Burnt Worlds (45 page)

“I know, Chief.
 
Just get the ship home safe, with or without us.
 
Go to Dief Station and have one for whoever isn’t there.”
 
He smiled.
 
“Thanks, Linda.
 
For everything.”

She gave him a tight-lipped grin.
 
“You too, kid.
 
Get back safe.”

Dillon gave her one final pat on the shoulder before walking from the bridge, his heavy footsteps echoing in the corridor.

-----

The Captain climbed into the shuttle as its engines began to wind up.
 
The rest of the team was already present, checking their weapons and each others' suits.
 

Lee pulled the shuttle hatch closed, speaking toward the console on the bulkhead.
 
“Vulture, this is Economy Class.
 
The Captain is aboard, we’re good to go.”

“Vulture?” said Dillon.
 

Lee rolled his eyes and shrugged.

“This is Vulture,” said the pilot.
 
“Good to go.”

The bulkhead console chirped as a new voice came through.
 
“
Borealis
to shuttle, this is Comms.”

“Captain here, go ahead.”

“Sir, new signals from beyond the jump gate.
 
Heavy fleet units have arrived to fight the cylinders.
 
Bonaventure
,
Laurier
,
Washington
,
Lincoln
,
Prince of Wales
,
Royal Oak
,
Victorious
,
Vishal
,
Kukhri
are all reporting, plus smaller ships.
 
Sounds like they’ve killed a cylinder, maybe two, but are already being pushed back.
 
More reinforcements, including Dosh, are on the way.
 
Over.”

“Understood,
Borealis
.
 
Keep us informed.
 
Captain out.”

“That’s a lot of ships,” said Cho quietly.

Dillon looked around the shuttle’s interior.
 
Lee and his nine crewmembers, each holding a large carbine and wearing a pack full of gear over their armour, sat quietly on benches.
 
They looked quietly at the floor, or gave each other brief nods, their faces tight and their jaws clenched.
 
Saparun and Cho stood nearby, holding on to grab rails on the ceiling, watching the Captain.
 
The Tassali stood right next to him, one white-gloved hand on a handrail overhead, her blue hair gathered neatly behind her head.
 
Her cobalt eyes were on him, filled with forced calm.

Dillon spoke, raising his voice to be heard over the increasing sound of the shuttle’s engines.
 
“Okay,” he said.
 
“Our people opened a jump gate through to here, and cylinders are going through.
 
It looks like they can’t shut the gate off, and they’re having the fight of their lives trying to hold them back.
 
We’re headed down to this homeworld, to find the HQ of these cylinder-ship people.
 
We’re looking for a way to shut down the automated systems so the cylinders will stop what they’re doing.”

The shuttle trembled as it lifted off the deck.
 
Though the small window into the cockpit, Dillon could see the hangar door beginning to open.
 
“I confess I don’t know exactly how we’re going to do this.
 
Each of you, use your own initiative and judgement.”
 
Pausing for a moment, he looked around the interior of the shuttle.
 
The lighting changed as the craft flew out of the back of the
Borealis
.

“Look,” he said, “no big speech.
 
We’ve done our best.
 
We’ve made it this far together, but I don’t know how it will end.
 
I’m proud of all of you.
 
It has been an honour.
 
Good luck.”

The others gave tight smiles in return, nodding to him or speaking a few short words to each other.
 
Dillon couldn’t hear them over the sounds of the engines, but the looks on their faces said enough.
 
They were calm, accepting of their fate, and ready to follow his lead.

The shuttle shook, buffeting about as it hit the edge of the planet’s atmosphere.

The Tassali’s voice was clear and easily heard despite the noise.
 
“Your people have many different faiths,” she said, “many different gods.
 
May they all bless us, and look favourably on what we do today.”
 
She smiled, sighing.
 
“My people have a saying:
 
‘never face death with words left unspoken’.”
 
Her white face turned toward Dillon, her eyes sparkling in the dim light.
 
She leaned closer, her mouth next to his ear.
 
Her voice was a whisper.
 
“Feda, I would spend all my days with you, even if it is just this one.”

Dillon’s heart jumped into his throat, strangling his voice until it could barely be heard.
 
“And I with you,” he said.
 
“Even if it’s just this one.”

One white-gloved hand still holding the overhead railing, Amba reached forward with the other hand and pulled Dillon closer for a brief, deep kiss.
 
“Thank you, Feda,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” he replied.
 
“Now let’s finish this, and go home.”
 
He hesitated, “I mean—”

She smiled and nodded; her breath was sweet on his face.
 
“My home is wherever you are.”

Dillon leaned back, and looked over at the rest of the team.
 
Cho and Sap stood nearby, speaking quietly.
 
Two of Lee’s team were in an awkward, passionate embrace, despite their bulky armour and weapons.
 
The Captain smiled as he put on his helmet and mask.

The pilot’s voice came through Dillon’s helmet.
 
“Economy Class, this is Vulture.
 
Everyone better strap in back there, something’s going on.”

“Captain here; understood.”

Lee was already directing his crewmembers to strap themselves in, and Dillon and the officers did the same.
 
Everyone had begun to check each others’ helmets, and he suddenly felt a gentle push at his head.
 
He turned to see Amba inspecting his helmet’s seals.
 
Her eyes and her movements were entirely business-like, giving his head a small twist away from her so she could see his back.
 
His comm system chirped as a new channel opened.
 
“Your helmet is fine, Feda,” she said.
 
He turned in his seat to look at hers.
 
She tilted her head away from him to afford a better view, but he realised he didn’t know how her mask worked.
 
