Dark Space: Origin (38 page)

Ethan gave her a small, bitter smile. “I don’t know. You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said as he turned to leave.

Alara stared after him in shock. “Hoi! You could at least frek me before you go!”

Ethan turned as he reached the door. “I’m sorry for everything, Alara. If you ever wake up from this nightmare, know that I did everything I could.” He passed his wrist over the door scanner and it opened with a
swish.
Then he stepped out into the comparative brightness of the hallway, and the door promptly slid shut behind him. Ethan passed between the pair of Brondi’s guards who stood flanking the entrance to Alara’s room. They shot him knowing smiles, and one of them whistled and poked him in the ribs as he walked by. “Hoi, good bit of tail, isn’t she?”

Ethan spun on his heel, his fists involuntarily clenching. “What do you know about that?” The man who’d spoken was short and squat with yellowing teeth and small, squinty eyes tucked into his round, pudgy face.

“Don’t know nothin’ about it yet,” the man said with a shrug, “but Brondi said we might get a turn with her, if we do our jobs well and keep everyone else out. Looks like you must be in his good books. Got to go first, hoi? Come on, jus’ a few details. We’re dyin’ out here! I hear she’s
eager
to please.”

Ethan clenched his teeth and counted to ten in his head. He imagined all the different ways he could kill the small, pudgy outlaw standing before him, but all of those scenarios ended with the other guard shooting him dead. Neither of these men seemed to know who Ethan was, but he reminded himself that he was wearing the uniform of a Lieutenant Commander, which meant he outranked both of them by several pay grades—assuming Brondi’s command structure was for more than just show. It was worth a shot. “I was just making sure neither of you skriffs laid a hand on her,” he said, shaking a finger in the guard’s face. “Brondi ordered me to castrate you both if you had.”

The guard paled. “He said that? Shee that’s just krakkin’ sick! We’re not stupid, hoi—not gonna touch her until Brondi says, a’right? You can tell him I said that.”

“Just be thankful you’ve been following your orders. Keep it up.” With that, Ethan turned and strode away. His comm piece began trilling a moment later. It was his XO, Gina—freshly chipped along with the rest of the Alephs to be good little outlaws. Now they all thought they were lowlifes without the slightest shred of decency. For all their artificially imposed flight training, they didn’t have the slightest shred of skill in a cockpit either. Ethan was exhausted by the façade of pretending to be their leader. “Hoi, LC,” Gina said. “Where the frek are you? We’re waitin’ in the hangar already. The squad’s gettin’ impatient. Another minute and they’re gonna start a dogfight in here.”

“On my way,” he replied.

“Ruh-kah!” she cheered. “Hurry up! We’ve had clearance for ten minutes.”

“See you soon,” Ethan replied and then ended the call.
Ruh-kah—death and glory.
The old Rokan battle cry suddenly took on new meaning for Ethan. With his skill in the cockpit he had a good chance of living through the coming battle, regardless of who won, but he’d already made up his mind. He was done dancing to Brondi’s tune. He’d killed over 50,000 innocent men and women already by cooperating with Brondi, and he refused to kill any more—wittingly or not. The crime lord would soon be too busy to take it out on Alara, and with luck, the admiral would win the fight and rescue her. If not, it was just as he’d told Alara—he’d done everything he could. Even if he did what Brondi wanted and killed as many Imperial pilots as he could, he couldn’t save her. Brondi would never let them go. It was all just a big game to him—he was like a rictan playing with a mouse—the more Ethan suffered, the more perverse enjoyment Brondi would get out of the game.

Ethan shook his head. He was done.
The only way to win a game that can’t be won is to stop playing.

*  *  *

Hoff heard Atton’s approach, but he didn’t turn. The boy’s clumsy footfalls were borne of impetuous fury, but even a calmer, more calculated approach never would have worked. Hoff already knew far more about hand-to-hand combat than any mortal would have had a chance to learn. And with all of that skill, he knew that sometimes the best move was also the simplest one. When Hoff judged that Atton was almost upon him, he deftly stepped aside and put out his foot.

Atton went sprawling.

Just as the boy tried to regain his footing, Hoff drew his sidearm and shot him in the back. Atton’s limbs jittered and he collapsed to the grassy floor of the maze.

Destra came running up behind them, yelling, “Atton! Hoff, if you hurt him—”

“Relax. It was set to stun. He’ll come around in an hour or two.”

Destra went down on her haunches to check Atton’s pulse.

Hoff didn’t have time to deal with this. Wordlessly, he turned and continued on. He heard his wife call after him, “You’re just going to leave him?”

“Use your grav gun and bring him with you, or leave him there to sleep it off—I don’t care which.”

Five minutes later, Destra caught up to him at the back door of their quarters. Atton hovered in the air before her. She looked furious, and out of breath. Hoff stepped up to the control panel and held the door open for her and Atton. She shot him a hateful scowl as she went inside.

