Ascension

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  Re’lien had no substantive reason to distrust AI. Humans and many of the other free races had been living with advanced computer intelligences for millennia now, and there had been no catastrophic incidences. But she could not help but find them – in a way – creepy. The rudimentary AI spent their entire existences stalking their charge, ensuring that their every need was met and every behaviour analysed to be able to provide greater pleasure in the future. The more advanced AI was even worse. They tried to pretend to be human, or exanoid, or edal – but there was always something off. They tried too hard and it just came off as insincere and forced. Encountering syns, drones and AI on Mars was unavoidable, but Re’lien still kept, what she believed, to be a healthy scepticism of the things. She had to live with them, but that didn’t mean she had to like them.

  AI or not, this was Re’lien’s home now – regardless of what some people may say. It didn’t matter that her only friend was Eri. Didn’t matter if she was pushing her only living relative away. Mars was her domain. Her future. Re’lien steeled herself.

  Let finals come. The Corps awaits.

  There was a future ahead. A frightening, new and wonderful future. Re’lien didn’t need friends. She just needed her books, her flicks and this future ahead of her.

  The natural light was fading. While the city shone, most of Fredala would begin to be shutting down right about now. Re’lien stifled a yawn and stood from the bench. She checked the time. 7pm. The new episode of the grimdark fantasy series Order of Light was unlocking in a few minutes. Re’lien smiled at her wrist-tab watch and proceeded towards her apartment.

  Along the way, she smelt smoke.

  A vision of a burning city assaulted her. The town of Lien, crumbling. Xerl afire. Her flesh burning under the evaporating beams of the enforcer weapons. She fell to her knee and held her leg. She still had the scar – a fist-sized white burn mark.

  The memory dissipated and she took a deep breath.

  It isn’t real. That was Xerl. This is Mars. They can’t get me here. I’m safe. I’m safe.

  The smoke emanated from a shop opposite Re’lien’s apartment. The edal technician who owned the now gutted hardware store was shouting angrily. Tears fell from his eyes. Two edal and an ulyx nodded, sadly, as he shouted and screamed. The syns had put out the fires, but it was too late.

  ‘Fire bomb,’ a Trooper guard said to an onlooker. ‘Didn’t think one would be used in such a nice neighbourhood. They are seldom used even in the bad parts of town.’

  Re’lien couldn’t help but take a closer look as she made her way to her apartment. The store and its stock was utterly destroyed. Its owner, finally, fell to his knees – too tired to continue his edallic rage. He wept.

  Above the scorch marks lining the outside walls of the immolated store was blue graffiti – transplanted using some high-energy ink-gun.

  ‘For Ganymede.’

  Re’lien felt a chill go up her spine. Not even the newest episode of Order of Light put her at ease.

  “Not much has changed since the Dark Ages ended. After the Trooper Order unified the scattered human nations and bio-tech reached its relative peak, human aging became so dramatically slow that the elder generations were able to maintain a stranglehold on politics, the economy and culture.” – Tuo Charlie, The Martian Immortals.

  Chapter 4.

  Memory

  They called themselves the Children of Ganymede. Troopers called them Gans. Edal and ulyx called them scum. Re’lien didn’t know what to call them. She had spoken to Eri about how edal and ulyx should cut humans some slack for remembering Ganymede, but this was something else.

  A cloud had descended on Fredala. The exiles of Imperia, previously so happy to be away from the authoritarian clutches of their old home, no longer felt safe on this red world. For the first time since escaping Xerl, Re’lien didn’t feel safe walking the streets. The Trooper Order had recalled troops from the frontier – soldiers who would have no relation to Ganymede – to guard Fredala. Many of these Troopers were from backwater worlds. Some had never even heard of an edal or ulyx, much less seen one. They were tasked with guarding Fredala. Local Troopers could not be trusted. Almost everyone on Mars had lost someone at Ganymede. Heavy restrictions fell on Fredala, as human traffic in and out of the neighbourhood was heavily monitored. This did not endear the humans to the local populace. Bit by bit, edal and ulyx businesses faltered as they lost their outside traffic. The kur’dal – enterprising folk – descended into despair.

