Ascension

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  She felt eyes upon her. She glanced around the previously empty expanse and saw, about ten metres away, a human. He was a young man. Dark brown hair. He wore military garb. Not Trooper. Private corporation gear. He was staring intently at Re’lien, a look of intense curiosity on his face. Re’lien could not help but notice that this young man seemed more real than the people in her previous dreams. His look was not the illusion of consciousness that so many people possessed in her visions. Re’lien could not help but feel that he was a real person, really staring at her with the same thought she was having.

  A snap.

  A cold snap of energy blinking into the world. Both the young man and Re’lien turned their heads away from each other and looked into the void.

  ‘The Defiant. The Devil Child…’

  The void paused.

  ‘And the Promised End.’

  A crack of warp-lightning. Deafening. The world flashed blue, briefly, and then returned to its cold, deadened state.

  ‘Oh, what mischief our shared power gets up to, forcing us into the same vision.’

  Neither the young man nor Re’lien spoke.

  ‘If only you would speak to me, eraztar. But, I really care not if you do or don’t.’

  The void, while incorporeal, seemed to indicate to the world around them. The bleak, dead world. The cacophony of the warp-storm would have muffled the void, if it was not speaking straight into their minds.

  ‘Defiant, do you recognise this place?’

  Defiant, Re’lien thought. That must be the man’s name.

  Defiant didn’t respond. Like Re’lien, he didn’t feel the need to speak to the void. Or…knew that speaking to such a powerful being may not be a good idea.

  The void turned to Re’lien.

  ‘The Defiant’s tongue is frozen, Devil Child. He knows what this world is…or was. He recognises the city across the water. The cesspool of disorder. Of chaos.’

  ‘Of freedom,’ the Defiant spoke.

  ‘Of impurity!’ the void responded, almost a shout, and then returned to a telepathic whisper.

  ‘This was the Defiant’s home, Devil Child. Your home met a similar fate. And your new home will too. Watch for your kind, Devil Child. The Star Horde rises.’

  ‘The Star Horde was defeated, void,’ the Defiant shouted.

  The void laughed, deep and cold. ‘That was a probing force. A small expedition to test your mettle. And congratulations, you impressed me, Defiant. But it is only a delay. Rebels have dared to challenge the one true empire before, and they fell. Only the faint memory of some remain. And even that will fade through the passage of time. They will come to an end. But not me. I am eternal. I decide when everything ends. For the purity of the galaxy, for a lasting peace. For order.’

  Silence, except for the unnatural rain and the smash of the tide against the shoreline.

  The void whispered. ‘Until we meet again, Defiant, Devil Child. Keep training, for all the good that will do you. Watch for my coming. Know that your end will come.’

  “More blood. If we are to slay your father, we need iron. Siphon the blood from the slaves, Daigesh. We must craft a sword of blood-iron to overthrow your father.” – Khakrosh, speaking to Daigesh, prince of the ten’quor.

  Chapter 15.

  Sacrifice

  10 hours…

  Re’lien awoke in a cold sweat. The vision. The lucidity. Grexus speaking into her mind, again. She thought it had stopped. Hoped it had stopped. But everything changes. And while they had stopped, that had been another time. A wonderful, but fleeting dream. The vision was reality. That much was clearer. Something more real than real. What had come, or shall come, to pass.

  Before she could ponder the vision further, the white lights brightened, and then shut off completely. A door opened, letting light pool into the now darkened cell.

  ‘Please exit your cell,’ the judge-syn spoke.

  Re’lien checked her wrist-tab. It was just a glorified wrist-watch now. The cell blocked out its advanced features.

  ‘I have ten hours left.’

  ‘Please exit your cell,’ the judge repeated.

  Re’lien exited through the door and found herself in a room unlike the cold, clinical jail that she had entered before. The walls were a pleasant, sedate maroon, the floor of dark wood. A crimson carpet stretched to the end of the hallway. She heard faint classical – muffled by closed doors. Trooper banners and impressionist paintings adorned the walls.

