by D. P. Oberon
A circular stage reared up in the middle of all this with General Rangi Topeora at the podium. Next to her stood a little girl.
“Against all odds, Mission Platypus Lake was a triumph,” the general said, her voice crisp and clear. She proudly displayed the tattoos of her Maori clan on her swarthy skin. Unlike the general who’d preceded her, Topeora had a down-to-earth, hands-on air to her. Rumor had it that she could trace her family lineage from warrior to warrior for more than a hundred generations.
The general continued, “We have now received all one million tons of iordite at our Austra-Asian orbital facilities. They have started to construct the first prototype seed-ship, named Rebirth.”
Thunderous applause greeted this announcement. The newsnet had been filled with the story. One of AAEDEF’s own was responsible and everyone in the empire was happy because of that.
The general continued, “Sacrifices. That’s the cost of our missions. There have been many wars in the past, most of them useless, sending young men and women to die for whims of the political elite. Not now. Today we fight to save our children and to send earthkind to the stars.” She held up her left palm in a stop gesture. “Today we gather to pay our respects to those who paid the ultimate price for our success. We have lost Bheemasena Anantadevi, Funafuti Tefolaha, Nathaniel Bontrager, Yasmie Lasi, Karavat Tsing, and Eyra Alvarez. Funafuti was my own grandson, and Bheemasena was Saradi’s own brother. The pain is close to us today.” She looked back at the holo-projector and her sorrow washed over the assembled soldiers like a tidal wave.
The holo-projector showed Bheemasena, Funafuti, and Nathaniel during their SOHIC Selection graduation. They wore camouflage across their faces and wide brimmed hats. Bheemasena’s face tinged with a smile.
Saradi couldn’t take her eyes from the image of her brother. The tears ran down her face unchecked. Yoriko grasped her hand and held it tight. Peng wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she around his. Chengmedu stepped behind them and engulfed them all with his arms. She smiled at him briefly. It had been such a surprise to find him alive. Though now, his left leg, just like Trisdale’s, was a prosthetic.
She had only been able to hold herself together because of Peng, Yoriko, and Chengmedu. They had been so gracious. Peng had suffered just as much as she, Yoriko had lost her daughter, Chengmedu his entire squad, and yet they’d been stronger than Saradi. A blackness had engulfed her from the last day of the mission, until now, a week later. Her memory of the last week incised from her mind. A deep, deep pain screamed out at her. Claas’s loss mixed in with all that grief, filling her with guilt because she hadn’t felt his loss as keenly as she’d felt Bheemasena’s. The judgment she lay on herself for neglecting Novalie flavored the guilt.
The general said, “I have a dream that one day we will evolve beyond the point of killing one another. But we are not here to discuss my dreams.” She wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Three members of Bravo Zero Alpha are MIA. We have some data that says they were part of Trisdale’s traitorous group. Until we discover more, we will withhold our verdict. I don’t care that Christian Trisdale served, for he ultimately betrayed his oath. I do not care that Buckingarra Freeman served, for he ultimately betrayed his oath. Yes, the Austra-Asian Empire is an empire free unlike many others. But when you take your Austra-Asian Empire Defense Force vows you owe your allegiance. Betrayal is punishable by death. If you believe in the CPE then leave now, and go live in the China People’s Empire.”
“In our mateship we trust,” the general said.
“In our mateship we trust,” replied the soldiers.
“Would the following SOHIC soldiers please step forward? Saradi Anantadevi-Alfsson, Yoriko Ueno, Chengmedu Taylor, and Peng Huizhong.”
Chengmedu lead the way followed by Peng, Yoriko next, and Saradi tailed them. They stepped on the jump-pads that bounced them to the stage.
“I’ll hand you over to our visitor, the Greatest Scientist,” the general said.
The young girl stepped forward from between the two giant super-marines. Light refracted on the shield surrounding her as she walked towards the podium. A hush fell on the crowd. Sanatani Kalki, the Greatest Scientist, spoke into the sudden silence.
