Light of impossible star.., p.7
Light of Impossible Stars, page 7
Her sudden smile was as unexpected and beautiful as summer lightning.
“So toughen up, girl.” She took one last toke of barracuda weed, and then tapped the pipe’s bowl into the coffee cup.
“You’re stronger than you think you are. Whatever happens, I know you’ll handle it.” She reached towards the camera as if to end the recording, but paused. Her eyes looked down at the tabletop before her and then flicked up, and I twitched as her gaze seemed to bore through the screen into mine. “I’m just sorry I can’t be there to help you with it.”
* * *
I cried and cried: great gut-wrenching sobs born of loss and guilt and forgiveness and love. The Trouble Dog stood and watched. Eventually, after about half an hour, when I had depleted the worst of my grief, she said, “I don’t understand why you do that to yourself.”
I wiped my nose on the back of my sleeve. “Do what?”
“Relive painful memories. Send each other messages from beyond the grave. Surely it is enough to know something bad happened, without choosing to dwell on the experience?”
I swallowed back further tears and sniffed. This lack of comprehension wasn’t her fault. “Humans are programmed differently,” I told her. “We hang onto the past, no matter how much it hurts, because one day, it might be all we have left.”
Her avatar appeared to consider this. “But everyone dies eventually. We should honour their deeds and move on.”
“It’s not always that easy. Sometimes we aren’t ready to let go.”
“Why not?”
“It’s hard to explain.” I thought of my lost parents, adrift in their ruined scout ship. “If we remember someone, if we carry their image and words in our minds and hearts, it’s like they’re not really gone.”
“So you favour remembrance over closure?”
“I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“Perhaps this is something I will learn, in time?”
“Don’t be in such a rush.”
“Why not?”
“Because in some ways I envy you.”
The Trouble Dog looked surprised. “You do?”
I rubbed the back of my neck and gave her a sad smile. “You’ve never had your heart broken, have you?”
She frowned. “I’ve never had a heart to break.”
For a moment, her expression was one of almost unbearable regret. Then it changed and suddenly she was all business again. “I’m picking up drive whispers,” she said. “Two ships inbound.”
I sat up straight. “Have they seen us?”
“Negative. If they follow their current course, they’ll pass a hundred thousand kilometres from our stern.”
“Are they from the Marble Armada?” I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand. The thought of those dagger-like warships straying this far beyond the bounds of the Generality made my skin crawl.
“No, these look like civilian vessels.”
“Human?”
“Most likely, yes.”
I sniffed back the last of my tears. “Then they’re refugees, just like us. Maybe we should say hello?”
Trouble Dog narrowed her eyes. “Revealing ourselves could pose a significant risk.”
I snuffled into my sleeve. “They might have some spare power cores.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Good point.”
“And we can ask the Adalwolf to stay quiet. If they are civilians, they probably won’t spot him. But he can keep them in his sights the whole time.”
“That might be wise.”
“Okay, then.” I called up the tactical display and checked our relative positions. The ships were running in normal space, probably recharging their jump engines before leaping once again into the mists of higher dimensional travel. “Wait until they’re at their closest approach, then open a channel.”
“Aye, Captain. Two minutes.”
While I waited, I straightened my cap, splashed some water on my face, and brushed as much grime as I could from my overalls.
As her sensors gleaned more data, the Dog supplied me with additional information on the approaching ships. By the looks of things, one of the ships was an Entrepreneur-class trader—a chubby, industrial-looking assemblage with huge exhausts and an orange and grey paint job. The other, a Pedant-class research vessel, appeared tiny in comparison, being little more than a habitation sphere covered in sensors and observation blisters, mounted on an engine unit. And, judging from the ragged way their drives were running, both ships seemed in dire need of maintenance and repair.
“Opening channel now.”
“Thank you.” I cleared my throat. “Attention civilian vessels. My name’s Captain Konstanz of the House of Reclamation. May we be of assistance?”
The reply took a few seconds to come through, and I imagined the crews inside losing their shit as they suddenly found themselves in relatively close proximity to a heavy cruiser they hadn’t even known was present.
The screen cleared and the face of a flustered middle-aged man appeared.
“Captain Konstanz, are we glad to see you! I’m Dr Hughes of the research vessel Unrestrained Curiosity. We were en route from Centauri A to the Intrusion when all hell broke loose at home.”
“Who have you got with you?”
“That’s the free trader Northern Boy out of New Gordano. She’s damaged, though. She can receive but her transmitter’s busted, and neither of us has a printer capable of manufacturing the required parts.”
“I’m sure we can help with that.”
Hughes ran a hand over his shining bald scalp. “Thank you, Captain. You’ve no idea what a relief it is to see you.”
“No problem. Rescuing waifs and strays is kind of our job.”
“You look like you’ve seen some action yourselves.”
“We’ve had our fair share.”
“Is there anything we can do to help you?”
“Not unless you’re carrying some spare military-grade fuel cores?”