  Re’lien gave up all flicks while finals approached. Course reading, notes and lecture videos consumed her. Throughout her studying, however, she could not shake the cloud that now infested so many of her kin.

  University didn’t close. Mars had gone through many crises. Compared to the fighting in the slums, these xenophobic attacks were of little concern. Industry, academia and business had to go on. Re’lien travelled to campus by taxi. Sola offered to lift her, but that was inefficient. Sola lived on campus. No point travelling to Fredala and back every day.

  Re’lien was shocked out of her daydreaming as the taxi arrived on campus. The side-doors of the shuttle opened and she departed. Campus was a hive, buzzing with students discussing friends, flicks, games and coursework (occasionally), students making their way to class and a cacophony of shuttles arriving and leaving the docking bay. The University of New London, on one of the lower and older platforms of the planet, was always awash with activity. Re’lien smiled as she made her way to class.

  

  ‘Squogg have never joined the free races because they have no capacity for diplomacy. Only fear. Starship diplomacy,’ a human student named Zieg Phillips argued.

  Another student put up his hand.

  ‘Not now, Franc,’ Sola sighed, dismissing the students hand. ‘We are debating barriers to diplomacy between humans and aliens, not the ethics of orbital bombardment.’

  Franc put down his hand, disappointed. He was typically always the one to redirect the debate to the topic of orbital strikes. Since first year, it had always been a point that he was passionate about.

  Sola indicated for Zieg to continue.

  ‘As I was saying, squogg are an example of a race that we can communicate with, but as a collective, refuse to negotiate with humanity and its allies. Regardless of if we use starship diplomacy,’ Zieg sneered at Franc. ‘Or some other means, we cannot delude ourselves into thinking that all races, especially the squogg, can be reasoned with.’

  Re’lien raised her hand and Sola indicated for her to speak.

  ‘I think you may be confusing Black Fleet, the governing body of many squogg, with the race itself. There are many squogg which the Diplomatic Corps have reasoned with. We wouldn’t have records of their language if we never had the opportunity to negotiate with them. Above this, there are large groups of squogg refugees living and working on Mars and throughout the core worlds. The Black Fleet might be no friend of mankind and the free races, but individual squogg definitely can.’

  Zieg shrugged. ‘The squogg on Mars are insidious. They hide their base nature like they hide their bodies. They’re just deserters of their own army. They have nowhere to run other than hiding among us. But should we really tolerate traitors in our midst? A squogg capable of betraying their own kind is even more capable of betraying humanity – assimilated or not.’

  ‘Squogg are not a hive mind. They are made up of individuals, with their own aspirations. Like exanoids. Like humans. As individuals, they have the capacity to reason and be free. As the vanguard of freedom in the galaxy, the Trooper Order should be liberating squogg from Black Fleet.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Franc piped in.

  ‘Please put up your hand, Franc,’ Sola said, but Re’lien recognised that she was pleased with the outburst.

  Zieg’s face reddened. ‘As expected from an immigrant. Shouldn’t we discuss positionality, here? Squogg aren’t killing fredal, or edal. They’re killing human settlers. Enslaving human colonies. You c
an’t understand the human condition, because you aren’t one. You’re like the squogg that infest those ghettos.’

  ‘Enough, Zieg. Keep this debate cordial,’ Sola said, feigning calm.

  Zieg turned to Sola. ‘Professor, it is the truth. This is a human world, defended by humanity’s finest, and harbouring xeno-leeches.’

  ‘Humanity’s finest includes quite a few xenos, kid,’ Eri said. As one, the class turned to see Eri standing in the doorway of the lecture theatre. She wore her Armada uniform, a dark-grey and crimson doubtle-buttoned up coat. Her pointy ears flanked her Armada beret.

  ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Eri Kara’zar. What brings you to my illustrious lecture?’ Sola smiled.

  ‘Gotta talk to you, Prof. Quickly. Mind coming out for a minute?’

