Admiral Duck Sauce
we're gonna need a montage!
Jade Imperium - As the World Turns
Admiral Duck Sauce
Admiral Duck Sauce
Specialist Angel Riviera has spent the last 5 weeks in the eye of a party hurricane, that frantic Cimmerian cyclone of mirth that only the combination of a short life expectancy and danger pay can create. The first two weeks were nice, to be sure, but decidedly mundane. When the news leaked, Angel mentioned he was involved during a moment of booze-fueled weakness. It was like he turned into Tom Cruise, Steve McQueen, and Han Solo rolled into one. Now it's the crack of noon on some unknown day in some unknown hotel and the TV's far too loud for this early in the afternoon.
*click*
*Riot police break up another hotspot of violence outside St. Peter's in Rome today. The ongoing riots, fueled by the recent news of extraterrestrial life, have caused in excess of $100 million in damages to priceless landmarks. Catholic officials are outraged and confused by the seemingly misguided attacks.*
The video cuts to angry protesters touting placards with 'JESUS WAS AN ALIEN' and 'STOP THE LIES'. The next scene shows riot police firing tear gas into the crowds, and the now-infamous footage of molotov cocktails flaring amidst the Basilica.
*The Vatican admitted aliens could exist last spring, although they claim members of the 'xenohuman' civilization are human and as such, would not be free from original sin.*
*click*
*Coming up on Extra! My Girlfriend is an Alien - Garrett Davis and Ngawai Holoni's visit to DC! Where'd they go? Who'd they meet? Is Ngawai in the country illegally? More after thi-*
*click*
*-not real, it's all a hoax, Nancy.*
*So you're saying that the government's using this 'alien threat' as a cover for their continuing crackdown on our freedoms? That the alien ambassador's a clever remote-controlled robot and it's quite convenient that these 'xenohumans' don't even have funny foreheads or pointy Spock ears? Where does the government get off thinkin' we'll buy some story about an offworld occupation as an excuse to bring up talks of the draft? Ryan Reynolds, you know any draft dodgers? Your thoughts.*
The poor celebrity put on the spot looks like a racoon caught in the trash before blundering, *Uh, um, no, Nancy. Heh heh.*
*click*
"My next guest has traveled to interesting places, met interesting people, and then returned to Earth to talk about it. Please welcome Sergeant Luis Stanhill!"
Luis ducks onstage. The Army press office that put this together has taken to stuffing him into a dress uniform for these kinds of things, and it looks annoying as ever. There's mostly applause from the audience. A few 'boos', but then that's par for the course for nearly any guest with any hint of politics to them. Jon Stewart shakes Luis' hand and offers him the interview chair.
Luis smiles, and takes the seat. He's spent so much time in small areas being sneaky that his reflexes are screaming about the lights and cameras and crowds. Even repeated experiences are still causing nagging "people can see you" voices in the sneaking center of his brain.
Jon opens with "So! I'd like to thank you for coming here Sergeant, and, uh... how is Darth Vader?"
"As far as I know, Jon, he and Francisco Franco both remain dead. But believe me, it's been a whole wierd experience. You should have seen my face when I got this assignment."
"I can imagine. Well, actually, I can't imagine. You've been one of the first people to set foot outside our solar system. As amazing as that is, I think a lot of people, including myself, want to know why we need another place to send our troops that's even further away. Apparently Iraq and Afghanistan are in good hands, we can move on to Endor."
"Jon, I'm as worried as you are, honestly. This is a major war, an enemy with better technology, more weapons...it's nothing like any fight Earth has seen before. The problem is that this wasn't a fight we were given a choice about. It was either sign over the entire planet to an empire that would have destroyed everything about our way of life, or stand up and fight. Those were the only two options the Imperium gave us. Diplomacy of any other type was never on their side of the table. My mission leader, Captain Hugh Verill, tried to offer them that. Their response stands as a matter of public record and physical destruction down at our Mesa Negras facility. I realize there's nothing funny about that, but it is the truth."
Jon nods imperceptibly to the callback to his Crossfire rant years ago. "Let's talk about that for a moment, actually, and answer me this: This Imperium, it's an evil interstellar empire?"
"Jon, they hold people in bondage without rights, they have destroyed the entire civilization of planets in retribution for rebellion, they place paranoia and control as the most central beliefs of their government...there's not much other description."
"So, implacable foe, dirty bastard spacemen bent on our destruction... Devastating weaponry beyond our means. And we may not have picked a fight with them, but certainly they're looking for one with us... not you, not me, not the US, but ALL of us - Earth? Well, why are we just finding out about this now? What reason could there be NOT to tell people, 'hey, we've got these guys coming to kick over our sand castle, let's, maybe, I dunno, put down our IEDs and figure out what to do'?"
"Jon, I'll be honest. I personally wish we could have come forward sooner. If we'd made peaceful contact, maybe we could have, maybe we would have. But faced with an enemy like this...I think some people were worried people would lose hope without some victory to point to. I'm not sure, my state's motto is 'Live Free or Die' and I think that attitude would hold among the peoples of Earth as much as it did when it was coined during the Revolutionary War. But it wasn't my call."
"Let's say it is your call. Where do we go from here? What CAN we do?"
"We can hope, Jon, and we can spread our ideas, and we can prepare. The nature of Gate combat makes for long standoffs and sudden turns of control. Right now, we're in a standoff. We need to clean our house, build our technology and assimilate what we've learned. But we can also be acting offensively in a war of ideals. Earth can offer citizens of the Imperium something better than the way they live, a model from what they could have. If we have to beat the Imperium militarily on every world with a Gate, fight their Needleships in orbit and maybe even face them around Earth...that's maybe too tall an order. But I don't think it's an order we'll have to follow. I happen to have firsthand knowledge that there are good people, sensible people in the Imperium who can see the benefits of other ways of life, and who are willing to sit down and talk about them when presented with them. That's what I hope for, Jon. A war we can win with the power of our society, not the power of ours guns."
Luis smiles and adds, "Maybe I was just raised liberal, though."
Jon nods and says, "I'll be hoping right along with you, Luis, but judging from how we've done so far I think I might invest in one of those fallout shelters that Shamwow guy's selling. We've got to take a break, can you hang out a while?"
*click*
*Lookit this thing! FOUR hand grenades, not even a scratch! You ain't gonna get that from your hum-drum old busted-up foundation! Are you gettin' this, camera guy-*
*click*
*Temptation! That's what this 'Groi' alien is sellin' us, ladies n' gentlemen! Give up our thoughts, give up our invention, give up our faith in God Almighty, and replace it with shiny alien trinkets! You know who else was tempted? Our Lord Jesus Christ! In the desert, Satan the Adversary came to Him and tempted Him and Jesus did NOT give in! He stayed strong and so shall we! We will have faith in God and He will grant us the strength to see us through whatever may come our way! I'd like to read to you a pass-*
*click*
*President Obama met with Russian President Medvedev and British Prime Minister Gordon Brown yesterday to discuss a proposal for a summit with the Imperium. The United Nations Security Council offered little comment as to-*
*click*
*I'm here at Mesas Negras Army Research Facility to get a sneak peek at the top-secret XML-1011 Linearly-Accelerated Portable Electron Weapon. This baby uses six feet of a special alloy to propel a devastating particle beam capable of blasting through the toughest armor. Any enemy that gets in the way of this baby... well, it's over.*
*click*
Angel tosses the remote over onto the leather love seat across the room. The shapely blonde lying next to him stirs slightly, conjuring unbidden flashes of green camo paint applied to flesh that was nearly always covered by Turai undersuit, and of the awkward mess hall encounters with the ex-Turai before his flight out afterwards. And television was supposed to be escapist, Angel thinks.
*click*
*Riot police break up another hotspot of violence outside St. Peter's in Rome today. The ongoing riots, fueled by the recent news of extraterrestrial life, have caused in excess of $100 million in damages to priceless landmarks. Catholic officials are outraged and confused by the seemingly misguided attacks.*
The video cuts to angry protesters touting placards with 'JESUS WAS AN ALIEN' and 'STOP THE LIES'. The next scene shows riot police firing tear gas into the crowds, and the now-infamous footage of molotov cocktails flaring amidst the Basilica.
*The Vatican admitted aliens could exist last spring, although they claim members of the 'xenohuman' civilization are human and as such, would not be free from original sin.*
*click*
*Coming up on Extra! My Girlfriend is an Alien - Garrett Davis and Ngawai Holoni's visit to DC! Where'd they go? Who'd they meet? Is Ngawai in the country illegally? More after thi-*
*click*
*-not real, it's all a hoax, Nancy.*
*So you're saying that the government's using this 'alien threat' as a cover for their continuing crackdown on our freedoms? That the alien ambassador's a clever remote-controlled robot and it's quite convenient that these 'xenohumans' don't even have funny foreheads or pointy Spock ears? Where does the government get off thinkin' we'll buy some story about an offworld occupation as an excuse to bring up talks of the draft? Ryan Reynolds, you know any draft dodgers? Your thoughts.*
The poor celebrity put on the spot looks like a racoon caught in the trash before blundering, *Uh, um, no, Nancy. Heh heh.*
*click*
"My next guest has traveled to interesting places, met interesting people, and then returned to Earth to talk about it. Please welcome Sergeant Luis Stanhill!"
Luis ducks onstage. The Army press office that put this together has taken to stuffing him into a dress uniform for these kinds of things, and it looks annoying as ever. There's mostly applause from the audience. A few 'boos', but then that's par for the course for nearly any guest with any hint of politics to them. Jon Stewart shakes Luis' hand and offers him the interview chair.
Luis smiles, and takes the seat. He's spent so much time in small areas being sneaky that his reflexes are screaming about the lights and cameras and crowds. Even repeated experiences are still causing nagging "people can see you" voices in the sneaking center of his brain.
Jon opens with "So! I'd like to thank you for coming here Sergeant, and, uh... how is Darth Vader?"
"As far as I know, Jon, he and Francisco Franco both remain dead. But believe me, it's been a whole wierd experience. You should have seen my face when I got this assignment."
"I can imagine. Well, actually, I can't imagine. You've been one of the first people to set foot outside our solar system. As amazing as that is, I think a lot of people, including myself, want to know why we need another place to send our troops that's even further away. Apparently Iraq and Afghanistan are in good hands, we can move on to Endor."
"Jon, I'm as worried as you are, honestly. This is a major war, an enemy with better technology, more weapons...it's nothing like any fight Earth has seen before. The problem is that this wasn't a fight we were given a choice about. It was either sign over the entire planet to an empire that would have destroyed everything about our way of life, or stand up and fight. Those were the only two options the Imperium gave us. Diplomacy of any other type was never on their side of the table. My mission leader, Captain Hugh Verill, tried to offer them that. Their response stands as a matter of public record and physical destruction down at our Mesa Negras facility. I realize there's nothing funny about that, but it is the truth."
Jon nods imperceptibly to the callback to his Crossfire rant years ago. "Let's talk about that for a moment, actually, and answer me this: This Imperium, it's an evil interstellar empire?"
"Jon, they hold people in bondage without rights, they have destroyed the entire civilization of planets in retribution for rebellion, they place paranoia and control as the most central beliefs of their government...there's not much other description."
"So, implacable foe, dirty bastard spacemen bent on our destruction... Devastating weaponry beyond our means. And we may not have picked a fight with them, but certainly they're looking for one with us... not you, not me, not the US, but ALL of us - Earth? Well, why are we just finding out about this now? What reason could there be NOT to tell people, 'hey, we've got these guys coming to kick over our sand castle, let's, maybe, I dunno, put down our IEDs and figure out what to do'?"
