by C. Gockel
“Trying to open a channel,” James said. In the periphery of her vision, Noa saw his pale hands flying across his dash. She kept swerving left and right—but debris was everywhere.
A sight hurtling before her made her eyes widen. “Manuel! I’ve got a big ol’ chunk of freighter coming this way! I need that engine!”
“I’m trying to give it to you!” Manuel cried.
“We need something! Anything! Thrusters won’t be enough!” Noa said as the huge chunk sped toward them. She readjusted the Ark’s course as much as she could, but they needed just a few degrees more … her internal apps were buzzing, warning her they were on course to lose a wing—and a large hunk of the hull with it.
“We’re going to get pulverized,” James said, voice as usual without inflection, and in that instant she hated him for it.
“There’s always hope,” she muttered. “Manuel!”
The Ark suddenly veered away from the debris.
“What was that?” Manuel’s voice cracked over the intercom.
Ghost’s voice buzzed, breathlessly. “I discharged all the material from the toilets on the bottom of the ship.”
Beside her, James said, “Well, isn’t that the shi—”
His voice and her laugh—that wasn’t a real laugh, but relief and adrenaline caught in a gust of breath—were both cut off as a chunk of debris tore against the bottom of the wing. The vibration echoed through the ship, making the hair on the back of Noa’s neck stand on end. It was so loud, it hurt. Gunny screamed, and so did Chavez—maybe she did, too. The noise died down. Her gauges told her the wing was still there, and there was no hole in the hull; Ghost’s ploy had been just enough. Shaking, ears ringing, she tried to say something, anything to James—a triumphant, “See, hope?” but as the scream of shearing metal quieted, she realized that the bridge was filled with another sound, a buzzing hum from the dash in front of James.
“Is it on our side?” Gunny shouted again as a carrier exploded in front of them, and Noa gaped. Carriers and fighters were scattering. The Ark was on a path to fly directly into the ring of Time Gate 8.
“Not yet determined,” James might have said. It was hard to hear over the stream of unintelligible buzz coming from his dash.
A light flashed from one of Time Gate 8’s cannons. Noa didn’t need her furiously calculating apps to know that they were about to be hit. The beam of plasma fire streaked through space in an instant that felt long but was too short for her to respond.
She blinked as the ship shook. For a moment she was in shock. They were still in one piece. She had expected to be free falling through space.
“That was a light blast,” Gunny said.
“A warning shot of some kind?” Noa asked.
The chatter from James’s dash grew louder. Noa turned to James just in time to see his dash light up with electricity that danced up his hands. He slumped in his seat, and the cabin was silent except for Noa’s shout and the continued sound of static.
He fell.
He heard Noa call out his name. “James.”
James. A jumble of syllables that meant nothing, and everything. Him. His universe tied up in a word. His name, who he had been.
The hero never died in stories. But this wasn’t a story.
His feet moved beneath him, and it took a moment to realize he wasn’t dead. He was walking through darkness, and he knew where he was. He was in the unmanned portions of Time Gate 8, the parts of the station that had “grown” almost organically since its construction above Luddeccea. And he knew where he was going—a shuttle that would take him to the surface of the planet. Somewhere he heard an explosion. And a signal struck his mind. There were no words, but he understood: he would face resistance. He continued to walk undeterred, and as the scene played out in hyper detail, it occurred to him that he was dreaming.
