by Joshua James
Saito stopped and looked up. A fireball erupted on one of the landings above. He felt his throat tighten. He knew the floor. He sprinted back up.
Seven
Ben
Ben heard a steady beeping noise. It barely masked the muffled sounds of nearby chaos. His eyes opened to the neutral colors and decor of a hospital room.
Above him was a holographic projection of his body. It was broken down in layers, with highlights on the areas where he was injured. From the sheer amount of red and the fact that he couldn’t move, he knew it was bad.
“Ah, you’re awake, Lieutenant.” Ben heard a woman’s voice. Barely able to move his head, he turned just enough to see a doctor in the room with him.
“What…what happened?” Ben struggled to talk. Each word hurt his throat, chest, and head.
“I’m sorry to say you were in an accident. You’re in a hospital. I’m Dr. Nelson.”
“Is she okay?” asked Ben.
“Is who okay?” asked Dr. Nelson.
“The girl. On the train. I don’t know her name.”
“What do you remember of the train?” Nelson prompted.
“It wasn’t an accident.” Ben pictured the skull-masked woman. He could see her clear as day, and the pale man she’d become. “It was an attack. I need to—” When he tried to sit up, he noticed only one hand was bracing his weight. The pain was almost unbearable.
“Please, try not to move. It’s important that you rest. I assure you, the military and city police have things under control.”
Ben looked down at his right side. There was nothing but a bandaged stub where his arm used to be. Tubes and wires stuck out of his side and back. Tears formed in his eyes, but didn’t fall.
“You’re lucky to be alive, Lieutenant. Your injuries were extensive.”
“Show me,” demanded Ben. He groaned as a sharp pain ran up his back. “Just show me.”
Dr. Nelson brought up the layered holographic display of Ben’s body. Using his left hand, he shuffled through them and brought up his skeletal system.
“You’ve broken eight bones. Here, here, and here are the most important ones. Your back was broken, but nothing we can’t repair. We have you scheduled for surgery later today. So that’s four ribs, your back, your collar bone, and a severe break in your right leg, fibula and tibia. Luckily, we were able to save much of the leg, but it will need a prosthetic casing. Your right arm unfortunately had to be amputated, your injuries were far too severe to…”
Ben started to drift off as Dr. Nelson explained what they were going to do to fix him and when he was being fitted for a prosthetic installation. Perhaps it was the drugs or just the trauma to his body, but he lost consciousness.
Ben woke back up to his father sitting in a chair next to his bed. His father was bent over, his face in his hands. From the looks of his clothes and the dirt and blood on his dress whites, it was clear Lee Saito had been through something.
“Dad?” Ben asked groggily.
Lee looked up at his son. For the first time in his entire life, Ben saw tears in his father’s eyes. Instantly he knew things were worse than he thought.
“Ben.” He got up out of the chair and sat down on the bed next to his son.
Where’s mom? “Where’s mom?”
“Your mother…” His father choked down his grief. It went down his throat hard. “Your mother’s dead. I’m sorry I couldn’t…I’m sorry.”
His father put an arm around him and squeezed. Ben couldn’t remember the last time his father had hugged him. It hurt his arm, but he didn’t care. For the first time in his life, Ben cried on his father’s shoulder.
“What happened?” Ben asked at last.
“She … I…” Lee struggled to start. “The Oblivion zealots. It was a full-scale attack. Their target was the base, we think. We suspect they were after Chevenko.”
“The bombing on the train,” Ben said stupidly.
“There were bombings across the city. Distractions, we suspect, so high-priority targets were on the move.” Saito sat back down, his voice stronger. He was on surer footing here.
“But what happened to mom?” Ben stared at the wall across the room, cheeks and eyes still wet. He was angry with his father for being so calm. Were a hug and a shoulder to cry on the extent of the warmth the man had in him?
He looked at his father, who looked down again while he gathered his thoughts. Of course it is, Ben thought bitterly. This was the same man who was more comfortable giving Ben orders than a pep talk. More comfortable in space than at home. Ben had seen it firsthand. Whatever love his father had for him or his mother, it was locked away somewhere that Ben wasn’t allowed to see.
And never would see, now.
“I…some of the terrorists broke through the gates at the base. I took some Marines to go help engage them, take them down before they got to any of the living areas on-site. What we didn’t know was that they’d brought drones.
“They were so outdated, so old, that our radars didn’t pick them up. The drones fired several missiles into our apartment, hoping that the admiral and I were there…”
Lee paused, and his voice broke as he continued. “Your mother was trying to protect the other families. She died trying to help people. She … I’m proud. You should be, too.” He had a hard time looking Ben in the eyes. For a moment, he was vulnerable. For a moment, the grief bound them together.
Then his shoulders shifted back. His features tightened as he got up out of his chair. “I won’t be back for awhile. Your uncle Abel is going to take care of the funeral arrangements, since I won’t be around and you’re in no condition. Heal, son. Get better. When I get back…I’m sorry, Ben, sorry I let you both down.”
And just like that, whatever spell that grief had cast over them for a moment was broken. Ben’s father hadn’t let him down. Not yet. But he was about to.