"Jon, I'll be honest. I personally wish we could have come forward sooner. If we'd made peaceful contact, maybe we could have, maybe we would have. But faced with an enemy like this...I think some people were worried people would lose hope without some victory to point to. I'm not sure, my state's motto is 'Live Free or Die' and I think that attitude would hold among the peoples of Earth as much as it did when it was coined during the Revolutionary War. But it wasn't my call."
"Let's say it is your call. Where do we go from here? What CAN we do?"
"We can hope, Jon, and we can spread our ideas, and we can prepare. The nature of Gate combat makes for long standoffs and sudden turns of control. Right now, we're in a standoff. We need to clean our house, build our technology and assimilate what we've learned. But we can also be acting offensively in a war of ideals. Earth can offer citizens of the Imperium something better than the way they live, a model from what they could have. If we have to beat the Imperium militarily on every world with a Gate, fight their Needleships in orbit and maybe even face them around Earth...that's maybe too tall an order. But I don't think it's an order we'll have to follow. I happen to have firsthand knowledge that there are good people, sensible people in the Imperium who can see the benefits of other ways of life, and who are willing to sit down and talk about them when presented with them. That's what I hope for, Jon. A war we can win with the power of our society, not the power of ours guns."
Luis smiles and adds, "Maybe I was just raised liberal, though."
Jon nods and says, "I'll be hoping right along with you, Luis, but judging from how we've done so far I think I might invest in one of those fallout shelters that Shamwow guy's selling. We've got to take a break, can you hang out a while?"
*click*
*Lookit this thing! FOUR hand grenades, not even a scratch! You ain't gonna get that from your hum-drum old busted-up foundation! Are you gettin' this, camera guy-*
*click*
*Temptation! That's what this 'Groi' alien is sellin' us, ladies n' gentlemen! Give up our thoughts, give up our invention, give up our faith in God Almighty, and replace it with shiny alien trinkets! You know who else was tempted? Our Lord Jesus Christ! In the desert, Satan the Adversary came to Him and tempted Him and Jesus did NOT give in! He stayed strong and so shall we! We will have faith in God and He will grant us the strength to see us through whatever may come our way! I'd like to read to you a pass-*
*click*
*President Obama met with Russian President Medvedev and British Prime Minister Gordon Brown yesterday to discuss a proposal for a summit with the Imperium. The United Nations Security Council offered little comment as to-*
*click*
*I'm here at Mesas Negras Army Research Facility to get a sneak peek at the top-secret XML-1011 Linearly-Accelerated Portable Electron Weapon. This baby uses six feet of a special alloy to propel a devastating particle beam capable of blasting through the toughest armor. Any enemy that gets in the way of this baby... well, it's over.*
*click*
Angel tosses the remote over onto the leather love seat across the room. The shapely blonde lying next to him stirs slightly, conjuring unbidden flashes of green camo paint applied to flesh that was nearly always covered by Turai undersuit, and of the awkward mess hall encounters with the ex-Turai before his flight out afterwards. And television was supposed to be escapist, Angel thinks.
Admiral Duck Sauce
Napai
The window of opportunity was closing fast. Already the tyrant was pulling strings, locking doors, shutting down security breaches. The rebels had sprung their trap and although countless Stewards, Administrators, Keepers, Oduns, Alufs, and Rav-Samals lay dead in their not-so-secret hab-modules and star-yachts, they were only low-hanging fruit.
---
"The August Keeper of Secrets? I thought he was on Boranai." Ahaz queried his sister, Tais, as the siblings walked into the hab-stack.
"He was supposed to be. His family's still there, last I heard," Tais replied. "The Keeper himself, the big boss of the Keepers of Secrets, he had an audience with the tyrant when Boranai got hit. Gets moved around a lot in an attempt to confuse our data bandits, but the line on this is good. He's here."
"Alone?"
"That's the line."
"No innocents in the way, no family, just the fat fucking scrofa himself. Good." Ahaz smiled.
---
The porter's uniforms had been a bust. The Keeper traveled with more luggage than the rebel siblings had anticipated and there were too many slaves - intercepting just one or two would mean they'd be missed by the remaining porters. Their only option was a bad one, but they were committed. The drone tech would be missed at her post very soon, and Ahaz and Tais didn't have the auth-codes to fake a check-in. They just had a uniform and a toolkit. Tais was slipping into the yellow utilitunic while Ahaz rigged the small toolbox to drop away from the blade secreted inside Tais' new disguise.
"That corner's maybe nine, ten meters from the Keeper's door-guards. Are you fast enough to make it to him in time?" Tais asked.
"For you, sister, I will be." Ahaz's eyes gleamed as he produced his own longknife.
"And for Yohaz."
"Always for Yohaz," Ahaz replied, a grim determination calcifying his features.
---
The two Kansat guards took notice of the technician purposefully walking towards the Keeper's hab-module. She was consulting a vox readout with one hand while she lugged her toolkit with the other. The lead Kansatai stiffened and prepared to address her when the yellow-clad tech passed the Keeper's door, then turned around to look at the hab-module as a red glyph flashed on the vox.
"I'm sorry, I've had reports of a cam-drone out in this module. I've got my access right here."
Tais dropped the toolkit and brought the knife up under the closest Kansat officer's chin. The man didn't have time to vox a warning or draw his weapon. In an instant, Ahaz appeared from around the corner, knife glinting in his hand. His was a flailing, sloppy run, but it was fast. The second Kansat's longlancer was in hand and coming up when the dark-skinned rebel crashed blade-first into the Kansatai. The knife, fueled by Ahaz's charge, sliced through the officer's undersuit and up into vital organs. The longlancer dropped a second before the Kansatai.
Ahaz stopped to catch his breath and hand one of the Kansat longlancers to his sister. They nodded and swiped the dead officers' access on the hab-module hatch, weapons at the ready. They burst into the spacious but still-sparsely furnished living area only to be confronted by a woman in casual robes and two children, a boy and a girl. The August Keeper was on the sofa across the room, halfway to a standing position. He fell back in submission as the rebels brandished their lancers towards him.
"They said his family was on Boranai!" Ahaz hissed.
"They're not!" Tais unhelpfully agreed. "Master's taint, what are we gonna do?!"
The Keeper's wife raised her hands and stepped back. "Please, whatever you want, please just take it and go. Please, just don't hurt my children..."
Ahaz's thoughts flashed to an evil day long ago, when spear-bombs took his parents and Turai came after them. His brother Yohaz, smaller, slower, but oh so smart, did not make it to the culvert underneath the hab in time.
Tais' eyes were wet, her cheeks streaked with tears. "Brother, we have to. Else they will end us."
Ahaz turned to look his sister in the eyes, to see the hard, cold stone that had settled there in place of her heart, and he knew she was right. Suddenly Tais' eyes opened wide.
"Don't move, whore!" she shouted as the Keeper's wife's arm whipped down onto the vox that lay loose on the countertop. Tais' lancer hissed and the woman fell a smouldering corpse.
There was a second hiss, soft and short. Tais staggered back, her yellow utilitunic stained red and black. The Keeper had managed to reach his popgun.
"No!" Ahaz screamed.
The siblings' captured Kansat weapons flashed.
The Keeper's popgun was an unauthorized weapon. Its use triggered energy sensors in the hab-stack and raised alarms across the Kansat network. The nature of the module's VIP resident flashed alerts and dispatchers launched dropteams.
The dropteams would not save the Keeper or his family.
---
Ahaz, supporting Tais on one shoulder, staggered out of the hab. They had both been dealt worse before, but never on an Imperial city-world, lousy with surveillance and Kansat and Turai. Booted footfalls already echoed up the hab-stack's stairwells and the hum of lifts promised an even faster death.
"No, no, the lift," Tais grunted. "Point blank." They hobbled to the lift and reached it just as the doors were opening. The Kansatai weren't expecting it - only two of them even got shots off.
"Up," breathed Tais.
"But the dropteams'll come down right on us! There'll be no escape!"
"There never was. All that remains now is to die well, under the stars and amongst the bodies of our enemies. For Yohaz and all the others."
Ahaz hit the roof access and held his sister.
The window of opportunity was closing fast. Already the tyrant was pulling strings, locking doors, shutting down security breaches. The rebels had sprung their trap and although countless Stewards, Administrators, Keepers, Oduns, Alufs, and Rav-Samals lay dead in their not-so-secret hab-modules and star-yachts, they were only low-hanging fruit.
---
"The August Keeper of Secrets? I thought he was on Boranai." Ahaz queried his sister, Tais, as the siblings walked into the hab-stack.
"He was supposed to be. His family's still there, last I heard," Tais replied. "The Keeper himself, the big boss of the Keepers of Secrets, he had an audience with the tyrant when Boranai got hit. Gets moved around a lot in an attempt to confuse our data bandits, but the line on this is good. He's here."
"Alone?"
"That's the line."
"No innocents in the way, no family, just the fat fucking scrofa himself. Good." Ahaz smiled.
---
The porter's uniforms had been a bust. The Keeper traveled with more luggage than the rebel siblings had anticipated and there were too many slaves - intercepting just one or two would mean they'd be missed by the remaining porters. Their only option was a bad one, but they were committed. The drone tech would be missed at her post very soon, and Ahaz and Tais didn't have the auth-codes to fake a check-in. They just had a uniform and a toolkit. Tais was slipping into the yellow utilitunic while Ahaz rigged the small toolbox to drop away from the blade secreted inside Tais' new disguise.
"That corner's maybe nine, ten meters from the Keeper's door-guards. Are you fast enough to make it to him in time?" Tais asked.
"For you, sister, I will be." Ahaz's eyes gleamed as he produced his own longknife.
"And for Yohaz."
"Always for Yohaz," Ahaz replied, a grim determination calcifying his features.
---
The two Kansat guards took notice of the technician purposefully walking towards the Keeper's hab-module. She was consulting a vox readout with one hand while she lugged her toolkit with the other. The lead Kansatai stiffened and prepared to address her when the yellow-clad tech passed the Keeper's door, then turned around to look at the hab-module as a red glyph flashed on the vox.
"I'm sorry, I've had reports of a cam-drone out in this module. I've got my access right here."
Tais dropped the toolkit and brought the knife up under the closest Kansat officer's chin. The man didn't have time to vox a warning or draw his weapon. In an instant, Ahaz appeared from around the corner, knife glinting in his hand. His was a flailing, sloppy run, but it was fast. The second Kansat's longlancer was in hand and coming up when the dark-skinned rebel crashed blade-first into the Kansatai. The knife, fueled by Ahaz's charge, sliced through the officer's undersuit and up into vital organs. The longlancer dropped a second before the Kansatai.
Ahaz stopped to catch his breath and hand one of the Kansat longlancers to his sister. They nodded and swiped the dead officers' access on the hab-module hatch, weapons at the ready. They burst into the spacious but still-sparsely furnished living area only to be confronted by a woman in casual robes and two children, a boy and a girl. The August Keeper was on the sofa across the room, halfway to a standing position. He fell back in submission as the rebels brandished their lancers towards him.
"They said his family was on Boranai!" Ahaz hissed.
"They're not!" Tais unhelpfully agreed. "Master's taint, what are we gonna do?!"
The Keeper's wife raised her hands and stepped back. "Please, whatever you want, please just take it and go. Please, just don't hurt my children..."
