by Richard Fox
The door creaked open. A woman—at least Roland thought it was a woman at first—stepped out. She was ten feet tall, hair like spun gold, and eyes a solid neon blue. Her skin was green, with a faint golden sheen to it. She wore a white tunic secured to her waist with a belt of twisted bark.
“I always said we’d meet some day.” Marc tapped knuckles against his silver body. “Not bad, considering the circumstances.”
“Leave,” the Aeon said and slammed the door behind her.
Roland looked down at Marc.
“She’s warming up to me,” Marc said.
****
Scanning for targets, Roland sidestepped around a long building that had a single door parallel to bare stone the size of a hill. He continued along the hill, feet crunching against the cobblestones.
An incomplete triptych carved into the stone rose forty feet high, the first panel depicting Aeon gathered around a female that resembled Trinia. She stood atop a dais shaped like a topless pyramid, addressing those around her. A cloud in the background was oddly granular compared to the rest of the carving. He zoomed in and realized that individual Xaros drones made up the cloud. The Aeon were remarkably similar to humans, he noted, more so than any other alien species he was aware of.
The second panel was of the same public square, but empty of Aeon. The Xaros cloud had moved to the other side of the panel. The last third was bare rock—framed, but unfinished. He turned around, and there was the square and speaker’s stand.
A pigeon drone launched out of the mortar tube on his back and sailed into the air with a whoomp as it left the housing.
“What are you doing?” Marc asked as he came over to inspect the massive carving.
“IR contact with the Nisei.” Roland stepped off the cobblestones and sank his left heel into the soil. There was a whirl of a drill as the anchor in his leg bore into the ground. “No word from the rest of my lance yet. We’ll coordinate anchor pulses through the ground. The other Templar should have dropped their anchors too. Depending on the terrain, we can transfer messages over a few hundred miles.”
“Neat trick,” Marc said. “Old Atlantic Union Armor used that during the war in Australia. Chinese never could figure out how your forbearers were coordinating operations without a beep of radio between them.”
There was a thump as Roland’s anchor spike beat against the bedrock. Marc went toward Trinia’s hut.
“Don’t go out of sight,” Roland said.
“Don’t be a ninny. Ghosts can’t hurt me and this isn’t Indian country,” Marc said as he turned a corner. “Don’t need a nursemaid either,” he muttered to himself.
He stopped at the edge of the dirt path to the hut, a wisp of smoke rising from the top. Marc touched the black box strapped to his wrist and a hologram projected out onto the path. Human children played in a park, the Phoenix skyline in the distance. Parents carried babies to picnic tables and a pregnant mother eased herself onto a bench.
The door to the hut opened and Trinia stormed out. She marched through the hologram and swiped at the projector, hitting Marc’s elbow as he angled his arm to protect the device.
Trinia yelped in pain and clutched her hand.
“I need that!” Marc shouted up at her, the size disparity making it look like he was a child whining to an adult.
The Aeon shook cold from her fingers. “How did you get an ambassador body off Bastion?” she asked. “You were never even configured for those.”
“I knew your curiosity would get you out of that hovel one way or another.” He switched off the projector. “What are you even doing here, my dear? This wasn’t the plan.”
“The Xaros arriving on Bastion’s doorstep and annihilating the station wasn’t the plan either. I managed to escape just in time. Many more weren’t so lucky—though luck is the wrong word for this.” She turned toward the empty village.
“How did you manage?” Marc asked. “You came back through the probes to your real—much lovelier and disturbingly taller—body while the Xaros still occupied the system.”
“Drones only sweep a planet every few centuries,” she said. “So long as I lived primitively, they wouldn’t have noticed me here. It was a bit of an adjustment after so long on Bastion…I forgot what a chore eating was.
“Then the Crucible gate in orbit opened and, after a year of living like this, the Cyrgal came through and told me the war was over.”
“You can do better.” Marc nudged a foot against a strand of the grain plants. It collapsed and snapped where his touch froze the stalk. “Sorry.”
“I’m done, Ibarra. There’s nothing left for me to do. The Aeon will extinguish with me, something that should have happened two thousand years ago, after the failure,” she said.
“And if you’d given up back then?” Marc pointed up to the Xaros jump gate just over the horizon. “The gambit on Earth would have failed. We would have lost the Crucible those xenocidal drones built for us and we would have never made the assault on the Masters’ world ship. The galaxy is free of the Xaros because of you. And me. I deserve some credit, don’t I?”
“You took some convincing,” she smirked.
“Realpolitik,” he said, slapping his hands against his thighs. “That’s a human word for accepting reality. I was a kid when we started working together on the procedural program, took me awhile to realize there was a narrow path to humanity’s survival.”
“Those images…are real?” she asked.
“They are. Human children are all over the place. Babies from procedurals are indistinguishable from any other babies. You did it. You saved us…you really can come and see them like we talked about. Not on Earth, just yet. I’m persona non grata there…for now.”
“How is Stacey?”
