Qualea Drop (The Spiral Wars #7), page 31
"Hello Phoenix, are you hearing me?" Still there was nothing. Something grabbed and spun him from behind, and then he was staring at Wowser's mismatched eyes again, glaring at him as though trying to communicate something. Drones couldn't talk, and of all Phoenix's drones, Wowser had always seemed the least inclined. The alien machine seemed almost frustrated by the necessity.
A big vibroblade foreleg rapped hard on Rika's armoured shoulder, then pointed at the other drysines. The red laser pointer once again glared on Rika's visor, half blinding. "I know!" Rika shouted back, because it was obvious by now. "The other drysines are doing it, they're trying to steal the ceephay datacore! What do we do?"
Perhaps Wowser's laser worked as coms, translating visor vibrations into sound, because Wowser let him go, lightly grabbed a chairback and pulled himself in the direction of the cutting drysines. He wanted backup, Rika realised, heart thumping even harder as he realised how crazy that was, and pushed off after him.
A handle on a storage wall opposite the ceephay core presented an anchorpoint, which he grabbed, then checked his rifle. It was a relatively modern weapon, manufactured by Corbi Resistance in one of their secret facilities and capable of turning an unarmored man to red mist with a single shot. But it had barely half the muzzle length or hitting power of a human Koshaim 20, though much more manageable for a smaller, rookie corbi with only a few hours' operational experience. If he'd fired it at a human marine, he doubted it would penetrate, given the crazy materials science that went into human armour suits. Drysine drones, he reckoned, would be even more advanced.
One of the drysines ceased work to confront Wowser, blocking his approach. Wowser caught a chairback, and extended a foreleg to use the other drysine's mass to halt. Red lasercoms extended and probed, while another two drysines kept working, sparks erupting as they made rapid cuts to free the core. When the drysines jammed coms, Rika thought dry-mouthed, they must have jammed their own ability to communicate as well. Astonishingly, Wowser evidently remained outside of their command structure. Everyone had assumed that in any conflict between Phoenix and the drysines, Styx would take the drysines' side, and Wowser, Bucket and Peanut would follow. Wowser answered to Styx, so why was he arguing with the drysines here?
Wowser's foreleg was very close to the other drysine's shielded head unit, Rika noticed. Then a buzz, and in a flash the other drysine's head was gone, Wowser grabbing its body as the other drysines spun, but too late, into a hail of Wowser's cannonfire. Rika fired in panic, suit auto-stabilising as the recoil slammed him back along the wall amid the rain of debris and spinning parts from disintegrating drones and refinery walls.
And then Wowser was finished, tossing the decapitated corpse aside with a final vibroblade slash to be sure, then pushing through the mangled mess of floating, spinning debris, smoke and globular liquids his violence had made of fellow drysines.
"There's more of them outside!" Rika shouted as he realised, grabbing a wall section and pulling toward the hatch. "There's three more in the corridor!" He spun the corner, rifle braced as he floated fast between control panels toward the hatch. He caught, trying to remember the drills, and messed up the corner position entirely, swinging half out into open space with the rifle unbalanced in his right hand... but all he saw was the retreating hindquarters of two drysines vanishing around a far bend.
And now his coms were alive with terse calls between marines, Phoenix Operations querying with alarm and now Lieutenant Alomaim asking for a situation report. "LT, we were next to it," Rizzo answered. "The damn drysines disabled our suits and tried to cut the ceephay free. Only they couldn't disable Rika's suit, or Wowser got it working again, and then Wowser shot them all to pieces."
"Wowser shot them?" As Rika's hallway filled with recently frozen marines. He headed back inside, and was found by Corporal Rizzo, grabbing his arm and giving a querying thumbs up.
"Lieutenant," said Rika, returning Rizzo's thumbs up, "I think it's because my suit's so old, the drysines couldn't shut it down for long enough. But they had no idea Wowser was going to shoot them, they assumed he was on their side."
"Private Rika, this is Captain Debogande," came a voice that overrode whatever anyone else was saying. "I'm seeing that the remaining drysines all retreated rather than continue the fight? Is that correct?"