Ahaz's thoughts flashed to an evil day long ago, when spear-bombs took his parents and Turai came after them. His brother Yohaz, smaller, slower, but oh so smart, did not make it to the culvert underneath the hab in time.
Tais' eyes were wet, her cheeks streaked with tears. "Brother, we have to. Else they will end us."
Ahaz turned to look his sister in the eyes, to see the hard, cold stone that had settled there in place of her heart, and he knew she was right. Suddenly Tais' eyes opened wide.
"Don't move, whore!" she shouted as the Keeper's wife's arm whipped down onto the vox that lay loose on the countertop. Tais' lancer hissed and the woman fell a smouldering corpse.
There was a second hiss, soft and short. Tais staggered back, her yellow utilitunic stained red and black. The Keeper had managed to reach his popgun.
"No!" Ahaz screamed.
The siblings' captured Kansat weapons flashed.
The Keeper's popgun was an unauthorized weapon. Its use triggered energy sensors in the hab-stack and raised alarms across the Kansat network. The nature of the module's VIP resident flashed alerts and dispatchers launched dropteams.
The dropteams would not save the Keeper or his family.
---
Ahaz, supporting Tais on one shoulder, staggered out of the hab. They had both been dealt worse before, but never on an Imperial city-world, lousy with surveillance and Kansat and Turai. Booted footfalls already echoed up the hab-stack's stairwells and the hum of lifts promised an even faster death.
"No, no, the lift," Tais grunted. "Point blank." They hobbled to the lift and reached it just as the doors were opening. The Kansatai weren't expecting it - only two of them even got shots off.
"Up," breathed Tais.
"But the dropteams'll come down right on us! There'll be no escape!"
"There never was. All that remains now is to die well, under the stars and amongst the bodies of our enemies. For Yohaz and all the others."
Ahaz hit the roof access and held his sister.
Admiral Duck Sauce
Moscow
Cold rain pattered the black sedan idling outside the dull gray apartment block. The rain washed more of the dirty slush from the recent snow into the rushing gutters while the car waited. A bald man, aged but strong, exited the rear passenger side and walked towards the fire door-and-mailbox-array that passed for a lobby without giving his ride a second glance. The man did not seem to mind the warmth-draining rain; he paused, hands slightly outstretched, and let the water run down his face and soak into his heavy coat before buzzing the call box.
A nervous interrogative. A scratchy, static reply. A door creaked open and slammed from somewhere above. The man thought of how hard it was to leave the first time, of how proud - and how sad - his father had looked when his son boarded the plane. He knew then that he would not be coming back.
Things change. The soft step of old shoes on linoleum steps and the tighter click of a cane carried down the stairwell, mixed with the rain noise, and was washed away by the gutters.
The lobby door was answered by an old tiny hunched man, equally bald but far more wrinkled. He moved with an arthritic slowness but still had strength enough to embrace his son. The old man's son remembered as much as they would let him, and in this instant Dominic Bullchev hated the Groi for what they took. Not the memories of the alien habitat, but the memories of what he might have had, of what he might have been otherwise. Dominic hugged his father and cried, although he did not remember exactly why.
The sedan's occupants watched the Bullchevs go inside. They had asked Dominic every question by every means they could invent and the old mechanic truly did not know anything that could help them. The driver put the car in gear and pulled out onto the rain-soaked, slush-spattered street and hoped Dominic Bullchev found the peace he had traveled so far to find.
Cold rain pattered the black sedan idling outside the dull gray apartment block. The rain washed more of the dirty slush from the recent snow into the rushing gutters while the car waited. A bald man, aged but strong, exited the rear passenger side and walked towards the fire door-and-mailbox-array that passed for a lobby without giving his ride a second glance. The man did not seem to mind the warmth-draining rain; he paused, hands slightly outstretched, and let the water run down his face and soak into his heavy coat before buzzing the call box.
A nervous interrogative. A scratchy, static reply. A door creaked open and slammed from somewhere above. The man thought of how hard it was to leave the first time, of how proud - and how sad - his father had looked when his son boarded the plane. He knew then that he would not be coming back.
Things change. The soft step of old shoes on linoleum steps and the tighter click of a cane carried down the stairwell, mixed with the rain noise, and was washed away by the gutters.
The lobby door was answered by an old tiny hunched man, equally bald but far more wrinkled. He moved with an arthritic slowness but still had strength enough to embrace his son. The old man's son remembered as much as they would let him, and in this instant Dominic Bullchev hated the Groi for what they took. Not the memories of the alien habitat, but the memories of what he might have had, of what he might have been otherwise. Dominic hugged his father and cried, although he did not remember exactly why.
The sedan's occupants watched the Bullchevs go inside. They had asked Dominic every question by every means they could invent and the old mechanic truly did not know anything that could help them. The driver put the car in gear and pulled out onto the rain-soaked, slush-spattered street and hoped Dominic Bullchev found the peace he had traveled so far to find.
Admiral Duck Sauce
I-40, 20 miles outside Santa Rosa
It was a few weeks before the media caught wind of Luis Stanhill and Arketta Quis' "freedom tour", their cross-country road trip through America's monuments that would eventually lead to Luis' Daily Show appearance (among others), and Luis' "Authentic Road Trip to Show Arketta the US" was going... well, it was authentic if nothing else.
"So why didn't you fix this 'spark plug' thing if you knew it was bad?" Arketta asked.
Luis let the powder blue '93 Stanza's hood fall with a slam. "All part of the experience. Hand me that wrench, please?" Luis wiped more sweat from his face and stared into the distance, his eyes following the long trail of telephone poles into wavy heat distortion. Sure, they could've broken down somewhere nicer than a long, featureless stretch of highway, but it was to be expected. All part of the experience.
---
Kansas
"Why is it called 'hitchhiking'?"
"I don't know. Just... just stick out your thumb."
"You said we had enough fuel to get to the next stop."
"I know, there must be something wrong with the gas gauge."
Arketta nodded, her sarcasm evident. "Ahh. Very authentic."
---
PA-851
"What gear are you in, Arketta?"
"Gear?"
---
US-30
"Look, there's an Enterprise right there."
"You can't just rent a car halfway through the road trip! It wouldn't be authentic!"
The tow truck driver toting the Stanza just gave Arketta and Luis an amused eyebrow from the driver's seat and kept going towards the service center.
It was a few weeks before the media caught wind of Luis Stanhill and Arketta Quis' "freedom tour", their cross-country road trip through America's monuments that would eventually lead to Luis' Daily Show appearance (among others), and Luis' "Authentic Road Trip to Show Arketta the US" was going... well, it was authentic if nothing else.
"So why didn't you fix this 'spark plug' thing if you knew it was bad?" Arketta asked.
Luis let the powder blue '93 Stanza's hood fall with a slam. "All part of the experience. Hand me that wrench, please?" Luis wiped more sweat from his face and stared into the distance, his eyes following the long trail of telephone poles into wavy heat distortion. Sure, they could've broken down somewhere nicer than a long, featureless stretch of highway, but it was to be expected. All part of the experience.
---
Kansas
"Why is it called 'hitchhiking'?"
"I don't know. Just... just stick out your thumb."
"You said we had enough fuel to get to the next stop."
"I know, there must be something wrong with the gas gauge."
Arketta nodded, her sarcasm evident. "Ahh. Very authentic."
---
PA-851
"What gear are you in, Arketta?"
"Gear?"
---
US-30
"Look, there's an Enterprise right there."
"You can't just rent a car halfway through the road trip! It wouldn't be authentic!"
The tow truck driver toting the Stanza just gave Arketta and Luis an amused eyebrow from the driver's seat and kept going towards the service center.
Admiral Duck Sauce
Nan's Last Stop Drink Shop, Yoma Colony
It was something that would always nag Max Kilgore. What if he had tried to snatch the JGH361 Gateship auth-codes from the Akwhela's Eye? Could one person actually save a planet?
Then Max remembered the confusion, how the orbital fortress shat itself, metaphorically speaking, when the Cortex doors were blown wide open. Even with the Cortex unsecured, Max saw the locks being put back into place on those Gateship codes. With Greene gone, Max's meager access was no more. He figured going along with the crowd would be better than trying something heroic but ill-advised. It was luck that the confusion masked Max's trip to Napai, piggybacking as just another Turai. It was that same luck that Max showed up to the Palace just after the guard forces' drones had finished their bloody remote-controlled revolt. And it was luck that Max happened to choose Yoma for his leapfrogging escape, a backwater colony on Todaki that just happened to have its complement of Turai wiped out by Max's erstwhile ex-comrades not even a week before.
Max considered his options. What exactly was waiting for him on Earth? Hassles, insubordination, possible charges, plus the very good chance that he wouldn't be able to personally profit from any of the Imperial technology he'd been able to master. Out here, Max could disappear. The Cortex records were spotty enough that it wasn't hard for him to erase his handful of security alerts and meager personal information. Out here, the colonists looked up to Max as a much-needed bastion of authority. He became Yoma's Samal and spent his days relaxing in the sun, enjoying the Todaki desert and sending his deputies to handle any real policework. Out here, nobody would find him. Max had stepped through the Napai portal as a faceless Turai. He had blanked his Cortex records. No Imperials would come looking. Earth couldn't find him.
Maybe they thought he was dead.
Maybe Max Kilgore was dead. Maybe it was a different man who stepped onto the hot Todaki sand.
It was something that would always nag Max Kilgore. What if he had tried to snatch the JGH361 Gateship auth-codes from the Akwhela's Eye? Could one person actually save a planet?
Then Max remembered the confusion, how the orbital fortress shat itself, metaphorically speaking, when the Cortex doors were blown wide open. Even with the Cortex unsecured, Max saw the locks being put back into place on those Gateship codes. With Greene gone, Max's meager access was no more. He figured going along with the crowd would be better than trying something heroic but ill-advised. It was luck that the confusion masked Max's trip to Napai, piggybacking as just another Turai. It was that same luck that Max showed up to the Palace just after the guard forces' drones had finished their bloody remote-controlled revolt. And it was luck that Max happened to choose Yoma for his leapfrogging escape, a backwater colony on Todaki that just happened to have its complement of Turai wiped out by Max's erstwhile ex-comrades not even a week before.
Max considered his options. What exactly was waiting for him on Earth? Hassles, insubordination, possible charges, plus the very good chance that he wouldn't be able to personally profit from any of the Imperial technology he'd been able to master. Out here, Max could disappear. The Cortex records were spotty enough that it wasn't hard for him to erase his handful of security alerts and meager personal information. Out here, the colonists looked up to Max as a much-needed bastion of authority. He became Yoma's Samal and spent his days relaxing in the sun, enjoying the Todaki desert and sending his deputies to handle any real policework. Out here, nobody would find him. Max had stepped through the Napai portal as a faceless Turai. He had blanked his Cortex records. No Imperials would come looking. Earth couldn't find him.
Maybe they thought he was dead.
Maybe Max Kilgore was dead. Maybe it was a different man who stepped onto the hot Todaki sand.
Admiral Duck Sauce
Private Naves saw the glyphs flash without hearing the radio squawk the passphrase first. His heart thumped in his chest as he threw himself at the Gateway's red shutdown glyph. Behind him, a few of the rebels had frozen, wide-eyed at the ancient ring, but they soon turned back to their work setting up a base camp underneath the Boranai Spire.
"Puckers your asshole, don't it?" Sathoff asked.
