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Johnson pressed her nose firmly to the window of the shuttle as it approached the camp. The orbital images hadn’t quite prepared her for the scale of things. Trees had been felled to create a hundred metre killing zone around the camp. Their logs had been piled up to form the core of a five-metre high rampart. A deep ditch had been dug outside, the earth thrown on the rampart to stabilise it. The lengths they’d had to go to to protect themselves hammered home the danger they were in, threatening to swallow her in another round of remorse for not getting here sooner.
Inside the perimeter was a scattering of shelters, centred round a cluster of escape pods. A landing field had been marked out in large pale stones that contrasted with the dark earth. A disciplined crowd gathered at a safe distance.
The shuttle settled gently to the ground, briefly spraying superheated black mud until the engines shut off. The moment the thrust died, the crowd surged forward. They stopped short of the shuttle, leaving space for the ramp to lower and Johnson to step out.
A bedraggled figure detached itself from the crowd and strode forward confidently. It stopped a couple of paces from her, drew itself up and presented a smart salute. It was hard to see through the grime, but Johnson recognised her.
Levarsson!
Johnson returned the compliment, pride surging within. Ragged and muddy as they were, her crew stood tall, undefeated. She reached out and shook the lieutenant’s hand, grasping her arm tight as she did so. Cheering broke out.
“I guess this is when I am supposed to make a speech,” she said once they had quietened down. “But I very much doubt you’ve been waiting this long for brass to turn up and talk at you.”
A few shouts of agreement.
“So I am just going to tell you how proud I am. You were dealt a shitty hand but refused to fold. You kept going; improvising and overcoming.”
She sent a command to start moving the cargo off the shuttle. A wheeled loader appeared carrying a pallet, drab green boxes held on it by webbing.
“You all received your taskings before we entered orbit. Those of you who are to act as orderlies for the sick and injured will need to start moving them onto the shuttle. I want them in the infirmary ASAP. Once I’ve got them settled in up there, I’ll come back down for a more leisurely tour of your camp.”
The loader placed the last of the pallets on the ground, sliding it off the rollers on its back. Johnson and Levarsson walked after it towards the makeshift hospital, where it would help transfer the bed-ridden patients.
Levarsson stopped and pointed out a neat pile of stones to their right. “Here’s our memorial. We laid one stone for each person we lost on the Repulse, and down here. Would you like to stop for a moment?”
“Thank you. I’d be honoured. But first I want to see to the wounded.”
“I’m sorry Honeywood didn’t make it,” said Levarsson, as they started walking again. “I know you two were friends.”
The words hit Johnson in the gut. She’d checked the names of the survivors, but hearing it spoken by another human being somehow made it real.
“Me to,” Johnson replied. “But finding all of you still alive is heart-warming.”
A cry came from the rampart; something Johnson couldn’t quite make out about rexes.
“Two of the big reptiles,” Levarsson translated.
People were running to the wall, snatching up weapons from the huts as they went. Johnson grabbed Levarsson’s shoulder as she made to follow them, and pointed to one of the pallets. “Help me with that one. It’s got rockets on it.”
Levarsson and another crew member joined her in slashing at the plastic wrapping. They each pulled out a metal box and dragged it to the rampart.
Johnson opened her box and lifted out the tube it held. At forty centimetres long by ten centimetres diameter, the Striker fitted neatly onto her shoulder. She pressed the sync button and felt her EIS accept the connection. Red crosshairs appeared in her vision.
The others made equally rapid progress. Most weapons were designed to work in the same way, in order to cut down training time. It hadn’t been a stretch for Indie to reprogram the stockpile to accept Congressional IDs.
She popped her head above the parapet. The scene in front of her sent an icy chill down her spine and she almost ducked back down. Two giant reptiles stalked towards her. Their eyes were almost level with hers and it was certain they knew the humans were there. The sharp, curved teeth gave little room for doubt that they were carnivorous. They were the kind of things that nightmares had been made of, until she had grown up and discovered that real nightmares were about people you had failed.