"Yes Captain," said Rika, returning to the faintly obscene sight of Wowser amidst the shattered remains of the drones, sorting through various bodyparts as though deciding what might be useful to keep for later. He grabbed a chair to stop himself, only then realising that his hand was shaking too much for a secure grasp. "They've all gone. I think they were trying to surprise us, they didn't want a fight. But Wowser just... completely messed them up, there's not much left."
"Thank you Private. All hands, listen up. Phoenix is on red alert. We're going to have a very hard talk with our drysine allies. At this point I think we'll be okay, we have to make allowances for the fact that they're machines without subtlety or manners, but we're going to let them know that they've fucked this up very badly. And then we're going to have a talk to the ceephay and see why our friends were so desperate to have her for themselves."
19
"Hello Major," came Styx's voice in Trace's ear. "The Purists' weaponry setup is quite well done. The frequency projectors are built into the walls, it appears to be a primary defence mechanism against anyone entering through the main upper pad."
"That's interesting, Styx." She sat on a chair in the middle of a circle of nearly thirty Purists, hand extended so they could come single file and examine the drysine assassin bug that crawled on her palm. Outside the open fortress windows, the pale day had given way to dim evening, and a brightening glow of lights down the valley. "How does it help me?"
"The system is operated by a well shielded network function. My bugs have now penetrated that network function, and are revealing source codes for further Purist networks. I am learning much of what they know."
"Tell me when you have enough. I may be able to make allies here, but they may be a lot more trouble than they're worth."
One of the Purists, a squat, bald and bearded man named Efraim, asked her a question in Hindi as she silently formulated that last. "It was called Earth," she said aloud for the fourth time now. "The race that killed it were the krim. They're the ones who abducted your ancestors, and traded them to the reeh. We don't know why or how, but the reeh collect intelligent species like some people collect beetles. We fought the krim for five hundred years with the assistance of the chah'nas, and eventually won."
"And the krim were exterminated completely?" asked another, hard-eyed and curious. About a third of them were. Another third were wary. Trace thought they had the look of people who'd been taken for a ride by fanciful storytellers before. What little she knew of the Purists included that they loved to invent crazy origin stories about where humanity came from. The final third were derisive, snorting in disbelief and shaking their heads at her every utterance. But they could not explain the bug that crawled upon her hand, nor the fact that big Idri had woken up thirty minutes ago, and now sat dazedly in a big chair, attended by the medically-trained lady with the dark braids, a sensor cuff on his arm and sipping local chuno. He had a headache and felt sluggish, he said, but was otherwise okay.
"Completely," Trace answered. "A freighter captain named Lien Wang jumped her ship directly at the planet. All life on that world ceased."
"This is some fancy robot trick," sneered the man who'd taken her kukri. His name was Irin Tola, and he fancied himself in charge of this Purist gathering. Still he had not given the kukri back, nor her other weapons. Rolonde was in the room, seated against the wall near Idri, similarly unarmed. Most of the Purists had pistols or rifles, and all of them seemed well trained enough to keep a weapon ready in case either of their guests tried something. Rael, Arime and Terez were next door, similarly guarded. Clearly the Purists assumed the women were less threat, and so kept them in here for questioning. "It's just a bug," Tola continued. "There's no proof it's from some crazy AI race beyond the Empire."
"I dunno, Tola," said another, having examined Trace's bug first, and now standing near, watching it still. "I do electronics for a living. That little critter's got some crazy design and processing functions. And, I mean, it's obeying her commands, and it took out Idri just by verbal instruction, knew exactly who she was talking about, then delivered just the right dose to only stun him. That's some crazy advanced shit, you have to know the systems to know just how advanced."
Tola rolled his eyes in exasperation. Trace did not tell them that it hadn't actually been the bug who'd identified Idri, but Styx. Telling them about drysines was unavoidable if she was to share the entire human story, but revealing Styx remained a step too far. A lot could perhaps have been solved if she'd simply invited Styx to come here and talk to them in person, but Styx did not think it yet safe, and Trace agreed. Not everyone reacted to Styx positively, and Trace was not certain that xenophobic Purists wouldn't just start shooting, with consequences deadly only to them.