It seemed to just attach itself to her robes, which were pulled over her head like a hood.
 
She reached up and pointed to the edge of her mask.
 
“The triple seams - it should not have wrinkles.”

“Ah,” he commented.
 
He ran his fingers around the seam, under her chin and up over her forehead.
 
“No wrinkles,” he said.

“Thank you.
 
I wonder if—”

“Brace brace brace!” came the pilot’s voice.
 
Dillon tapped a button on his harness buckle, and it tightened itself, pulling him back against the seat.
 
Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Amba and Saparun activate their own buckles and get yanked back against their seats.

Outside the cabin’s small windows, the horizon flew by in one direction and then the other, as the shuttle swerved about.
 
Inside, they felt only a gentle rocking.

“Well, goddamn” said the pilot, pausing as he grunted at something.
 
“Looks like… something’s awake down there after all… we’ve got a couple of towers shooting something at us.
 
Whoa…”

Out the small windows, Dillon could see the stars, then the ground, then the stars again, before their flight began to level out.
 
“Don’t know what it is they’re shooting,” said the pilot.
 
“Don't want to find out, either.”

Dillon tried to lean forward to look at the crew, but his head and neck were held fast.
 

“Vulture here,” said the pilot.
 
“No way we’re landing over there, too close to that air defence tower.
 
I’m going to put us down… uh, on a side street, near the main road.
 
Hopefully we’ll get you within a few hundred metres of that headquarters building.”

Outside, a rectangular shadow flashed by the window, then another.
 
As Dillon watched, he could see what looked like skyscrapers sliding by.
 
He couldn’t get a good look at all of them, but some of them had irregular shapes, and a few even seemed to be leaning.
 
Through his feet he could feel the landing gear extend, as a shadow fell over the window.

There was a slight bump, and the engines cut back, their noise fading away.

“Vulture is on the ground. Your orders, sir?”

The Captain punched his buckle, and his harness relaxed.
 
He stood up.
 
“Stay here if you can, Vulture.
 
If something comes along you don’t like, find somewhere to hide and keep an open channel.
 
If that’s not possible, return to
Borealis
and wait for our signal.
 
Stay in touch, over.”

“Roger that, sir.
 
Good luck.”

Cho hauled open the shuttle’s side hatch.
 
A cloud of grey dust immediately blew into the shuttle.

Dillon jumped out, landing in a drift of grey, ash-like powder, sinking halfway to his knees.
 
The shuttle’s engines were still howling, and wind swept around him, dust hissing as it blew against his mask.

As the others stepped from the shuttle and took a few careful steps, Dillon looked around.

They were in a wide street, with hundred-metre-tall buildings on either side like glass-and-metal cliff faces.
 
There were doors at street level, and the buildings were divided into storeys; they knew nothing about the people who had lived here, but they were clearly human-sized.
 
The wide street had a boulevard up the middle, decorated with abstract statues and stone ornamentation.
 
There were deep openings that might have been planters or fountains, but now held only dust.
 
Tall poles rose from the boulevard at regular intervals, holding faded remnants of banners and topped with streetlights, one of which flickered with a feeble blue glow.

On either side of the boulevard were driving lanes, with small vehicles abandoned randomly.
 
Drifts of grey dust curled around the boulevard and the vehicles, burying some areas and leaving others bare.
 
Bits of debris and small items lay scattered up and down the street, including thin pieces of metallic film and clumps of wire, ceramic and other synthetic materials.

They watched for a few moments, alert to any movement, but saw only the blowing gusts of wind that moved dust along the street.
 
Dillon started walking, raising his feet high to step through the drifting dust.
 
The other members of the crew began to follow him, with weapons drawn, looking behind the abandoned vehicles and the boulevard as they advanced cautiously along the street.

Cho stopped next to one of the abandoned vehicles, looking down at some debris on the ground.
 
He knelt down to look at it.
 
“What’s this stuff?” he asked.

Saparun stopped next to him, examining the clumps of metal film and tangled thread.
 
There were more clumps nearby.
 
He bent down to look in the window of one of the vehicles.
 
“Ah,” he said.
 
“It is clothing, Lieutenant.
 
It looks like these people wore metallic clothes.
 
Some of them, anyway.
 
Fashion, perhaps.”

Cho recoiled from the debris on the ground, standing up and stepping back.
 
“Clothes?” he said, his voice shaky.
 
He looked up and down the street, seeing additional clumps of the same material.
 
“Oh my god.”

Dillon, further up the road, stopped and looked back toward Cho and Saparun.
 
“Lieutenant,” he said.
 
“There would have been millions of people in this city alone.
 
We know what happened to them.
 
We knew we were going to see something like this.
 
Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” said Cho hastily.
 
“Yeah.
 
Sorry, Captain.
 
It’s just… different.”

“I know, Lieutenant.
 
It’s no longer just a theoretical thing, now that we’re standing among the evidence.
 
Let’s keep moving.
 
The main street is up ahead.”

The Captain looked sideways at Amba, who was walking next to him; she had become quiet.
 
Through her mask, he could see her face, and the lines of tears that flowed freely down her cheeks.
 
Her wet, blue-shot eyes met his; still walking, she reached out and briefly touched his arm, nodding once but saying nothing.

They advanced along the street, pausing to check behind vehicles or in the boulevard.
 
No words were spoken as they looked upward at the towers that rose around them, smooth glass walls that soared above their heads.
 
Each step kicked up small clouds of grey dust, that swirled away in the breeze sweeping down the street.