  Sola frowned and checked her wrist-tab. ‘Just a minute. Class, continue the debate. And Zieg – professionalism and prudence, please.’

  Sola departed. Franc, in the front row, immediately began talking about how assimilation should be chosen over orbital bombardment, to anyone who would listen.

  ‘Of course, Prof shut me up,’ Zieg said, silencing some isolated discussions. ‘She’s one of them.’

  ‘One of who?’ Re’lien asked, tensing up.

  Zieg glared at her. ‘One of you. Fredal. Free edal? Free to spy on us.’

  Re’lien snorted. ‘Spy? Zieg, I can tell you now that I hate the Council much more than you could. I grew up there. I know how evil they can be.’

  ‘You know nothing about me!’ Zieg shouted.

  The class all stopped and stared. Before Zieg could continue, red faced, Sola re-entered. She surveyed the stunned classroom. The silence was unsettling.

  ‘Class…dismissed…’

  The students started filing out and passing Sola at the top of the stairs. Re’lien couldn’t help but notice a look of concern not only on Sola’s face but also on Franc’s. As Re’lien exited the class, swamped by a crowd of her fellows, she felt a chill go down her spine.

  ‘We remember Ganymede.’

  She turned, but nobody was there.

  “They may be scaly, but I wouldn’t choose anyone else to die for.” – Veteran-Private Vald Collins, 3rd Orbital Deployment, talking about the vacaraptor auxiliaries that served alongside human Troopers on Ganymede.

  Chapter 5.

  Torment

  The sun was fading fast when Re’lien exited the campus library. Some texts, like declassified diplomatic transcripts, were only available on-site, so she couldn’t access them on her wrist-tab or at home. She felt that she needed to find solace in these restricted documents. Zieg’s arguments had stung her, deeply, so she secluded herself in the library. She found friends in the long departed fredal who had served in the Corps and the Order.

  Li’keido – who had negotiated a settlement between Grag-Tec and Zerian. She was killed in a pogrom on Askaia Prime. Von Tai’get – who had helped countless refugees escape Imperia. He was murdered at the Cape Nova starport by a Trooper who went crazy. Unzi Kuran’dai – the first diplomat to convince an entire flotilla of Black Fleet squogg to lay down their weapons and surrender. Killed by human pirates after Armada didn’t recognise his ships distress signature.

  The list went on. The trend became clearer and clearer. Edal who served mankind, were killed by it.

  But no…

  Re’lien refused to believe that.

  Humanity saved her. The clothes she wore. The technology that entertained her. The tech that brought such marvels into existence – even the AI she detested. All human. Some exanoid. But above that – Re’lien had to be better than Imperia. She couldn’t generalise. Couldn’t succumb to collectivism. Every man and woman was a person. A free thinker. Not some drone in a hive. Not a gleran.

  Re’lien held onto that. She was a free edal. And these humans were the ones who freed her. Not all of them were evil. They couldn’t be. How could something evil bring about so much good?

  Because a good thing couldn’t last forever. Times changed. And the winds of eternity swept one age for another – for good or ill.

  A chill stroked Re’lien on the face, giving her shivers. She raised her hood, her ears pointing out of slits on the sides. The special weave, a human design, locked in the heat, keeping her nice and toasty.

  The University of New London was open 24/7, but on a Friday evening, very few students would want to stay on campus – even with exams on the horizon. Re’lien surveyed the dimly lit courtyard, flanked by lines of neatly trimmed fir-trees. Only a few students strolled around. The science faculties would be having practical tests up till this late hour.

  Re’lien proceeded to the landing pad to hail a taxi. The walk there was quiet. Only the distant hum of traffic in the distance. The university was old, built in the ancient neo-classical architectural style. It didn’t have many lights. The manicured lawns and flowerbeds, so colourful and bright during the day, were inky black as Re’lien walked on the stone paving. She heard footsteps behind her. Her heart skipped a beat.

  This is Mars. Not Xerl, she reminded herself.

  She kept on walking, but did speed up. Old habits died hard. Despite all she told herself, she could not help but feel a grave unease.