"Fuck, man," Naves replied. "This shit is the worst, waitin' for that thing to recharge."
Sathoff downed another gulp of his strawberry milkshake MRE. It was a rather messy affair - pink goop had collected across the large Ranger's chin strap.
"You hear about Bravo?"
"I heard some of those Red Dawn motherfuckers lit 'em up north of the town."
"So you heard. Yeah, they got ambushed. Took two Bravos into those caves."
"Shit, dog. We goin' after 'em?"
"Fuckin' A. As soon as this piece of shit is dialed out again. I can't wait to find some of those fuckin' probers," Sathoff spit.
Naves cocked an eyebrow at his teammate. "Probers? What the fuck?"
"You know," Sathoff replied. "Probers." He took another gulp of the pink MRE. "Ass-probin' Ranger-abductin' motherfuckin' alien shitbags."
Naves wiped some of Sathoff's milkshake off his blouse. "You know they ain't strictly aliens, dog?"
"Hey man, we call your Mexican ass 'alien' and these motherfuckers are way more fucked up than you are."
"Thanks, I think." Behind Naves, the sharp ding the rebels had rigged into the generator signaled that the Gateway was ready to dial out and hold its connection again, preventing the Imperium from slipping a portal in during the downtime. "It's about fuckin' time. Let's go kill us some ETs."
"Puckers your asshole, don't it?" Sathoff asked.
"Fuck, man," Naves replied. "This shit is the worst, waitin' for that thing to recharge."
Sathoff downed another gulp of his strawberry milkshake MRE. It was a rather messy affair - pink goop had collected across the large Ranger's chin strap.
"You hear about Bravo?"
"I heard some of those Red Dawn motherfuckers lit 'em up north of the town."
"So you heard. Yeah, they got ambushed. Took two Bravos into those caves."
"Shit, dog. We goin' after 'em?"
"Fuckin' A. As soon as this piece of shit is dialed out again. I can't wait to find some of those fuckin' probers," Sathoff spit.
Naves cocked an eyebrow at his teammate. "Probers? What the fuck?"
"You know," Sathoff replied. "Probers." He took another gulp of the pink MRE. "Ass-probin' Ranger-abductin' motherfuckin' alien shitbags."
Naves wiped some of Sathoff's milkshake off his blouse. "You know they ain't strictly aliens, dog?"
"Hey man, we call your Mexican ass 'alien' and these motherfuckers are way more fucked up than you are."
"Thanks, I think." Behind Naves, the sharp ding the rebels had rigged into the generator signaled that the Gateway was ready to dial out and hold its connection again, preventing the Imperium from slipping a portal in during the downtime. "It's about fuckin' time. Let's go kill us some ETs."
Admiral Duck Sauce
Garrett Davis sat hunched over in the end stall. The sound of flushing somewhere to his right interfered with the crackling static of the patched-together satphone-to-vox connection to Atea. Outside, Ngawai stood entranced by the gargantuan splendors of the Smithsonian Natural History Museum while her man argued with Brinai light-years away.
"So, tell me, again, what exactly it is the fuck you think this was supposed to accomplish?" Davis hissed in angry Imperial.
"We were not going to stand around and waste the golden opportunity we created, together, with the Cortex's secrets opened to us," Brinai replied calmy (although perhaps with a little distant zeal to her voice). "This shift in power must be sudden, we must strike fear into the Imperium's heart, we must shake their foundation to the core."
"Fear? Fear?" Davis rolled his eyes. "We just captured one of their key planets and struck a blow in the heart of the Imperial capital. There's plenty of fear to go around, Brinai. What we need now is to extend an offer of peace, to show them that we're willing to stop if they listen to our terms."
"But you would spare the butchers and despots! You may have made their leadership feel fear, fear of losing power, fear of the unknown Narsai, but we have brought the fear of death to their door! The Napai mission was about information and negotiation; we have just added much-needed retribution to those who deeply deserved it," Brinai's voice was scratchy at best over the patched-together link but her growing zeal was apparent. "NOW our offer of peace will come with a pointed argument for agreeing to our terms."
"How many successful insurgencies have you run, Brinai? How many times have you done this before?"
"Do not seek to lecture me about experience! I might ask what you know, I mean truly know, of our hardships under the tyrant's rule! You come from your lost world telling us what to do like you have some right to lead us!"
"I have seen oppression before, Brinai. I have seen women beaten to death in the streets for daring to walk outside of their houses, I have seen brutal dictators kill, torture and destroy simply because it makes them laugh," Davis said, calming down. "I understand what you are feeling. And I have fought for people like you before, and won. If you make this about revenge, for your people, for Bashakra? You will lose. You need to be better than the Imperium, you need to make your side more attractive to the people, you need to get them on your side. If you make this a campaign of fear, of terror? You will drive them away. We have no chance of winning a stand-up fight against the Imperium, and attacks like this will only harden the people's resolve against us. Justice for those who need it will come, Brinai, I promise. But now is not the time for it. Now, we need the people on our side, and running into the homes of their leaders and executing them and their families is not the way to do that."
Brinai cleared her throat. "Ah. So you heard. I do regret the August Keeper's family, Davis. It was a regrettable miscommunication, but Ahaz and Tais were already off comms. Perhaps their deaths balance out the Keeper's family, then... at any rate, it is too late, unless you returned from the Black Gate with a time machine."
"It is mistakes like that which will cost us this war," Davis said. "We were about to negotiate a cease-fire for Boranai, give us a safe haven we can use and a place for us to start giving back to the people we liberated on that planet, but now? I wouldn't be surprised if they just sunball the whole damn gate complex the first chance they get. We are not fighting to get revenge on the people who destroyed your planet and murdered your friends and family, Brinai. We are fighting to liberate the entire Imperium, and that means thinking strategically." Davis ran a hand through his hair in thought. "Do you at least have proof of their crimes? Hard evidence?"
"Imperial records, recordings of atrocities, anything?"
"My dear boy, the Cortex was naked before our techs," the old rebel answered.
"Good. Get your agents to disseminate that evidence to the people on the planets your teams attacked, and that includes the ones you simply abducted. Foment dissent and anger against them, become the people's savior from these evil men. And then release the ones you've captured into their people's...let's call it care," Davis smiled over the connection. "I'm not opposed to a little assassination and fear, it's just there's a time and a place for such things, don't you agree?"
"I think such a plan would be acceptable," Brinai replied.
Davis exited the men's room and finds Ngawai waiting for him, a curious look on her face.
"Everything all right?" she asked. Her English has improved enough not to draw a second glance in downtown DC.
"Hopefully," Davis replied, and put his arm around her shoulders as they walked back into the museum proper. "Have the Bashakrans always been this trigger-happy? Or is it just something having your planet burned to the ground around you does to a people?"
"I don't know," Ngawai answered, stopping to puzzle out the descriptive podium next to the Allosaurus. "Nobody's alive who had been to Bashakra before the reclamation except Bashakrans. I do know every single one I ever had to run down didn't go quietly."
Davis chuckled. "Well, it's fight like that that will get us through this, if it doesn't blow up in our faces first. Come on, I want to show you the Air and Space Museum, I think you'll get a kick out of it."
"So, tell me, again, what exactly it is the fuck you think this was supposed to accomplish?" Davis hissed in angry Imperial.
"We were not going to stand around and waste the golden opportunity we created, together, with the Cortex's secrets opened to us," Brinai replied calmy (although perhaps with a little distant zeal to her voice). "This shift in power must be sudden, we must strike fear into the Imperium's heart, we must shake their foundation to the core."
"Fear? Fear?" Davis rolled his eyes. "We just captured one of their key planets and struck a blow in the heart of the Imperial capital. There's plenty of fear to go around, Brinai. What we need now is to extend an offer of peace, to show them that we're willing to stop if they listen to our terms."
"But you would spare the butchers and despots! You may have made their leadership feel fear, fear of losing power, fear of the unknown Narsai, but we have brought the fear of death to their door! The Napai mission was about information and negotiation; we have just added much-needed retribution to those who deeply deserved it," Brinai's voice was scratchy at best over the patched-together link but her growing zeal was apparent. "NOW our offer of peace will come with a pointed argument for agreeing to our terms."
"How many successful insurgencies have you run, Brinai? How many times have you done this before?"
"Do not seek to lecture me about experience! I might ask what you know, I mean truly know, of our hardships under the tyrant's rule! You come from your lost world telling us what to do like you have some right to lead us!"
"I have seen oppression before, Brinai. I have seen women beaten to death in the streets for daring to walk outside of their houses, I have seen brutal dictators kill, torture and destroy simply because it makes them laugh," Davis said, calming down. "I understand what you are feeling. And I have fought for people like you before, and won. If you make this about revenge, for your people, for Bashakra? You will lose. You need to be better than the Imperium, you need to make your side more attractive to the people, you need to get them on your side. If you make this a campaign of fear, of terror? You will drive them away. We have no chance of winning a stand-up fight against the Imperium, and attacks like this will only harden the people's resolve against us. Justice for those who need it will come, Brinai, I promise. But now is not the time for it. Now, we need the people on our side, and running into the homes of their leaders and executing them and their families is not the way to do that."
Brinai cleared her throat. "Ah. So you heard. I do regret the August Keeper's family, Davis. It was a regrettable miscommunication, but Ahaz and Tais were already off comms. Perhaps their deaths balance out the Keeper's family, then... at any rate, it is too late, unless you returned from the Black Gate with a time machine."
"It is mistakes like that which will cost us this war," Davis said. "We were about to negotiate a cease-fire for Boranai, give us a safe haven we can use and a place for us to start giving back to the people we liberated on that planet, but now? I wouldn't be surprised if they just sunball the whole damn gate complex the first chance they get. We are not fighting to get revenge on the people who destroyed your planet and murdered your friends and family, Brinai. We are fighting to liberate the entire Imperium, and that means thinking strategically." Davis ran a hand through his hair in thought. "Do you at least have proof of their crimes? Hard evidence?"
"Imperial records, recordings of atrocities, anything?"
"My dear boy, the Cortex was naked before our techs," the old rebel answered.
"Good. Get your agents to disseminate that evidence to the people on the planets your teams attacked, and that includes the ones you simply abducted. Foment dissent and anger against them, become the people's savior from these evil men. And then release the ones you've captured into their people's...let's call it care," Davis smiled over the connection. "I'm not opposed to a little assassination and fear, it's just there's a time and a place for such things, don't you agree?"
"I think such a plan would be acceptable," Brinai replied.
Davis exited the men's room and finds Ngawai waiting for him, a curious look on her face.
"Everything all right?" she asked. Her English has improved enough not to draw a second glance in downtown DC.
"Hopefully," Davis replied, and put his arm around her shoulders as they walked back into the museum proper. "Have the Bashakrans always been this trigger-happy? Or is it just something having your planet burned to the ground around you does to a people?"
"I don't know," Ngawai answered, stopping to puzzle out the descriptive podium next to the Allosaurus. "Nobody's alive who had been to Bashakra before the reclamation except Bashakrans. I do know every single one I ever had to run down didn't go quietly."
Davis chuckled. "Well, it's fight like that that will get us through this, if it doesn't blow up in our faces first. Come on, I want to show you the Air and Space Museum, I think you'll get a kick out of it."
Admiral Duck Sauce
"Semo!" The sergeant's ironically diminutive mother grabbed her son in a hug that elicited a grunt from Semo despite their size difference. Semo's dad threw himself into the fray a moment later, as joy at seeing his son overcame his bad back.
