Crystal Rain

by Tobias S. Buckell

  “Yes. Just because you snapped and blocked those memories doesn’t mean I will,” Pepper snapped. “There are ways. I can edit. I can loop, I can learn, I can be entertained. I’ve done it once already. I’ll do it again.” The sheer dreadful passage of time in a pod was a horrible, mindaltering thing. Doing it in a ship designed with that in mind would be easier.

  Space travel was a long affair. Humans had met other races, and the men who traveled space adopted lifeextending technologies to manage journeying between stars where there were no wormholes to help them.

  “Yes. Ways.” John reached down and picked up the teacup with his new hand. “Some Pilots were willing to suffer those years in transit when the Teotl took the wormholes and blockaded us in this system. But we need this ship for something else now, so it won’t happen just yet. I’m the Pilot. This is a ship. You can’t even get into a simple orbit without me. I say we’re going to Capitol City. We will not let the Teotl win here, on Nanagada. Not after everything I’ve been through.”

  Pepper struck the chair nearest him. It slowly moved forward, then pulled back to its position after absorbing the strike.

  “Ma Wi Jung has forward shields to stop dust punctures. It’s just an electromagnetic umbrella, though, we can’t protect ourselves from crude artillery fire, or anything of the sort that the Azteca will have at Capitol City. This isn’t a magic bullet.”

  “It doesn’t need to be.” John handed Pepper back the teacup.

  “You have a plan?”

  “I do. And if you help me, I’ll do you one better than taking you back to Earth. I’ll make you a Pilot. We have a medbay for the alterations, we can train you. You can return to Earth on your own. You don’t have a choice. I’m back, Pepper. You did this.”

  Pepper blinked. “Back to Earth. If it’s even there anymore.” He sat back down with the empty teacup as John grimaced. Humanity scrabbled for survival among the intolerant Gahe and Nesaru since being given political freedom by the Maatan in the days after the pacification of Earth.

  Messy times. Times that had created men like Pepper and John as the Gahe and Maatan fought over the remains of the solar system. Immigrants and whole societies had tried to run and hide deep in the tortuous mazes of wormholes, out of reach on new, undiscovered worlds.

  The immigrants had run into something worse. Teotl and the Loa, creatures embroiled in their own struggle for survival.

  John and Pepper started out running the Black Starliner Corporation to profit as they moved paying minority populations to safety, away from the dying mother planet. The immigrants contracted them to provide security on the newly terraformed world against the aliens, and suddenly it became a war of survival. One so bad that the only choice was to collapse the wormholes and spark off a round of final destruction.

  “Okay,” Pepper said. “I will help you.” He rubbed the edge of the teacup with a thumb. “But, John. Remember this: you started it.”

  John bit his lip. “I have a plan. I’ll be in the pilot’s cabin. Call me when we approach Capitol City.” He walked off. Pepper noted the slump of his shoulders. John once again carried the load of a world on them. Old habits die slowly.

  Pepper leaned back in his chair and threw the teacup against the wall. He watched the composite accept and absorb the projectile, then gently slide it down to the floor.

  He should never have let John talk him into coming to Nanagada 354 years ago.

  Pepper would never forgive him for it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Dihana watched the sun rise and fill the inside of Capitol City with amber light. She sat in a boarded-up house near the waterfront, listening to the murmur of her guards in the nearby room.

  Harbor waters lapped at the new high-tide mark cut into the stone of Grantie’s Arch. Just beyond the harbor walls Dihana watched three Azteca ships tack into the wind. They turned their sides to the city’s seawalls and shattered the morning calm by opening fire.

  A full previous night of shelling showed its effects on sections of the seawall. Pockmarks, gaping holes, and chips on the edge could be seen along the full expanse. Bodies littered the seaside footpaths, volunteers caught by Azteca sharpshooting last evening when the ships had sailed toward Grantie’s Arch.