"So you're a soldier?" asked another man. Jezu, Trace recalled the name. He was tall and strong, another gym junkie, but more impressive than the others, without the extra bulk of too many drinks and not enough self-discipline. "What kind of soldier?"
"This is crap," a woman retorted in exasperation. "We come from Adasa beyond Choprika Prime! Hezul was our leader, he led us on the mission against the Tanifex Fleet, and we were victorious there before we were captured by the reeh and sent here!"
It was the old Purist origin story, Trace had gathered. There were several, and across the centuries they'd changed, but all spoke of a time when humans had been kings in their own place, and ruled over troublesome aliens with an iron fist.
"If what you're saying is true," another man cut in, pointing a hard finger at Trace, "then how did we forget our origin? You say our language, our religions, all of this is similar to what it was on... on Earth?"
Trace nodded. "Similar to what it was at the time, from what I understand, yes."
"So how did we remember all of that knowledge, yet forget the most basic thing of all -- who we are and where we come from?"
"I don't know," said Trace. "Your ancestors were prisoners of the krim, and then of the reeh. The reeh play games with minds. Changing the minds and memories of a few thousand humans can't be that hard for them. Or maybe you just forgot. Culture and belief are almost hardwired, it can be rebuilt from memory even if all the old religious books are gone. I understand many holy books are learned by heart. But identity relies on memory and environment. Memories fade, and environments change. Humanity's memories and identity have been shaped by a thousand years on this world. Those experiences may have simply crowded out the others. You've all been here for a long time."
"But you say you're a soldier," Jezu repeated his previous question, undeterred. "What kind of soldier?"
"A marine," said Trace, using the English word.
Jezu frowned. "What is...'marine'?'"
"Samudree," Trace used the Hindi word, which almost worked, but not really. "Earth had big oceans. Our ancestors fought wars across those oceans. The toughest soldiers travelled on big ships to fight on foreign shores. They were called marines. Today we use the same word for soldiers who fight from spaceships."
Standing beside her, watching side-on, was Taj. Arms folded, staring as though uncertain of whether she was the biggest liar in history, or the greatest revelation in history. All humans on Eshir told stories of where they were from. If what she was saying was true, all those others would be wrong. Which would make her... a prophet?
"So you're one of the toughest soldiers?" Jezu pressed.
"She took out those three thugs at the casino like it was nothing," Taj told him.
"Sure," said Jezu. "But I didn't see that."
"I wasn't lying!"
"I know kid." Still gazing at Trace, with hard eyes. "But I didn't see it. No one here did."
"Do you require a demonstration?" Trace asked him calmly.
"If she's that heavily augmented," said Efraim, "she could beat you in an arm wrestle."
"No," said Trace. "Augments provide a sudden release of energy. I punch hard because of the speed of my fist. In slower motions, I'm a lot stronger than most women, but an augmented man will be stronger." Over by the wall, she saw Rolonde's eyes forcefully wide, like a child desperately wanting to volunteer for something, but prevented from saying so. Trace fought back a smile. "I don't recommend fighting us. You look strong and augmented. It makes it hard for us to go easy on you. You could be hurt."
"I kickbox for money," said Jezu, with cool confidence. "Only been beaten once. I've seen frauds before. They talk a big game until I go to their dojo and break their limbs. I don't like frauds."
Against the rear wall, Rolonde was practically bursting out of her skin. Trace nodded at her. "Jess? You game?"
Rolonde got up, a little too fast, because some weapons pointed her way. She held up both empty hands. "Jumpy, aren't they?" she said in English.
Jezu handed his own rifle to a comrade, and the crowd cleared a space to one side of the big room. Rolonde followed, stretching her shoulders, then squatting to do her legs. "Don't hurt him too badly," Trace instructed, turning her chair to watch.
