Children of the Void: Book One of the Aionian Saga (3 page)

“It could have been worse,” said Gideon as the increasing gravity pulled them back down to the floor.
 

“Yeah. It could have been better too.” Takomi stared at the closed doors. Her grip on the handhold was enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Look, I’m sorry. I was distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” She glared at him. “What was your deal, anyway? You’re usually a stone cold killer in the sims.”

Gideon opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything before he closed it again.
 

Takomi raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

Had anyone else asked, Gideon would have lied. But Takomi would see right through it. “I don’t know. Yesterday, I thought I heard my mom talking to Doctor Marcus about something. Could be nothing, but I keep thinking about it.”

The lift came to a stop, and they stepped out into normal gravity.

“What was it?”

Gideon ran his hand through his hair. “Doctor Marcus came over to my house yesterday all worked up about something. I overheard him talking to my mom about somebody... wanting to sabotage the ship or something.”

“Sabotage the ship? Why? How?”

“I couldn’t tell. It was hard to hear what they were saying.”

“Gideon, why would anyone want to sabotage the ship? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s why I said it’s probably nothing. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“And this is why you got distracted in training? You really thought something would happen to
Leviathan
?”

“You’re right, it was stupid. How about we promise not to bring it up anymore? Don’t tell anyone I said anything.”

Takomi laughed as an autopod raced toward them and coasted to a stop at the platform. “Deal. As long as you promise to cover me next time.”

Gideon stepped in and instructed the autopod to carry them back to his residential block.

“It was just kind of weird Doctor Marcus showed up at my house, you know?”

“Maybe he’s got a thing for your mom.”

“Funny. Seriously though, why would he—?”

The autopod came to a sudden halt, throwing them forward. An alarm sounded, followed by the roar of distant thunder. The doors swung open, and an emergency ladder popped out and rolled to the ground.

Off in the distance, at the north end of the biosphere, a fireball erupted right out of the wall of Central Command. Alarms rang out across the biosphere, warning them of the one thing that was never supposed to happen, and that every soul aboard the
Leviathan
feared. It meant they needed to find an emergency station, fast, because there was a possible hull breach.

Gideon and Takomi shared a two-second look of sheer panic before their training kicked in and they moved to the exit. It seemed to take forever to get down the swinging emergency ladder. They both jumped down the last couple of meters to the field below. The closest emergency shelter was only twenty yards away, unsurprising considering they were scattered all through the biosphere. They sprinted to the squat building, and Takomi pounded her fist on the outer airlock release. The door hissed open.

A few moments later, the inner airlock door opened and they entered the shelter. It was grey, windowless, and big enough for twenty people. Lockers lined the walls, each one stuffed with an Environmental Disaster Survival Suit, or EDSS, along with other survival gear. Years of drills ensured the two of them could don their suits in minutes. They entered their personal IDs into their suits’ wrist pads, activating their location systems and alerting the emergency computer that they were alive and accounted for.

Safe from the immediate danger of depressurization, Gideon and Takomi could do nothing but wait. They both knew that, given the massive volume of the biosphere, complete depressurization could take hours, or even days, depending on the size of the breach. But other dangers existed after an explosion, such as uncontrollable fires or radiation leaks. So they sat in the emergency shelter, watching the status screen blink “EMERGENCY: SHELTER IN PLACE AND STAND BY FOR INSTRUCTIONS.”

Takomi tried to say something to Gideon, but the emergency suits muffled her words and she soon gave up. In the minutes that passed, increasingly disturbing scenarios haunted Gideon’s mind. His eyes kept returning to the hatch in the middle of the floor. If the unimaginable happened, and the screen flashed the words “ABANDON SHIP,” they would open the hatch and make their way through the tunnels leading to the nearest shuttle. After that, life would get pretty interesting. If they couldn’t repair the ship from outside, they would slowly die of starvation, dehydration, or oxygen deprivation in the shuttles. They were life rafts that could never reach land, and no one would come to the rescue.
 

