by Devin Hanson
The whip-crack of bullets passing by overhead made him flinch. Alana stirred beneath him and he rolled on top of her, keeping her pressed to the ground. The ground shook as the power armor ran by, pouring a hail of fire into the doorway and raking back and forth over the walls.
“Stay down,” Dennison shouted. “Let the marines clear the hallway!”
A pair of marines moved up and crouched next to Dennison, providing a physical barrier between him and the door. Other marines were running by, preparing to enter the hallway with ballistic shields deployed. Dennison lifted his weight off Alana and rolled her onto her back with his shoulder.
Blood stained the inside of her faceplate and spattered from her lips as she coughed. “Dennison.” She struggled to take a breath. “My son.”
“Alana! No. No, no! Hang on, mother. Stay with me!”
“Dennison,” Alana coughed. “Listen to me.”
Dennison leaned in turning his head so he could get one of his abused ears close enough to her mouth to hear her thready voice. He didn’t hear anything and glanced back up at her face. Her eyes were open and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.
“Medic!” Dennison screamed. “I need a medic!”
A marine with a red band around his arm shoved Dennison to the side and threw a satchel into the air above Alana. The emergency atmosphere tent popped open with a crack of depressurizing air and settled over Alana. The marine climbed into the tent and sealed it behind him. A moment later, the tent bulged as the air inside was over-pressurized to drive out the atmosphere contaminants.
Dennison stood numbly, staring down at the tent. The rising whine of a defibrillator came from within. Once. Twice. By the third time, Dennison turned away. He knew in his heart what the outcome would be.
A marine cut the zip ties holding his hands behind his back and he didn’t even notice. The bustle of the marines securing the area went around him in a grey fog.
Alana Romaine was dead.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Endless the crawling clouds,
Beneath faultless skies,
Eternity as empty as the
Unbreathable air.
Why the promise of infinity
When it cannot be kept?
-Ode to the Ainlif Lost
Wind whipped at Dennison’s clothing and whined through the safety lines. Overhead, the sky was an unbelievable shade of pure blue from horizon to horizon. Clouds towered above him, climbing kilometers into the atmosphere, flawless white and majestic. Below him, dozens of kilometers away, the lower levels of clouds rolled and churned, greyish yellow.
“It is a fine day.”
Dennison turned and smiled faintly at Edison. “It is. One she would have liked.”
Garrison folded his arms tightly across his chest. He stood, hunched, his features strained with dark circles under his eyes. It had been nearly two months since he had missed his treatment on Nova Aeria and only a heavy course of painkillers had him upright at all. “Thanks for being here with me,” he muttered.
Dennison gripped Garrison’s shoulder. “We are all here with you, brother.”
On the other side of Garrison, the other surviving Romaine ainlif stood. Hasson, his expression distant and peaceful; Ireson, barely aware of his surroundings and drugged into pacification: news of Alana’s death had cracked his mind; Jason, grim and furious, but only to cover his fear; Kimson, smiling as always, but it was an empty smile that suggested he had dipped into Ireson’s medication.
The gaps in their ranks were painfully apparent. Addison and Carlson, dead in the initial breach aboard Nova Aeria, and Bryson and Ferguson, killed by the extras in the final defense of Alana.
For the fiftieth time since stepping through the airlock, Dennison checked the knot on the line connecting him to his brothers. He felt an absurd gratitude that his brothers were here with him. None of them blamed him for Alana’s death. They knew he had done everything in his power to save her.
It just hadn’t been enough. That week spent aboard the Nueva Angela seemed like it had taken place a lifetime ago. A lifetime of desperate effort that had culminated in failure. His brothers might not blame him, but he blamed himself.
Over and over he had replayed that final confrontation. What could he have done differently that would have prevented Alana’s death? Ten thousand decisions, any one of which might have changed the final outcome.
It was pointless, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Dennison turned a little and looked behind him. A few dozen people stood in silent ranks, some twenty meters away. He recognized a few of the faces among the crowd. Jackson Harding was there, and Dennison nodded at the boy. Turns out he had been a hero: he had killed Wharton, and despite his own wounds, dragged Cynthia to safety in time for her to be treated. Good for him.
Cynthia Everard was there as well, her braid lofting in the wind. At her side, her daughter stood, a smaller version of her mother. Alana’s daughter, Stacey Romaine, and her ainlif were among the crowd, along with Alana’s three endlaf, her male children that had not received their Rebuild treatments.
Dennison had mixed feelings about the endlaf being present. They were his brothers, but not in the same way as his fellow ainlif. And, unlike the ainlif, Alana’s death meant nothing to them.
“I am ready.”