She set the warhead to impact fuse, spherical charge. A quick glance behind showed no-one was in the danger area. As soon as she got the crosshairs steady on the creature, she sent the fire command. The missile popped out, propelled by compressed gas. Two metres in front of her, its motor fired. The rocket streaked into the monster’s chest, disappearing in a red mist. The cloud cleared to reveal the remains of the rex’s body slumped to the ground, broken-off ribs sticking out of the hole where its chest had been. Payback was good. Killing the creature made her feel like she was doing some good. It made up in some small way for all the time she hadn’t been here to protect her people.
To Johnson’s right, a second missile roared out and punched a hole in the second reptile. The operator mustn’t have found the setting to switch off the anti-tank default and the shaped charge bored a neat circle right the way through. This simply annoyed the creature; didn’t even slow it down.
Widely distributed nervous system.
It looked about to charge, until a third missile removed its head in an explosion of blood and smashed bone. The animal’s lower body stood for a moment, before toppling.
“That’s for Mary,” screamed the crewman who had fired it.
Johnson tried to picture who Mary had been, and failed. Someone who hadn’t come to her attention in her short time on Repulse; neither a troublemaker nor a star. At least that ghost would be faceless.
#
Johnson almost ran from the shuttle after it docked. She wanted to get to the solitude of her cabin. But she managed to walk calmly past the crew members settling down in the corridors. Once inside her room, she threw herself into the cot and curled up. The cabin must have sensed her mood as it didn’t switch on the lights.
Her emotions were in turmoil. Joy at having her crew around her again, of not being alone, clashed with the loss of so many people, her best friend. She started to cry. All the fears and worries she had bottled up since Indie had woken her up came loose. She had been strong for so long. Right now, she deserved the chance to let it all out.
She said goodbye to the crew she couldn’t save. She remembered happy evenings surrounded by friends. And she thanked providence that she had another chance to lead her people to safety.
An hour later, Indie alerted her that they were ready to depart. She roused herself, and splashed water on her face in the little sanitary cubicle at the end of the cabin. Smoothing the wrinkles out of her clothing, she walked down the corridor towards the bridge, a hint of a bounce in her step.
When Johnson connected to The Indescribable Joy of Destruction, she noticed a difference. It was a hollow feeling mostly, but also a slight change to the centre of gravity. New compartments lurked on the edge of her perception: squad room, recovery room, cargo hold. All were now occupied by her crew. She acknowledged and dismissed the alert that flashed up telling her that the life support system was working at maximum safe capacity.
The ship broke orbit and piled on the acceleration. It levelled off at 2.3g, and held there for ten minutes before cutting back to 1.2g.
^I know you want to minimise the journey time,^ sent Indie, ^but I daren’t risk any higher or longer than that; those without acceleration couches are unlikely to cope with the stress.^
^I understand,^ replied Johnson, ensconced in her couch on the bridge. ^Remember to warn them before the next acceleration phase.^
^Of course,^ Indie sent in tones of mock offence. ^You think I would forget?^
^Oh, and I made my decision about the enhanced EIS implants.^
An image of Indie raising an eyebrow flashed across her awareness.
^I’m going to go ahead with it. How soon can you start the process?^
^Tomorrow, when I’ve discharged enough of your crew from the infirmary. The procedure is very quick, no different to when your original EIS was placed.^
Johnson thought back to that day years before when she had queued up with her fellow cadets to have the tiny metal seeds injected into the back of her neck. She hadn’t feared the needle, but it had taken all her effort to stop shaking. If her body rejected it, or worse still the hack she’d prepared didn’t stop it reporting her depression, her career would be over before it had even started. Then what would she have? Luck had been with her then, as it had been every step of the way. Until Repulse had been caught in orbit around Orpus-4.
Johnson settled down to take a nap. She needed to catch up on the sleep she’d missed over the last week. If she got too tired, she'd find it harder to fight the darkness. Nothing was likely to happen for the next few hours, and Indie didn’t need her on watch. Besides, it would help the crew’s confidence to see her relax.
^It occurs to me that there may be a way to cut a week off the return journey.^
Johnson perked up.