A sharp elbow in the ribs from Takomi brought him back. The screen had changed. “REMOVE EDSS, CODE IN, AND STAND BY FOR INSTRUCTIONS.”

Gideon shoulders slumped. He forced himself to relax, as he and Takomi helped each other out of their suits. The fireball coming out of Central Command had seemed huge, but he wondered if it was as bad as he thought. It was possible his mind had exaggerated the danger in the time they’d waited.

“What do you think happened?” Takomi’s voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through the silent emergency shelter like a thunderclap.

“I don’t know. I wish they’d tell us.”

Silence resumed as they stared at the blank status display for what seemed like hours.

“Do you think...,” said Takomi with an uncomfortable pause. “Do you think it was what you were talking about before?”

Gideon grimaced. That was exactly what he’d been wondering, but hearing her say it tied his stomach in knots. “I hope not.”

His mind couldn’t process what had just happened, let alone why. The conversation ended, and they continued to sit in silence.

Time passed as Gideon’s mind descended in a spiral of ever-darkening theories. The whir of air filters provided the only background noise. He was contemplating the possibility of the air filters failing when the outer airlock door hissed. A minute later, the inner door slid open.

A man with spiked black hair and a thin goatee entered, followed by a tall redheaded woman. It was Hiro and Diana Tsukamoto, Takomi’s parents.

“Mom, Dad!” Takomi jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around Hiro’s neck. Diana joined them in the family embrace as Gideon rose to his feet. Before he could say anything, Diana pulled him into the group hug.

“I’m so glad you two are all right,” said Diana. “You must be worried out of your minds.”

“What’s going on out there?” asked Takomi when the hug broke up.

Hiro Tsukamoto, usually jovial and smiling, furrowed his brow and frowned. “There was an explosion in the satellite lab. They think one of the fusion reactors overloaded, but it’s too early to tell.”

Hiro turned to look at Gideon, his lip trembling slightly. He put a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “Your father wanted to tell you this, but he’s needed on the bridge. He asked Diana and me to be the ones to tell you.”

Gideon felt suddenly hot. “Tell me what?”

Diana put her hand on his other shoulder, taking over for her husband. “Two people were killed in the explosion. Doctor Byron Marcus, and your mother.”

T
HE
ADVANTAGE
OF
living in an artificial world was that for special events the weather could be altered to fit the occasion. The day of the funeral was sunny and warm, with a gentle breeze rustling the maple leaves in the small cemetery. Only eighteen graves dotted the grassy plot of land next to the river, including the two new ones.
 

The headstones for Gideon’s mother and Doctor Marcus were decorative in nature, since the explosion had ripped the bodies apart and jettisoned their remains into the Void. Instead of bodies, they interred a box containing notes and mementos from those who cared enough to leave something.

The beautiful weather was a slap to the face for Gideon. All things lovely and happy pricked at him like the thorns of a rosebush. It didn’t matter that nearly all three thousand inhabitants of the
Leviathan
had come out to honor the dead. Tomorrow, their lives would continue like normal, while Gideon would have to live with a crater in his soul.

Hills curved around the cemetery, forming a natural amphitheater. People stood or sat on the grass, looking down on the family and close friends of the newly departed. Father Diego de las Casas was speaking about souls and God and everlasting paradise, but as Gideon stood next to his mother’s headstone, he barely noticed the words. His unfocused eyes stared forward at nothing, and he had the urge to find the nearest airlock and join his mother in the Void.

Gideon didn’t even notice when the priest stopped talking until a familiar voice echoed out over the congregation. His father, Admiral Ethan Killdeer, stood before the crowd in his formal uniform. The admiral wasn’t particularly tall, but his presence was oversized. His square jaw and hard eyes seemed to be chiseled from stone, and like him or not, he had the respect of every aionian aboard the ship.
 

Since the explosion, Gideon had barely talked to his father. The admiral had been working around the clock, sleeping in his office at CENTCOM. Given the admiral’s rock-steady voice and checked emotions, one would never have guessed that he was eulogizing his own wife’s memory.

