,” Pierce said. He didn't invite her through for this conversation, knowing she'd be busy with the Mars plan.
“Yes, Mr. Pierce.”
The dreadnought captain appeared on the tablet a moment later. Pierce could tell immediately from the man's expression that he wasn't going to like the news.
“Sir,” said the captain. “We lost.”
Pierce was silent for a few moments. He wasn't sure how he felt. “Pardon?” he said softly.
“We lost. The … the other ships have been destroyed. All of them?”
“How?” A soft-spoken word, brimming with menace.
“The Dauntless has a monopole cannon.”
A monopole cannon. The reply didn't feel quite real. Intellectually, of course, he understood it. It made perfect sense. The Tethyans had a special interest in the Dauntless. He just didn't think they would go so far as to offer monopole weapons. And since he was so used to having all the information at his fingertips, the idea had simply passed him by.
An unavoidable mistake, really.
“Sir?” said the dreadnought's captain.
Pierce wasn't sure how long he'd been silent. “Return home,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
Pierce cut the signal. In his mind, he ran through all the plans in motion, all the possibilities. Victory wasn't assured – but it was still likely. So long as the Mars plan worked, he would be fine.
He would be fine.
He found his hands were trembling. Not because of the news, because of … something else.
With trepidation, he walked across his quarters, pausing once to look out at the stars he had failed to arrange into constellations, then unlocked the small door.
The ragged mass of the Oracle, set as elegantly as possible on its polished mahogany table, seemed to glare at him. He stared at it for a few seconds, then put his hands against it.
Nothing.
No twinge of electricity against his palms, no voices in his head. Nothing It seemed no more than a dead lump of matter.
It would be reading him now, he knew. It would already know all about his failure.
“Please,” he found himself saying. “Speak. Just a little.”
The Oracle ignored him.
Eventually, he made to move his hands. And then, at last it gave him something.
A sensation. A momentary hallucination. It was like being pushed from the edge of a cold, grey cliff edge into the inky blackness. A thundering storm assaulting him from all sides. Falling, falling. Jagged-edged rocks like rotten teeth coming up from the black swirling ocean below.
It lasted only an instant, but fragments of it kept coming back to him, still realer than real. Surges or nausea and vertigo battered against him like waves. He stumbled as he turned away, barely managing to steady himself against the door. When at last he was able to stand properly, he was left with a headache like a spike of ice through his head.
He raised a shaking hand to his face, and it came back smeared with blood. Just a nosebleed, but still …
He left the room, turning once more to look at the oracle. This was what it offered him in return for failure.
Chapter 55: Sickbay
Hanson woke with a start, clutching at the fabric of the bed he was on. For a moment, his thoughts were jumbled. He saw his team all there, Lanik included. Yilva lying on the bed beside him. Then, finally, he realised what he was worried about.
“It's alright,” said Sorrel. “You're safe. Calm down.”
“No, there's something important,” Hanson said. “The co-ordinates Sergeant Moore found … they're a trap!”
“Yes, sir,” said Lanik. “We know.”
“You do?” Hanson lay back in his bed. “Oh. Good.”
“Though, to be fair,” said Srak, “We only figured that out by walking right into it.” He shrugged.
Agatha up to the bed and, smiling, thumped him gently on the shoulder. “Glad you're back,” she said quietly.
Hanson smiled back at her, then looked to the rest of his team. “I suppose you should all tell me what's happened, then.” He tried to sit up again, but a lance of pain through his back stopped him.
“Easy, now,” said the doctor. “You're awake. That doesn't mean you're better.”
“You lost you're spleen, doc says,” said Agatha, a little too eager to recount this fact. “Just think! Now you can't …” She frowned. “What does the spleen actually do?”
“Filtering blood and supporting the immune system,” said Sorrel. “I've already called back to the Navy labs to grow a new organ from your DNA. Until then, take this daily.” He laid a small tube of medication by Hanson's side. “Give it a day or so before you can walk again. You and Yilva should be out of here at the same time.”
Hanson nodded. “Well, that's something to look forward to.”
*
Sorrel was in his quarters. Yilva was asleep. The sickbay's light were dimmed.
Hanson was still awake. After several fruitless minutes of lying perfectly still, eyes closed, he gave up and extended his tablet. He had to distract himself somehow from memories that continued to assail him: Being shot, seeing the Petaur he was supposed to protect dying because he hadn't seen the signs.
The sickbay's doors gave a muted clang as they opened. Agatha peered in. Seeing he was awake, she grinned.
For a moment Hanson expected her ask if she was disturbing him, to which he would answer not at all. But, being Agatha, she didn't. She just sauntered up and sat at the foot of his bed.
“I'm impressed,” she said. “I've never been shot that bad.” Her hand went to her thigh and she winced faintly in recollection. “Well … maybe. Not quite the same thing. Femoral artery,” she explained. “Lots of blood.”
“Is this what you came here to tell me?” Hanson asked. He smiled at her when she looked at him.