“Des,” he said, walking in behind her. “If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. You can take Atta now and go to the enclave. I’ll visit as often as I can.”

She set Atton down in the hall and turned to him. Her expression softened somewhat. “I could stay with you, if you agree to leave my memory alone. No one would believe me if I told them, anyway.”

“Darling, I’m twenty years older than you. When my time comes, what will you do then?” Destra frowned uncertainly, and Hoff went on, “Will we each go our separate ways? Or would you still want to stay with me? Would you still want to be my wife? I’ll have a new body and a new face. I’ll be young and strong again.”

“Maybe you’re asking the wrong question. I’ll be an old woman. Would
you
still want to be with
me
?”

Hoff smiled. “Marriage was never meant to outlive a man.”

“Man was never meant to outlive himself,” Destra replied.

“Touché. Now you see why you have to join me or forget.”

Destra sighed. “I need more time to think.”

“You’ll have it. I have to go. I’m locking the door on my way out, but I’ll be back.”

“You still don’t trust me, do you?” she called after him.

Hoff turned, walking backward down the hall. The light paintings cast his features in a strange, rainbow-colored light. “You
did
just betray my trust, Des. Not only did you discover what I was hiding, but you led Atton to it as well. Can you blame me for not trusting you?”

Destra had no answer for that. Hoff turned back to the fore and disappeared around the corner. In his absence, she wondered,
Would it be so bad to live forever?
Could she and Hoff really last together, forever? Her gaze found Atton, unconscious at her feet. A door swished open beside them, and Atta’s cherubic face popped out. She saw Atton and jumped back with a scream. “Mommy!”

“It’s okay, Atta,” Destra said. “He’s just sleeping.”

“Why is he sleeping in the hall?”

“He was very tired, darling. Let’s go put him to bed.”

For now, Destra had other things to worry about. Eternity could wait.

Chapter 25

A
s soon as the rest of the crew had finished watching the
Interloper’s
log recording, an abrupt silence fell across the bridge. No one went back to work at their stations, and no one said anything; they all looked to Caldin, as if expecting her to tell them what to do. Her gaze swept around the room and she nodded slowly.

“This recording tells us two things. One, we are expendable—that is something we expect. Any officer is expendable in the line of duty, but this was
not
the line of duty. That brings us to the second thing we are to understand from this log recording—the admiral is no friend of the Imperium. Our job is to take back the
Valiant
from Alec Brondi, and that is what we will do, but what we do with her once we have her is another matter. Once she is under our command and Brondi is defeated, the admiral will have no choice but to accept our bid for independence.”

Heads bobbed. No one voiced an objection to that. Out of the corner of her eye Caldin saw Adram smile. She turned to him with a warning look. “This is not an excuse for you or I become the new supreme overlord.”

He shook his head and his smile faded. “The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, Captain.”

“Good. As soon as we have control of Dark Space, we’re going to hold elections for a proper body of representatives and they will appoint a new leader. Our command will be temporary. It’s time the Imperium had a legitimate government, not just the tattered remains of one.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Adram replied.

“Ma’am! We have an incoming message from the
Tauron.
It’s the admiral,” the comm officer reported.

“Put it on speaker, Grimbsy.”

A moment later they heard Hoff Heston’s voice echo through the airy bridge. “We are ready to jump, Captain. Our tracking signal just came through the gate. It puts Brondi’s location at the edge of Dark Space, in the Firean System. Our plan is to drop out of SLS a quarter of a light year from there and have your ship jump the rest of the way to gather intel. As soon as you know the number and position of the enemy, you will jump back and report. Then we’ll transfer an assault force to the
Interloper
and have you get as close to the
Valiant
as you can. Once you’ve had enough time to get in position, we’ll jump in with the
Tauron
and punch a hole through the
Valiant’s
shields for you. Coordinates have already been sent to your nav. Good luck, Captain Caldin. We’re all counting on you.”

Caldin smiled. “Don’t, worry, we won’t let the Imperium down.”

“Good. See you on the other side.”

Caldin made a cutting gesture to her comm officer, and he killed the feed. A second later their view turned from the flashing gray clouds of the Stormcloud Nebula to the racing brightness of superluminal space.

My loyalty is to the Imperium,
she thought.
Not to an admiral who turns on his own people.

*  *  *

The day passed slowly for Destra, her mind filled with conflicting thoughts and endless dread as she imagined living alone with Atta on some barely hospitable colony world. Her thoughts went from there to imagining eternal youth and immortality with Hoff, but every time she pictured that, she had to suppress a shiver.

Atton woke up four hours after he’d been stunned, just in time for dinner. Hoff hadn’t joined them, but Destra made excuses for him, telling Atton and herself that he was probably just too busy on the bridge. The comms were disabled, so they couldn’t ask him. The truth was more likely that he no longer trusted her and Atton enough to be in the same room with them.