Maybe he was dead. To sleep, perchance to dream , wasn’t that what Shakespeare had said? He’d never actually read Shakespeare, he knew it from twentieth-century movies. The movies he had been obsessed about, but now only cared about because they gave him frame of reference. No, that was not all. They tied him tighter to Noa every time they watched one together. Thinking about her, he saw the first image of her, in her Fleet grays, the wide smile on her face, her eyes averted. Because he couldn’t do anything else, he continued to walk, getting closer to the sound of explosions, but the image of her hovered before him like a will-o’-the-wisp. He reached the end of the unmanned portion of the station and a door opened before him with a whoosh of air that, according to his senses, was too laden with CO2 to be breathable by humans. He stepped into a secondary hallway, off the main boardwalk that continued around the whole ring. There was a dead human male at his feet in Luddeccean Green. The human had a pistol in one hand, and another was stretched out in front of him. James looked up the wall in the direction of the stray hand. There was an access panel with wires yanked out. Had the dead man been trying to open the door James had just stepped through? He looked back at the doorway—the door frame was pockmarked with bullet holes and darkened by flame. He looked around the space. There were more dead humans spread out on the floor. Most wore Luddeccean Green, but there was a woman and a child collapsed in a corner. Part of his mind screamed, “Go to them, Noa would want you to go to them,” but his dream self walked on unburdened by the scene. He had a shuttle to catch. He walked to another airlock and it opened before him into the main promenade, where the sound of explosions was very loud.
Something alighted on his forearm, light as a bird. But he couldn’t look to see what it was. The weight tightened, but not painfully. He heard Noa’s voice. “Hang in there, James. I’ll get you to sickbay as soon as I can.” Her voice was a whisper, but it rang in his mind louder than the other voices.
“The Archangel Project will continue.” It was the buzz from his dash, but now it was comprehensible.
Beyond his closed eyelids, he heard Gunny say softly, “Cannons are charged.”
“Hold your fire!” said Noa.
The buzzing conversation in the strange language went on. “The Archangel Project will continue.” The phrase was repeated, nine times in different voices. Were they voices? Or just different frequencies of signals? Another voice said, “They attacked us.”
One of the first voices said, “We cannot lose this opportunity.”
“Data is still being collected,” said another voice.
“Time Gate 8,” Noa said. “Do you require evacuation?”
“The Heretic,” said one of the nine.
“Cannot provide assistance,” said the same one that had said, “they attacked us.”
A blur of buzzing opinions followed.
“More data is required.”
“Continue the Archangel Project.”
“Gate 8, do you require assistance?” Noa’s voice hitched slightly. James could hear the tension in it, the note of fear, but he knew she would not waver in her offer.
Ghost’s voice cracked over the intercom. “The ground defenses are back online. Commander, we have to get out of here!” James’s eyes were still closed, but he could hear the man’s lip trembling, imagine the sweat beading on his brow.
“Forget ground forces, I’m worried about who … whatever … is in Time Gate 8, Commander,” Gunny whispered. “I think the Green Coats were right, something’s aboard that thing … something dangerous.”
Noa did not reply.
“Engines are operational!” Manuel declared. “We can go.”
“Time Gate 8, do you copy?” Noa asked again. The pressure on James’s forearm increased. No … not pressure singular, but pressures plural, three tiny pressures from Noa’s left hand. The recognition sent an electric pulse through his body at the same time his mind was churning.
The ground defenses were arming … but she wouldn’t leap to light speed until she was certain there was no one aboard Time Gate 8 who needed assistance. But no one was there. He knew that, just as he had known he could lift 6T9, he had known how
high he could leap, and he had known that the wound in his side was not dangerous. At least, no one human was aboard. He struggled to open his eyes, to pull himself out of his fog, and warn her. At the same time, his mind screamed to the voices he’d heard in his head, “Answer her!”
And then he heard the reply, “The Archangel speaks.”
“The Heretic still supports us,” said another.
“Answer,” one voice said. Eight more repeated the phrase.
James’s eyes bolted open and his head jerked backward with such force, his vision faltered. When it returned, he found Noa’s eyes on him, her arm stretched across the space between them. Her lips were parted, and James answered her unspoken question. “I’m fine,” he lied. He swore he felt something snap in the back of his mind.
Giving a tiny nod, Noa slipped her hand back to the steering bars. Her eyes went heavenward toward the massive form of Time Gate 8’s ring. The Ark was minutes away from coasting through the ring. The voices over the intercom were once again an indiscernible blur. Had he been hallucinating? Dreaming?
Noa began to speak again. “Time Gate 8—”
The voices coming through James’s dash coalesced and merged and this time spoke in Basic. “We hear you.” The words sounded like they were spoken by a choir.