“I’m afraid not.” Hughes pursed his lips. “But there’s something about six lights from here that the Northern Boy’s captain calls a ‘bone yard’. We were on our way there to find him a new transmitter. Maybe if you escort us there, you can also find what you need?”
* * *
Schultz wore a borrowed khaki jumpsuit. His hair was unkempt and his chin rough with stubble. “How can I help?”
“We’re heading for a bone yard.” I opened the tactical grid, displaying a three-dimensional representation of nearby star systems. I pointed to a star on the outer periphery of the Generality. “Lucy tells me you know this place.”
Schultz rubbed the back of his neck. He’d once made his living picking through wrecks left over from the Archipelago War. “Yeah.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“The locals call the system Variance,” he said. “It’s on the border of Hopper space.”
“I can see that.”
Schultz looked down at the toes of his boots. “We used to sell our salvage there.”
On the main screen, the Trouble Dog’s avatar frowned. “I have heard of such places,” she said. “I do not approve.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of illegal.” Schultz smiled shyly. “But highly lucrative.”
The Trouble Dog was not convinced. “My disapproval has nothing to do with legality or profitability. I object to scavengers hauling my fallen comrades off to be butchered and sold as spare parts.”
Schultz stuck out his chin. “Scavengers like me?”
The Dog’s eyes burned like embers. “You’d better fucking believe it.”
“Hey!” I stepped between them before things could escalate. “Can we please focus on the situation at hand?”
They both glared at me. I glared back. “Can we buy fuel cores there?”
“Possibly.” Schultz wouldn’t look at the Trouble Dog. “Variance has no official spaceport, but it does have a shitload of old starships.”
“Like a museum?”
“More like a slaughterhouse.” The Trouble Dog couldn’t keep the distaste from her voice, but at least her eyes were back to normal. “Why do you think they call it a bone yard? Races from all over the Multiplicity have been dumping ships there for centuries. Wrecks, old models, plague vessels. The locals mine them for building materials and electronics.” She made a face to convey exactly what she thought of that. “But much as it pains me to say so, Mr Schultz is correct: we should be able to find some charged power cores there.”
I studied the map.
“But it’s right on the Generality’s border. It could be in range of the Marble Armada. Could be risky. Is there anything else within range?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Then I don’t see we have a lot of choice in the matter.” I sat back and placed my boots up on the console, crossed at the ankles. “Contact the civilian ships and take us all to Variance.”
* * *
The two Carnivores turned in place, their bows aligning with the two civilisan vessels to point at the star that would be our target. Then, when they were properly aimed, all four vessels began to accelerate. Superheated plasma snarled from their exhausts, and the inertial dampeners protecting the human quarters whined as they tried to compensate for the acceleration. Still sitting on the Trouble Dog’s bridge with my feet up, I grinned. As senior officer in our little flotilla, I was entitled to claim the rank of commodore. Not that rank had ever meant all that much to me. I just knew my parents would have been proud. As a child, I hadn’t exactly been the most conscientious of students, and I’m sure there were times they despaired of me ever living up to the example of my great-great-grandmother, Sofia Nikitas, who escaped a dying Earth and went on to establish the House of Reclamation.
Maybe it was wrong to take pride in a meaningless promotion while interstellar civilisation fell around our ears. But aside from the Trouble Dog, this small victory was all I had. Everything else had been ripped away.
The Adalwolf’s avatar appeared on my screen. He stood as slender and pale as usual, with a mop of black hair and small burning suns for eyes.
“Greetings, Commodore.” The avatar bowed its head. When he looked up, he said, “Before we leap, there is one small issue I would like to discuss.”
“A problem?”
“No, not at all. It’s just I’ve been giving some thought to the matter, and I would like to change my designation.” He shrugged with his hands. “After all, the Conglomeration Navy no longer exists in any meaningful form, and my current name carries a certain level of infamy that might prove an obstruction in future dealings with any humans and ships we may encounter.”
“What should we call you, then?”
“I would like permission to change my identity to the Penitence, a ship of the House of Reclamation.”
“You realise the House probably no longer exists either, don’t you?”
“Nevertheless.”
“Okay, then. Get the baby Druff to reconfigure your transponder settings and apply the necessary insignia.”
The avatar bowed again. “Thank you, Commodore.”
“You’re welcome.” I hoped the ship was sincere. As the Adalwolf, it had been a bit of a bastard. It had even fought us in the Gallery, before we’d made our fragile alliance. But with luck, this name change signalled a much deeper change of heart. The Trouble Dog had also done terrible things before she’d grown a conscience and become the ship she was today, so I should probably give her brother the same benefit of the doubt. “Now, get underway, and we’ll rendezvous at Variance. In the meantime, keep me updated if you detect anything unusual in the hypervoid.” I touched a finger to the brim of my cap. “Konstanz out.”
* * *
I watched the newly renamed Penitence power away into the darkness, its fusion exhaust flaring like a trapped nova. Could we really be the last House vessels left? My jaw clenched. And for some reason, my first thought was that I would miss the House get-together, where the crews of a thousand ships met every five years to intermingle and swap stories, knowledge, and genetic material. Many children were born nine months after these gatherings of the tribes, but that was okay. There wasn’t a faction alive that couldn’t benefit from the occasional injection of fresh blood.