  A syn, a butler model, floated towards her and blinked. In an upper-crust accent, common among many butler-syns, it commanded.

  ‘Please proceed down the hall and turn to your left, madam. There, you will receive medical attention and the opportunity to wash up.’

  Re’lien stared and after a faint nod, staggered forward. As she approached the doorway, her head faint and vision blurring, she felt her clothes being taken from her by a menagerie of syns. Inside the room, she collapsed onto a plush chair, that automatically reclined. She closed her eyes.

  She felt a numbness as anaesthetic was plunged into her veins. She had been in pain. Excruciating pain. She was just used to it. This numbness was a relief she did not know she needed.

  She opened her eyes and watched as a robotic arm picked the shards from her flesh. Every single last one. Nanites were expelled from the sides of the medical-syn arm, and crawled all over her flesh, stitching cuts with bio-fibre thread that melded into her skin. A second robotic arm strafed across her body, sapping up the congealed blood, grime, sweat and dirt that had collected on her this past day. She felt a physical, and mental, weight subside. She had never realised, until now, how important being clean could be. For the body and the mind. As the grime and collected death that clung to her was evaporated, she felt new. Refreshed. She was still tired, but it was a bearable tiredness. If anything, the fatigue was a relief. The pain had been keeping her awake, if only fitfully and barely. Without it, she could relax.

  Healed and clean, the syns dispersed. The butler-syn from before hovered to her side.

  ‘Please forgive me, madam. You must be exhausted, but my master requires your presence in his study. If you can hold on for a bit longer, then we can take you to your room.’

  ‘Room?’

  Why give me a room if they’re going to execute me? Death-row holding cells were notoriously cruel on Mars. The fact that she had been left in her cell/courtroom, caked in vomit, blood and glass, was a testament to that.

  ‘Where else would madam sleep, if not her room, madam?’

  The butler-syn floated away, gesturing for her to follow with a tiny arm. The syn took her to the end of the hallway, which ended in a roof-high wooden double-door. A pair of ancient Trooper armours flanked the doorway. The metal was steel, covered in torn fibres. Their helmets had pipes coming out of the sides and front, with two large glass eyes. It didn’t look a bit like the armour Troopers were wearing today. The small syn opened the swinging doors remotely, revealing a cornucopia of real, paper books. Re’lien’s mouth hung agape at the sight and at that moment, she knew she would give up v-flicks for life if it meant being able to live within such a paradise.

  ‘Please come in, Re’lien,’ a male human voice spoke. It was deep, commanding, but warm. Re’lien thought it could find a place comforting a child just as much as ordering Troopers on the battlefield.

  Re’lien entered and the doors closed behind her. Hidden speakers played Gustav Holst’s Jupiter. To her left, at the end of swathes of books ranging from new prints to ancient tomes, was a man in his early sixties. He was paunchy, but underneath his accomplished belly, Re’lien could see an air of athleticism in his movements. A layer of muscle hidden beneath the flab. The belly was a reward for a life of service. Indulgence after sacrifice. A scar ran down the man’s right-cheek. Three strips ending above his neck. He had dark-brown hair, untidy. He moved a cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, staring at his desk with intense concentration.

  Re’lien knew who he
was. Winston Mengel. The newly inducted High Protector of the Trooper Order. First among equals of the High Command. Decorated general of the Ganymede Incident. The man who finally broke the blockade and allowed Trooper Order infantry and armoured divisions to establish a beachhead on the captured world.

  Re’lien locked her feet together and saluted, the Corps salute.

  Winston waved the display aside.

  ‘I’ve always found it odd that diplomats are expected to act like soldiers. At ease.’

  He indicated a leather armchair in front of his desk. Re’lien sat. The desktop was a clutter of books, tabs, a plastic starship and glue. It was a United Exanoid Federation freighter design. A collection of small paint cans was placed to the side. Winston had been painting the ship a dark green.

  ‘Please excuse the mess. Collins, the butler-syn, keeps trying to clean it up, but I keep messing it up again. Are you feeling well? You went through a harsh ordeal and for that, I feel I must apologise for not getting to you sooner.’