Garrison’s voice snapped Dennison’s gaze back. The wind tugging at him suddenly made his stomach twist. He had been discretely offered some drugs that would have made it hard to focus on anything, but Dennison had declined them. He wanted to stay alert and face what future he had left without being numbed by narcotics.
The wind gusted again and Dennison looked down at his feet. The habitat roof ended half a pace away, with nothing below but clouds.
“Brothers,” Edison said, “it has been an honor.”
“Likewise,” Dennison said.
And, together, the Romaine ainlif stepped off the edge of the roof.
Dennison gritted his teeth against the defiant yell that threatened to burst from his throat. The deep, rushing horror of falling swept through him. Distantly, over the building howl of wind, he heard one of his brothers screaming. The fear choked Dennison, and then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone, to be replaced with curiosity and wonder.
The clouds seemed to creep by as he fell. A gust of wind twisted him around and he saw the habitat dwindling away above him. Already it seemed small, like a toy he could hold in his hand. The roar of the wind passing by his mask steadied and he knew he had reached terminal velocity.
Thick, yellowish clouds were coming up below him, visibly growing closer with each passing second. It was getting hot now, like he was standing in front of a forge. It was getting difficult to breathe despite his mask and it felt like a padded vice was squeezing his chest.
The unbroken lower layer of clouds whipped past him and the blue sky was blotted out. Murky swirls of mist rushed by and he felt liquid condensing on his relatively cool skin. Pain seared wherever his skin was exposed, but he couldn’t cry out. The pressure had driven the air from his lungs and he couldn’t draw a fresh breath.
Intense heat and the chemical burn on his skin was all he was aware of. His vision pulsed black. There was a crack, barely audible over the howl of wind, as his faceplate shattered. The sudden flash of blazing heat on his face was the last thing Dennison felt before the pressure crushed away the last shreds of consciousness.
Jackson felt the tears running down his face and pooling at the bottom of his mask. He couldn’t believe Dennison and all his brothers were gone, just like that. He knew they were facing inevitable death before the year was over, and he could understand the desire to end it all before the pain grew debilitating. But there was still life to live, and even if it only lasted another few months, that was worth it, wasn’t it?
Evan rested a hand on his shoulder and leaned close. “All their lives, they supported each other. It would have been worse to watch each brother waste awa
y in turn, knowing your end was coming.”
Jackson nodded and held his breath long enough to lift his mask and wipe at the tears fogging his vision. “I know,” he said once the mask was back in place, “I hardly knew him, but he was kind to me when he had no reason to be.”
“He was one of the best of us,” Evan said sadly.
Jackson felt the ainlif give his shoulder a squeeze and then move away. The others were beginning to leave and Jackson turned around, still struggling to get his emotions under control. Cynthia was one of the last to go. Her surviving ainlif stood about her in a protective half-circle, and every one of them was conspicuously armed. The shimmer of ablative armor caught the light under her sleeve when she moved her arms and she carried a pistol in a belt holster.
Not that there would be any danger of attack on Nova Aeria. The habitat had had all of its non-essential personnel evacuated while repairs were made to the damaged stack, and everyone who remained behind had been thoroughly vetted. Jackson’s status as an extra had done more than raise eyebrows when he had disembarked from the dirigible. Only Cynthia’s vehement defense of his character kept him from being shot on the spot.
It would be years, decades, probably, until extras weren’t viewed with suspicion, regardless of what habitat they came from.
Jackson stuck close to Cynthia. Now that people knew who he was and what role he had played in rescuing the matriarch he wasn’t getting as many hard stares, but he didn’t want anyone to think he was going off on his own or something.
When Cynthia finally turned away from the edge, Jackson saw the tears glittering on her cheeks. She started making her way back up the safety line and saw Jackson waiting. She smiled at him and beckoned for him to walk with her.
Nervously, uncertain of why he was even on Nova Aeria at all, Jackson fell into step with Cynthia. The ainlif walked in a loose circle around them with blatant contempt for the safety lines. Leila walked on the other side of Cynthia, her eyes fixed on the ground, her face pale.
“Thanks for coming to Nova Aeria, Jackson,” Cynthia said as they walked uphill toward the airlock. “I understand there is a lot of work still to be done on Nueva Angela.”
Jackson nodded mutely. Since nearly every extra on Nueva Angela had been killed, work crews had had to be hired in from other habitats. The repairs on the hull breach in the Basement had been fixed, but there weren’t enough trained workers to keep up with maintenance. Jackson had been working fifteen-hour days training new extras and working outside on the storm damage. He had been making credits hand-over-fist and had been promoted to crew chief, but there hadn’t been time to properly appreciate his newfound wealth.