^Your initial search parameters specified an independent world,^ continued Indie. ^But there is an alternative.^
^Go on...^ She was still sleepy, but the news had her heart racing a bit quicker.
What have I missed?
^There is a moon on the charts, Tranquility. It is recorded as a failed agrarian colony. There was no indigenous life, the surface was seeded with Terran crops and livestock. It was evacuated for purely financial reasons. There should be sufficient food and water, and no biological hazards.^
^What if the ecosystem has collapsed?^
^Then we carry on to our initial destination,^ sent Indie. ^We’d only lose three days.^
Johnson pondered the choice. She had hoped there wouldn’t be any more big decisions to make for a while, that there’d be time for her to avoid the extra weight it placed on her. If she got it wrong and more people died...
^I’ll talk to Levarsson. The crew might react badly to being left on an uninhabited planet again, even a benign one.^
#
As they coasted in from the jump point, Johnson noticed how dead the system seemed. No radio signals, no traffic, no beacons. She’d visited plenty of empty systems before; she couldn’t put her finger on why this one felt different.
Perhaps it’s knowing that it was once inhabited; once full of hope, of people making a new start. Or perhaps it is just the new implants growing in my brain.
Although Levarsson hadn’t wanted to be left alone again, she had agreed to the plan because it would reduce the time the others had to wait to be pulled off Orpus-4. Together, she and Johnson had presented it to the crew, stressing the time factor and the expected presence of buildings and familiar food.
A couple of short days later, they arrived in orbit, Indie aerobraking in the upper atmosphere to save fuel. As they passed over the night side, tiny pinpricks of light were revealed on the surface. Johnson zoomed in on her workstation display and saw they were scattered buildings.
Not everyone left!
^I count seventy-eight separate light sources,^ sent Indie. ^Either they represent inhabited buildings or everyone left in such a hurry they forgot to switch the lights off.^
Johnson compared the sensor data with the last survey logged in the database. She flagged up one smallholding. ^That one's not on the survey. We'll land there.^
The shuttle landed several hundred metres from the cluster of buildings that made up the smallholding. The hull was still ticking, cooling after atmospheric entry, when the first people came to investigate. Johnson watched them from the ramp; they seemed reluctant to approach, though they weren’t running away either. Apprehension vied with curiosity.
She strolled down the ramp and looked around, studiously avoiding staring directly at anyone. Being careful not to get burnt, she busied herself checking the outside of the shuttle. Despite being able to watch through the shuttle’s camera feed, her back prickled as she turned it on the potentially hostile locals. She concentrated her efforts on appearing casual, knowing the two marines in the cabin would leap to her rescue if anything happened.
A man came into view and walked confidently towards her. He had grey hair and a slight limp. Johnson came out from underneath the shuttle and straightened her back. More of the people were coming out into the open in the wake of the portly older man.
“What be your business here?” he demanded gruffly, without any preamble.
“I’m sorry,” said Johnson calmly. “My name is Olivia. We believed this moon to be deserted. We came to set up a temporary staging post as part of a rescue mission.”
“That be a military craft, I be thinking.”
“It was. As I said, we are engaged on a rescue mission.”
He sized her up and down, obviously weighing up what she had said.
“Does the war still be going on?” he asked next.
“Yes, it is. We’re trying to avoid it right now, to be honest.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You be conshies? Or dodgers?”
“I think you’d call us political refugees,” she replied. “All I want to do is get the survivors of my crew off the nightmare planet they are stranded on.”
He pursed his lips.
“You not be wanting to stay here long?”
“It looks a lovely place, but we couldn’t impose... and, naturally, we’d wipe any record of our stop-off from our records,” she said, guessing what was worrying him.
He dug in his pocket and bowed slightly to dab his forehead with a rag. He looked up again, the rag held against the side of his neck. He scratched his belly, then a broad smile warmed his face.
“Please would you be forgiving of my poor welcome.”
He offered his hand. Johnson took it with a smile and they shook.
