The Northern Star Trilogy: Omnibus Edition

by Mike Gullickson

  Aadil howled when he saw his wife. Haq would never forget that sound. It was a wolf, a child, and a man rolled into one.

  = = =

  Khayr opened the door to a figure he knew as Aadil, but the perpetual smile was gone and his friend’s red-rimmed eyes were laced with a sadness he could not comprehend. Aadil said plainly that Batrisyla was dead and that Abdul Haq, the giant, needed medical attention. Khayr did not argue. He got his medical supplies and followed Aadil, who staggered like a drunk back to the Tank Major’s silo.

  III

  Symptoms of radiation poisoning were scattered across Abdul Haq’s body, and while Khayr guessed they would kill him in a year or so, the immediate injuries would not. Khayr irrigated a nasty gash that ran across Haq’s chest before sewing it up.

  “Your sternum’s cracked,” Khayr said matter-of-factly.

  Khayr saw the chest armor and could only imagine the power that had crumpled it like aluminum foil; but apart from the sternum, which seemed to have set itself, the other wounds were superficial.

  “You would be dead now had the other giant not torn your armor off,” Khayr said while he listened to Haq’s heart.

  “He didn’t do it to save my life,” Haq said. The giant had torn him from his body as a rape, a humiliation. He had whispered in Haq’s ear that he hated the people here and that he would turn the land into glass if he could. And he had recognized the dying woman as Haq’s sister, so he had thrown him in front of her so that he would have no choice but to watch her die.

  Aadil hadn’t spoken in hours. He sat across the silo at the foot of the cot where Batrisyla’s body was wrapped in a blanket. His hand rested on her feet.

  Haq’s Tank Major chassis was sprawled in the elevator like a passed-out drunk.

  “I need you to put me back into my body,” Haq said.

  “I don’t know how,” Khayr replied.

  “It’s simple.”

  = = =

  I am war, Haq thought to himself. When Khayr connected the harness, the battle chassis roared to life. Khayr pushed him all the way in, and with a snap, Haq was secured. A quick systems check—everything was fine. The chest plate was the only problem. Haq stood up and dragged it out of the elevator. With his hammer-like fists he pounded the armor back into form.

  With each strike he saw his sister. A girl following him around their estate, always asking questions. A young woman arguing with their father about the state of Iran. A grown woman, just hours before, taking her last breath. He looked at his sister’s body, which was now covered in a blanket, never to move again. He looked at her husband, who stared at the ground like he wanted to be buried in it.

  I am war.

  = = =

  Khayr said he’d come back in a day to re-pack the wound and see how it was healing. Haq nodded, though he knew that the doctor would come back to an empty castle. Khayr spoke his condolences, said his goodbyes, and left.

  Aadil picked at a can of meat he had found in storage. He never strayed from his wife’s body for more than a minute or two, his love for her like a magnet always pulling him back.

  For Haq it was the opposite. He hunkered down in the armory, preparing for the coming storm. He was afraid that if he got too close to Batrisyla, the blanket would fall away and her eyes would open and show the same hopelessness they had when she had asked him to do the right thing and he’d said no.

  Aadil appeared in the doorway. “It’s been almost a day. We need to prepare her for burial.”

  “My hands are too big,” Haq said.

  “I will dress her. You’ll dig the grave.” Aadil disappeared again.

  = = =

  Aadil pulled the cot near a sink thick with dust. The pipes knocked and rattled until rust-colored water burst from the faucet. He waited until the water cleared.

  He took off his wife’s clothes and straightened out her body. He washed her feet and worked his way up slowly with care. He knew that this was the last time he would touch her in the real world, and though her skin was cold, it was still her. He bit his lip to stop the tears; she deserved better.

  He talked to her, told her what he’d thought when they first met in the market. Told her how she had changed him, made him stronger. Told her how beautiful she was. He combed her hair and put it the way she liked it, rolled in the back.

  He found a clean white linen, and wrapped the kafan carefully around her. He suffered a long pause before he kissed her lips and covered her face.