  ‘Get to me? I was condemned to death for a crime I did commit. But…did you pardon me, sir?’

  Winston nodded, gloomily.

  ‘I had to break a lot of protocol. High Protector is just a first among equals, after all. Many of the Council-Generals would have disagreed with my decision. But I didn’t have enough time to convince them. 17 hours isn’t long enough to go through the proper channels. So, I invoked the secret powers of the High Protector.’

  Re’lien didn’t respond. Winston grinned.

  ‘Doing whatever I want.’

  He chuckled and turned on his spinning chair to a patch on the wall, that opened to reveal a fridge.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Re’lien usually refused such offers, but she really was parched. ‘Yes, please. Anything.’

  ‘I would offer you whisky, but I’m sure that’s not the right thing to give you with that much anaesthetic in your system. Cola will do. Venta Cola. Not that Zerian stuff.’

  Re’lien accepted the can. The cold felt good on her mended cuts. Winston reclined back in his chair, swirled the ice in his tumbler and then took a sip. Re’lien opened the can and drank. Before she could stop herself, she had polished off the beverage.

  Winston nodded, satisfied, and downed his tumbler.

  Re’lien finally spoke, clutching the empty can between her hands. ‘Why?’

  Winston smiled, a hint of amused satisfaction but an even bigger hint of sad determination.

  ‘Because every life sacrificed for the good of the free races is a life that cannot fight for it.’

  Re’lien noted that he said free races, not humanity. She did not comment on it.

  ‘Why me, though? I’m sure there are hundreds of people on death-row who could better serve on the front.’

  ‘You are right, but I cannot save everyone. And neither do I think everyone deserves to be saved. I’ve read your records, Re’lien, and you are an outstanding student. Not only that, but the intel that you brought when you arrived here was already enough to prove your loyalty to a greater ideal. Not humanity, but freedom itself. You aren’t some xeno-terrorist, like the newscasters and Gan sympathisers are making you out to be. You are a prodigy diplomat in training, ready to win the Order’s wars before they even begin. Why should we waste such talent on the noose?’

  ‘Because I killed eight people.’

  ‘Eight people who deserved to die,’ Winston responded, blankly. Silence, and then Winston sighed. ‘I’ve spoken to the father of one of the Gans you killed. He was actually the one who told me about your arrest. He told me to pardon you. He doesn’t have the authority, but should. He would be General Kennon, if not for his understandable retirement after Ganymede. You killed his son, but his son had already died in Mr Kennon’s eyes. Mr Kennon fought on Ganymede for a better future for all. He knew the enemy. Not edal. Not ulyx. But Imperia. Mr Kennon thinks that you understand this as well. For this, he has looked past the biological compulsion to avenge the death of his son. Rather, he asked me to pardon you.’

  Re’lien took some time to respond. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but this doesn’t seem exactly legal. There are too many witnesses. Too many deaths. Deserve it or not, it was not my right to kill them, even if I wasn’t aware of it as I did it.’

  ‘It is quite odd to be arguing for your own execution, Re’lien. I can understand if you are confused, or maybe even a bit guilty, but don’t be…’

  ‘With all due respect, sir, I should feel guilty. I killed eight people. That is something that needs to be punished.’

  ‘Do you know how many people I have killed?’ Winston asked, fidgeting with a small paintbrush and shifting his cigar with his tongue. Re’lien didn’t respond.

  ‘I know of at least five-hundred people that I directly killed myself. I know of a further thirty-thousand that I indirectly killed through ordering orbital bombardment. On Ganymede, I sent one-hundred thousand sons and daughters of Mars to their deaths to re-capture that doomed world. Should I be punished for that?’

  ‘I didn’t mean…’

  Winston waved away the comment dismissively.