Marc mumbled and took a few steps away. “She didn’t take well to learning this—” he knocked on the side of his head, “—was what she was in while on Bastion. Everyone involved with her—you included—knew it would take time for her to accept her consciousness, and not her body, being sent back and forth to Bastion. She found out the truth during the escape from the Xaros attack and didn’t take it well. Then her body was badly injured and my probe and I had to transfer her back into her shell to keep her alive. She’s…struggled.”
“And your body? You were resident in your probe last we spoke.”
“Pa’lon’s,” Marc shrugged. “The old Dotari ambassador. He and Stacey came back to Earth in their ambassador bodies. Special Qa’resh design meant to solve diplomatic rapport problems. My probe put him back in his beaky body and I had to coopt this one to save Stacey. Real mess of a day.”
“You’re doing better for yourself than I would have guessed.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Tell me why you’re here.”
“That’s…a bit complicated. The procedurals are flawless, but the rest of the galaxy’s threatened by them. I’m here for two reasons. First, we need your expertise with Qa’Resh tech.”
“Leave. I know all about the war between Earth and the Vishrakath coalition. The Qa’Resh didn’t leave anything behind that can help you with that, and I’d rather not be known as some mad scientist half the galaxy will vilify no matter who wins that fight. The Aeon will be known for our part in the Ember War, as you call it, and that will be the last of us.”
“You worked for thousands of years to win that fight and now you’re just going to give up?”
“We won, didn’t we? Why can’t I take my rest?” She knelt and plucked a weed from the rows of grain.
“Because of what I promised you…and because we found a Qa’Resh Ark,” Marc said.
“Impossible.” She threw the bit of weed at him. “They left nothing but garbage behind after their ascension. The lone Qa’Resh that stayed half in and half out of their dimension said as much.”
“They left one of their own behind, that monster Malal.” Marc paused. If he had a spine, a shiver would have run up it at that name. “Turns out he had a
few things hidden from the Qa’Resh, and one was an Ark—one of their ships, with jump engines and all their technology, buried in a dark sector of space. And we know where it is.”
“Then you have it?”
“I didn’t say that. Even if we had the Ark, it’s possible Stacey wouldn’t be able to operate it fully. You know how difficult their language is. You worked with it for millennia. No one knows their technology better than you. Which is why we need your help.”
“And what would you do with the Ark? Burn any world that threatens you? There’s enough war as it is. I’m not going to help you.”
“What did I promise you?” Marc moved closer to her, stopping short of the plants for fear of freezing and killing them.
“It’s impossible.”
“It was possible on Bastion but the station wouldn’t let you even try. If we get the Ark, then—”
“No! The Aeon are gone.” She stood up, towering over Marc, her fists shaking with anger. “I killed them all and that is the end of it!”
She spun on her heels and headed back to her hut.
“We can bring them back!” Marc called after her. She slammed the door and he started down the path with a huff.
Pushing the door open, he found her curled up on a straw mattress. She grabbed a metal pan and threw it at him. It bounced off his head with no effect and clattered against the ground.
“I know what it’s like,” Marc said, “to be the one person who can guide everyone you’ve ever known, or could ever know, through that eye of the needle. Through an extinction event. I am the only person in this galaxy that’s managed it, but you could be the second. I’m offering you hope and a promise, Trinia. Help us get the Ark and we can bring your people back.”
“No…” She shook her head. “There’s no guarantee it’s even possible.”
“You created the technology for the mind transfers through the probes to Bastion. You saved the Alliance after the Toth almost destroyed it all those years ago. You broke the code on the human genome to grow adult bodies in a mere nine days. You developed the procedural-consciousness computers. You did all that on the back of research that you did for your own people. You think Malal’s Ark won’t have the tech to do what I promised with you at the helm?”
“I’m a farmer now,” she said. “I grow grain and fruit well enough. This is all I want now. I succeeded with your people. I failed with my own. It’s time to let the past go.”
Marc sat on the foot of her bed and it creaked like the wood was about to shatter. He looked around the room: simple clay oven, a pile of beaten metal plates and bowls, a half-sewn tunic that looked inundated with mold.
“This is depressing,” Marc said. “This past bit, my own digs weren’t exactly five-star, but you deserve better than this.”
“I was a biologist and computer scientist on Bastion for several thousand years,” she said. “Not a carpenter or a baker.”
The hut shook as Roland approached. “Ibarra?”
“Here!” Marc held up a hand. “I’m fine. Don’t break anything.”
Roland bent over and looked into the hut, his helm nearly filling the window. Trinia scooted back against the wall.
“He’s a puppy.” Marc waved a hand at her. “A big metal puppy bristling with weapons, but he’s my puppy.”
“I made contact with my lance,” Roland said. “They’ll arrive in less than an hour. Is she ready to go?”
“She isn’t going anywhere.” Trinia threw a tin cup that bounced off the Armor’s chin. “I thought you humans would be a little more…corporeal than this.”
“The Cyrgal are active on the other island,” Roland said. “The Nisei are moving to intercept them.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Trinia got up and brushed herself off. “The Tan Sar are cultists. I’m coming with you to stop any more bloodshed.”
“Dangerous,” Roland said.
“I am in absolutely zero danger with them,” she said. “If you decide to start shooting, I’ll be in even more danger than your mere presence is causing me. It’s a miracle the Tan Sar haven’t moved in yet.”