Now they were in Atta’s room to put her to bed. She lay stroking Mr. Tibbins’ white fur, and singing softly, as if to put the stuffed diger to sleep. Tibbins was still Atta’s favorite of all her stuffed animals, just as another one like it had been Atton’s favorite. Destra sat on the bed beside Atta, while Atton stood leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed and a frown on his face. Destra stroked her daughter’s hair while she stroked Tibbins’ fur.

“I don’t want to leave,” Atta said suddenly.

Destra frowned. “What are you talking about? Leave where?”

Atta shrugged. “Anywhere. I head you and Daddy talking.”

“When?”

“When you came in this morning. He said that if you wanted to leave, you could take me and go, and he wouldn’t stop you.” Atta looked up with bright gray eyes. “I don’t want to go, Mom. Daddy needs us.”

Destra felt her resolve crumble as she looked into her daughter’s eyes, and suddenly she knew what she had to do, whether it was the right choice for her or not. “Don’t worry, darling. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Good. Tibbins doesn’t want to go either.”

Destra smiled. “He said that?”

“Yes.”

After they’d put Atta to bed, Atton and Destra sat in the living room, talking quietly.

“Would it be so bad to live forever?” Destra asked. “I could watch my grandchildren grow old and their children’s children, too.”

“And what are you planning to tell them about that? They’ll have to know, too, and you know what that means.”

Destra frowned. “So what if they did know? I don’t understand why Hoff’s so afraid to tell people. They don’t all have to become like him. They just have to respect each other’s differences.”

“No, Hoff’s right about one thing. Not everyone will accept his way of life. It raises too many uncomfortable questions about our existence, and what exactly it means to be human—not to mention the societal implications, which are immense. According to the admiral, we’ve already fought one war over this, and I can see why. If we’re not careful; there’ll be another.”

“Why? Why can’t people just let each other be?” Destra asked. “It’s not as though cloning yourself hurts anyone.”

“Assuming the clones are raised without any awareness, no one is directly harmed, no, but in a society like that, only the clones would actually be able to compete. Anyone who refused that way of life would be so far behind that they could never catch up in just one lifetime.”

“So why not implant everyone? Give them all the knowledge they need without having to learn.”

“Our brains don’t work well that way, and we already do that to some extent. People buy skills all the time, but it only ever makes them second-stringers at what they do. At the end of the day, you still need the real experience, and I suspect that’s the difference. Hoff’s experience
is
real.”

“There
are
solutions, Atton, and if not we’ll find them.”

Atton shrugged. “Maybe we already found those solutions a long time ago, but there’s one thing you can’t fix—what about children? Even if only a small percentage of each new generation decides to become immortal, that’s still an infinite growth curve—unless you tell the clones not to have children and limit everyone else to a quota.”

“I don’t know, Atton. Those concerns are a long way away. For now, our species could use a faster growth rate. We’re almost extinct. It could be exactly what we need right now.”

Atton sighed. “Well, you’re right about one thing, we don’t have to solve all of those problems now. We’re not deciding whether or not to let everyone in on Hoff’s secret, we just have to decide whether or not we want to be a part of it.”

“Do you?” Destra asked, her eyes searching his carefully.

“Just so we’re clear, this is not a way to be immortal—it’s just a way to copy our society from one generation to the next—and that could be either very good, or very bad. So you’re asking me if I want a copy of myself to live on. I’m not sure I’m that narcissistic.”

“What if cloning yourself doesn’t create two separate instances of the same person, what if it just creates two windows into the same soul?”

Atton smiled. “There’s an argument that could go on forever.”

“There’s only one way it can . . .” Destra let that thought hang between them for a long moment before she added, “It would be nice to have the time to get to know the son I had to abandon.”

“I’d like that, too.”

“But?”

“Why are you suddenly in favor of this?”

“I have a family to think about—not just myself—and if becoming a clone is what it takes to keep that family together, then I’ll do it. Hoff is not perfect by any standard, Atton, but he loves us, and I have a feeling his one fatal flaw will vanish if I do decide to join him. Maybe I’ll be the first woman who ever has.”

“You have no way of knowing that.”

“No, I don’t, but even if I’m not the first, I can make sure I’m the last.”

Atton smiled. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

Destra smiled back. “Ask your father sometime about how we met.”

“I will. I guess you don’t want to get back together with him then—with Ethan.”

“He and I spent more time apart than we did together, and under circumstances which changed us both dramatically. We grew into different people, and if things had been different, maybe we’d still be together—happily married—but you can’t live in the past. You have to let it be and move on.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“So tell me—what are you going to do?”

Atton shook his head. “I still need time to think. Maybe I’ll choose to forget and you can remind me about all of this existential krak when I’m older.”

“There’s a lot that can kill you besides old age, Atton.”

“I’ll die either way.”

“But your clone will never know the difference, and he’ll be grateful that you gave him the chance to live. At least if some future version of me grows bored of it, I can always opt out,” Destra said.

Atton nodded. “And I can always opt in.”