  Re’lien shivered. The same chill that had gone up her spine earlier in the day made a return. The windows and gardens of the university, so bright and welcoming during the day, became blackened and terrifying. They threatened to pull her into the void.

  It’s just the dark. You’re an adult. The dark can’t hurt you.

  But an inner voice spoke louder than her thoughts and it told her:

  ‘Run!’

  Instinct took over and she broke into sprint. She unbuttoned the bottom of her coat as she sprinted, freeing her movements.

  Why am I running? This isn’t Xerl.

  But, just maybe, it was something worse.

  The footsteps behind her picked up the pace and broke into a run.

  The voice shouted: ‘RUN!’

  She rounded a corner. The landing pad was dead ahead. She hoped to Terra, the void and even the Imperial Council that there was a guard there.

  Her vision blackened as she fell. Ringing in her ears. Blunt force on the back of her head – muddying her thoughts. Something dragged her over the grass and then over metal. Her vision cleared, for a second. She was in a utility alley. The blur returned. Two, or three, maybe less or more, Re’lien could not be sure, black figures were obscured before her.

  She tried to lift herself up. A metal-shod boot met her side. She cried out but a sweaty hand covered her mouth. She tasted salt and wanted to vomit.

  ‘Defend yourself,’ the voice ordered.

  I can’t.

  ‘You can. There’s always a way.’

  Memories of children. Torment. Torture. Re’lien had been pushed too far then. She had killed children.

  ‘They will kill you.’

  I can handle it.

  ‘You can’t. You need to kill them.’

  Kill them…

  Kill them…

  Re’lien was gagged with a dirty cloth. Grease. Syn-lubricant.

  ‘Last chance, Re.’

  She was turned onto her back. A kick to the belly. She vomited inside her mouth. The bile threatened to choke her. The blurred, black figure lifted its boot again. She raised her arms. She felt and heard the crack. Metal on bone. She blanked out…

  And awoke to another blow. A metal baton. Again and again. She blacked out after every hit. After every broken bone. Her arms. Her legs.

  They stopped. Re’lien couldn’t breathe through the oil and vomit soaked rag.

  They took out the rag. Vomit and blood escaped her mouth. Before she cried out…

  ‘Do something, Re.’

  I…can’t.

  Re’lien felt the crunch as her teeth broke and jaw snapped. The voice stopped. Her thoughts stopped. Everything went black.

  “Askaia Prime is an outlier in human galactic politics. While most core worlds a
re republics, corporate holdings or crypto-anarchies, Askaia Prime has managed to maintain independence and prosperity as a monarchy, with a royal family going back 400 years.” – Nyle McTergus, Askaia: Monarchy in the 36th Century.

  Chapter 6.

  Where I belong

  Void. Black. The infinite.

  Re’lien floated through the ink well of existence. Or was it Re’lien? Was it anyone?

  Am I Re’lien? it thought, and decided that it was.

  Re’lien floated through nothingness. Not even a speck. Then -light. The darkness cracked. Specks of fire consumed the dark abyss. From this fire – stars, planets, space. The galaxy awoke and Re’lien watched it. She was no longer a disembodied consciousness – but an object, zooming through space towards a planet afire.

  She blinked.

  Re’lien stood among burning buildings. Melting metal and stone. There was nothing flammable within these structure, but the white-fire consumed them nonetheless. Ulyx and edal poured out of the immolated structures. White, liquid fire clung to their flesh, disintegrating them. Unscathed ulyx and edal, wearing outfits like the rebels on Xerl, fired their FireLances at the sky. They burst into ash. One by one.

  Re’lien walked, invisible, among her dying kin. Before her, looming into the sky, was a constructed spire. A blue vortex rose above it – faltering. Above all that – the sky was bone white and silver.

  Re’lien had felt nothing, but her senses suddenly came to her. The stench of fire, burning flesh and ash. Her foot, previously incorporeal, sunk into a soft pile of ash. A fallen FireLance made its home next to the pile.

  No. Not again.

  Re’lien thought this, but they weren’t her thoughts. Without volition, Re’lien found herself running towards the blue vortex.