“I be Messer Clovis. This be my land, and these,” he indicated the men and women behind him with a sweep of his arm, “be my people. They be looking to me for guiding and I find I be looking to protecting them. I had to be knowing why you is here. We don’t be wanting undesirables messing things up.”
“I am honoured, sir, to be accepted,” Johnson replied, turning on her most formal diplomatic tone. “May I ask your permission to bring down the first group of survivors? They would welcome some fresh food, if you found you had some to spare.”
“Of course, of course!” he bellowed, clapping her on the back. He appeared full of joviality now that he seemed to have decided they were not a threat. The crowd visibly relaxed, the more timid ones finally stepping out into full view. “Master Timmins! Go tell Messus Polly we be having guests. Master Fitzpatrick! Go fetch a hog, we be roasting tonight!”
Two young men scampered off towards the farmstead.
^When I give the word,^ Johnson sent to the marines, ^I want you to come out slowly. Caps, not helmets. Sidearms only.^
^You sure, Ma’am?^
^Sure.^
“Would you be liking to accompany me to the house?” asked Clovis.
“That would be delightful,” she replied. “Might my two associates be welcome to join us?”
“They both be most welcome.” He mopped his head again. “But please, might we be getting out of the heat?”
^OK, come on out.^
The two men descended the ramp, obviously trying to appear relaxed. They looked around with their eyes instead of their heads, deliberately breaking with years of combat training. One even affected a slouch, though he couldn’t really pull it off. They were obviously fully alert and ready to react.
Clovis put his arm around Johnson’s shoulders and led her across the field. The crowd closed in as they passed, and trailed them all the way to the house.
^Caretaker. Would you return to the ship and start ferrying the crew down here?^
^Certainly. I will wait until everyone is clear of this field before starting my engines. I wouldn’t want to upset anyone.^
^Thank you.^
#
By the time a pig had been slaughtered and stuck on a spit, the rest of the crew had been ferried down in the shuttle. Most of the locals hung back a little, speaking when addressed but never starting a conversation. Most, that was, apart from Clovis and a woman he introduced as Cook.
“Just you be sitting yourselves down and stop fussing about,” she said, shooing Johnson and Clovis towards a couple of wooden rocking chairs on the veranda. “Let me and Maisie be getting on with the table fixings.”
Johnson made to protest but Clovis shook his head.
“There be no arguing with her when she like this,” he said. “Best we retreat.”
He escorted her over and held a chair for her. As he sat himself, a young boy came over with a couple of tall glasses and a pitcher of drink.
“Thankee, Master Jason,” Clovis said, a gentle smile warming his face.
The boy bobbed his head and scampered off. Clovis reached over and picked up the jug, ice clinking against the sides.
“You be fancying some gin?”
Johnson hesitated, then nodded. “That would be very kind.”
He poured her a glass, herb leaves and a chunk of fruit tumbling in along with the liquid. Once he had filled his own glass, he raised it.
“To friendship,” he said.
“To friendship,” Johnson echoed.
And to absent friends.
She sipped her drink, surprised at the subtle blend of flavours where she had expected a rough hit. She hadn’t touched alcohol in years; she’d have to be careful not to get too used to this.
“Do you have a large farm, Messer Clovis?” Johnson asked, relaxing down into her chair.
“It be large enough to keep mi family and trade for stuff we not be growing,” he replied.
“Trade just with the other settlements on the planet? Or off-world too?”
Clovis shifted in his seat.
“We keeps to us-selves. Nowt good be gained by drawing folks’ attention.”
A large moth hummed past in the dark, hovered and came back. It made a few apparently random circles and settled on a rough-hewn beam next to the lantern above them. Johnson studied it, admiring the green and blue camouflage pattern on its outer wings.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” she said. “We are most grateful for you taking us in.”
Clovis opened his arms in a sweeping gesture and smiled acknowledgement. Despite his slightly unsteady movements, he managed to avoid spilling a drop of his drink.
“We can work,” Johnson continued. “Point us towards jobs that need doing and my crew will help. General labour, repairing machinery, that kind of thing.”
Clovis took a sip, straining the herbs with his top lip. He sighed contentedly.