Her voice went with her stature, that of a sweet nine-year-old child, but she delivered her message with the same poise and grace as the general, greater even. She said, “This award is called the Stars of Earthkind and I believe this is the first time we are giving it out.” The general nodded in agreement. “The six stars on this badge represent the six galaxies that we found, and the single habitable planet in each of those galaxies. It is an apt gift because these soldiers are the reason why Rebirth, the first seed-ship, can be built.”
Yoriko grabbed Saradi’s and Peng’s hand and Peng grabbed Chengmedu’s. They formed a chain as the Greatest Scientist walked up to them with the four medals held in her hands.
Yoriko was first, Sanatani was so short that the Japanese woman made to bow but Sanatani shook her head. A super-marine appeared behind Sanatani and held her up.
“You do not bow to me,” Sanatani said. “I should bow to you.” She draped the first medal over Yoriko’s neck. The next one over Peng’s. She came to Saradi and smiled. It was so hard not to return that smile even through her grief. It was the smile of a child. And then Chengmedu was last and Sanatani exclaimed, “You’re big. Just like my super-marines.” Chengmedu smiled. “I eat a lot,” he said. Her crystal laughter eased the tension. She looked at all four of them. “You know, those medals. Each one is made from the surface layer strata taken from each of the six habitable planets. They’re from our first probes. Thank you so much. You should all visit the orbital facility where Rebirth is being constructed. I want you to see what you’ve accomplished. Truly.” She waved at them daintily and skipped back to stand next to the general.
Chengmedu turned and stared down at the three of them. “On three,” he said. “One, two, three,” he counted, and then they all shouted, “In Our Mateship We Trust!”
Over three hundred thousand voices roared in response, “In Our Mateship We Trust!”
Saradi couldn’t help but feel awed — in this moment she felt a connection to all of them — and she imagined Bheemasena’s spirit hovering over her like a bright spark. They were all connected.
#
The sombre part of their ceremony was held privately in Fort Windradyne’s crematorium that night.
Saradi, Yoriko, Peng, and Chengmedu strode toward the blast furnaces. Four caskets floated in the air in front of them. A holo-display showing the person’s face appeared above each casket: Bheemasena Anantadevi, Ganmi, Funafuti Tefolaha, Nathaniel Bontrager, Yasmie Lasi, Karavat Tsing, and Eyra Alvarez.
An Austra-Asian Empire flag draped over each one.
A SOHIC soldier in dress uniform stood at the head of each casket. They held their hands up in a salute position.
The families gathered around the caskets for their final goodbyes. The general was there to say goodbye to her nephew, Funafuti. Nathaniel’s wife — now a widow — stood with her tall son who cradled her head as she wept.
Saradi clasped her arms around Bheemasena’s casket like she could hug him. Yoriko and Chengmedu touched the casket.
“Sara, I’m going to go over to Peng,” Yoriko said.
Chengmedu bent over the caskets of his squad mates. He murmured something quietly. After, he came to stand by Saradi’s side.
“I’ve always wanted a younger brother,” Chengmedu said. “But my parents only had me.” Saradi sniffed. Would the tears ever stop? “It is the greatest feeling in the world,” she said. “You watch them grow, you know.”
“Bheem was always easy going,” Chengmedu said. “I couldn’t believe it when I found out you were his sister.”
She laughed. “Many people say that.”
“Sara,” Chengmedu reached out to her. He nodded at the lights above the blast furnaces and the beeping sounds. The caskets began to float in the air, heade
d for that fiery mouth.
Saradi slumped against Chengmedu and watched as Bheemasena’s casket entered into the furnace. The four SOHIC soldiers waited until all the caskets were in. They shouted. “Oorah!”
The blast furnaces roared to life, filling the air with a brutal crunching noise as the fires ate the caskets. Moments later small boxes containing the ashes of the soldiers with their names stencilled on the top side floated back out.
Saradi reached out with shaking hands and took Bheemasena’s ashes.
Peng turned and met Saradi’s eyes. He held up Ganmi’s ashes. Saradi held up Bheemasena’s ashes.
Now Saradi had to tell her mother that Bheemasena died.