  Haq was behind him.

  “She loved watching the sunset from the park hills,” Aadil said. “We would go on the weekends and take dinner. Most of the time we’d talk about nothing. Sometimes we’d just sit quietly and watch another day pass under this stupid regime that’s done nothing but take. But they couldn’t take those nights from us. We didn’t even notice the walls.”

  “I have to go,” Haq said.

  Aadil spun around. “You will stay and respect your sister! This isn’t about you and your war, your revenge. This is about her and her life. You will stay until she is mourned.”

  Aadil walked toward the elevator. “I can’t carry her,” he said.

  Gently, Haq picked up his sister.

  = = =

  At the park hills, they laid Batrisyla on a pillar Haq had knocked over during one of the last battles in the borough. People had been crushed under it then, but now there was no trace; either the animals or the desert had consumed them.

  Aadil sat next to his wife, a smile on his face drawn from a memory he was living in. Haq sat down too, his sister between them.

  “Do you pray?” Aadil asked.

  “No, not for some time.”

  Aadil turned east and knelt down. “Please pray with me now.”

  The giant and the old man prayed together. They prayed for their sister and wife, for fairness and heaven. Aadil prayed for mercy, Haq for revenge.

  Afterward, on the way to the house, Aadil noticed that Haq looked pale; sweat peppered his forehead. He inquired, but Haq ignored the question.

  It took only minutes for Haq’s giant hands to make an adequate grave. They had debated taking her to the cemetery, but in the end, the garden behind their house was where she had spent most of her time; it was where she would be most happy.

  “Is there anything you want to say to her?” Haq asked. Her body lay next to the grave.

  “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” Aadil whispered. “You are the reason I wake up and the reason I smile. You are the reason I don’t lie. You always said how honest I was, but that isn’t true: I became that way because I wanted you to be proud of me. I will see you soon, my love.”

  Haq began to move her body, then stopped. “I was never a good brother to you. I was too proud. When you visited me, I was cold.” Concentration filled Haq’s face, as if his next words had to be dredged from the bottom of a well. “I’ve been alone for so long, Batrisyla. Why did Allah take Farrah and Malik from me? Why does He let evil win, time and time again? Malik was only eight. He was so young and beautiful. Farrah was running after him because he forgot his history report.” Tears traced the ripples in Haq’s patchwork face. “I’ve been angry for so long. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I will honor you. I’m doing it my way, but it will be for you. It’s all I know. And if I do not find you in the afterlife, know that my spirit rests where it belongs.”

  He looked to Aadil, who nodded. Then Abdul Haq placed his sister’s body in the grave and covered it with soil.

  It was nighttime when they walked back to the converted silo. They hadn’t spoken since Batrisyla was put in the ground. Aadil pictured her in the garden, the turned earth patted down flat, and he wondered if the crops would take root and grow in her shape. His mind turned grotesque, and his face twisted at the thought. He tried to push it away, but he couldn’t. He saw himself taste the crops. The olive trees blooming with her. The corn and dates he bites into and shares with his neighbors. And behind it all, her ghost watching as she
nourishes him. He wanted to throw up, push the nightmare aside—why would his mind betray him like this?—but that’s what minds do. They say what they want to, whether the mouth parrots or ignores. And so he pictured himself full on his wife, the juice of the date running down his chin. The corn growing tall like her outreached arms pleading to be pulled out.

  A crash broke him from this nightmare trance.

  “Haq?” Aadil said. There were no streetlamps, but he could see the giant’s silhouette. Haq was getting back to his feet. He had collapsed.

  “Something’s wrong,” Haq said. “Something’s not working.”

  They made it back to the silo. When they entered the well-lit armory, Aadil gasped: Haq looked starved.

  “See if a fluid is dripping out of my body,” Haq wheezed.

  Aadil walked underneath him like he was servicing a car. He quickly found a syrup-like fluid dripping into the waist chains from an armored ridge on Haq’s back. “There’s oil,” he said. He wiped the oil with his fingers and showed it to Haq.