“No need to be bothering. You be guests. Though...” he eyed her carefully, “You have people who be able to be fixing pads?”
“Of course. But I didn’t think you had any, I haven’t seen anything electronic since I arrived.”
He glanced around then leaned in closer.
“I be having some under the house. Not for ev’ryday use mind. They be somethin’ of a record. Of the founders, and of what people be doing since. I not be telling many people this.”
Johnson took another sip and waved him to carry on before settling back in her chair and cradling her glass in both hands.
“I not be seeing what’s on them miself. They not be working since mi Pappy were a lad. He be saying they tell a tale of time before war, before we be coming here to Tranquility.
“Mi great-great-great Grandpappy be one of the Founders. He be leading two hundred families here to escape from the ’spansionist gov’ments. I be knowing not to be trusting the tales, but they saying he be a giant, that he be wrestling the native beasts with his bare hands. Many families be dying in the first years, but not ours.”
Clovis coughed a few times into his handkerchief.
“Looks like Cook and Fitzpatrick be ready for us,” he added, and levered himself out of his chair.
#
^Johnson. Would you come to the workshop, please? I have a surprise for you,” sent the Caretaker.
Johnson pulled up the nav data, and checked that they were still making good speed for the Orpus system. She’d left Tranquility as soon as the last crew member had fallen asleep after the hog roast; no sense wasting time when there were still so many that needed rescuing.
^OK. What kind of surprise?^
^Wait and see.^ The transmission carried an undertone that made her picture her brother as a toddler, when he thought he had done something very clever. Usually it turned out to be making a new kind of mess.
Johnson arrived at the workshop to find the door open and the lights on. As she stepped inside, she realised that someone, or something, had been hard at work. The piles of parts had been tidied away and there was a general air of purpose about the room once more. The thing that grabbed her attention, however, was the array of five armed robots lining the walls.
^Does Indie know about this?^ she sent, trying to keep her temper.
^Know about what?^ Indie replied.
Johnson looked up to the camera in the corner of the room.
^Oh. I thought you were ... asleep.^
^No. I was just running simulations while the Caretaker was on watch.^
^Odd. He just said...^
^He was just talking to you?^ Indie interrupted. ^I don’t see a recent connection ... oh, there it is. I wonder why he routed it through that array?^
Johnson fought to keep her rising impatience from tainting the transmissions.
^So, did you know about this?^
^About what?^ replied Indie.
^This!^ she sent, indicating the robots with a sweep of her arm.
^The hulks of the internal defence robots? They’ve been like that since I came round after our contretemps.^
^They’re not hulks anymore. They’ve been repaired. Can’t you see?^
For the first time since meeting him, Johnson noticed Indie take time to think about a simple question. When he broke the silence, his transmissions were clearly tinged with anger.
^It seems that the feed from the workshop has been tampered with so I see a simulation. I have also identified several routines and ‘bot taskings which were hidden from me.^
^He hid what he was doing from you?^
Another suspicious pause.
If he were human, I’d say he was fighting to keep a lid on things.
^That shouldn’t have been possible. We are two aspects of the same entity. It is like deceiving oneself.^
^Humans are pretty good at that.^
^Yes, well. I asked him about it moments ago. He eventually admitted it when I showed him the evidence of the tampering. He says he simply wanted to surprise us, show us what he could do on his own initiative. I’m inclined to believe him.^
#
Several trips between Orpus-4 and Tranquility later, it was time to collect the last remaining crew from the makeshift fort. Johnson and Hanke stood either side of the shuttle’s rear ramp, eyes outwards looking for trouble as a group filed in. The combat robot, Unit 01, perched on the ramparts, its ellipsoidal hull turned a burnt umber in the setting sun.
“Do you want the honour?” Johnson asked, glancing across to Hanke as the last of the line marched up the ramp.
He stared at her blankly. In the time he’d been on the planet, short mousey hair had replaced his shaven scalp.
“Last one off,” she clarified.
“Ah.” His grey eyes twinkled. “Yes, I’d like that honour.”