---
Semo had finally returned to San Joaquin after a week of frantic travel. Luckily, Livia had managed to meet him up in Fresno the night before and they went out with some of Semo's old friends. It was a weird experience; conversation drifted to the Groi and the mysterious xenohumans and neither Semo nor Livia could offer their true feelings. It wasn't just the aliens. Semo felt separate from his old friends. They had traveled different paths for too long. To be sure, they were still friends, and they parted amiably amongst promises to keep in touch, but it would not be like it was before Semo was entrusted with national security. Only Livia understood him that night, and they made love in the Explorer under the California night sky.
---
"Who's this, Semo?" his mom teased, eyeing Livia standing slightly nervously in the driveway. "She's pretty, Semo!"
"Ma," Semo protested, embarrassed. "Come on. Ma, Dad, this is Livia Colomaya, we're stationed together."
Pleasantries were exchanged, and the Putupus (plus one) headed inside for dinner. Semo felt no separation, no strangeness. This night, he felt right at home.
---
New Hampshire
The yellow lines blend into each other this late at night. The reflectors on the asphalt are the only thing Luis really sees.
"Explain something to me," Arketta says, starting suddenly from an uncomfortable-looking dozing position half-wrapped around the shoulder belt.
Luis jerks himself, I-95's regularity having dulled him into a bit of a trance. Reflectors ahead, houses and building looking more and more like "home" on either side...
"Sure. What? If it's about the clutch again.."
"No, no... it's about your ravilars, your news people. Why does noone trust the news unless they're making light of it? How do people really know what to decide? About this war, or the one you have in the desert where you came from, or the economy, or anything?"
Luis lets that hang for a moment, assembling his answer. "I guess the civics-textbook answer would be that the founders were big believers in the ability of humans to think for themselves. So better to have a lot of information to make up your mind based on than have it made up for you." The wheels rattle over an expansion groove in the road surface. /Axle starting to sound lousy/, he thinks automatically. "Some people do get skeptical about it, whether people really can make up their minds or whether people will just find one source they agree with and just listen to that. Sort of odd to me, though, people being skeptical that skepticism can be a good thing. Sort of a cultural thing, I guess.
We just get used to getting multiple points of view and putting them together to get the truth ourself, rather than trying to guess where the truth is in a single view.
Ties in a little with thinking everybody has value. The opinion of an individual is as important as that of a group."
Luis lets off there, focusing on switching lanes to let some SUV that's been flashing him with it's high-beams pass him.
Arketta frowns as ideals run into the brick wall of reality. "But only some individuals' opinions are important, right? And the groups listen to them."
Luis nods, "Yeah, in practice, some people get listened to more because they're experts. Or they're funny in how they say it, like John. Or they say controversial things. But even then, those people are being listened to because people decide they want to, which is a little better than being listened to because there's not other choices."
"In the Imperium, there are just the ravilars. If you are not part of the news, if you're not involved in what they're talking about or don't know anyone who is, then there are no other sources."
"Well, a lot of our founders believed that a free press was key to the republican democracy they wanted. Heck, some of the signers were even independent printers, it's how they got involved with the start of the Revolution. These..ravilars would work for the centralized control the Imperium wants. For our system, what we have works."
Arketta's face grows dark. "They don't even know they're oppressed. My people just don't know any other way."
Luis sighs. "Look, don't get down about it. It's a big task, yeah. But look at yourself. Once your heard another option, you wanted to hear more, it got you thinking. Now look at you. The Imperium's control is by lack of information. If we can use local organizations, create our own network in the Imperium to spread the word...I think we can win by ideas.
Arketta, you're why I think that. When I was telling John I knew people in the Imperium who were smart, who were rational, and who'd been willing to listen....that wasn't the Rebels. That was you. You're the reason I have hope for this."
She blushes, although it's nigh-impossible to tell against her dark skin and the dark car. "And you have been my guide through all this, Luis," Arketta replies. "I might have turned out a very different Earthwoman otherwise."
Luis shrugs sheepishly, "I'm sure you would have been fine. You're a good person."
"So where are we headed now?" Arketta asks.
Luis glances at the car clock before remembering it doesn't work. "I figure we can stop for the night in Boston. There's a lot of good stuff around there," he says, "After that...my parents have invited me home. Would you interested in coming along?"
---
The clink of silverware on Luis' parents' good china seems deafening in the rarely-used dining room. Everything preceding dinner was small talk; Luis knew they preferred a captive audience, especially one indebted to them for a meal. Arketta was quiet, but Luis could tell that she was a little uneasy. The atmosphere was stifling, the air a water balloon full of awkward questions just waiting to burst.
Luis goes at the roast with less vigor than it probably deserves--there's a reason it's what gets made for guests. But that's what holds him back: the guests' roast dinner on the good china...there's something uneasy in being the guest in your own house. At least when he'd been home, what was it? Three years ago? At least it'd been meatloaf on regular plates, and what everyone thought about his choice of career had been said enough that it didn't need to be re-hased. Now... things were different.
"We saw you on the Daily Show, Luis," Martha intones. "I think they didn't really give you enough time."
Mmm...opening test. Let the games begin. Luis shrugs, "They taped more than they showed. They only have so much time on the air. Besides, it's not like I wasn't being given a run by Public Affairs myself."
"That's what I was trying to say," Luis' mother continues. "You have such a gift for that, you know. You could take this... this alien thing, and really make something of it. Something here, at home-"
"At least on Earth," Donovan Stanhill adds, quickly swallowing some potatoes.
Luis grimaces, trying to hide it in looking down at his plate. He'd thought about something like that immediately after the Black Gate mission. Now..."I can't. I'm good at this, and that means I go where they decide they need me," he says, then looks up, "And...this is something I want to do right now. This is bigger than me, but I want a part in it."
Luis' father nods slowly. "We just want what's best for you."
"Yes," Martha adds. "we just worry about you out there." She takes a surprisingly large slug from the merlot. "You haven't even been on Earth, and we wouldn't want you to waste your potential out there where it won't be appreciated."
Luis can almost feel Arketta go ice-cold.
Eggshells. "Mom, believe me when I say that certain people are exactly aware of what I...what we can do when we need to. We have done things in the past year I never would have believed anyone can do, and people--and I cannot say who--are very well aware of that as well, Hell...I would keep this under your hat, but I have faced the Emperor of the Imperium himself and put rounds right between one of his Avatar's eyes. And that was just part of a day's work."
Luis sets down his knife and rubs a phantom itch on his forehead. "I wish I could tell you half of what I've done. Because I've done everything I ever wanted to. Not how or why I wanted to...maybe. But I have. 'Potential' isn't a word I worry about living up to anymore."
"I didn't mean-" starts Martha, but Arketta cuts her off. "Luis is one of very, very few who has given freedom to a people who have never had it. He does not go unappreciated."
"I, uh... hmm," Donovan replies. "You never explained it like that before, or with such conviction. I didn't know."
Luis takes a breath. "I never thought you understand it. The stuff I've been doing lately may sound a little more impressive on the nightly news, but it's how I've felt since I joined up. At UNH...I wasn't doing anything much there except waste $10 grand a year. I joined up because I feel best when I'm contributing to something bigger than myself."
"And do you feel you're doing this with the Army out there in space? Contributing?" Luis' mom asks.
"Yes," Luis says, with barely a second of thought. "It's what I know I'm doing. There's worlds out there that need to know there's ways other than tyranny. There are entire species living in slavery without even knowing it. Hell, Earth's got a sword hanging over it; one with a countdown measured in decades, but it's there. We're changing that. Every mission we carry out, every life I save in the field, it's all to make everything I just said outdated information." He pauses for a second, letting his mind catch up with his mouth and what he's said. When he speaks again, his voice almost breaks. "And when I'm doing that...Mom, dad, that's when I feel like I'm living up to what you've taught me growing up and the examples you guys set."
Martha takes another slug of her wine. She's trying very hard not to tear up with a new face at the table. "Then you keep doing it, Luis. We're proud of you."
Luis nods slowly, biting his lip for the same reason as his mom. "Th...thank you."
Martha interjects quickly. "Who wants dessert?"
Don nods sagely. "So how's that car running, Luis?"
---
Semo had finally returned to San Joaquin after a week of frantic travel. Luckily, Livia had managed to meet him up in Fresno the night before and they went out with some of Semo's old friends. It was a weird experience; conversation drifted to the Groi and the mysterious xenohumans and neither Semo nor Livia could offer their true feelings. It wasn't just the aliens. Semo felt separate from his old friends. They had traveled different paths for too long. To be sure, they were still friends, and they parted amiably amongst promises to keep in touch, but it would not be like it was before Semo was entrusted with national security. Only Livia understood him that night, and they made love in the Explorer under the California night sky.
---
"Who's this, Semo?" his mom teased, eyeing Livia standing slightly nervously in the driveway. "She's pretty, Semo!"
"Ma," Semo protested, embarrassed. "Come on. Ma, Dad, this is Livia Colomaya, we're stationed together."
Pleasantries were exchanged, and the Putupus (plus one) headed inside for dinner. Semo felt no separation, no strangeness. This night, he felt right at home.
---
New Hampshire
The yellow lines blend into each other this late at night. The reflectors on the asphalt are the only thing Luis really sees.
"Explain something to me," Arketta says, starting suddenly from an uncomfortable-looking dozing position half-wrapped around the shoulder belt.
Luis jerks himself, I-95's regularity having dulled him into a bit of a trance. Reflectors ahead, houses and building looking more and more like "home" on either side...
"Sure. What? If it's about the clutch again.."
"No, no... it's about your ravilars, your news people. Why does noone trust the news unless they're making light of it? How do people really know what to decide? About this war, or the one you have in the desert where you came from, or the economy, or anything?"
Luis lets that hang for a moment, assembling his answer. "I guess the civics-textbook answer would be that the founders were big believers in the ability of humans to think for themselves. So better to have a lot of information to make up your mind based on than have it made up for you." The wheels rattle over an expansion groove in the road surface. /Axle starting to sound lousy/, he thinks automatically. "Some people do get skeptical about it, whether people really can make up their minds or whether people will just find one source they agree with and just listen to that. Sort of odd to me, though, people being skeptical that skepticism can be a good thing. Sort of a cultural thing, I guess.
We just get used to getting multiple points of view and putting them together to get the truth ourself, rather than trying to guess where the truth is in a single view.
Ties in a little with thinking everybody has value. The opinion of an individual is as important as that of a group."
Luis lets off there, focusing on switching lanes to let some SUV that's been flashing him with it's high-beams pass him.
Arketta frowns as ideals run into the brick wall of reality. "But only some individuals' opinions are important, right? And the groups listen to them."
Luis nods, "Yeah, in practice, some people get listened to more because they're experts. Or they're funny in how they say it, like John. Or they say controversial things. But even then, those people are being listened to because people decide they want to, which is a little better than being listened to because there's not other choices."
"In the Imperium, there are just the ravilars. If you are not part of the news, if you're not involved in what they're talking about or don't know anyone who is, then there are no other sources."
"Well, a lot of our founders believed that a free press was key to the republican democracy they wanted. Heck, some of the signers were even independent printers, it's how they got involved with the start of the Revolution. These..ravilars would work for the centralized control the Imperium wants. For our system, what we have works."
Arketta's face grows dark. "They don't even know they're oppressed. My people just don't know any other way."