  “Taste it,” Haq said. Aadil thought it was a joke, but the giant’s hard gaze showed otherwise. Aadil put his fingers to his lips.

  “It’s sweet.”

  “Fuck!” Haq screamed. “It’s how I feed.”

  = = =

  Aadil scurried around and over Haq like a crab mechanic. With great effort, he had opened a compartment at the base of the Tank Major’s back. He had to crank loose three huge lug nuts the size of his fist. Each time, Aadil hung from the wrench like it was a pull-up bar, shaking his body to break them free.

  “Be careful,” Haq said to Aadil when he wrestled the last of the giant bolts loose.

  Aadil didn’t understand the warning until the two-hundred-pound plate of depleted uranium fell off Haq’s back and barely missed Aadil’s sandaled feet.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Barely,” Aadil said. The armor had taken a chunk out of the floor. “You’re not very safe to be around.”

  Haq thought about the coming days. “I hope that stays true. What do you see?”

  The armored plate had protected a recessed metal box that was mounted on mechanized rails like a drawer. Inside the box was a square plastic container the size of a milk jug. The container was empty. The whole assembly vibrated and groaned as if jammed.

  “It’s not coming out?” Haq asked.

  “No.”

  “That’s my nutrient pump. If we don’t fix it, I’ll die.”

  “It’s for food?”

  Haq laughed. Food hadn’t touched his lips in thirty-five years.

  “It’s a zero-waste caloric paste. It connects to my stomach through the harness. It’s also medicine. Antibiotics and chemotherapy.”

  “Chemotherapy?”

  “Yes. At my age in the battle chassis, it’s a part of the regimen.”

  Aadil exhaled through clenched teeth while looking at the complicated mechanical innards in front of him. He wasn’t an engineer.

  “Where are the containers?” he asked. He had an idea.

  = = =

  “I don’t want you to come with me,” Haq said. Aadil had a jury-rigged canister and IV tube in his hands. It had taken an hour to break apart the canister wedged inside Haq’s frame.

  When it was finally pulled out, piece by piece, Aadil saw that a hose fixed to the Tank Major’s frame sucked the fluid from the jug. Aadil found another tube and duct taped them together to create a longer lead. He popped a hole into a fresh nutrient canister and inserted the hose.

  “Is it working?” Aadil asked. Then he felt the fluid pull through the tube. “It’s working!”

  Relief washed over Haq’s face. Aadil remained quiet while Haq fed.

  “I don’t want you to go with me,” Haq said again, later. Quieter. Color had come back to his face and his eyes were sharp again.

  “I was going to before this,” Aadil said.

  “I wouldn’t have let you. You don’t know what’s out there.”

  “Well, now we don’t have a choice, do we?” Aadil said.

  The silence was confirmation. The nutrient pump was broken. The armor would have to be removed every day for Haq to feed. And Haq couldn’t do that alone.

  “You must do everything I say,” Haq said. “And even then I can’t guarantee your safety.”

  “The sooner I’ll see Batrisyla,” Aadil replied.

  Haq nodded. He understood.

  “There is a motorized cart in the blast room. I need two more hydraulshock clips. The wrench and the nutrient canisters can go in, too. Bring food for yourself.”

  Aadil went about his task.

  = = =

  They walked east through the borough. Aadil guided the electric cart—a sophisticated wheelbarrow—and tried to keep up with Haq’s long gait. Haq was quiet, thinking about what lay ahead. He assumed he would die. But the question that twirled in his mind was: once this got started, how long could he live? His primary goal was to kill the giant. He licked at the idea like a dog with a fresh rib bone. He imagined tearing him apart slowly, watching the giant’s face contort with the indescribable pain as Haq got past the synthetic tissue and metal and dug into flesh. This was the evil side of himself, Haq knew, but it was a powerful ally, and it had served him too long to be ignored.

  He did not think he would see his sister in the next life.

  After the giant’s heart had been stilled, he wanted to save the boy. He guessed there were more, and if so, he would try and free them all, but that specific boy had Batrisyla’s mark on him. And he thought Aadil would raise the boy well if they were successful in their mission.