  The three ships formed a wedge and made another run for the harbor’s entry. For several minutes the two ships in the rear would sail forward, split out and turn their sides toward the city walls, fire a broadside, then turn back in to follow the lead ship.

  Newly moved guns on the walls kept a constant rate of fire, hoping to push the ships back out to sea again.

  Four small fishing boats with cannon aboard loitered on the inside of the arch. If the Azteca ships came in, they would ambush them, though they knew it was a suicidal task.

  The Azteca ships continued forward, catching the full wind, coming in on the tide. They almost entered the harbor when the middle of Grantie’s Arch exploded, and the structure slumped into the sea.

  Dihana covered her mouth. The mongoose-men had blown up the arch to stop the ships from coming in.

  After several seconds of commotion the two covering Azteca ships turned away and managed to tack out. The ship in front struggled to turn, but came through the remains of the arch. Chunks of rocks still dropped into the sea, and onto its deck.

  The Azteca ship ground to a halt with a loud scraping, stuck in the one opening to the harbor.

  Mongoose-men fired down into its mast, threw flaming pitch onto the decks, and dropped bombs. Dihana walked up to the window to close it and not watch anymore. But she paused. A high-pitched roar shook the sky. People paused and looked up. A silvery winged machine swooped out from over the water, headed straight for the city.

  The incredible craft slowed down until it floated leisurely over the harbor. It dropped slowly down, kicking up a furious amount of spray and water.

  It edged itself next to the docks and dropped into the water with a deep sigh, not fifty feet from where Dihana stood, frozen at the window. A fine coating of salt drifted up and covered her face.

  Then it just sat still for several minutes, thrumming the deep hum of a content beast.

  Was this the old-father machine from the north? So soon?

  She turned to the nearest mongoose-man. “Get a wheelchair. Bring Haidan from the cots.”

  “Prime Minister, he still very ill.”

  “He’ll want to see this.”

  The mongoose-man nodded and ran out of the room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  John leaned against the wall of the bathroom with his eyes closed and remembered the first time he’d wrangled his way aboard a combat ship. The surgery alone had bankrupted him: backup high-g hearts, neural taps, remapped cortex, and two years of training his mind in simulators.

  The moment he’d slaved into the ship, though, he’d been both a god and a tiny speck in the middle of vast space. A gratifying experience.

  Then he remembered his own son being born, something even more impressive than the light-years crossed, the scams pulled off, the adventures he’d been in, and the things he had seen on other worlds.

  Pepper opened the door, and John blinked away unexpected tears, holding a washcloth up to his face. He hoped Pepper hadn’t caught that.

  “There’s a crowd up on the docks,” Pepper said.

  “Yeah.” John placed his palm on the diagnostic tab next to the washbasin. The readouts returned all normal. Nothing wrong with him at all. His dizzy spell after landing the Ma Wi Jung had just been disorientation.

  Twenty-seven years of divergent memories and actions had to be sewn together. Couldn’t happen without some bumps.

  John wondered if this would happen again. Could he count on himself to hold up through the next few hours? And if Pepper doubted John’s ability to pull this off, he would find a … creative way of getting what he wanted.

  John was under no illusions as to who or what Pepper was now. His earlier suspicions had been correct. Pepper was dang
erous.

  Then again, John remembered, flashes coming back to him, so was he.

  He watched his new hand as if it belonged to someone else. It twitched. Nervous. John forced it to stop and faced Pepper.

  “Let’s not keep them waiting.” John dropped the washcloth. It swirled down the drain, followed by a squirt of water.

  Pepper put a hand on John’s shoulder. “I know you enough to want to watch this happen. It’s good to have you back, John. Even if you are twisting my hand.”

  Memories of a bar popped into John’s mind. In this memory, he sat next to Pepper, watching women walk by in loose silk. A pair of guns pushed against his ribs beneath a shabby uniform. Good to have you back on board.

  Honey-coated almonds.

  Beer and piss.