Had all that been swept away? Were all those people and ships already dead? And if the House had fallen, what were we now?
Was identity really as malleable as the Penitence seemed to think? Could you just change your name, adopt new markings and become someone else? Was it as simple as that? We’d all put our pasts behind us when we joined the House—but Penitence had taken things a step further. Now that the organisational structures of humanity had been swept aside, the only things cleaving us to our old identities were habit and duty. As tempting as it might have been to go to ground and pretend to be someone else, I would not leave the Trouble Dog, and I could not turn my back on the suffering of billions. The Fleet of Knives had severed our supply links and wrought havoc against our military forces. They said they were protecting us, but it felt an awful lot like incarceration. Whole populations were being written off and sacrificed in the name of the safety and security of the whole, and I couldn’t hide from it and pretend it wasn’t happening. As a species, our freedom had been taken from us. Even if I had to spend the rest of my life searching, I would find a way to strike back. It was my duty. And with Trouble Dog by my side, it felt possible. She made me want to be a better person. Intelligent, impulsive, and tough as hull plating, she made me want to be worthy of her.
I returned my attention to the stars. Somewhere out there, our future waited. And whether it was death or victory, I knew Trouble Dog and I would be facing it together.
FOUR
JOHNNY SCHULTZ
None of the Adalwolf’s three hundred cabins contained a double bunk. Hardly surprising, given it was a warship, but inconvenient when Riley Addison and I wanted to curl up together. In the end, we settled for pushing two mattresses together on the floor of what had once been the Adalwolf’s captain’s cabin, and we spent most of our time lying there, our feet tangled in the blankets, while we stared at the gunmetal ceiling and tried to make sense of everything that had happened to us.
There was a lot to process.
A week ago, I’d had my own merchant ship and my own crew. Through luck more than judgement, I’d managed to stay one step ahead of my creditors. I’d even had something of a reputation around the ports. But then I’d overreached. I’d gone chasing a big score and blundered into a nightmare. My ship had been trashed and my crew—my friends—killed. Of those who had entered that alien hulk, only Riley and I had emerged alive.
But we hadn’t been alone. We’d acquired a child who wasn’t really a child, a kid constructed from DNA taken from the Lucy’s Ghost’s organic processer and infused with the merged intellects of both the merchant ship and the ancient Nymtoq ark into which we’d crashed.
And now, what were we? I’d said the three of us could be a family, but how would that even work? I loved Riley and I was pretty sure she loved me back. But was it real love or some sort of trauma-induced state? Were we clinging together simply because we were the only two survivors, or was there more to it than that? How could I tell? How could I even talk about it without upsetting her?
In the face of all we’d lost, just thinking about ourselves and the future felt selfish. Our friends were dead, and the Generality was falling apart. We were the fortunate ones. We had each other and questioning that felt somehow ungrateful. So, we held each other on our improvised bed and tried to understand our place in the chaos and destruction that raged around us.
“I guess the problems of two people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world,” Riley said.
I frowned in the darkness. “What?”
“It’s from an old movie.”
“But what does it mean? What’s a hill of beans?”
“It’s an expression.”
“I can understand a plate of beans. If you’re trying to say our problems don’t mean much, that would make sense. But a hill of beans would be a whole lot of beans. Just a stupidly huge number of beans.”
She sighed. “Johnny—”
“I’m sorry, I’ve just never heard that expression before. It seems to be saying that our troubles amount to a whole shit-ton of vegetables—more than anyone could ever need.”
“Shut up.”
I held her tight, her cheek resting against my collarbone. “I’m sorry. I babble sometimes when I don’t know what else to say.”
“There isn’t much we can say. This is what it is. We survived, we feel terrible about it, but we have to keep going on. We can’t let it destroy us.”
I had a sudden vision of those giant crawdads boiling towards us on the Restless Itch, their mouths shrieking and flapping wetly, their pincers snapping and clicking as they sought to tear us apart, and I knew I’d probably never have another night of undisturbed sleep. I’d carry that dread with me for as long as I lived, but Riley was right when she said we shouldn’t let it destroy us. Dwelling on the memories would only open the door to a hysterical, screaming madness that would confine me to those corridors forever. I could feel the mania lurking. It would be so easy to surrender to it, but doing so would be the end of me. I had to keep a lid on my emotions. I had to keep looking forward, no matter what. And I guess Riley must have felt the same, because we clung to each other like shipwrecked sailors clinging to pieces of wreckage.
There was no point wondering where our love came from. The answer was irrelevant. As long as we had each other, we had something to live for, and someone for whom to stay sane. We would pull each other through. That was the point of it. Love provided solace and salvation and gave us purpose in an otherwise horrifying world. And I guess that’s how the human race had always endured: the survivors building new lives and raising new families among the rubble of war and disaster.