“Yes,” she said, smiling back. “I just needed someone who couldn't escape my rambling.” She looked away, studied the dimmed lights in silence for a moment, then added, “Also, wanted to say: Glad you're alive, and all that.”
“Thank you.”
“I mean, if you died now, the galaxy would be screwed, right?”
“I don't know about that,” Hanson said. “You're all very capable. I'm sure you could finish the mission without me.”
Agatha shrugged. “Well, either way, can you not die yet?”
“I'll do my best.”
She smiled and put her hand on his arm. For a few seconds she was silent. “I like you, Hanson,” she said at last. “And it sucks that we argued, and I want to have some time with you when there aren't a bunch of mad bastards trying to take over the galaxy, and … and none of this sounds as elegant as it did in my head.” She fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt. “I should probably go now.”
Hanson took her hand as she was about to stand. “It's okay,” he said. “And yes, when all this is over, and if we make it out, we'll see.”
Agatha settled back down but didn't say anything.
“And about Emily –”
“No, it's fine,” Agatha said quickly. “I get it. You've got your background with morals and being honourable and all that. It's just … I don't, so I guess we have to disagree there.” She looked at him, making an oh-well sort of expression. “Still … friends?”
“Of course.”
*
En-route to Tethya, a message came through from Ghroga.
It was Kuta on the line. Hanson took it in the sickbay. By now, he was feeling well enough to sit up, with the extended tablet supporting itself on his lap.
Kuta looked at for a moment. “Gods, Hanson,” she said. “What happened to you? Did you get into a fight with another Varanid?”
“Not quite,” said Hanson. “This is from an Albascene.”
�
�Ah,” said Kuta. She gave him a concerned look for a few moments. Then she burst out laughing. “Well, you're alive, at least!” When she'd finished, she went on, “I've been looking through the preliminary findings from that artefact you found. Now, Rok would have my head if he found out, but I thought you should know what's going on.” She leaned in. “The thing's speaking to us, Hanson, through radio pulses. Nonsense. But it's speaking nonetheless, and in Varanid language.”
Talking artefacts.
That reminded Hanson of something. He called up Lanik and told him to come to the sickbay, quickly recounting what Kuta had told him.
Lanik arrived soon after. He greeted Kuta, then asked, “What did it say?”
“No self found. Search. Check. Search. As best I can translate it into Isk, anyway.”
“I see,” said Lanik. “Would you excuse us for a moment, Councillor?”
“Of course,” said Kuta.
Hanson cut the feed from his tablet, then turned to Lanik. “Am I remembering correctly? The one on Mars?”
“Yes, sir,” said Lanik. “That one said something very similar. It talked about existence of self.” He glanced at the tablet. “It is officially an SIS secret.”
Hanson frowned at him. “Kuta reached out to us, and by the sounds of it, it's a state secret for the Varanids too. We can't get anywhere by hiding things from one another. Not now.”
Lanik nodded, still calm. “I understand that sir. So long as you understand that this getting out would be traced back not just to us, but to Operative Serafin too. She's the one who told me.”
Hanson nodded slowly. Risking himself was one thing, but when Operative Serafin had mentioned it on trust and risked her own career to do so …
“So long as you understand the risk, sir. I trust your judgement.”
Hanson turned to feed back on. “Thank you for telling us,” he told Kuta. “It could be a great help.”
Silence. Kuta waited.
“I'll tell you once we learn any more about Arka's location,” Hanson offered. “Thank you again. Hanson out.”
He cut the channel and sighed.
Chapter 56: Opening Move
A dusty red sky showed through the central dome of Robinson City. Schwarz sat inside a cafeteria a few streets away from the SIS headquarters.
The expressionless voice of a Blank sounded in his ear. “Ready.”
Schwarz tapped the side of his head. Invisible to anyone who might be looking, a microscopic projection directly onto his retina showed him a visual from the shuttle. “Go,” he said.
He saw the shuttle lift off. Its pilot, one of two Blanks smuggled onto Mars a couple of hours ago, faced its certain death with calm. Through the feed, Schwarz watched the buildings race by as the shuttle threaded down the streets towards the polished black stone facade of SIS headquarters.
Sailing past, the Blank turned at the last moment and, with superhuman reflexes, drove straight at the building.
What followed was too fast to follow directly: As soon as the shuttle was within two metres of the building, already accelerated to seventy kph, automated systems saw it, registered it as a hostile projectile, noted the locations of everyone in the immediate area, then took the shuttle down with a laser pulse.
The shuttle exploded. Bits of scorched metal rained against the stone facade, breaking windows. The rest of the shuttle scattered across the street – the laser pulse had been precisely modulated so no-one was hit by debris.
Schwarz's visuals died. He disengaged the connection and leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of his tea and watching black cable of the space elevator cable rising into the sky. A few of his fellow patrons received calls from their phones and leapt into action. Others remained blissfully unaware.
That was the opening move done. Schwarz finished his tea, dusted off his jacket, and checked his watch. Walking down the street, he called someone else. “Do you have it?”