Chapter 41 – Family
Trepidation shadowed Saradi as she walked the path in front of her mother’s house. A chill breeze prickled the skin across her forearms as she stood under the shade of the alcove. A brief light flickered over her from the house’s AI as it authenticated her gene-ID.
The door swished open to let Saradi into the waiting area. Neat rows of shoes stared back at her atop a floor mat stitched in the likeness of the Stardock Twins.
Her mother appeared moments later. She cradled a crimson vase with yellow roses.
“Saradi?” Wattana stood rooted to the spot.
Saradi closed her eyes. She’d worn her SOHIC uniform to do this. She couldn’t do it without the protection it afforded.
“Ma, Bheem’s dead,” Saradi said.
“What?” The vase fell from Wattana’s hands and shattered against the white tile, scattering water, shards of crimson glass, and yellow petals.
“Bheemasena died, Ma. He died. I saw it with my own eyes,” she said, and the shield her uniform afforded her cracked.
“Aah-yo, aah-yo,” Wattana wailed, crumpling to the floor.
This time, Saradi consoled her mother. She wrapped her tightly in a hug and let her mother cry against her. The woman felt so small, tiny, and old. Frail, just like the last time she’d held Bheemasena.
Two hours later, as they sat on the couch in the living room, Saradi pulled out the small silver box and handed it to her mother.
“Bheem’s ashes.”
Wattana cried the entire night until she cried herself to sleep. Saradi held her mother as they lay on the couch, holding her close. Wattana woke many times during the night. At one stage she panicked thinking she’d lost the ashes but Saradi held the box out to her. “He’s here, ma. Right here.”
#
Novalie wore a skin suit that made her look as if she was going into space. It bore the colors of her school. She stood in the seventh lane, the last one. Her competitors arrayed themselves to her right all the way down the width of the track.
Saradi watched her daughter from one of the air-seats in the huge stadium. Novalie crouched into position as the voice said, “Ready, steady, go!” A loud crack sounded in the air and Saradi jumped, looking for cover.
“Darling it’s just the race starting,” her mother said besides her.
Saradi held up her fingers and they were shaking. She had been jumpy at loud noises ever since her return from Fort Windradyne. At night, she felt her fingers squeezing the grip of an imaginary gun.
“I’m okay,” Saradi said, putting her hands under her thighs, sitting on them.
On the track, Novalie pumped her hands and legs, running so quickly. She was fast, almost in the lead.
“It’s what she likes to do in the eight hundred,” Wattana said. “Get a head start.”
“Won’t she get tired?”
Wattana shook her head. “She’s been training a lot. Claas made some holo-vids for her. They were all about training.” She sighed softly. “He knew he was going to leave her.”
That rocked Saradi to her core. Claas had created videos for Novalie? She was so grateful for him at that moment. She tried not to tear up as Novalie maintained a good position. Her stride was nice and long. In the last hundred meters her energy flagged and two girls overtook her. But Novalie seemed to get recharged by this passing and put on a burst of speed.
Saradi stood up and whooped. She put her fingers to her lips and a loud whistle filled the arena. “Well done Nova!”
Wattana stood and clapped. “Third is good. She hasn’t been practicing for long.”
“Third is awesome,” Saradi said. She, who had always lived by the motto that second place was the first loser, now she realized how myopic, dysfunctional, and plain stupid that attitude was. “Third is awesome,” she repeated to herself.
“Are you ready?” asked Wattana.
Saradi had been in High Melbourne for a week. She was staying in a small apartment she’d rented not too far from Albert Park. Wattana needed time to grieve alone, and Novalie had been staying at the Okotie-Eboh’s house. Saradi called her mother every day.
Six months, Saradi realized, since she’d last seen Novalie. It felt longer. Much longer. Wattana and Saradi headed for the crowd gathered around Novalie and another slender dark girl. Novalie laughed at something the girl said. She looked happy and carefree. She radiated a confidence that hadn’t been there when Saradi left.
“That’s Tulissa Okotie-Eboh,” her mother said.
“Wow, she looks so grown up. They both do,” Saradi said. The nerves caused sweat to bead over Saradi’s forehead. Her heart pounded as they drew closer.
