by Barry Kirwan
“I owe it to Vince to stay here. I’ll try to limit the damage.”
“You knew him well, didn’t you?”
Vasquez nudged a stone off the edge, so that it clattered down the escarpment. “As much as anyone did. I think only Louise knew him really well.” With his old arm he straightened his tunic. “He was my protégé originally, but he overtook me a long time ago.”
Micah understood the implication: we’ve lost our best strategist; and someone Micah could have learned a great deal from. He stared toward the blood-orange sun strafing the mountain-tops. It rose faster than on Earth, sending tepid shadows racing across the plains. “My first sunrise here. You were right to get me up early to see it.”
“Forget the sunrise, Micah. Watch, over there.”
He squinted in the direction pointed out by Vasquez. At first he saw nothing but a dry basin the colour of scoured oak, fringed by a range of sun-tinted orange mesa. Without warning, a diamond-white glint sparkled in the foreground. It lasted a full minute before it faded. His eyes remained rooted to the spot, the after-image blazing on his retina.
“Fitting, somehow,” Micah said. “Though I don’t know if Vince would approve; not the sort of guy who craved monuments, I’d imagine.”
Vasquez passed him a viewer. He put it to his eyes and zoomed in. It took a few seconds to relocate it. He stared for a while, then lowered the viewer and tried to see with his naked eyes. “Who are they?”
“People, ordinary citizens. More every day now, three weeks since our little War was officially declared over. It’s become a kind of shrine. I had one of my soldiers check them out, but they just sit or kneel on the sand, and wait till the sunrise catches the statue. After about twenty minutes they leave again. Always on foot.”
“You should ask Carlson.”
“Already did. He said the people need quasi-religious symbolism, emotional closure.”
Micah smiled. “That’s Carlson alright. What about you?” He watched Vasquez’ profile: straight, unerring, egoless. The right man to stay behind.
“I think they need a hero and a villain, locked in a struggle.”
Micah cleared his throat. “Not exactly a struggle.”
Vasquez put a firm hand on Micah’s shoulder. “Micah, I thought of all people you’d recognise love as the ultimate struggle.”
Micah’s brow grew trenches, not least because he remembered making love with Louise – except love had played no part in it. Then, unbidden, something snagged in his mind about Louise, just out of reach. And then it was gone.
Vasquez cracked a rare smile. “Let’s go, Micah, it’s show-time.”
As they descended, Micah noticed something. “You’re not wearing your sidearm.”
Vasquez’ white-haired head nodded. “Martial law was declared ‘over’ yesterday by Josefsson, himself hastily elected in the power vacuum left by Blake.”
Micah kept his counsel. Normally, martial law coming to an end would be a good thing, except that some of the best people were in the military. With Blake still in a coma, and Zack purged of his implant but an emotional space-wreck, Josefsson and Shakirvasta had moved quickly.
Vasquez was right – the war was shifting into politics, where people like Vasquez had little leverage. Micah had thought it was over, but then he knew what Vince would have said if he’d been there: it’s only over when you’re dead.
Micah did a double-take as he entered the meeting room. At the head of the anachronistic polished-wood table sat the triumvirate of Josefsson, Shakirvasta and Jennifer, with Josefsson in the middle. The ceiling, as with all dwellings in Esperantia, was low, adding to Micah’s gloomy outlook for this meeting, only the third official governmental meeting since the ‘event.’
He and Sandy took the seats nearest the doorway. Ramires arrived with Kostakis trailing after him. Antonia deposited herself next to Kostakis.
Josefsson, well-manicured, his quaff of hair perfectly in place, stood. “Well, I think we can get started.”
“We’re not all present yet,” Sandy said, flat.
Josefsson beamed. “Madam, we have never discussed the criteria for a quorum.”
Her riposte was obviously pre-planned. “Exactly,” Sandy said.
Josefsson’s smile splintered. Micah noticed a small flicker of Shakirvasta’s right hand, and Josefsson cleared his throat and spread his hands. “We can of course wait another few minutes.” He sat down.