“Get out,” Ben said in a calm, low voice.
Lee grimaced, then turned and left without another word.
With his one arm, Ben knocked the water and bedpan off the tray attached to his hospital bed. One of his IVs ripped out, spurting blood all over his white bandages. He yelled at the top of his lungs, screamed.
How did this happen? Why did they do this? Was it because of the mission? How am I going to get to her funeral? He’s leaving, going on a mission after this? What is wrong with that unfeeling bastard?!
The anger burned as he flailed around, lost in self-pity and loathing. For his father. For himself. For the world. For everyone in the world—
Suddenly a vision of the old homeless man came to him.
That hyperdrive. Why did he give me that hyperdrive, and how did he know my name?
He rapidly pressed the red button meant to summon a nurse.
“Is everything okay?” asked a young nurse as she answered Ben’s summons.
“My clothes.”
“What?”
“The clothes! The ones I was in when I was brought in here. Are they here?”
She looked flabbergasted by his urgency. “In a bag in the closet. Why?”
“Can you check the pockets for me? There’s a hyperdrive in there that’s super important to me. Could you get it?”
“You really need to rest.”
“Please,” Ben pleaded with her.
The nurse took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
In less than a minute, she produced the hyperdrive, still intact. “Here you go. It looks like it’s time for more morphine. Hold on one moment.” She injected more morphine into Ben’s IV. “Is there anything else I can get you, like water or anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Ben waited for the nurse to leave his room before he turned his HUD on. It was a little glitchy, but still worked. “Scan hyperdrive.” The HUD informed him it was scanning. “Display,” Ben ordered.
His vision blurred. He squinted, determined to see the display.
What he saw took
his breath away.
He reached for the call button again, but his arm wouldn’t rise. His eyelids drooped.
This isn’t normal. Something is wrong.
His mind raced. It hadn’t been time for more morphine, he realized. The nurse must have given him something else.
His last thought, as he blacked out, was to wonder if he’d ever wake up. Because if he didn’t, and if what he’d just seen on the hyperdrive was true, then everyone on the Atlas was dead.
And everyone on Earth might be next.
Eight
Lee
Captain Saito glanced at the time on the far side of the bridge, then did a double take. He jumped to his feet and, after a quick look at the navigation console, said, “Commander, you have the bridge.”
“Yes, sir,” Commander Jake Rollins said. He barely had the words out of his mouth before Saito was halfway across the bridge. “But we jump in—”
“You don’t need me for first sequence, Rollins. And this will only take a second.”
“Very well, sir.”
“I’ll be in my quarters,” Saito said just as the doors started to close. “Contact me at fifteen minutes.”
Four minutes later, Saito sat at his desk and closed his eyes to reveal a floating image of a flashing red exclamation point, holographically projected by his HUD. His head was in his hands, short grey hair between his fingers.
All around him, Saito heard the low ever-present hum of the Atlas’ engines. It wasn’t enough to drown out his own thoughts and regrets. Nor was it enough to distract him from the memory of his lost family.
You can’t run from this, Ben had said. But it turned out he was wrong.
Saito shook the thought away. He was here for the mission. It had to be this way. He looked up. His quarters on the Atlas were drab, almost bare. That wasn’t by regulation. An officer was afforded more freedom and comfort than a standard crewmember. He wasn’t convinced he deserved either; not to mention, he couldn’t afford any distractions.
“Open link,” he said at last. The image of the red flashing exclamation point disappeared. It was replaced with a live video stream.
A single drone hovered above the attendees in St. Lazarus Church. Saito’s brother-in-law had spared no expense. This was the same church that General Isaac’s funeral had been in, the largest in Annapolis.
None of the ornate decorations, timeless murals painted by modern masters, or the organ that cost more than an apartment block mattered. Neither did the attendees who came to see his wife Beverly off. The only person that mattered now sat in a wheelchair in the front row.
“Zoom in.” Saito watched the video stream with his hand over his mouth, eyes fighting the tears that begged to be let loose. The drone moved in a little closer.
A song was being played, something sad. Saito wasn’t listening; his focus was on his wife. Even in death, all he could think was how beautiful she was.
Saito wanted to reach through time and space and touch Beverly for the last time. He wanted his last memory, sad as it was, to be planting a kiss on her lifeless forehead and telling her one last time how much he loved her. His last memory was holding her limp body, covered in blood, dirt, and rubble, her staring up at him, her perfect green eyes wide with fear.
Lee’s son, Ben, wheeled up in his chair.
“Zoom in,” he said again.
Even from above, Saito could see the shine from his son’s prosthetic arm and leg. Ben stopped by Beverly’s coffin and placed a stuffed bear inside.
Ben hated his father. That predated Beverly’s death, but it was only in sharper relief now. Lee understood, and didn’t blame him. The attacks had given new impetus to the mission for the Atlas. Not only could it not fail, but it must start immediately. Lee had left the next day, unable to grieve the death of his wife. Unable to be there to comfort his son.