Luis sighs. "Look, don't get down about it. It's a big task, yeah. But look at yourself. Once your heard another option, you wanted to hear more, it got you thinking. Now look at you. The Imperium's control is by lack of information. If we can use local organizations, create our own network in the Imperium to spread the word...I think we can win by ideas.
Arketta, you're why I think that. When I was telling John I knew people in the Imperium who were smart, who were rational, and who'd been willing to listen....that wasn't the Rebels. That was you. You're the reason I have hope for this."
She blushes, although it's nigh-impossible to tell against her dark skin and the dark car. "And you have been my guide through all this, Luis," Arketta replies. "I might have turned out a very different Earthwoman otherwise."
Luis shrugs sheepishly, "I'm sure you would have been fine. You're a good person."
"So where are we headed now?" Arketta asks.
Luis glances at the car clock before remembering it doesn't work. "I figure we can stop for the night in Boston. There's a lot of good stuff around there," he says, "After that...my parents have invited me home. Would you interested in coming along?"
---
The clink of silverware on Luis' parents' good china seems deafening in the rarely-used dining room. Everything preceding dinner was small talk; Luis knew they preferred a captive audience, especially one indebted to them for a meal. Arketta was quiet, but Luis could tell that she was a little uneasy. The atmosphere was stifling, the air a water balloon full of awkward questions just waiting to burst.
Luis goes at the roast with less vigor than it probably deserves--there's a reason it's what gets made for guests. But that's what holds him back: the guests' roast dinner on the good china...there's something uneasy in being the guest in your own house. At least when he'd been home, what was it? Three years ago? At least it'd been meatloaf on regular plates, and what everyone thought about his choice of career had been said enough that it didn't need to be re-hased. Now... things were different.
"We saw you on the Daily Show, Luis," Martha intones. "I think they didn't really give you enough time."
Mmm...opening test. Let the games begin. Luis shrugs, "They taped more than they showed. They only have so much time on the air. Besides, it's not like I wasn't being given a run by Public Affairs myself."
"That's what I was trying to say," Luis' mother continues. "You have such a gift for that, you know. You could take this... this alien thing, and really make something of it. Something here, at home-"
"At least on Earth," Donovan Stanhill adds, quickly swallowing some potatoes.
Luis grimaces, trying to hide it in looking down at his plate. He'd thought about something like that immediately after the Black Gate mission. Now..."I can't. I'm good at this, and that means I go where they decide they need me," he says, then looks up, "And...this is something I want to do right now. This is bigger than me, but I want a part in it."
Luis' father nods slowly. "We just want what's best for you."
"Yes," Martha adds. "we just worry about you out there." She takes a surprisingly large slug from the merlot. "You haven't even been on Earth, and we wouldn't want you to waste your potential out there where it won't be appreciated."
Luis can almost feel Arketta go ice-cold.
Eggshells. "Mom, believe me when I say that certain people are exactly aware of what I...what we can do when we need to. We have done things in the past year I never would have believed anyone can do, and people--and I cannot say who--are very well aware of that as well, Hell...I would keep this under your hat, but I have faced the Emperor of the Imperium himself and put rounds right between one of his Avatar's eyes. And that was just part of a day's work."
Luis sets down his knife and rubs a phantom itch on his forehead. "I wish I could tell you half of what I've done. Because I've done everything I ever wanted to. Not how or why I wanted to...maybe. But I have. 'Potential' isn't a word I worry about living up to anymore."
"I didn't mean-" starts Martha, but Arketta cuts her off. "Luis is one of very, very few who has given freedom to a people who have never had it. He does not go unappreciated."
"I, uh... hmm," Donovan replies. "You never explained it like that before, or with such conviction. I didn't know."
Luis takes a breath. "I never thought you understand it. The stuff I've been doing lately may sound a little more impressive on the nightly news, but it's how I've felt since I joined up. At UNH...I wasn't doing anything much there except waste $10 grand a year. I joined up because I feel best when I'm contributing to something bigger than myself."
"And do you feel you're doing this with the Army out there in space? Contributing?" Luis' mom asks.
"Yes," Luis says, with barely a second of thought. "It's what I know I'm doing. There's worlds out there that need to know there's ways other than tyranny. There are entire species living in slavery without even knowing it. Hell, Earth's got a sword hanging over it; one with a countdown measured in decades, but it's there. We're changing that. Every mission we carry out, every life I save in the field, it's all to make everything I just said outdated information." He pauses for a second, letting his mind catch up with his mouth and what he's said. When he speaks again, his voice almost breaks. "And when I'm doing that...Mom, dad, that's when I feel like I'm living up to what you've taught me growing up and the examples you guys set."
Martha takes another slug of her wine. She's trying very hard not to tear up with a new face at the table. "Then you keep doing it, Luis. We're proud of you."
Luis nods slowly, biting his lip for the same reason as his mom. "Th...thank you."
Martha interjects quickly. "Who wants dessert?"
Don nods sagely. "So how's that car running, Luis?"
Admiral Duck Sauce
The Court of Heavenly Purity, Napai
Kao, Jade Emperor of the Thousand Worlds, decided that he hated Garrett Davis more than anyone else in the galaxy. The man represented everything despicable about the Homeworld. At least the other Narsai'i were engaged in out-and-out warfare. Davis, on the other hand... ugh. Kao's ancient face grimaced inside the biotank. Every word stank of deception, every promise and philosophy rang hollow with hidden motive. Even the fact that Kao owed Davis his life. Especially that. Most of all, though, Kao hated the ansible. He hated the link between the Homeworld and his Imperium, he hated that Davis could call on him like some vox-link to a late-night food-drone, and he hated the incessant talking... the... the friendliness of it all. He grew tired of lying to Davis. He longed for the comfort of his own thoughts, and for the obedience and order of his once-smoothly running empire.
Fighting the Narsai'i and their rebel allies was like fighting water. The Homeworld had barred its Gateways with a paranoia born of centuries of planetary warfare and politicking nation-states. The attempts to break into their sanctums were constant but thus far ineffective. The closest Gateship was almost two years into its 30-year mission, its two siblings spaced out 6 months behind. Three decades was a long time to wait for ultimate satisfaction. Davis and his ilk had already dealt terrible blows to the Imperium in a matter of months. Kao himself would not live another 30 years, not even with the biotank and genetic treatments. Perhaps that was the key. Not his ever-growing mortality, but the legacy he could pass on. If things continued, Kao would die and his Imperium would crumble, taken apart planet by planet, destroyed by idealistic prattling and the fragile limitations of the ancient gates. Davis was a liar and a zealot but the best lies have truth to them. He warned Kao of possible assassination then claimed he knew nothing about the rash of attacks that claimed brave servants' lives. If only Davis knew how close that danger was, how truly helpless Kao was with only two Avatars operational, he might not have bothered with the Keepers and Speakers and Rav-Oduns. He might have had the gall to simply come for Kao. After all, Kao was the youngest of his dead siblings. It would be fitting he should meet his end the same way, wouldn't it?
How to spur the Imperium to action? How best to force his wishes on his people after he was gone? Thirty years of hate was what Kao needed from his Imperium. Three decades full of hate for a Homeworld never seen, an invisible treasure hanging out of reach.
Kao loved his people, after a fashion. He saw himself as the sum of them, necessarily greater than but still a part of the people of the Imperium. He hated the pacification of Bashakra, but without unity, without a strong leader and ordered purpose, the Imperium could not survive. He hated the Homeworld for not simply accepting his rightful dominion, he hated the thought of killing a planet with a hurtling Gateship from thirty light-years away. He hated that he did not have the strength to see it through. He did not have the strength to enter the Black Gate like his predecessors. He did not have the strength to fight off the demon. He did not have the strength to defend his Imperium, so with a heavy heart, Kao decided to find someone who could.
Kao, Jade Emperor of the Thousand Worlds, hated Garrett Davis, but he hated himself even more, for he was a coward.
Kao, Jade Emperor of the Thousand Worlds, decided that he hated Garrett Davis more than anyone else in the galaxy. The man represented everything despicable about the Homeworld. At least the other Narsai'i were engaged in out-and-out warfare. Davis, on the other hand... ugh. Kao's ancient face grimaced inside the biotank. Every word stank of deception, every promise and philosophy rang hollow with hidden motive. Even the fact that Kao owed Davis his life. Especially that. Most of all, though, Kao hated the ansible. He hated the link between the Homeworld and his Imperium, he hated that Davis could call on him like some vox-link to a late-night food-drone, and he hated the incessant talking... the... the friendliness of it all. He grew tired of lying to Davis. He longed for the comfort of his own thoughts, and for the obedience and order of his once-smoothly running empire.
Fighting the Narsai'i and their rebel allies was like fighting water. The Homeworld had barred its Gateways with a paranoia born of centuries of planetary warfare and politicking nation-states. The attempts to break into their sanctums were constant but thus far ineffective. The closest Gateship was almost two years into its 30-year mission, its two siblings spaced out 6 months behind. Three decades was a long time to wait for ultimate satisfaction. Davis and his ilk had already dealt terrible blows to the Imperium in a matter of months. Kao himself would not live another 30 years, not even with the biotank and genetic treatments. Perhaps that was the key. Not his ever-growing mortality, but the legacy he could pass on. If things continued, Kao would die and his Imperium would crumble, taken apart planet by planet, destroyed by idealistic prattling and the fragile limitations of the ancient gates. Davis was a liar and a zealot but the best lies have truth to them. He warned Kao of possible assassination then claimed he knew nothing about the rash of attacks that claimed brave servants' lives. If only Davis knew how close that danger was, how truly helpless Kao was with only two Avatars operational, he might not have bothered with the Keepers and Speakers and Rav-Oduns. He might have had the gall to simply come for Kao. After all, Kao was the youngest of his dead siblings. It would be fitting he should meet his end the same way, wouldn't it?
How to spur the Imperium to action? How best to force his wishes on his people after he was gone? Thirty years of hate was what Kao needed from his Imperium. Three decades full of hate for a Homeworld never seen, an invisible treasure hanging out of reach.
Kao loved his people, after a fashion. He saw himself as the sum of them, necessarily greater than but still a part of the people of the Imperium. He hated the pacification of Bashakra, but without unity, without a strong leader and ordered purpose, the Imperium could not survive. He hated the Homeworld for not simply accepting his rightful dominion, he hated the thought of killing a planet with a hurtling Gateship from thirty light-years away. He hated that he did not have the strength to see it through. He did not have the strength to enter the Black Gate like his predecessors. He did not have the strength to fight off the demon. He did not have the strength to defend his Imperium, so with a heavy heart, Kao decided to find someone who could.
Kao, Jade Emperor of the Thousand Worlds, hated Garrett Davis, but he hated himself even more, for he was a coward.
Admiral Duck Sauce
Jang-Xur
Bar Coda slapped the holoemitter crudley bolted onto the butcher stall wall, elicting a static gurgle along with a slightly clearer image of the Ravilar giving another propogandist speech from the vast stair-stepped facade of the Imperial Palace. The suspicious rebel and his small recruitment cell had been busier than normal these past few weeks, what with the steady influx of would-be freedom fighters. Some were useful, of course, but the percentage of useful-to-liability was not impressive. It was like revolution was suddenly a fad, a fad that had died off with the Emperor's latest proclamation: He was retiring through the Black Gate and without an heir, He was putting His succession to a vote.
At least the wannabe-terrorists dropped off significantly.