  John remembered a handshake. Dead men. Blood pooling on metal corridors. And Pepper’s half-grin beneath the dreadlocks. A friendship born in violence. He remembered Pepper’s surprise when he’d first met him on a small island, on a world not unlike Nanagada.

  They were both islanders. That was the real thread. Both from Earth. Which is how they’d struck up a friendship. Two native sons on an alien planet, far from home.

  John was piloting a freighter full of stolen goods for some moron of a fence and wanted the best protection aboard and that had been Pepper. They’d never drifted apart after that.

  “Let’s go.” John looked at Pepper. “We flew over. You know Capitol City is close to going under.”

  Pepper shrugged.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve grown so cold,” John said, “that you would see your people wiped extinct?”

  A single blink. But John felt triumphant to get it.

  “John, boy.” Pepper leaned down and got level with him. “The reason I followed you all the way here on this fool venture was because you said the same thing years ago. And now I have fought that fight, and lost. Capitol City went under, for all intents and purposes, a long time ago. My only goal here is to leave.” Pepper walked out of the cabin.

  The Ma Wi Jung rode centimeters from the edge of the docks, and several men stood there with ropes. Several others with rifles. Pepper followed John out of the hatch and they both stood at the top of the starship, on the port wing.

  “You John deBrun?” someone yelled.

  “Yes. I’m going to come ashore.” John walked down the slope of the wing and jumped ashore. The first time he’d jumped on these docks they’d been freshly extruded. The chief architect and city programmer had toured him around the frame of the city with pride. Technically, the man had said, using nano to build a city out of the bedrock was illegal, but they were far enough from Earth, so who would care? Besides, the Loa were helping with the templates.

  That was before the war. When having Loa help just meant business. And John was part of the traders and terraformers hoping to make a buck off the creation of a new human world and civilization.

  Pepper landed next to John with a hop.

  The rifles remained pointed. The mongoose-men among them looked grubby and tired. The nearest nodded at John’s hand. “You was describe as having a hook. What happen?”

  “Now I have a hand.” John waved the good hand back at the expanse of silvery metal. “I also just landed in a large ship made by the old-fathers, so you’ll have to give me the benefit of the doubt.” He smiled. The word old-fathers produced another small skip in his balance. A part of him didn’t recognize it or at least felt amused by the fact that he was an “old-father.” The other part let the word slip off his tongue. A word he had used often. Nothing more.

  A few more rifles lowered. Then a shout from a window nearby caused the rest of them to lower. Two mongoose-men pushed Haidan, wrapped in a large blanket, out of a door. They crossed the small street and stopped in front of John. Haidan looked up and grabbed John’s shirt.

  “Haidan, are you okay?” John asked.

  “I can’t self even believe me eye,” Haidan croaked. “You dropping out the sky. Returning.” He gave a weak grin.

  A wedge of soldiers developed around them, protecting them. Despite the rubble-filled streets and the tension in the air, a crowd had still developed. Old ladies, and a few children, watched as Haidan was pushed down the street with John alongside.

  “If you have something to save we,” Haidan said, “you come just in time.” He glanced down at the bystanders. “We holding the wall, but just barely.” He looked at the two of them. “Where the rest of you?”

  “Ah, yes,” Pepper said. “Them. There was a mutiny. They might be heading to Cowfoot Island, if things go well for them.”

  Haidan turned, grunting in pain, and frowned at him. “Who you?”

  “That’s Pepper,” John said. “He’ll help. He’s very good at what he does.”

  “And what is that?” Haidan asked.

  “Killing people.”

  Haidan stuck out a shaky hand. “Welcome.”

  Pepper gently shook it.

  In the middle of the eastern wall road in a tent with wheels on the wooden platform floor, Haidan struggled with a leather bag of photo plates and laid them out on a picnic bench. An air of urgency settled over them.

  Pepper turned his head and pushed his foot against the wooden floor.