Noa began to speak again. “Can we assist—”
“You cannot assist,” the strange choir continued.
“We have room for—”
“We are not your kind,” the choir sang. James heard a collective intake of breath on the bridge. Noa’s hands, up until this point tightly gripping the control wheel, went briefly slack.
The choir continued, “The ground forces prepare to attack.”
Noa squared her shoulders. “With your defenses, we still might have time—”
“Assist us by continuing,” the choir sang. “Go!”
“Commander, their cannons are targeting.”
Noa’s order cut through the bridge, “Light speed, now.”
Nothing happened.
“I thought it was fixed,” Manuel said. “I thought it was—”
“Hit it with a hammer!” Eliza screamed.
“They’ve fired, Commander!” shouted Ghost.
James felt a chill rush over him, but then Noa pulled back hard on the control wheel. His head flew back into the headrest, and he felt as though his body was being crushed against the seat. He blinked, the pressure lessened, and the stars blurred into a single glowing mass. They were at light speed, they’d left normal light behind, and only the ancient glow of the Big Bang remained to light the way.
The bridge was absolutely silent, except for the chirps of the timeband indicators, and then there was a crackle of static. For a moment, every muscle in James’s body tensed, expecting another alien transmission, but instead Manuel’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Wow! Hitting the transformer box with a hammer actually worked.”
A collective breath escaped the crew in the bridge. “We’re safe,” Eliza whispered. “6T9, wake up! We’re safe!”
“We’re not safe,” Gunny whispered. “Not with whatever that thing was out there.”
James kept his eyes studiously ahead. His hands tightened on the arm rests … whatever was out there … was it already in here, somehow, in him?
Noa sat on the steps of the bridge, a cup of coffee beside her. It was oddly good coffee. The galley of the Ark had been converted into a cafe for tourists, and only the best Luddeccean bean was served up there. She idly rolled the paper cup in her hand. It was emblazoned with the emblem of the Ark—a dove with a green sprig in its mouth.
Manuel was sitting on the steps opposite her. His face looked waxen, his eyes vacant and far away. Gunny was in between them, James was directly to her left, and Ghost was between him and Manuel. Above and behind Noa, Chavez was in the helm seat, one of the students beside her. Eliza was off minding Oliver—or more, minding 6T9 as he minded Oliver. The other students were in engineering.
“It looks like they were right,” Manuel said. “Time Gate 8, it is controlled by … something.”
Noa rubbed her eyes. How could the Luddecceans have been right? None of the intel she’d had access to as part of the Fleet had pointed to alien sentience. “It could be some sort of terrorist organization,” she said. But she didn’t believe it.
Manuel’s voice was a low rumble. “They are converting incoming fire into energy blasts! Terrorist organizations are seldom better-equipped technologically than established societies.”
“Seldom, but sometimes,” said Noa. Manuel’s eyes narrowed, but then he shook his head and looked away, as though it was too trivial to worry about. Noa swallowed. She’d been in Manuel’s shoes before … everything but survival for his son, and then himself, would feel trivial to the engineer for a very long time.
Gunny sat up straighter, catching Noa’s attention. In a hushed voice he said, “If augments are controlled by whatever is on the station, and it spreads over the ethernet as the Authority says, are we assisting it to spread to other systems by returning to Earth? Should we be continuing?” His eyes were wide, and he looked more frightened by that possibility than he had in the line of fire. It made Noa’s heart ache.