Micah knew it wasn’t first blood, not even a scratch. These people were playing for bigger stakes, in for the long haul. He heard a shuffling noise outside, and then saw Zack lumber in slowly, looking like hell, leading Rashid by the arm. He hadn’t seen Rashid for three weeks; for that matter he’d hardly seen Zack, though he knew where he spent most of his time. They seated themselves. Micah noted that no one sat next to the triumvirate. Unfortunately it only served to enhance their appearance of power, of being more equal than the others.
Josefsson rose again. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, nodding particularly to Sandy with mock deference, “I declare this fifth session of the Council open. We have several orders of business today…”
Josefsson lorded over the proceedings, in full flood, stating how effective the fledgling government had been in the past few weeks: Shakirvasta and the military, aided by Hannah, had prevented the nannites from eating away the Hunter-Vessel’s engines and other systems. Hannah had apparently been very cooperative, even without the explosive neck-collar Jennifer had insisted she wear at all times, and had managed to remotely retrieve the last surviving transport from Ourshiwann’s moon. Micah recalled hearing that Jennifer now had a node, so she could communicate directly with the Hohash, although apparently it wasn’t going so well for some reason. He considered the neck collar had been a good idea, but had simply been placed around the wrong throat.
Hearing Hannah’s name, Louise leapt into his mind again. He tuned out from Josefsson’s waxing speech, trying to figure out what was bugging him. Hannah had killed Jarvik. Her version was that she had wanted to defect, and had tried to persuade Jarvik, and that at the last moment there had been a struggle. The only part that didn’t fit was how she had managed to overcome that Alician hulk. He’d wished Vince had been around to interrogate her. If only Jennifer had not been so trigger-happy…
And yet Micah had spoken with Hannah a week ago, and firmly believed she had been trying to change sides.
Still the Louise problem eluded him. But he was brought out of his reverie by raised voices. It had begun.
“– guards are there for his own protection, Zack. These are difficult times. We all want the good Commander to recover, and his security is therefore a high priority.”
Zack’s knuckles whitened on the table. “Next time they try and stop me or Glenda or anyone, you’ll be needing two new ones.”
“Are you suggesting illegal use of force?” Josefsson said.
Micah rose. Zack was about to complicate things, and these three would seize the first chance to lock him away for good. “I propose that we move to agenda item 4.” He stared at Shakirvasta, rather than Josefsson. Deal with the man whose DNA signs the cheques, his father had once said. Shakirvasta didn’t move a millimetre. Micah felt the rest of the room staring in his own direction. Josefsson sat down, peering officiously at the single sheet of paper in front of him, and nodded. “Very well, Mr. Sanderson. Please present your case.”
He looked at the faces around the room. He ignored his heart thumping inside his chest. He took a swig of water.
“Survival is key. If we’re discovered here by any of hundreds of alien races, we could easily be destroyed, consumed, or enslaved. The Q’Roth masking technology Hannah has shared with us will help, but it’s only a matter of time before we’re found. I propose that a small group travels to the Grid to proactively seek out potential allies.” He sat down. It had been short, but the less he said, the less his enemies had to attack.
Shakirvasta held up a finger. “Mr. President, mig
ht I reply?”
Josefsson waved a hand royally. “Certainly, Sanjay.”
“Mr. Sanderson – Micah – surely we are more likely to be found if you make contact with other races?”
He’d anticipated this one, especially since his own predictions supported it. “You’re right. But this way we have a chance to choose who finds us, rather than waiting and hoping we’re lucky.”
Josefsson couldn’t help himself. “And how do you propose to travel to the Grid?”
“We leave the large transport here, and take the Hunter Class vessel.” Micah raised a hand to stall Josefsson’s objection. “The Mil have already off-loaded most of the missile hardware for defence. If an alien race arrives, one single ship won’t make much difference, and you’ll have the transport ship for protection, and still have the Hohash craft, more manoeuvrable at close quarters.”