Nobody had made Lee go. If half the command structure in Annapolis wasn’t seriously jeopardized by the attacks, somebody would have forced him to stay.
But that would mean forgoing his command. His mission. His ship.
His duty was clear. The desperate need to end twenty years of fighting with the AIC was now more important than ever, but his son didn’t see it as a sense of duty. Ben saw it as cowardice. As far as he was concerned, his father was running away. The worst part was that Lee wasn’t sure his son was wrong.
Like his father, Lee was no stranger to burying his emotions deep. It had served him well as a leader of men. Emotion had no place in battle. But he had long ago faced the truth. He simply wasn’t equipped to properly handle things like grief, sadness, or guilt.
A yellow flashing exclamation point appeared next to the video stream in Saito’s HUD. At first he ignored it.
“Zoom in, times two.” Saito needed one last look. The drone’s camera whirred as it focused in on Beverly Saito. “Goodbye, Bev. God, I love you, and I’m so sorry.”
“Reduce feed,” he said at last. “And answer call.”
Rollins appeared in a window via video call. He was about to start talking until he saw the look on his captain’s face.
“Everything okay sir?” asked Rollins.
“Fine, Commander. Just fine. Is it time?” Saito asked.
Rollins nodded. “Fifteen minutes until the fold, sir.”
Nine
Lee
Saito sighed as he stood up. His knees ached. Time was finally catching up with him. He stretched his back, which was stiff, sore. Age isn’t just a number. Now in his early sixties, he was in great shape, but six decades of life took a toll.
How the hell did we get here?
For twenty years the UEF had been at war with the AIC. They hadn’t always been enemies, though. The conflict had started, like virtually all others, over rare minerals and metals in uncharted space.
At first, mankind was limited by the inability to travel the immense distances between stars. Habitable planets were few and far between. The United Earth Federation—UEF—was formed to help tackle the challenges humanity faced. Governments from all over the world pooled their resources to find a solution to their space travel problem.
And it worked.
A breakthrough was made when a scientist with radical beliefs, Henri DePaul, discovered a way to fold time and space to allow travel between billions of light years in a matter of minutes. Most of the details of his breathtaking discovery remained a mystery. Partly, that was down to DePaul’s eccentricities. He was initially celebrated for his contribution to science and humanity, but it took less than a decade for all that goodwill to burn off and his unorthodox beliefs to get him ostracized. He’d founded a religion, called “The Oblivion,” that grew more and more radical every year, though it was fair to say their methods only turned violent after he passed.
Generations came and went. Some of those were born and raised on a recovering Earth; others only knew space, and planets far from humanity’s cradle. Feeling disconnected from the species’ home, they grew resentful of having to follow the same laws, pay the same taxes, fall under a government so far away.
The creation of the Alliance of Independent Civilizations, or AIC, was bloodless. An agreement was made between them and the UEF. As long as the AIC continued to provide a steady stream of raw rare materials from the edge of charted space and beyond, they stayed independent, governed themselves. That peace held for almost two hundred years.
Henri DePaul’s religion, the Oblivion, grew. But as the AIC forged their own identity in the cosmos, the Oblivion, now designated a cult, pursued their own goals. They began to destroy mining facilities on the edges of unknown space. The supply of rare metals and materials started to dry up, thanks to a combination of mismanagement and Oblivion attacks.
The UEF saw the AIC’s inability to deal with the Oblivion threat as an attack on themselves. Right or wrong, they’d insisted on sending their own formidable military to take care of the situation for them.
AIC member planets rebelled against the foreign invasi
on. Guerrilla-style attacks became the norm. Somewhere along the line, the Oblivion receded. The attacks stopped, but the damage was already done. The UEF was convinced the AIC had aided the attacks. Soon, the UEF and AIC were in open hostilities with each other. What the AIC lacked in firepower, they made up for in tenacity. After two decades and hundreds of millions of deaths and even more resentment between the two sides, a stalemate of a sort had been reached. The Oblivion reemerged as a shell of its former self, renouncing violence and embracing peace. That seemed to be the signal for all sides to come to the table.
And now it was time to formalize it. The Atlas was headed to Vassar-1 to broker peace.
Or bring the AIC to its knees, Saito thought as he walked out of his quarters.
Ten
Lee
“Sir,” Saito was immediately greeted by the two Marines stationed outside his door. They fell in behind him as he headed for the bridge.
The corridors of the Atlas were busy that morning. Everyone was preparing for the fold that would bring them into AIC space. Just wide enough to fit four people walking side-by-side, the main corridors were still wider than on most Dreadnought-class warships. Lights lined the corners where the walls met the ceiling and floor. A metal-grated floor provided grip for the standard-issue boots that everyone on board wore.
“Let’s stop here,” Saito told the Marines as he reached the engineering deck. “I want to check in.”
“Sir, time is tight.”
“Understood.”
“Captain.” Chief Engineer Molly Liu stood at attention and saluted. Her small stature defied her sizable responsibility. The capable officer commanded the engineering staff, and made sure the largest warship in UEF history kept running. “We didn’t expect you.”