“Everything's ready.”
“Good. They should be moving it in fifteen minutes if there's no sign of further aggression. I want you to be in place on Barsoom Street, parked at station 802.”
“Understood, sir. We're on our way.”
That done, he called the luxury liner in orbit. “Be prepared to descend as soon as you register the attack,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
Schwarz made his way inconspicuously but quickly towards the docks, heading for his shuttle. The next move was one he didn't want to be outdoors for.
Chapter 57: The Admiral
Hanson was still in sickbay, worrying about his decision not to tell Kuta, when the ship jumped and he got a call from the CIC. The Dauntless had met up with the Tethyan battleship that had been coming in to support them. It went by the name Firmament's Spear. At least that was the closest translation.
“They want to talk about the diplomatic incident over Kalbraica,” Lanik reported over the comms. “The Albascene aren't terribly pleased.” He connected them.
On Hanson's tablet, a Tethyan, floating against a deep oceanic background, recounted much the same thing in more officious language, and ended with, “It is difficult to smooth things over.”
“Then the Albascene shouldn't have tried to take one of my crew,” said Hanson. “One who, let me remind you, was essential in stopping the Ancient ship attacking Tethya.” He glanced over at Yilva in the adjacent bed, who was busy working at a tablet and didn't look up. “The Albascene have spent the last couple of centuries playing loyal students to the Tethyans. Perhaps you should start asking them for some better behaviour.”
The Tethyan listened without giving any indication of offense – or agreement for that matter. After a moment, it simply said, “The Admiral Mind wishes to speak to you.”
That was rare. Hanson had never heard of an incident of a Tethyan Admiral speaking to a human. He was even uncertain what, exactly, they were.
The screen switched to an empty view of the ocean. Hanson waited. After a second, a voice came through: Something deeper than a standard Tethyan voice, rich with bass undertones.
“Captain Hanson,” said the Admiral. “Welcome.”
With synthesized voices, of course, the Tethyans could sound like whatever they wanted. Presumably the deep bass tones of the Admiral had been picked precisely because it was the sort of voice that humans found authoritative.
And he had to admit, it did have an effect on him. Just a little bit.
“Admiral, is it?” he said. “Do you have a name?”
“Admiral is the closest translation. That is sufficient address,” the Admiral said, making it clear that this was a matter of no importance. “You believe the Tethyans' management of the younger races is lacking. We have heard a similar sentiment from Vyren.”
Hanson smiled to himself. “Glad to hear it,” he said.
“Vyren is an eccentric. Regardless, you should understand that the incident on Kalbraica was an exception. Tethyan oversight has allowed the younger races to develop along their own paths while preventing any catastrophic galaxy-level wars. Without our intervention, remember, it is quite likely the Albascene would have conquered humanity when you first arrived on the galactic scene. Altering the system now would pose a grave risk.”
“Many things pose a grave risk,” said Hanson. “That's no excuse for justifying slavery.”
The Admiral was silent.
Before they could go further, Yilva interrupted: “Hey! Hey. I want to ask something.”
Hanson glanced at the tablet, expecting out of habit to see the Admiral's reaction. But of course the view was simply of water.
“Yilva Vissin Avanni,” said the Admiral. “A saviour of Tethya. This is acceptable.”
Hanson handed her the tablet.
“We have rescued Petaurs,” she said, still speaking in English. “I think they will be safer and less disruptive to operations on your ship. You have more space and better defences.”
“We are willing to accommodate them.” said the Admiral.
“Indentured servitude is a policy of the Albascene, not the Tethyans. On behalf of the ship, I promise to do as you ask,” said the Admiral.
Yilva nodded gravely. “Thank you.”
When the Admiral had gone, her ears dropped flat against her head and she slumped back into the bed. “Oh crumbs, oh crumbs, oh crumbs,” she said rapidly. “I never thought I would say that to a Tethyan. I never thought I'd say that to a Tethyan Admiral.” She grinned at him for a moment. “But I thought that would help.”
“It does make things easier,” Hanson admitted.
It took a few seconds of heavy breathing to calm herself. Then, mercurial as ever, she gave Hanson's tablet back and started working on her own.
Over the next hour or so, Hanson helped make arrangement for the Petaurs to go to the Firmament. It was a free choice of course, but most of them understood the logic of it, and the few who disagreed were willing to respect the decision on the basis that Yilva had made it.
Some of the Petaurs came in to thank Yilva. The process seemed to tire her, but she put on a happy face for each one. Some thanked Hanson too, and many offered their services should he or Yilva ever wish them.
Meanwhile, the battleship helped repair the Dauntless, providing feedstock for growing more biotech lasers, replenishing the depleted monopole supply, and offering some biological smart matter patches for the hull. It wasn't as good as they'd have at the docks – one of the sublight engines remained damaged and inoperable – but it was a far better job than they could manage alone, and it left them in fighting shape again.
*
Sorrel came in later, checked the machines by Hanson's bedside, and grunted.