Shakirvasta tapped his cigarette case, but said nothing further. Josefsson bristled. “I judge that this would leave us with an unsatisfactory, insufficient defensive capability. I –”
“You what?” Sandy stood up.
Micah had expected her to be shaking with rage, but he heard iron in her voice – like the metal her lover had been transformed into.
“There’s no constitution here yet,” she continued. “You can call yourself President as much as you like, but we’re all representatives of this Council, so we vote.”
Josefsson was about to protest, but Shakirvasta nudged his arm. “Very well, then.” The ex-senator puffed his chest out. “All those in favour of allowing this futile, endangering mission?”
Although Kostakis abstained, Rashid’s vote carried the motion. Micah didn’t listen to the rest. He could already hear the void of space calling him, the far away Grid, all its undreamed-of wonders and horrors beckoning. Half of him knew it could be suicide. But somewhere, in another realm, he felt two proud parents smile, maybe Vince, too.
“That was a little easier than expected,” Micah said to Sandy, back out in the fresh plaza air, the noon-day sun casting no shadows.
“They want us gone as much as we want to be out of here,” Sandy replied. “But we should go quickly – you saw item seven on the agenda?”
He nodded. “They’re no doubt determining the new constitution right now.” He wished Blake had come out of his coma, but no one knew when – if – that was going to happen.
Zack joined them. “Fucking meetings.” He spat. “I’m coming with you tomorrow.”
Micah stared at him. “But –”
“Stow it. I’m washed up here, broken, useless. But I’m still the best pilot on this planet, and you can’t trust that bitch Hannah, not after the way they found her buddy Jarvik. Now, I have to go say goodbye to everyone who God-alone-knows-why still gives a shit about me. See you in the morning.” He strode off down one of the alleys which led out of the plaza like spokes from a hub.
Shakirvasta approached them with an easy grace, as if taking a Sunday stroll. He held out his hand. “Good luck, Mr. Sanderson.”
Micah decided to shake his hand – it was as sure and firm as he’d presumed it would be. Then Shakirvasta held out a small oblong device. “The detonator for Hannah’s necklace.”
“I want it off her. She’ll need us alive as much as we’ll need her knowledge of the ship.” He stared defiantly into the Indistani’s eyes. He’d seen a tiger once, as a kid, in a zoo; the tiger had looked at him the same way. But this time there were no bars in between.
“As you wish.” He held out another device. “You can release her once you leave tomorrow. Not before. President’s decree.”
Sandy snorted. ‘Got through item seven pretty quick then?’
Shakirvasta looked from one to the other. “What we want is not so different. Our methods, differ, that’s all.”
“That’s all, as you say,” Sandy said.
The tiger nodded, returning to the Council room.
“Let’s go pack,” Micah said, and they quit the place as fast as they could without breaking into a trot, neither one casting a second glance backwards.
* * *
Sandy hid in the shadows till she was sure Kostakis was alone, then slipped inside his room. Unlike her own cell, as she thought of it, Kostakis had at least made an effort to render it more homely: a white and blue Greek pennant hung from one of the ceiling hooks, and various marble memorabilia were draped around the walls. A metallic mobile of yachts reflected Kostakis’ dim yellow reading light, dappling the walls with rocking shadow-boats, as if they were sailing choppy seas. He’s staying, she said to herself.
His chair strained as he leaned backwards from the small desk he was hunched over. “Please, please do come in; this is somewhat unexpected.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, she’s with Sanjay, plotting and scheming somewhere.” The smile dried up, lending a hollow look to his face. “I never used to want to sleep alone. Now my bed is empty, and I’m happier.”
You look anything but happy, she thought, but she didn’t have time to get into it. She had to stick to her purpose. She held out a manila envelope. He didn’t reach for it.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s for Jennifer. Coded with her DNA so only she can open it.”
Kostakis studied the missive, then Sandy. “Have you ever read Hamlet?”
Sandy maintained her fencing arm straight. “No.”
“There is a part where two men are sent with a letter to deliver to a king. The letter is sealed, and inside it tells the king to kill the bearers of the message.”