“Nova, well done,” Wattana said, holding out her hands.
“Amama,” Novalie shouted, running to her grandmother and hugging her close. “Did you see?”
“I did! You were incredible. So fast.”
“I thought I had her,” Tulissa said, “but she had extra energy. It must be all those pancakes she ate this morning.”
Novalie laughed.
Somebody stood in front of Saradi, blocking her view, and Wattana said, “Nova, there’s somebody I would like you to meet.”
Saradi stepped out from behind the person standing between them, and came face to face with her daughter.
Novalie’s laughter died in her throat. Her lower lip quivered. She stared. Saradi moved closer.
“Get away from me!” Novalie shouted, stepping back. She turned and ran, disappearing between the children. For a moment everyone turned to look.
“I’ll go and see if she’s okay,” Tulissa said, giving Saradi a pointed look.
“Give it time, Sara,” her mother said.
Saradi put her fingers against her head and massaged her scalp. The blue ribbon lay on the ground with the golden number three embossed on it.
Niniola, Tulissa’s mother, — that was the person Saradi unconsciously hid behind — bent and picked up the ribbon. “Welcome home, Saradi. It’s good to see you back. I believe this is Novalie’s.” She handed Saradi the ribbon.
“Thank you,” Saradi said, and Niniola hugged her.
#
The Rainbow Dove Remembrance Cemetery sat in a disc-shaped building at the easternmost end of High Melbourne. Ten hectares of lush green gardens dotted with rhododendrons, marigolds, jasmines, rose, and hyacinths, and a blue lake edged with huge sunflowers spread out as far as the eye could see. The building itself consisted of octagonal transpasteel tiles saturated with filaments that took on a full spectrum of rainbow hues.
Novalie had been the one to choose the cemetery for her father’s interment. As Saradi stepped out of the aero-taxi, she found herself looking at her side wishing her daughter was there to hold her hand, and that her mother or brother were here to give her comfort and solace.
She had never felt so alone as she flew up the jump-pads into the hallway where colorful live tiles displayed the most beautiful vistas on planet Earth. Most of those places are gone now, Saradi thought, just like the people in this cemetery.
She headed towards the entranceway where several reception-bots talked to bereaved people in conciliatory tones.
“May I help you?” a purple-skinned reception-bot asked. His face crinkled in that way that said he felt sad for her.
“I wo
uld like to visit my husband’s grave.”
“Please, come this way.” He scanned her gene-ID and deducted the payment for the visit. “The full bio will be run. Take as much time as you need.”
She was led into a hallway filled with small circular platforms. It looked like hundreds of people were here, judging by the number of platforms that hovered in the air. But she couldn’t see the people. They were each covered from view. An empty disc waited for her.
“Just step onto the disc and it’ll put you into his memory array. You will have full control via your AI.” He nodded to her and then left.
As soon as Saradi stepped on the disc, the world around her changed. Her AI told her about the request to tap into her consciousness and she allowed it.
The display in front of her showed a group of people running. A triathlon, she realized. And there, with that golden curly hair, was Claas, running with a pack that separated from the main group. It was windy and cold. “Hawaii,” said the voice in her ears.
And then the image shifted to show Claas teaching Novalie how to ride an aero-bike. He laughed as he clasped his daughter and put her on the bike — her expression fearful, his jolly. He had always been so calm and soft spoken; nothing perturbed him.
And then the image shifted.
And shifted again.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Claas knelt in their backyard with a large pair of shears. He loved gardening even though they had a dozen serv-bots.
Shifted again.
“I didn’t love you enough,” she said.
What an idiot, I was, she thought. What a stupid bloody idiot. How many people search vainly for a great spouse and just settle on whatever moron comes along because they can’t find somebody worthy? It was almost difficult for her to recognize the person she had been.
Claas had always made Novalie feel treasured and protected. Saradi promised him to take after his good qualities when it came to their daughter.
As Saradi left the cemetery she decided to take up running. That had been Claas’s favorite pastime. Maybe running would keep his memory close?