Johnson stepped backwards onto the ramp, sending the command for Unit 01 to return. The plasma cannon lowered into the recess on its back and it turned towards the shuttle. As Johnson reached up for a handle, the robot bounded down from the rampart and scampered towards them, the claws on its angular legs tearing up the earth as it weaved between the huts. It paused briefly in front of Johnson before pacing carefully into the cabin.
I could have sworn it just bowed to me.
Hanke looked around, his unfocussed eyes lingering on the buildings he had ordered built, had lived in for so long.
^All callsigns, this is Sub-Lieutenant Hanke,^ he broadcast formally, jacking into both the shuttle and the ship’s comms arrays. ^We are about to depart the planet. Anyone still on the surface, please respond.^
Nothing. Johnson had checked herself many times already, but it would help him rest easier.
^All callsigns ... last chance.^ A slight pulse of static with the transmission hinted at him momentarily losing the tight grip needed to send EIS comms.
He waited a few seconds longer before stepping onto the shuttle.
“Guess that’s it,” he said, eyes still scouring the camp.
“Yes... Yes it is,” Johnson replied softly. “You did a good job.”
^Spool it up,^ she sent to the pilot. ^Time to go.^
The two officers held on as the ground sank away. A flock of smaller carnivores were already sniffing at the edges of the camp. Hanke remained locked on the dwindling view.
“We have to go in,” Johnson said.
He didn’t move.
“They need to start pressurising the cabin,” she tried.
She worked her way across to him, keeping a firm hold on the handles in the roof. He was fighting back tears. She helped him into the cabin, her arm looped around him, and sat him down.
“You are not to blame for any of it,” she whispered in his ear as she sent the command to raise the ramp and seal the shuttle.
No. I’m to blame for all this. Not you.
#
A week later, Johnson sat on a hill overlooking the farmstead. The evening sun was still warm on her back; the chatter of insects vied with birdsong. She savoured the touch of the grass as she ran her fingers through the long blades.
I haven’t done that since dad took us to Apperna. I don’t know how he was able to afford that cottage, but we all loved it there. Two weeks later I was at the Academy.
Below her, the crew members were getting ready for their first meal together since the loss of Repulse. Clovis’ family had insisted on throwing a party to celebrate the harvest, and to thank them for helping. A long table had been set up in front of the main house. Everyone was relaxing. Hanke led a quartet singing, the chorus drifting in the gentle breeze. A small group was getting dressed after a swim in the lazy river; others were helping lay the table and carry out plates of food. It was an idyllic view, but a part of her could not escape a terrible pressing feeling.
Levarsson sidled up behind her and coughed to get her attention. Johnson glanced up, then returned to contemplating the view. She patted the ground. Levarsson squatted beside her.
“Will you sit down?” said Johnson. “You’re making me jumpy squatting there.”
A brief hesitation in which she brushed a stray blonde hair from her eye, and Levarsson sat.
“I didn’t think such a place could exist,” she observed. “One which hasn’t been touched by the war.”
“They’ve been lucky.”
The two women sat in silence for a few moments.
“We can’t stay,” said Johnson, guessing Levarsson’s thoughts. “We’d bring the war down on their heads.”
“I know. Still, it would be nice to know peace.” She turned to Johnson, fire in her eyes. “We can’t let Congress, or the Republic, catch up with us. Something is very wrong with the way we were abandoned. The more I’ve been thinking about it, the more it stinks.”
“True enough,” conceded Johnson. “We'll have to find a safe place to hide, to work from. There are plenty of out-of-the-way systems we could use.”
“We don’t have much in the way of resources to set anything up,” said Levarsson.
Johnson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That’s why I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m going to take some of the crew and look for somewhere suitable. Indie and I were hoping you’d come along too, but if you’d rather stay and look after the bulk of our people I’d understand.”
“Who’s Indie?”
Outside the farmstead, everyone turned towards the house. Clovis got up from his rocking chair on the veranda, took a moment to straighten his back, and made his way to the table.
“Looks like it’s time to go and be sociable. I’ll explain over dinner,” Johnson said as she rose and set off down the hill.