Bar wondered if He was fooling anybody. The five candidates ran the gamut from "hardliner" to "same as the old boss" to "if you vote for this person, you'll get a late-night visit from a Kansat dropteam". It was an insult to the freedom movement, it took the wind out of the sails of those who might have otherwise taken action, and, if Bar's contacts were right, it would glean valuable information on possible dissenters based on their voting choices. Plus, the Emperor's journey into the Black Gate - a time-honored if mysterious religious ceremony - garnered support from the old religious groups.
The Ravilar started speaking and Bar Coda took up a recorder, preparing to make notes on this latest batch of lies.
---
The Court of Heavenly Purity, Napai
Kao smiled at his plan. The election was rigged, of course. It would not do for the next Emperor to be a bloodthirsty hardliner, but someone with sufficient violence of action would be required to see the Imperium through the long night to their final vengeance against Earth. Kao had abstained from taking any official position - that would simply invite assassination attempts on the candidates from all parties. No, better the dissenters attempt to plan for every contingency and overextend their efforts than to give them an advantage too soon, even if His support of one candidate might legitimately win the election through sheer obedience from His more loyal subjects.
Vidas Lam, Kao cursed, how it pained him to have to think in terms of loyalty gradients.
No matter. The Black Gate was a deathtrap no longer. Kao would enter it soon, find the Masters, and through them, attain long life and peace - a just reward for over a century of hard service and undying devotion to His people.
---
Live Cortexfeed, Imperial Palace, Napai
"The vicious assault on the Cortex and the Repository of Benevolent Spirits proves that the Narsai'i are NOT barbarians. They are NOT a minor threat to our Imperium, and they are, above all, NOT the fabled saviors of myth. This is an organized, powerful, and utterly alien enemy who have nothing but contempt for our way of life, our way of life that has united and sustained us across countless worlds and across countless centuries. They are cowards. They hide amongst us, not daring to face us in open combat. Their foolhardly attack on Boranai and the deaths of many brave Imperial nobles must be avenged."
Sun Shenmai, the expected winner of the Imperium-wide election and the soon-to-be People's Emperor of the Thousand Worlds, was acting exactly as Kao predicted. Three assassination attempts had been thwarted throughout the election, but none had come from the other candidates - it was slightly worrisome, but it would all very soon be Shenmai's problem.
Kao sighed as he initialized the Avatar for perhaps the last time. Soon he would be free of his decades-long prison. The ritual ceremony of succession was without incident. People's Imperium, Kao thought. An amusing concept. Davis would probably laugh when he heard it. With the Avatar standing in its rightful place next to the new Emperor's throne, Kao deactivated the connections and had his stewards begin the first of the decoupling protocols.
---
Kao did not feel his brittle bones protest, did not wince at the microfractures cracking his legs as they carried his insignificant weight for the first time in over eighty years. He was far too juiced for such simple pains. No, what he felt was freedom, a fleeting freedom that would soon turn to a quick death should the Masters not come to his aid. The Black Gateroom was dimly lit by mysterious streamlined wall sconces that did little to help Kao's withered eyes. He stumbled deeper into the border facility.
Finally, the dim light grew brighter and there was a brief flash from a chamber beyond. Kao steeled himself on his swaying feet. Very close now, very close to immortality. He had beaten them; Davis, the insurgency, the traitors in his Court, the Homeworld. He thought of what he would say when finally face to face with the Masters.
Bar Coda slapped the holoemitter crudley bolted onto the butcher stall wall, elicting a static gurgle along with a slightly clearer image of the Ravilar giving another propogandist speech from the vast stair-stepped facade of the Imperial Palace. The suspicious rebel and his small recruitment cell had been busier than normal these past few weeks, what with the steady influx of would-be freedom fighters. Some were useful, of course, but the percentage of useful-to-liability was not impressive. It was like revolution was suddenly a fad, a fad that had died off with the Emperor's latest proclamation: He was retiring through the Black Gate and without an heir, He was putting His succession to a vote.
At least the wannabe-terrorists dropped off significantly.
Bar wondered if He was fooling anybody. The five candidates ran the gamut from "hardliner" to "same as the old boss" to "if you vote for this person, you'll get a late-night visit from a Kansat dropteam". It was an insult to the freedom movement, it took the wind out of the sails of those who might have otherwise taken action, and, if Bar's contacts were right, it would glean valuable information on possible dissenters based on their voting choices. Plus, the Emperor's journey into the Black Gate - a time-honored if mysterious religious ceremony - garnered support from the old religious groups.
The Ravilar started speaking and Bar Coda took up a recorder, preparing to make notes on this latest batch of lies.
---
The Court of Heavenly Purity, Napai
Kao smiled at his plan. The election was rigged, of course. It would not do for the next Emperor to be a bloodthirsty hardliner, but someone with sufficient violence of action would be required to see the Imperium through the long night to their final vengeance against Earth. Kao had abstained from taking any official position - that would simply invite assassination attempts on the candidates from all parties. No, better the dissenters attempt to plan for every contingency and overextend their efforts than to give them an advantage too soon, even if His support of one candidate might legitimately win the election through sheer obedience from His more loyal subjects.
Vidas Lam, Kao cursed, how it pained him to have to think in terms of loyalty gradients.
No matter. The Black Gate was a deathtrap no longer. Kao would enter it soon, find the Masters, and through them, attain long life and peace - a just reward for over a century of hard service and undying devotion to His people.
---
Live Cortexfeed, Imperial Palace, Napai
"The vicious assault on the Cortex and the Repository of Benevolent Spirits proves that the Narsai'i are NOT barbarians. They are NOT a minor threat to our Imperium, and they are, above all, NOT the fabled saviors of myth. This is an organized, powerful, and utterly alien enemy who have nothing but contempt for our way of life, our way of life that has united and sustained us across countless worlds and across countless centuries. They are cowards. They hide amongst us, not daring to face us in open combat. Their foolhardly attack on Boranai and the deaths of many brave Imperial nobles must be avenged."
Sun Shenmai, the expected winner of the Imperium-wide election and the soon-to-be People's Emperor of the Thousand Worlds, was acting exactly as Kao predicted. Three assassination attempts had been thwarted throughout the election, but none had come from the other candidates - it was slightly worrisome, but it would all very soon be Shenmai's problem.
Kao sighed as he initialized the Avatar for perhaps the last time. Soon he would be free of his decades-long prison. The ritual ceremony of succession was without incident. People's Imperium, Kao thought. An amusing concept. Davis would probably laugh when he heard it. With the Avatar standing in its rightful place next to the new Emperor's throne, Kao deactivated the connections and had his stewards begin the first of the decoupling protocols.
---
Kao did not feel his brittle bones protest, did not wince at the microfractures cracking his legs as they carried his insignificant weight for the first time in over eighty years. He was far too juiced for such simple pains. No, what he felt was freedom, a fleeting freedom that would soon turn to a quick death should the Masters not come to his aid. The Black Gateroom was dimly lit by mysterious streamlined wall sconces that did little to help Kao's withered eyes. He stumbled deeper into the border facility.
Finally, the dim light grew brighter and there was a brief flash from a chamber beyond. Kao steeled himself on his swaying feet. Very close now, very close to immortality. He had beaten them; Davis, the insurgency, the traitors in his Court, the Homeworld. He thought of what he would say when finally face to face with the Masters.
Admiral Duck Sauce
The Groi Shell
It was a good axe, Swam-the-Black decided, and would do nicely. The war-weary Whiirr turned Dominic's handmade hatchet over in his paws, admiring the Russian's handiwork before setting another log on the stump. Nightfall came quickly on the habitat and the campfire would need wood to last through dinner.
"Hey, Chewie!" Kelly called from his perch near the top of the boat's hull. "Pass that plank up to me, will ya?" Swam and Washington had taken Dom's project as their own after the friendly Russian's departure a few weeks ago. The Russian government had tracked down the elder Bullchev based on Davis' report, and with Swam-the-Black there to keep Kelly company, they had decided that Dominic should go back to Earth if that was what he wanted.
It was, Dom had finally decided. And so with their friend gone, the remaining non-Groi had spent weeks tearing new blisters into their hands, working on Dom's boat in the old time-honored fashion he had taken to heart so many years prior.
The Groi left them to their own devices, and so it was a surprise when the mirror-silver energy-pod flitted down out of the false sky and alighted a moment on the grass about ten meters from the boat. It deposited a husk of a man, swaddled in thick ceremonial robes, then departed straight up without explanation or farewell.
The little old man fell forward, disoriented and confused, and Swam could hear his wrists break when he caught himself on the grass.
"What the hell just happened?" Kelly shouted from atop the hull. "Who's that?"
"My former master, I believe," Swam signed back to Kelly. He could not stop his fur flaming in colors of confusion, anticipation and barely-controlled anger.
"He looks hurt! Does he need help?" Kelly shouted. He started to climb down but stopped when Swam signaled.
"I will see to him," the Whiirr said. He saw the Emperor gather the strength to rise, teetering and wheezing. The Emperor's adrenaline dump was palpable, picked up through the robes by Swam-the-Black's Caretaker training. The shivering was obvious even to Kelly.
"This is not what they promised me!" Kao shouted. "A... a Whiirr and an old wooden wreck? You there! Come here and help me!"
"Of course, my Emperor," Swam answered in guttural Imperial. He made the sign of the akwhela even though his fur betrayed his intentions.
"You... do I know you?" Kao asked, taking two tentative steps forward.
"I was once Fourth Claw," answered Swam. "I stood next to the Avatar on your flagship and watched Bashakra burn. I learned you and yours were naught but false gods. I won my freedom in the Arena and left for the stars. I stood with the Homeworld against you. I fought the demon beyond the Black Gate and opened the way for you. I came to this place to find peace but it has eluded me until now. My soul has burned for righteous purpose ever since I took my leave, and now it burns like Bashakra those many years ago."
"Swam? Buddy?" Kelly ventured. The alien ignored him. Whoever this old fossil was to the walking carpet, it was personal.
Swam saw Kao's eyes flicker with surprise, saw his racked, dying body betray him as fear replaced confusion.
"No..." Kao managed as Swam-the-Black advanced towards his former master.
It was a good axe, Swam-the-Black decided, and would do nicely.
It was a good axe, Swam-the-Black decided, and would do nicely. The war-weary Whiirr turned Dominic's handmade hatchet over in his paws, admiring the Russian's handiwork before setting another log on the stump. Nightfall came quickly on the habitat and the campfire would need wood to last through dinner.
"Hey, Chewie!" Kelly called from his perch near the top of the boat's hull. "Pass that plank up to me, will ya?" Swam and Washington had taken Dom's project as their own after the friendly Russian's departure a few weeks ago. The Russian government had tracked down the elder Bullchev based on Davis' report, and with Swam-the-Black there to keep Kelly company, they had decided that Dominic should go back to Earth if that was what he wanted.
It was, Dom had finally decided. And so with their friend gone, the remaining non-Groi had spent weeks tearing new blisters into their hands, working on Dom's boat in the old time-honored fashion he had taken to heart so many years prior.
The Groi left them to their own devices, and so it was a surprise when the mirror-silver energy-pod flitted down out of the false sky and alighted a moment on the grass about ten meters from the boat. It deposited a husk of a man, swaddled in thick ceremonial robes, then departed straight up without explanation or farewell.
The little old man fell forward, disoriented and confused, and Swam could hear his wrists break when he caught himself on the grass.
"What the hell just happened?" Kelly shouted from atop the hull. "Who's that?"