  “We keep it moving,” Haidan said, not looking up. “Five other duplicate looking like this one run up and down each side. They more or less safe from the shelling. Azteca can’t quite reach the middle except by airship. We keep them confuse enough.”

  John pored over the plates, his eyes hunting for particular shapes among the hacked-down-forest clearings and encampments. He took a closer look at a line of artillery guns. Most likely the ones pounding his eardrums at this second with steady, distant thumps.

  “The minister being moved from house to house now to keep she safe.”

  John scanned the rear of the camp and found what he was looking for: a round eagle stone and several lines of people in front of it. A large square shape just to the right of it.

  “Tell me.” He pointed at the rear of the hundreds of tiny black and white tents, fuzzy triangles on the delicate plates. “Are these the priests?”

  Haiden looked at the tiny area John indicated. He used a pinkie finger and traced it along what looked like a line of ants.

  “The priest by a wooden pyramid, and a round stone. Them lines you see is people waiting to be sacrifice.”

  John sat in a canvas chair. “That is their weakness. Haidan. Your best men. Find them. I want you to get pictures, get some Tolteca in here to draw pictures if we need, but we have to show your men what the high priests look like.” Haidan grabbed the edge of the table. Sweat dripped from his forehead. John got up and squatted next to him. “Haidan …”

  Haidan waved him away, took several deep breaths, then slumped back into his wheelchair. “My best men?” Haidan grunted.

  “Your best,” Pepper said. “There is only one chance against the tens of thousands of Azteca at your walls. You can’t hold them off.”

  “What you plan?”

  John picked up the plate and pointed at the sacrificial areas on it. “They depend on their priests and gods. We capture or kill them, the Azteca have been practically trained to give up.” John set the plate back down. The pictures were burned into the back of his mind. He’d match them up in the ship with other instruments.

  He remembered lessons from three hundred years ago. Everything Oaxyctl had ever told him on the decks of La Revanche reinforced what John knew of the Azteca. The original Azteca civilization had perfected the art of the Flower Wars. The highest of Azteca fighting involved the capture of slaves and sacrificial victims, not the killing of enemies. And the Teotl, John almost laughed, the goddamned Teotl had been using Flower Wars for the past few hundred years to perfect their human soldiers.

  Generations of Azteca had clashed on the other side of the mountains, getting better, training for a final war against all the humans on this planet. And no doubt the Teotl had been hoping to
wipe out the Loa and capture the Ma Wi Jung so they could return to space and find their kind.

  Here they all were, all gathered around the city.

  John knew the Teotl had one gaping weakness he could exploit. John deBrun would drop a Flower War on them unlike anything in Azteca recorded history. If the Teotl could use human foibles and traditions against the city, John could reply in kind.

  The question was, which was more powerful, the tradition of the Flower Wars, or the orders of the “gods” when they realized their own tool was backfiring on them?

  “Oh,” John said, as if an afterthought. “Make sure to equip them with nets. Weighted nets.”

  “Nets?” Haidan asked. “Like for fish?”

  “Like for big fish,” John said. “And, Haidan, we need to get you fixed. You aren’t in good shape.”

  Haidan shook his head. “We don’t have time. You need go now.”

  John looked at Pepper.

  “You’re not thinking right,” Pepper said. “But if you’re going to do this, I want ammunition, guns, and a good trench coat. I want to guard the ship.”

  John put a hand on Haidan’s shoulder. “There are things I can use to help you when I get back, okay? So hang in there.” John knew now what ailed Haidan on top of his wounds. Cancer, developed from the high radiation of Hope’s Loss where old reactors had plunged back to the ground. John’s own body could handle that, but now, with those gut wounds, Haidan had a few days left at best. He was up and about now because he was too strong, too stubborn, to give up.

  Haidan nodded and leaned back in the chair. Mongoose-men surrounded him.

  “We’ll get everything you need together. Leave him be for now. We need let him sleep some. This tire him a whole bunch,” one said. “He get hit by a whole wall, and he already sick.”