  ‘I know what you meant, and I remember feeling guilty. A long time ago. And maybe, I will be punished. Eventually. Maybe, we will all be brought to justice, when this is all over. But not yet. That comes later. When eternity creaks to its next phase. When the void takes us all. But it is not that time, yet. And justice or not, guilt or not, I have chosen to pardon you. But don’t take this as some wanton and random act of charity. From what I know of you, Re’lien, I like you. You’re studious. You’re polite. And you’re loyal to what really matters – not revenge, not power, but a vision. A commitment to a set of principles bred out of reason and selflessness, rather than hate. I said that I pardoned you because I didn’t want to sacrifice someone who could serve the free races. I meant that.’

  Winston gestured and a holo-screen erupted from the table top. It was her student record. Marks from all her years. And at the end:

  ‘Qualified to enter the Diplomatic Corps.’

  Re’lien’s eyes moistened. She’d done it. So much studying. So many years. But it was all for nought now.

  ‘Even if you pardon me, I can’t be a diplomat after what I’ve done. No one will trust me. The edal monster who tore up a district and left an apartment covered in blood. That isn’t the making of a great diplomat.’

  ‘Alas, you are right…’

  Re’lien slumped. She had hoped Winston would have some way around this.

  ‘You cannot enter the Martian Corps, you are correct. In fact, pardon or not, you won’t be able to stay on Mars.’

  Re’lien wasn’t shocked. She had narrowly avoided death. She couldn’t really ask for more. Couldn’t expect to be able to keep living on this world which had changed her so. The world that had saved her, and bred her. Daughter of Mars or not, she had to leave.

  ‘I saved you, Re’lien, because you have potential. Because the Corps. No, not the Corps, the free races, will come to need you in the coming years.’

  ‘For what?’

  Winston frowned. ‘That is what I would like to find out. But I think you know what I’m talking about. There is a darkness coming. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? You escaped Imperia all those years ago, and now it wants to take back what it believes it owns. Not just you, but everything. There is a war coming. One that I don’t think negotiation alone can win. I will not ask for you to fight, or even to serve. But I do ask you to consider what the free races mean to you. We will need allies. Great men and women of all races, who are willing to stand together. Stand united to face the brink of destruction. Re’lien en Xerl, I would like you to fulfil your oath with the Diplomatic Corps, and be sent immediately to the frontier system of Extos III. It is a distant system, far away from conflicts involving edal. You will be safe on Nova Zarxa.’

  A lump caught in Re’lien’s throat. A distant system. At the edge of the galaxy. What about Sola? What about Eri? She steel
ed herself.

  ‘What will be my mission, sir?’

  ‘On paper, to provide oversight to the Trooper planetary group stationed on Nova Zarxa. I have heard unpleasant things about the local Trooper governor. If I could have my way, such a position wouldn’t even exist. There’s been a Network blockage there and I need you to find out what happened. You will represent Mars on the planet and make sure that our allies know we are looking out for them.’

  ‘And in actuality, sir? You said that is merely on paper.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. It’s an important mission that I’m confident you will be able to carry out. But the real reason I’m sending you there is to keep you safe. This is an edal hating city, now. On Nova Zarxa, you will be safe for when the free races need you.’

  ‘Need me?’

  Winston winked. ‘All in due time, Diplomat Re’lien en Xerl. All the information you need for the Nova Zarxan mission will be onboard your ship. You will be leaving at the time that you were originally to be executed. Due to the sensitivity of this issue, we have only been able to inform your sister of your leaving. Lieutenant-Colonel Eri Kara’zar will find out when you are out of the system.’

  Re’lien nodded. It was unfortunate, but to be expected. She was thankful she would be allowed to say goodbye to Sola at all.

  ‘But I can see you are exhausted. Please rest. You have nine hours until your departure. That should leave you with sometime to rest before your farewell.’

  Re’lien stifled a yawn and stood. She saluted Winston and proceeded towards the door, then stopped.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes?’ he had been about to return to his model starship.

  ‘Do you know what happened to the squogg facility in New London? Is my friend, Grettaduk, okay?’

  ‘The facility was receiving maintenance to its Network ports. I haven’t heard if anything untoward has happened.’

  Re’lien’s face sunk, even though she should have been happy.