Five tense weeks passed while the city, indeed the world, knit its wounds. It was a messy process with a lot of moving parts, and it was a long way from over, but the cooler heads in both Shambhala and G’tel seemed to be winning out.
No, not the “cooler heads” in G’tel, Benson corrected himself. That phrase had an entirely different meaning among his Atlantian friends.
And family.
Doc Russell had discharged Benexx last week, feeling it would be better for zer to finish recuperating at home. Of course, “home” was a little sparse at the moment, their house having been looted during the riots. Temporary plastic tarps covered the windows to keep the weather out until replacement plexiglass could be poured and cut, but they were pretty far down the priority list and regular service up and down the beanstalk had only been restored a few days ago.
Benexx was healing quickly, as was typical of zer race. Absurdly difficult to kill, those folks. But the gunshot wound to zer leg went all the way through and pulped quite a bit of muscle tissue as it did. Ze still needed help getting around, and would for a while yet, but ze’d passed zer rite of Hulukam by any measure.
Besides, Benexx’s injuries were trivial compared to the carnage ze’d single-handedly inflicted on zer kidnappers. Elder Sula was one of the few survivors of Benexx’s rampage, and it hadn’t come cheaply. Ze was currently cuffed to a bed and under guard in a secured room at the hospital regrowing zer legs and half of zer internal organs. Ze’d sung like a canary in exchange for medical treatment. Of course, ze would’ve gotten medical treatment anyway, but somehow ze hadn’t known that, and Theresa hadn’t gone out of her way to correct the terrorist’s misunderstanding of Shambhala law.
Sula’s testimony had confirmed Benson’s suspicions about Sco’Val. Ze’d been caught in a stolen canoe about twenty klicks west of Shambhala furiously paddling towards Atlantis, apparently unaware of exactly what “twenty-seven-hundred kilometers” actually meant. The rest of their coconspirators, Atlantian and human alike, were unmasked in short order and rounded up. The trials would come soon, but not until Benexx was well enough to attend as the prosecution’s star witness.
In the aftermath, and with considerable prodding from Devorah, the Bearer with No Name emerged from zer self-imposed hermitage to become the public face of the Atlantian expat community in Shambhala once more, beginning the morning after the riots when ze appeared unannounced on the steps of the Museum to sweep up the mess zer children had left the day before.
There was an immense amount of work to do, but maybe that work had already started. Instead of shattering the Trident as they’d hoped, the bombings and the attack on the beanstalk had only sharpened its tips.
Theresa descended the stairs from the second-floor bedrooms. Fortunately, the ransacking of their furniture and possessions had been mostly limited to the ground floor. However, the looters had made off with the luxurious silk bedsheets that had miraculously materialized in their linen closet after the conclusion of the Laraby investigation eighteen years ago. Theresa had made noises about catching and shooting whoever had done it before they ever reached the station house.
Benson was sure she’d been joking. Well, ninety percent sure.
“How is ze?” he asked.
“Asleep,” Theresa answered. “Or that’s what ze wants us to think. Ze’s probably going to get on a link with Jian again.”
“Heh, little sneak.”
“I wonder where ze got that from.”
“I don’t know what you mean. The only thing I sneak these days is a beer or two.”
“Or three.” Theresa reached down and patted her husband on his slowly expanding belly.
“Whatever, I can still kick ass. For a little while at least. Then I need a nap.”
Strictly speaking, they weren’t supposed to let Benexx talk to Jian, because Jian wasn’t supposed to be talking to anybody. At least no one in Shambhala or onboard the Ark. The ballsy ass kid made one last smart play when Varr’s orbit brought it back into shuttle range ten days ago. Then again, he’d had almost a month of sitting around with his thumb up his ass to come up with it. Instead of burning for the Ark where he awaited certain arrest and court martial for his exploits, he’d parked his damaged shuttle in low Gaia orbit and suited up in one of the shuttle’s emergency, one-time use reentry suits.