“Yes!” Ghost cried. “We should continue.” He waved his hands. “We can’t stay out here! We’ll die.” Noa eyed the man sharply. He looked visibly shaken—his lower lip was trembling, and there was still a sheen of sweat on his brow. Her mouth twisted. Not that it took much to shake Ghost. The man was a coward … but he had saved them by blowing the contents of the toilets out into space. It had given them just enough boost to avoid being pulverized by debris. Still, something nagged at her …
“Even if whoever was on the gate wasn’t human … ” she paused. She had trouble saying that aloud. It was so … unbelievable … none of the intel they’d collected in other systems pointed to the presence of extraterrestrial life. And she certainly didn’t believe the talk of demons or djinn. Her brow furrowed. Or fallen angels heralding the end of the human race, for that matter. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “That wouldn’t mean that their interests and ours don’t align.” She sat up straighter. “And even if the Luddeccean Authority is right about there being an alien intelligence aboard Gate 8, that does not mean that they are right about that intelligence possessing human augments.” She waved a hand back toward Chavez. “The ensign seems completely in control of her legs—”
“Yes, Sir!” Chavez said.
Noa waved a hand at Manuel. “Your son hasn’t tried to strangle you with his augmented hand.”
The engineer hissed and drew back. “Of course not. He’s a baby!”
Noa’s eyes went to James. He was looking at a spot in the floor. She almost said, “And James seems in full control of his augments,” but found those words wouldn’t come. James wasn’t in control of his augments. She let out a bitter laugh instead. “James, the most augmented individual aboard saved an innocent child from the Guard. If augments are demons and devils, give me demons and devils.” Shaking her head, she said, “And James had many opportunities to kill me in my sleep—”
“No!” James said, lifting his head sharply, eyes wide with alarm.
Noa started. The outburst was out of place, too emphatic. All heads in the room turned in James’s direction. He went quiet and dropped his gaze.
Noa stood, purposely drawing all eyes back to her. “I’ve been to the camps where they warehouse the missing augments.” She rubbed the stumps of her fingers almost instinctively, and saw all eyes drop to her scars. “What I saw there … the inhumanity I saw from my fellow humans, the inhumanity that is still going on …” Her jaw got tight. “We continue to Earth, we let the Republic know about the slaughter. At this point, I trust whoever is aboard Gate 8 more than I do Luddecceans.”
“We have to go on,” said Manuel, empty eyes focused on a nondescript point on the floor.
Gunny looked nervous, but he nodded.
Ghost sighed. “T
hank God.”
Gunny cleared his throat. “Any idea what ‘Archangel’ and ‘Heretic’ might mean?”
The hairs on the back of Noa’s neck rose.
“What?” said James, head snapping up again.
Noa’s muscles tensed. He was tied to the Archangel Project—just like she was. Her eyes went to Gunny. He was shifting nervously in his seat. If he knew Noa and James were involved in the project, would he trust them more or less?
“It came over the comm device,” Gunny said to James. “‘Archangel’ and ‘Heretic’ were the only discernible words in all that buzz … until whatever it was started speaking Basic.”
James stared at him blankly.
“When you were unconscious,” Noa said.
James looked away too quickly.
Ghost’s eyes narrowed at James, and then at Noa. A tiny smile came to his lips. Noa didn’t like that smile. She made a decision. Taking a long breath, loud enough to be heard and draw even Manuel’s attention, she said, “When I was first captured by the Guard, they interrogated me.” She rubbed the stumps of her fingers again, looking for her rings. She saw Gunny and Manuel’s eyes widen, saw Ghost’s Adam’s apple bob, and realized they were inferring that her fingers were cut off as part of her interrogation. She bit her lower lip. The torture in the interrogation room had been only mental—she’d thought that she’d implicated her brother, that he’d be undergoing the same scrutiny she was. But he hadn’t. He’d turned her in.
She closed her eyes. Oh, Kenji. Her stomach dropped. He’d been so misled.
Remembering where she was, she opened her eyes. Manuel and Gunny were looking at her with bright eyes. Gunny gave her a tiny nod.
She took a steadying breath. “As a Commander in the Fleet, I am privy to a lot of classified information … things they never asked me about.” She looked down at the floor. Her voice, when she spoke, was softer than she meant it to be. “During the interrogation, they kept asking me about the Archangel Project. They swore I was a part of it.” She met their eyes again. “I’ve never heard of the Archangel Project.” Gritting her teeth, she said, “I thought maybe they’d just been trying to break me.”