“There’s more than one kind of Cyrgal?” Roland asked.
“You couldn’t have birthed humans with a bit better understanding of their enemies?” she asked Marc.
“He’s not one of mine,” Marc said. “His strengths aren’t in diplomacy.”
“A true-born human’s in there?” Trinia left her house and went to Roland. Her head came up to the middle of his chest. She looked him over then reached for the Templar cross on his shoulder.
Roland pushed her hand away before she could touch it.
“More…crude than I envisioned,” she said. “Come. To the channel.”
“What’s she talking about?” Roland asked Marc as they followed her down the path to the beach.
“You think Marc Ibarra designed your suits?” Trinia asked over her shoulder.
“It was my idea!” Marc brandished a finger at her
“I thought Dr. Eeks designed our plugs and the interface,” Roland said.
“She holds the patent but Trinia did some of the work,” Marc said.
“Some?” The Aeon walked faster.
“You know who’s the only kind of person with an ego bigger than artists?” Marc asked Roland. “Inventors.”
“Did she design the graphene batteries you got famous for too?” Roland asked.
“Nope, that was all me. Well, the final design was improved upon ever so slightly by someone else, but I would’ve figured that all out on my own in no time,” Marc nodded.
“Scientists,” Roland mutters.
Chapter 12
Makarov reached into the holo tank and touched a blinking icon on a vector to Ouranos’s atmosphere. A timer appeared, counting down several more hours.
“XO, give me combat status on the fleet,” she said.
“The frigate squadron is at ready station one,” Andere said. “Rail batteries loaded but uncharged per your instructions. They can have rounds in the void in ninety seconds from receipt of a fire mission. Destroyers are in a perimeter screen, but the Cyrgal haven’t sent anything our way…yet.”
“The wait’s getting to the crews,” Eneko said. “Are the Cyrgal going to fish or cut bait?”
“Quick decisions and violence of action don’t seem to be traits of their species,” Makarov said. “Everything is done through committees. Progress must be glacial…if at all.”
“Intel says it takes a clear and present danger to get them out of gear,” Andere said.
“That may be what we’re dealing with.” Makarov zoomed out from the icon to the local space around Ouranos. A dashed red line traced from the planet to the place where the rogue wormhole appeared. Several different red diamonds for possible enemy locations dotted the projected course.
“XO, execute maneuver plan Theta if there’s a radical change during this call. Comms, open a channel to the Concord of Might.” Makarov removed her void helmet and mag-locked it to her thigh.
The entirety of the Kul Rui Gassla kindred appeared in the holo tank.
“Your status is in discussion,” said the male with the cybernetic eye. “Several kindreds are engaged in marriage talks to form a stronger voting bloc. We should have a resolution in the next nine days, unless the Fan Tara appeal to the home world for adjudication. In which case—”
“A lepton pulse,” Makarov said. “Can you generate one from your colony or your ship?”
The image of a female with a veil across her nose and mouth came to the fore of the holo tank.
“We can,” she said. “A strange request. One that would require the kindred to renegotiate from the beginning to incorporate this new information…if it’s granted.”
“I am never ordering a pizza with the Cyrgal,” Andere muttered.
“The wormhole remains an enigma,” Makarov said, “one that has me concerned for your colony’s safety.”
“You’re aware of a threat?” another male as
ked. Three more kindred appeared in the tank, all silent and focused on the Ibarran admiral.
“Not from me or my fleet,” Makarov said. “We are here to talk, not to fight.”
“The Tan Sar suffered casualties from your iron giants,” the cyborg said, “but they are fanatics, cleaved from the whole. Let them suffer.”
“My Armor acted only in self-defense, I’m sure.” Makarov felt her cheeks flush. The few messages they’d received from Martel on the surface were terse, relaying only that they’d made contact with the Aeon and hadn’t suffered casualties. The extent of the damage they’d caused on the way in hadn’t made its way into the report. She made a mental note to have a discussion with the former Terran Union Armor commander regarding Ibarra protocol once he returned to the Warsaw.
“Why a lepton pulse?” the veiled Cyrgal asked. “There is no known interaction between leptons and wormhole phenomena. The Aeon civilization thrived for many millennia. All potentially hazardous comets and asteroids were culled soon after they gained space flight.”
“It has to do with what came out of the wormhole,” Makarov said, “not the wormhole itself.”
“You’re aware of a threat?” the cyborg asked.
“I…suspect a threat.” Makarov brought the projected course from the rogue wormhole up in front of her face for the Cyrgal to see. “Depending on the initial velocity, a—”
The Cyrgal in the holo burst into animated discussion. Makarov pressed her lips together in frustration and held up both her hands.
“On Earth,” she said loudly, “we encountered—”
The kindred vanished from the holo and Makarov dropped her hands to the railing surrounding the tank.
“How did Lady Ibarra deal with this all those years she was an ambassador?” she asked, not expecting an answer.
“Any change to our posture?” Andere asked.
“No.” Makarov shook her head. “Comms, get a quantum dot message to the Armor. Tell them to hurry the hell up before this system blows up in our face. We have a few more hours before the situation comes to bear.”