Calling the coffin-sized ablative aerogel sled a “suit” was being generous. It had winglets just big enough to keep it aerodynamically stable and pointed head down, a parachute pack, minimal thruster capacity for orientation in vacuum, and that was about it. Jian’s jump was the first and only time someone had actually used one of the batshit contraptions since the days of Earth, and even then, the only people brave or suicidal enough to jump out of a perfectly good spacecraft wearing one had been military spec-war operators doing orbital combat insertions, and later civilian thrill-seekers with more money than sense.
But instead of landing in Shambhala, Jian had timed his drop to put him in Atlantis, where he made his way to the gates of G’tel and requested political asylum. A status Chief Kuul was only too happy to grant. Partly as a way to poke back at Shambhala for taking in the Bearer with No Name years before, but mostly because Jian was already being venerated by the population as the human who risked everything to defend Varr from defilement. He was a hero to them, while being a wanted criminal on the other side of the ocean.
As was so often the case, both sides were spot on. Who knew which version of the truth would win out in the end? The details would be left to diplomats and historians.
“Should we stop zer?” Theresa asked as she flopped down on the borrowed couch next to Benson.
“Nah, let zer think ze’s getting away with something. We have plausible deniability anyway.”
“That’s not what I meant, Bryan.” Benson made a “go on” gesture with his hand. “I mean, Benexx already had a crush on Jian. Now after he saved zer from those zealots, it’s approaching hero-worship levels.”
“We saved zer,” Benson corrected.
“Using intel he threw away his career to get. That’s going to take even a base of flirty infatuation through the stratosphere.”
“Wait, how do you know ze had a crush on him? They’ve been friends for years.”
Theresa stared at him with a pained expression. “Oh, honey, you’re so oblivious. How did you ever get laid before I came along?”
“I don’t know. It always just fell into my lap.”
The door chimed. The longtime lovers looked at each other with surprise.
“Are we expecting anyone?” Benson asked.
“At this hour?”
Benson got up, ignoring the twinge in his right knee. Usually, he’d just query the door’s security camera to see who’d come calling, but the looters had rather thoroughly smashed it on their way into the house and it hadn’t been replaced yet.
Theresa followed close behind, holding a sidearm discreetly behind her back. Benson had no idea where she kept the damned thing hidden, but it never seemed to be more than an arm’s reach away.
They stacked up by the door, Benson’s body providing cover for Theresa and her weapon. Probably overkill, but there had been sporadic fighting in the days after the riots, and times were still tense. It paid to be overly cautious.
Theresa tapped his shoulder, signaling she was in position and ready. Benson reached out and keyed the door, which swung inward to reveal…
“Chao!” Theresa said as she stepped out from behind her husband and hugged the Ark’s longtime captain. “You’re sweating like you’ve run a marathon.”
“Hello, Tess,” Chao Feng said coyly. “So good to see you. Gravity is a harsh mistress.”
“Well don’t just stand there. Come in, come in.”
“Chao,” Benson said, with considerably more surprise than his wife had shown. “What are you doing… ahem, I mean, what brings you to town?”
“I had to come down the beanstalk for some rah-rah powwow with Administrator Agrawal. Thank Gods that’s over.”
“OK, and now you’re in our house…”
“Ignore him, Chao. Can I get you anything? Tea? A beer?”
“No, thank you. I just ate, maybe too much. We don’t get a lot of native food upwell and I may have overindulged. I am exhausted, though. May I sit?”
“Been neglecting your full-gee conditioning, huh?” Benson said.
“I haven’t had a great deal of free time lately.”
“Yeah, I can appreciate that.”
Chao groaned as he sank into the living room sofa as if a dux’ah was sitting on his chest. “Listen, I’ll cut right to the quick. I haven’t talked to my son since the riots.”
“So call him?”
“I can’t. You know I can’t. I can only talk to him off the record. Way off.”
“And?” Benson said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“And I know Benexx is upstairs talking to him right now.”
“How the hell do you… Wait.” Benson pointed a finger at him. “You’re eavesdropping on our home network!”