She lowered her arm. “You’re right, Dimitri. It’s a weapon of sorts.” She tossed it onto one of the spider stools. “When you can no longer reach her, when she’s gone dangerously too far, let her find it.”
“What will it do to her?”
“It will undo her. That’s the point, isn’t it?” She held out her empty hand. “Goodbye, Professor. I’m sorry we didn’t get time to know each other better. Really, I am.”
He stood up, and took her hand with both of his, then pulled her into an enveloping hug. She felt awkward until she realised it was more for him than for her. Once that critical insight came, she hugged him back, massaging his pain. Abruptly he released her. She kissed him once on the cheek, and left him alone with the missive.
* * *
Micah watched Antonia’s sleeping frame, and tried to recall how he’d gotten there. She’d knocked on his door, very late, muttered something about a conversation with Sandy, and then out of the blue kissed him, just once. Then she’d told him she couldn’t go further, because of how she felt about Kat. He knew his father would have somehow seduced her, justifying that she was in his room late at night, and had just kissed him, etc. Instead, Micah had held her hand, and listened while she poured out her feelings. He’d held her in the more emotional moments, felt her tears on his forearm, and comforted her with improbable statements about how Kat was still safe, somewhere, and they would find her again. At one point, in the early hours of the morning, she’d been about to say something he couldn’t bear to hear…
“Micah, tonight you’ve been such a good –”
His finger rushed to her lips. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”
Antonia stared at him. He removed his finger, and she nodded. “I should leave…”
He stood up. “No, stay, please. I’ll sleep on the floor, you take the bed. Don’t worry, I won’t –”
“I know, Micah.” She lay down, her head propped up on an elbow. “We’re both fully clothed, Micah, and very tired. Lie here next to me … if it’s not too painful.”
He studied the space next to her. Truth was, he was exhausted. In the background to everything else going on, he’d been chasing her these past months, and it was finally over. Now he’d accepted it, it wasn’t the end of the world. Inside, he laughed at himself for even thinking such a thing given everything that had happened. His head lightened. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Okay, Antonia, but you whisper ‘Kat’ during th
e night and you’ll find yourself on the floor.”
She laughed, and laid her head on the pillow, closing her eyes. Micah stretched out next to her, and surprised himself by falling asleep.
Micah woke early, and saw her next to him; neither of them had moved during the night. She looked calm, more peaceful than he’d seen her since Earth. He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her hair, then glanced outside to see the first ginger rays of dawn skate across the plaza. He headed out for the public shower cubicles in the courtyard.
As the lukewarm water trickled over him, he pondered how for more than a year he’d watched Antonia from a distance, having an instant crush on her, nurturing it into an infatuation, and finally maturing into something approaching love. All the pathetic plotting on Earth to meet her accidentally, the stupid conversations he’d tried to start, and then the cavalcade of events in that last week before the Q’Roth invaded, when Louise had almost killed Antonia and forced a love confession out of him. It seemed like a dream: someone else’s. He ran through various conversations they could have when he got back. It would be awkward, the moment of intimacy gone. But as he towelled himself dry, he realized she was stronger than she appeared, and he reckoned she’d be gone when he returned.
The bed wasn’t quite empty. He gathered up the slim sapphire cross and platinum chain lying in the centre of the bed, felt its weight in his hands, then fixed it around his neck. The emotions he’d worried might come, stayed put. He picked up his two bags and headed to the ship.
Zack and the rest of the small crew stood waiting for Micah on the entrance ramp of the towering hexagonal ship. It looked like a shiny black crab. Micah walked through the small throng which parted silently before him. At its head were Vasquez and Kostakis, Rashid behind them. He’d wanted a quick, quiet getaway, but he could tell it wasn’t going that way.
Kostakis drew close to the five departees, and addressed the crowd. “Friends, it is customary to christen a ship before it disembarks on a long journey, and this will surely be humanity’s longest journey yet.” He spoke quieter to Micah, a glint in his eye, as he produced, with a flourish, a bottle of champagne. “Preferably a nice Greek name.”