"My former master, I believe," Swam signed back to Kelly. He could not stop his fur flaming in colors of confusion, anticipation and barely-controlled anger.
"He looks hurt! Does he need help?" Kelly shouted. He started to climb down but stopped when Swam signaled.
"I will see to him," the Whiirr said. He saw the Emperor gather the strength to rise, teetering and wheezing. The Emperor's adrenaline dump was palpable, picked up through the robes by Swam-the-Black's Caretaker training. The shivering was obvious even to Kelly.
"This is not what they promised me!" Kao shouted. "A... a Whiirr and an old wooden wreck? You there! Come here and help me!"
"Of course, my Emperor," Swam answered in guttural Imperial. He made the sign of the akwhela even though his fur betrayed his intentions.
"You... do I know you?" Kao asked, taking two tentative steps forward.
"I was once Fourth Claw," answered Swam. "I stood next to the Avatar on your flagship and watched Bashakra burn. I learned you and yours were naught but false gods. I won my freedom in the Arena and left for the stars. I stood with the Homeworld against you. I fought the demon beyond the Black Gate and opened the way for you. I came to this place to find peace but it has eluded me until now. My soul has burned for righteous purpose ever since I took my leave, and now it burns like Bashakra those many years ago."
"Swam? Buddy?" Kelly ventured. The alien ignored him. Whoever this old fossil was to the walking carpet, it was personal.
Swam saw Kao's eyes flicker with surprise, saw his racked, dying body betray him as fear replaced confusion.
"No..." Kao managed as Swam-the-Black advanced towards his former master.
It was a good axe, Swam-the-Black decided, and would do nicely.
Admiral Duck Sauce
Hilton Washington Dulles Airport, Herndon, VA
Ngawai groaned and flushed the toilet.
"Everything all right in there?" Davis asked. It was a nice suite, with a thick door that muffled his voice enough to result in a allmuffin right yard?
"Yeah!" Ngawai replied. "Be out in a second." She fiddled with the sink until she got the water rushing out like she liked (a wonderfully wasteful contrast to a shadowport's rationing). She soaked her hands and ran the soap over them and scrubbed, and then she bent down and splashed water over her face and looked through water-bleary eyes at her reflection in the mirror.
Harlon's HEAP-mangled face stared back at her.
Ngawai jumped back, shut her eyes, and reflexively covered her face with her hands.
You're dead go away go away go away not now not now you're dead you're dead you're DEAD
Too terrified to open her eyes again or to turn off the sink, Ngawai stood there in the bathroom. The eco-friendly bulbs couldn't penetrate her hands and her eyelids and so Ngawai was left in darkness.
I'm still here, Harlon whispered. Ngawai let out a whimper that didn't get through the bathroom door. She felt cold, greasy, dead flesh between her toes, on her back. She flashed back to when she first met Davis and he put her in the dark with Harlon's corpse.
Yes, the corpse breathed. We made a promise to each other. I'll be here for the rest of your days until you see it through.
Ngawai opened her eyes and saw herself in the mirror. Red eyes streaked with sudden tears, water marks on her NASA logo t-shirt. Harlon's ruined half-face and exposed ribcage stood next to her, his mostly-intact side obscured now by steam from the sink. Ngawai sobbed once, catching her breath.
"Davis didn't touch you!" she half-thought, half-whispered. "It was fucked up but you were gone and I needed to live. I needed to live to... to..."
To avenge me. We NEVER let the mother-
"-fuckers get the last laugh," Ngawai finished. Her eyes hardened and her breathing slowed and her heart stopped pounding. Harlon's ghost put his hands on her shoulders and she felt his awful pull again. She searched for some way out of it but her promise held her tight. Then she remembered. Her mouth moved with Davis' words but the voice she heard was Harlon's.
"Eventually, I found the bastard who did betray us, and I put a bullet in his head."
Davis put Hadiya to rest with that shot, Harlon told Ngawai. You owe me the same. Davis will understand. He loves you.
Ngawai steeled herself for what was to come. She turned off the water and dried her face and took several deep breaths. Then she steeled herself for what was about to happen and opened the bathroom door and saw Davis sitting on the bed with his tourist brochures scattered about.
Ngawai clenched her fists and shut the bathroom door behind her and smiled at Davis.
"I'm pregnant."
Ngawai groaned and flushed the toilet.
"Everything all right in there?" Davis asked. It was a nice suite, with a thick door that muffled his voice enough to result in a allmuffin right yard?
"Yeah!" Ngawai replied. "Be out in a second." She fiddled with the sink until she got the water rushing out like she liked (a wonderfully wasteful contrast to a shadowport's rationing). She soaked her hands and ran the soap over them and scrubbed, and then she bent down and splashed water over her face and looked through water-bleary eyes at her reflection in the mirror.
Harlon's HEAP-mangled face stared back at her.
Ngawai jumped back, shut her eyes, and reflexively covered her face with her hands.
You're dead go away go away go away not now not now you're dead you're dead you're DEAD
Too terrified to open her eyes again or to turn off the sink, Ngawai stood there in the bathroom. The eco-friendly bulbs couldn't penetrate her hands and her eyelids and so Ngawai was left in darkness.
I'm still here, Harlon whispered. Ngawai let out a whimper that didn't get through the bathroom door. She felt cold, greasy, dead flesh between her toes, on her back. She flashed back to when she first met Davis and he put her in the dark with Harlon's corpse.
Yes, the corpse breathed. We made a promise to each other. I'll be here for the rest of your days until you see it through.
Ngawai opened her eyes and saw herself in the mirror. Red eyes streaked with sudden tears, water marks on her NASA logo t-shirt. Harlon's ruined half-face and exposed ribcage stood next to her, his mostly-intact side obscured now by steam from the sink. Ngawai sobbed once, catching her breath.
"Davis didn't touch you!" she half-thought, half-whispered. "It was fucked up but you were gone and I needed to live. I needed to live to... to..."
To avenge me. We NEVER let the mother-
"-fuckers get the last laugh," Ngawai finished. Her eyes hardened and her breathing slowed and her heart stopped pounding. Harlon's ghost put his hands on her shoulders and she felt his awful pull again. She searched for some way out of it but her promise held her tight. Then she remembered. Her mouth moved with Davis' words but the voice she heard was Harlon's.
"Eventually, I found the bastard who did betray us, and I put a bullet in his head."
Davis put Hadiya to rest with that shot, Harlon told Ngawai. You owe me the same. Davis will understand. He loves you.
Ngawai steeled herself for what was to come. She turned off the water and dried her face and took several deep breaths. Then she steeled herself for what was about to happen and opened the bathroom door and saw Davis sitting on the bed with his tourist brochures scattered about.
Ngawai clenched her fists and shut the bathroom door behind her and smiled at Davis.
"I'm pregnant."
Admiral Duck Sauce
Bridgeport, Connecticut
"So you saved Earth, huh?"
What do you say to that? Hugh smiled modestly at his father Alvin.
"Yes, Dad." Hugh laughed once and tipped the beer back. The elder Verrill did the same, punctuating it with a burp. Tomorrow was Hugh's mother's birthday, and the Delta captain could tell her favorite gift was Hugh being home. Mothers are like that, though. George wanted to hear Hugh's stories, but Hugh hadn't been in the mood to share. Hugh had seen just about every kind of kid ship out in his career; some were just there to kill things, some wanted a way out of a dead-end life, some were patriots, some were there for family, some were there for life. Hugh would normally always have something to regale George with, but it was too soon, too close.
---
Therese's birthday cake was chocolate-frosted, dotted with pink and blue sugar-flowers. As a joke, Alvin had simply laid a box of candles on top for his wife to see before simply lighting a single one. The street outside the cape cod was quiet, the grass freshly mowed, and the white lacy window treatments moved just a hair in the breeze from the slightly open porch door.
Happy Birthday to you...
Bill Coffin couldn't carry a note even if he was handcuffed to it. Hugh looked over his father's still-thick white hair (a blessing of the Verrill family tree), George's lanky frame, and Specialist Coffin's winking eyes. Captain Sirocco was there next to Bill, lending his voice to the cacophony that was Therese Verrill's birthday celebration.
Happy Birthday to you...
Chuck Taylor's deep voice, actually on-key, drew Hugh's gaze to the space across the table. Mellish sang along, arm around Benjamin Greene's shoulders.
Happy Birthday dear Therese...
A sea of dress blues. A host of voices. Angel's quiet voice caught Hugh's ear, finally raised in song. Semo to the right, squeezed in between Sirocco and Stanhill. Arketta and Davis and even Max sang out along with Bernstein and Murphy and Naves and Cooper. Sathoff grumbled out the lines along with Martinez. Buchanan's tenor carried over Keaton's murmurs and drowned out Herricks and Kruger and Jordan and White.
Happy Birthday to youuuuu
And then they were in the street, filling the driveway, in the neighbors' yards, each man or woman looking at Hugh and letting him know that they had his back. This is what they were fighting for. They were right there with him, making sure mothers and fathers and sons and daughters would keep on celebrating birthdays. They were there with Hugh and he was with them. They had a fight coming but they would be there to finish it.
Hugh smiled at his mother and cut the cake.
"So you saved Earth, huh?"
What do you say to that? Hugh smiled modestly at his father Alvin.
"Yes, Dad." Hugh laughed once and tipped the beer back. The elder Verrill did the same, punctuating it with a burp. Tomorrow was Hugh's mother's birthday, and the Delta captain could tell her favorite gift was Hugh being home. Mothers are like that, though. George wanted to hear Hugh's stories, but Hugh hadn't been in the mood to share. Hugh had seen just about every kind of kid ship out in his career; some were just there to kill things, some wanted a way out of a dead-end life, some were patriots, some were there for family, some were there for life. Hugh would normally always have something to regale George with, but it was too soon, too close.
---
Therese's birthday cake was chocolate-frosted, dotted with pink and blue sugar-flowers. As a joke, Alvin had simply laid a box of candles on top for his wife to see before simply lighting a single one. The street outside the cape cod was quiet, the grass freshly mowed, and the white lacy window treatments moved just a hair in the breeze from the slightly open porch door.
Happy Birthday to you...
Bill Coffin couldn't carry a note even if he was handcuffed to it. Hugh looked over his father's still-thick white hair (a blessing of the Verrill family tree), George's lanky frame, and Specialist Coffin's winking eyes. Captain Sirocco was there next to Bill, lending his voice to the cacophony that was Therese Verrill's birthday celebration.
Happy Birthday to you...
Chuck Taylor's deep voice, actually on-key, drew Hugh's gaze to the space across the table. Mellish sang along, arm around Benjamin Greene's shoulders.
Happy Birthday dear Therese...
A sea of dress blues. A host of voices. Angel's quiet voice caught Hugh's ear, finally raised in song. Semo to the right, squeezed in between Sirocco and Stanhill. Arketta and Davis and even Max sang out along with Bernstein and Murphy and Naves and Cooper. Sathoff grumbled out the lines along with Martinez. Buchanan's tenor carried over Keaton's murmurs and drowned out Herricks and Kruger and Jordan and White.
Happy Birthday to youuuuu
And then they were in the street, filling the driveway, in the neighbors' yards, each man or woman looking at Hugh and letting him know that they had his back. This is what they were fighting for. They were right there with him, making sure mothers and fathers and sons and daughters would keep on celebrating birthdays. They were there with Hugh and he was with them. They had a fight coming but they would be there to finish it.
Hugh smiled at his mother and cut the cake.