Rolonde nodded, still crouched, transferring weight from one leg to the other. Jess Rolonde had been the ultimate gym rat before joining the Corps. She'd been into basketball as a kid, had blown her knee, then gotten a waiver to receive high-level augments before she was technically of legal age to help her recover faster. That recovery training had gotten her into serious fitness, which began an obsession, and got her into fighting and blackbelts in several styles before she'd signed up. She still wasn't the best unarmed fighter in Phoenix Company -- that honour went to Corporal Kalo, leader of Alpha Third Section -- but she was probably top twenty in tough company.
Jezu did his own stretches. Some of the Purists had recording devices out, many of them amused, thinking they were about to see a fraud get seriously smacked down. There were a lot of militia-types here, Trace had been noting for the past half-hour -- not merely strong men, and a few women, but people who seemed familiar with violence. People who liked violence, and relished a chance to feel justified in using it. Some people like that, in Trace's experience, were drawn to fights in search of enemies. Others, deprived of enemies, would invent them.
Rolonde took her stance, and Jezu his. Some shouts and yells broke out, general encouragement. Jezu was at least half Rolonde's weight again. Were it not for her degree of augmentation, she'd have had no business fighting a good fighter Jezu's size. The reach disadvantage alone was enormous, and unaugmented, any woman would have almost no chance, even with superior talent.
But now, as Jezu bounced forward, aggressively looking for an opening to punch through, Rolonde backed and pivoted to a simple roundhouse kick. Jezu saw it coming easily enough, and raised an arm to block, and WHACK! the sound of it through the room was like a gunshot, as Rolonde unloaded full marine augments through hip and shoulder-turn, her leg almost disappearing for sheer speed.
Exclamations from the crowd, as Jezu staggered, remained standing, then clutched at his arm as the shock of what had happened began to register on his face. Then the pain.
"I'd stop there if I were you," Trace advised him. "Is it broken?"
Jezu tried to move the arm, which worked, but the pain grew worse. About the crowd, mutters of disbelief. The woman with the dark braids moved to his side, and Jezu tried to push her away, which only brought another stab of pain from the arm. He groaned, doubling over.
"Sorry," said Rolonde to Trace, still bouncing. "Overkill?"
"Just enough kill, I think," said Trace. She raised her voice to the crowd, standing from her chair. "There are no augments that powerful on Eshir. You doubters will need a better argument."
One of the men turned on her, and shoved a pistol into her face, apparently quite angry. "Why don't you shut the fuck up?"
Trace disarmed him in a flash, and left him staring down the barrel of his own pistol. Before weapons could swing her way once more, she popped the magazine, dechambered the remaining round, and handed the harmless weapon back to the stunned man, grip first. It happened so fast that even those standing nearby remained staring for several seconds longer, as though doubting what they'd just seen.
"Wow!" said Efraim then, into that stunned silence. "Wow! You're real! Guys, she's... she's actually real! We've found where we're from!"
No one said anything for a long time. It was extraordinary, Trace supposed. For these people, Eshir was their whole universe. It had been for their parents and grandparents for the best part of a millennia. There were legends about where they were from, many fictional, some entirely serious and verging upon religion. Purists had fought wars based in part upon belief in those stories. And now this.
"What are you doing here?" Taj asked. "I mean really. You're not on some arts holiday. Why come all this way? I mean, Eshir's been cut off inside the Empire forever. The Empire doesn't let anyone through, and it won't let us out. How did you manage it?"
Tell them about Styx, Trace wondered? Not yet, and not here. The old concerns held true. She wasn't here to provide these people with a service. Her best hope was that she could win enough support from them, honestly or not, to gain assistance in the short time available.
"We're looking for the central entity that rules the Reeh Empire," she said. "She's not here, but she was based here once. That period ended eight thousand years ago. Some people here call it the Origin Horizon."
"That's an old translation from some alien nonsense text," Tola cut her off, still angry and distrustful. Trace didn't think he believed any of it. "We don't use that term."
"Fine," said Trace. "Whatever you call it, she ran the Reeh Empire eight thousand years ago, then her rule ended. Only it didn't entirely end, because we have proof that she's still alive, and in charge of things to some degree. How and why, it's unclear."