“My friends, in the one hundred fifty-three years since the
Leviathan
carried us away from Earth’s solar system, I have stood before you on this hallowed ground only sixteen times to remember a crew member who has left this life. Though I may not possess the faith of Padre Diego, I find comfort in his words, and the hope that this ending is only another beginning for Monica and Byron.

“In some ways, we are not blessed as were our human ancestors with the knowledge that we will one day die. To an aionian, death is not a guarantee, and therefore it is all the more shocking when it visits one of our number. The weight of that possibility threatens to crush our spirits if we are not careful.

“Like many of you, I remember a time when death was common. When our human brothers and sisters decided we were a threat that had to be eliminated. I’m reminded now of the thousands of aionians we weren’t even allowed to bury on Mars when we fled. We all hoped that this exodus through the Void would mean an end to bloodshed and sorrow. Days like today remind us that life is fragile, even for an aionian, and we will never eliminate all risk.

“But now, as we stand at the edge of the Void, poised to inherit our Promised Land, we cannot let our courage fail. On Valkyrie, we will start fresh, with the hope that our trouble is behind us. But we are marching into the unknown. We must be prepared for any scenario, even the possibility of more tragedy. I believe in Valkyrie, but it is a birthright that comes with a cost.
 

“We will be tested, we may lose more loved ones, but I’ve had the privilege of knowing all of you over the centuries, and I know we are up to the task. Monica and Byron dedicated their lives to the dream of Valkyrie, and the best way we can honor their memory is to achieve that dream. We are going to build a new world, not a temporary one like the
Leviathan
, but a world that will act as the cradle for the Aionian Civilization. You and I are going to build that world standing on the shoulders of the giants who have gone before us. In that way, Monica and Byron will truly become immortal.”

It could hardly be called a eulogy. The speech barely mentioned the deceased, and Gideon realized it was not meant to honor the dead. His father was refocusing their emotions on the task at hand. How he could be so cold, so businesslike was beyond Gideon’s comprehension. His face turned red, and he gritted his teeth.

The polite applause that followed the speech seemed out of place for a funeral, but this was the first time Gideon had experienced one. He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe to stand next to his father as a line of people went by and gave their condolences. Old movies showed it that way. Instead, the admiral had been the one comforting the masses and quieting the inner fears they all harbored.

A gentle hand landed on Gideon’s shoulder. He turned to see the small priest, Padre Diego, with his ever-present smile.

“I’m sorry, Gideon. I’ve known your mother for a very long time, and was lucky enough to call her my friend. We’ll all miss her.”

The only response Gideon could muster was a weak nod as he looked down at his feet. His tears had already dried up.

“I don’t know if you believe in an afterlife, but I do, and I believe it’s a place of joy. If you ever want to talk about it, come see me. At least it might be nice to think about.”

Gideon coughed. “Sure, Padre. I’ll think about it.”

The little man gave his shoulder a squeeze, then turned and walked away without another word.

A huge arm swung behind him and pulled him into an awkward side hug. It was Joseph Uritumbo. Gideon looked up to see wet streaks flowing freely down Joseph’s face. He returned the hug.

“Thanks, Joe.”

Joseph didn’t say anything, just patted Gideon on the back with his meaty hand and walked away.

That started the procession of condolences and hugs that Gideon had originally imagined. Though his heart ached in his chest, his tears were long since spent, and so he responded with thank-yous and a lot of I’ll-be-all-rights that were less truth and more a tactic to get people to move on so he could leave this place.

When the crowd had finally dispersed, Takomi moved across the lawn and hugged him. She was the first one he actually wanted to hug back, and somehow her presence turned on the waterworks again. They hugged and cried for a while without saying anything. When they finally stopped, Gideon wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. His head was pounding, and something behind his sternum tried to escape from his chest. “I’m so sick of crying.”

Takomi laughed as she wiped her own eyes. “I’m so sorry, Gid. I don’t know how to make it better.”