“No,” Chao objected. “OK, yes. Obviously. But it’s off the books. All of Jian’s accounts and network permissions have been blacked out and he’s not supposed to be talking to anybody over here. But between him and your kid’s tinkering, they get around it. Ze’s a clever little shit. I’ve… turned a blind eye. I just want to talk to him. That’s the only reason I’m here. Please, Bryan, it’s my kid.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
Theresa elbowed him in the side. “Of course you can talk to Jian.” She held out a hand towards the stairs. “Right this way.”
Benson started to follow them upstairs, but Theresa put a hand on his chest and pointed for the living room. “Nope, you’re sitting this one out, big fella.”
“But it’s my house!”
“And you can have the whole bottom half of it to yourself for the next few minutes. Shoo.”
Benson flushed, but after almost two decades of marriage, knew how to pick his battles. He turned around on a heel and proceeded to flop down on the couch lengthwise. The movie selection Theresa had made for the night was still stuck on the summary. Some insufferable-looking mid twenty-first century rom-com.
Benson wrinkled his nose at the selection and instead flipped through his plant’s entertainment menu until he found something he wanted to watch. The Hunt for Red October. Now that sounded more like it.
He toggled the playback icon, but no sooner had Sean Connery’s beard come fully into frame, an emergency call broke through and replaced the title screen with that soft, pallid face of a young floater lieutenant hovering among the buzz and chaos of the Ark’s bridge.
“Mr Benson!” the lieutenant yelped.
“Got it in one, kid.”
“I’m sorry?”
Benson rubbed a temple. “Yes, this is Mr Benson. What do you want? It’s late and you just bust in on Tom Clancy.”
“Who?”
“Jesus Christ… Why did you call me, miss?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. I apologize for interrupting, but we can’t raise Captain Feng on his plant link, and Shambhala’s security feeds put him at your door just before we lost his signal.”
Benson grumbled as he got up from the couch again and shuffled over to the base of the stairs. “Chao! Call for you!”
“Are you serious?” Chao’s irritated voice came back down from the door to Benexx’s bedroom.
“Wish I wasn’t. They said they can’t reach your plant.”
“Because I turned it off!”
“You can do that?”
“I can.” A little furious tromping down the stairwell later and Chao struck parade ground rest on the floor of Benson’s living room. The young, mortified lieutenant tried to match her commanding officer’s rigid stance, which, given the fact she was floating in micrograv, ended up looking ridiculous.
“What is it, Lieutenant Pershing?” Chao finally said after returning her salute.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir. But we’ve had a report come in from the Early Warning network site on Varr.”
Benson’s ears perked up at that. The crown jewel of the Early Warning network had only gone operational two days ago. If they’d already spotted something, it could only mean… Benson’s heart froze in his chest. Their mad, desperate escape from Earth hadn’t gone unnoticed after all. Somewhere along the line over the last two and a half centuries, the Ark and her exodus had been spotted. Maybe in the first mad dash away from Earth riding on a trail of nuclear explosions, maybe when they’d slowed back down for insertion into Gaia’s orbit, or maybe at any point in the last eighteen years whenever they’d let their radio emissions signature grow too bold for the sake of convenience and expediency.
Whatever the reason, humanity’s adoptive home was on the chopping block. A quick glance over at Chao’s face told Benson that he hadn’t been the only one to reach the same conclusion.
“They’ve found us,” Chao said, his voice even, expertly concealing the panic and terror Benson knew he must be feeling, the same emotions that were on the verge of overwhelming his own psyche.
“No, sir. That’s just it. We’re not under attack. It’s not another Nibiru.”
“Well then? What the hell is it?”
The lieutenant took a moment to compose herself, as though she couldn’t believe what she was about to say herself. “It’s a radio signal. A message sent in the clear, totally unencrypted.”
“From who, lieutenant?!” Chao demanded, his voice and composure on the verge of cracking.
“Earth, sir. Home.” Lieutenant Pershing swallowed hard. “It’s a distress signal, sir. And it’s only thirteen years old.”
Benson looked around the room, first to Chao Feng, then to his wife, both of whom stood slack-jawed in existential shock.
He swallowed hard. “That’s not supposed to be there.”