  They approached the eastern wall.

  Abdul Haq and the other Tank Majors had access to doors. These doors were the only access points to the adjoining boroughs. They weren’t a secret: civilians walked by them every day. But doors that never opened were walls, and the residents of the borough didn’t even see them anymore.

  The door was closed, but a pile of dust and clay lay at its base like peanut brittle.

  “He came through here?” Aadil asked.

  “Stay behind me, at least one hundred yards. I will come to you,” Haq said. “I don’t know what we’ll find. There may be soldiers like me, or they may be more human-looking. If they’re small, then as long as they’re on me, don’t worry about them. If they see you, alert me if you can and then hide. If we’re near the ocean, dive deep into water. No bionic can swim.”

  To the right of the huge doors was a keyhole, exposed from its recent use. Haq produced a key big enough for his hands and used it. The mechanized doors slowly opened to the dead zone, a world that neither Haq nor Aadil had laid eyes on in over three decades.

  They passed through, and the door closed behind them.

  = = =

  The dead zone was much larger than Aadil had imagined. In his mind, he had pictured long alleys, two hundred feet wide, with the tall walls of each borough acting as guard posts. Instead, the next wall wavered in and out of sight like a mirage.

  “Why so much space?” Aadil asked. He looked left and right. The dead zone stretched to the horizon.

  “Containment. With these partitions, no extremists could coordinate between the boroughs.”

  The land between the boroughs was flattened rubble with nowhere to hide. It was lifeless, but littered with the remnants of what had once been life. Dead grass and plants were everywhere, burnt and frozen in time like a petrified forest rediscovered. Bleached white bones were scattered across the landscape. Tattered clothes pinned beneath ribs flapped in the wind. Jawless, bucktoothed skulls stared up at them.

  “They’ve been dead a long time,” Haq said. They followed the path of ash left by Chao.

  A movement caught their attention. A cur, skinny with mange, ran away, its head turned awkwardly back to make sure they didn’t pursue. Aadil didn’t know how it survived or what it ate. They continued on.

  “Have you ever been outside before?” Aadil asked.

  �
�No.”

  They walked past an audience of human bones laid out like sunbathers.

  “How did they kill all these people?”

  “I don’t know, Aadil.”

  “Are the other boroughs like ours?”

  “I don’t know.” Haq paused and thought. “There are thirty boroughs in this region. I communicated directly with the four around us, they communicated with the four around them, and so on. The last time we spoke, it appeared that many of the Tank Majors in the other boroughs were dead. Some insane.”

  “How long ago was this?” Aadil asked.

  “Almost twenty years.”

  “Twenty years!” Aadil said. “When did you last speak to your . . . boss?”

  “Coalition command? Twenty-five,” Haq replied. He knew how idiotic that sounded.

  “We’ve been caged up for twenty-five years since you last spoke to your command?” Aadil said in disbelief.

  “They’re clearly still in charge, aren’t they?” Haq spat. “You don’t deviate from your last order just because there isn’t a new one.”

  They were quiet the rest of the way to the next door.

  “Stand back,” Haq ordered when at last they arrived. He held a firm stance and boostered two hover-rovers off his back. They spun into the air and glided over the wall.

  “I knew the Tank Major in this borough,” Haq said. “Rest. This is going to take a while.”

  Aadil sat down on the ground, but Haq remained standing like a statue, his eyes elsewhere.

  What Haq saw on the other side via the hover-rovers wasn’t encouraging. Most of the buildings were intact, but the few heat signatures he encountered were too small to be human.

  Halfway through the borough, a foreign hover-rover came into view beneath his, flying in a lazy pattern. It moved north, but paused first, as if beckoning Haq’s hover-rover to follow.

  Somehow it seemed friendly, though Haq couldn’t say why. So he followed it. The hover-rover flew for about a mile before descending to the ground. Haq’s heart lightened ever so slightly. A smiling Tank Major waved up at the camera.