“And you, as well, Leila,” Cynthia continued. “The H&H Sector Chief wrote me personally, protesting your time away from work. You’re doing a good job rehabilitating Nueva Angela’s food production.”
Leila grunted something, lost in the wind.
They walked in silence for a while, their speed hindered by Cynthia and Leila’s faltering use of their safety equipment.
“I appreciate the opportunity to say goodbye to Dennison,” Jackson said finally, “but I don’t understand why I’m here.” Cynthia’s invitation had been delivered through Nueva Angela’s captain, with an apparently blistering warning that her request was not to be ignored. The captain hadn’t been pleased and had shared his feelings with Jackson when he had hand-delivered Cynthia’s invitation.
Leila nodded, but didn’t look up or speak.
“Well,” Cynthia smiled at Jackson, “I said you would find me grateful.”
Jackson shrugged. He had expected credits, maybe, he even half-suspected Cynthia had been behind his promotion.
“I would like to offer you a job,” Cynthia said. “Come to New Galway. You can continue as an extra there if you like, though most of the work is automated, or you could go back to school. Whatever you want to learn to do, I will support. If you want to continue your life at New Galway, once you qualify for it, I will give you any position you desire. As far as I’m concerned, Jackson, you’ve earned every gratitude I can give you. If you’d prefer credits instead, you would find me lavish. But, to be honest, I hope you will accept the job offer.”
Jackson stared at her, dumbstruck. He could do anything? Be a habitat captain? Fly dirigibles? Work with the new AIs like Tabitha?
“Well?” Cynthia asked. “I understand if you don’t want to, but—”
“Please,” Jackson blurted, cutting her off. “I would love that!”
Leila looked up at him, her expression full of anguish, before she ducked her head back down. Jackson saw tears land on her faceplate and trickle down to her chin.
“I’m glad, Jackson. You do me honor by accepting my offer. I meant what I said. Anything you want, and it will be yours. And you, Leila,” Cynthia said, turning to look back at her daughter, “I haven’t forgotten you.”
They reached the airlock and the conversation paused awkwardly. Half of Cynthia’s ainlif cycled through first, then Cynthia, Jackson and Leila went through, then the second half of the ainlif. By the time they had stripped out of their exposure suits and hung up their masks, Leila had retreated behind an icy shell of indifference and refused to meet anyone’s eyes.
Cynthia led the way down a level and brought them into a lobby furnished with comfortable chairs. The ainlif spread out, covering every entrance and exit and ensuring nobody would disturb Cynthia.
“Leila, my child,” Cynthia said softly, holding out her arms, “come here.”
Leila held her face immobile for a long moment before her composure cracked and she folded to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Cynthia knelt down next to her and gathered Leila into her arms. Jackson cleared his throat and turned away. Leila had been his roommate for two months, but between both of their insanely busy schedules, he hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to her outside of greetings. They had both avoided speaking of what had happened in the Basement completely.
Slowly, Leila brought herself back under control and Cynthia guided her over to one of the chairs.
“I waited until now to speak to you because I had to clear my intention through my mother. Annette gave me her blessing, and the Manifesto will be updated to include what I plan… if you agree.”
“Agree?” Leila’s voice was hoarse. “Agree to what? The Manifesto has not been modified since its creation. What can I do to change it?”
“Annette had the same objection initially,” Cynthia said with a slight shrug, “but she changed her mind. In her words, a society that cannot evolve will not survive. She agreed, contingent on your decision, Leila. But you saw what happened to Dennison and his brothers. It is not a decision you should make lightly.”
Leila jerked her head up to look at Cynthia, her eyes swimming with sudden tears.
Cynthia nodded. “You did not pass your Challenge and cannot live beyond the normal human lifespan on your own, but if you accept my Rebuild serum, you can be ainlif and live for however many years I have left.”
Leila’s mouth opened, and she covered it with shaking hands. Tears ran freely down her face, but she seemed oblivious to them. “Really?”
“You would be the first female ainlif. Today would have been Farrell’s turn to receive his serum. His death leaves it available to use as I choose. And I choose to offer it to you.”
It took a minute for Leila to find her voice, and when she spoke, it came out creaky with emotion. “I want nothing better. But what about my work in the H&H? Without me, Nueva Angela will starve.”
Cynthia smiled gently. “Leila, if there was any doubt you would be worthy, it’s gone in my mind. You would be ainlif. There are many times when I would send one of my sons out on secondment. If it is that important to you, of course you can continue your work. And when it is done, you can come back to New Galway. You can come home, Leila.”
With a shout, Leila threw her arms around Cynthia’s neck. “Yes!” she cried, “Yes, I accept!”
&nb
sp; AUTHOR’S
NOTE
Thank you for reading The Matriarch Manifesto! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Until next time!
Devin Hanson
