Diaspora Ad Astra (4 page)

As three talons enter his vision from the right, the world slows around him—he rolls smoothly away from the deadly attack and onto his feet. A tentacle, thick as a tree,
swings toward him. He leaps out of the way and finds himself thirty feet above the jungle canopy, arcing gently away from the ravine. Far below him, he can see the surviving members of Captain
Arahad’s team fighting valiantly.

Then Selekyulos, an angrily bunched mass of undulating roots, vines, and thorns, bursts from the jungle below. Captain Delgado kicks at the air, frantically trying to change
the inexorable path of his descent. A tendril catches hold of his foot, wrenches him about and hurtles him down into the ravine below.

Captain Delgado’s arms flail as he smashes through green leafed branches, thorny vines, and rotting tree limbs. His shoulder slams into the trunk of a twisted tree and he
is spun about, tumbles wildly through the foliage. His stealth suit is shredded, his eye is gouged out, his ribs fracture one after the other before an outstretched branch impales him.

In shock, Captain Delgado struggles to grab onto something, but his twisted, broken fingers cannot hold onto anything. He hears a sharp crack and he continues tumbling down,
down, down through two miles of trees, stumps, and spiny vegetation.

Captain Delgado is dead when he hits the bottom of the ravine. Bones broken, organs hemorrhaging blood, lungs pierced.

It is 08-08-2108 at 0954 when Konstantin unwraps and unfolds around Captain Delgado, furiously cocoons his mangled bearer and burrows deep into flesh, blood, brain matter,
nerve tissue, ligaments, cartilage, and bone marrow, and in the span of a hummingbird’s heartbeat restores him to life.

It is 08-08-2108 at 0955 when Captain Delgado takes his first breath of the foul jungle air at the bottom of the ravine.

COVENANT

It is 08-08-2108 at 0956, and Captain Delgado is remembering the first time he bore his Omniskin. He remembers the smooth bundles of grey fiber that look like an elegant
sculpture of silk and papyrus and skin are place on his upturned palms. He remembers the voice in his head, a murmuring voice that sounds like violins and flutes and opera filtered through a lake
of crystal blue water, he remembers the questions he is asked, he remembers the promises he made, and he realizes he is being asked again—to submit, to sacrifice, to succeed.

And once again, he accepts, and this time—something is unlocked deep inside his mind.

Around him, Konstantin twists its delicate fibers, weaving the strands of matter into energy, transmuting the poison around him into oxygen, rebuilding the fragile network of
nerves and brain matter inside his bearer. In response, Captain Delgado raises his hands out of the water, mud, and clay and twists his fingers in the warm air.

The pull of gravity lessens, ceases, then reverses and Captain Delgado rises out of the darkness of the ravine.

HOMINIDS

It is five months earlier, and Konstantin is talking.

“At this time, oh my Master,” says the air that vibrates and hums before his constantly shifting mass of tendrils and tubes, “the hairless hominids who call
themselves a ‘Republic’ fear us and yet covet the power we bestow. They continue to unearth us from the caverns and safeholes and freeholds that we had ensconced ourselves in across the
Arm and continue to unlock the most basic capabilities that we can grant them with—star-spanning mindspeech, improved metabolic functions, and crude amplification and manipulation of their
natural mental abilities.”

Images flicker swiftly in the air, all human. “We come not as conquerors of this race. All our bearers know that we of our crèche—from you, the lone Imperial
(if you will forgive the old term, my Master), to the lowest Plebian in our Millennium—are sentient and dormant. Their race cannot bear us without entering into even the simplest of covenants
and an exchange of vows and information. From the terminology used to rank our powers and abilities and the naming of our ancient foes, it is undeniable that elements of our knowledge and thoughts
bled through our dreaming state into their consciousness.”

Konstatin’s whirling mass of tendrils relax, twist, then tighten in upon themselves to reveal an outraged Captain Delgado.

Captain Delgado swallows twice, then speaks in a hoarse voice. “We must prepare for war with the Remergents, Mr. President. We have already allied ourselves with their
enemies, and already they test this Republic’s military capabilities.”

In front of him, on a dais cut from Harombon marble and filigreed with aurargentite, Republic President Horace Atilano reclining languidly on his gargantuan hardwood throne,
his face slack, expressionless. Then a frenzied rustling like parchment and thick velvet and Captain Delgado finds himself kneeling.

A voice old and distant: “Konstantin y Delgado. Initiate Sanction.”

REMERGENT

It is 08-08-2108 at 1010, and Captain Arahad is running. His men are somewhere behind him, wounded, dead, or dying. If he can evade this last Remergent for just five more
minutes, reinforcements will arrive from the
Artemis.
He can save his team if can hold out. Five more minutes.

His Signal Tracker vibrates at his hip and he lurches right. The Remergent brushes past him, a blur of spines and claws and teeth.

Captain Arahad blindly fires the last two shots from the handcannon he’d picked up from one of his men, then sets it to overheat. He pivots and sprints twenty meters down
a stony trail, dropping the handcannon behind him. He feels the heat and lets the explosion throw him forward onto his face, then he rolls onto his back, broken Moroblade in hand.

He sees the last Remergent coming at him. Time slows and for some reason he can see every detail of the monster he is fighting. Twelve spiny limbs covered in grey-and-red
scales, clambering spider-like towards him with twin, venom-filled maws bracketing a cage of bone at its center. Inside the cage, a child—rigid and motionless—with blood-shot eyes that
stare blankly ahead.

Captain Arahad tenses for the final strike, but it does not land. Then he notices the tendrils and vines that have wrapped themselves around the limbs of the Remergent; more of
them whip out and ensnare the outstretched spines and the elongating torso and the twisting maws. More vines shoot out and entwine the Remergent even faster until it resembles a nest of bonespiders
trapped in a tangle of green webbing. Branches grow from the mass of vines and force open the bone cage, dropping the child softly onto the ground below.

The Remergent lurches violently against its restraints, and a hollow keening sound fills the air.

Then Captain Delgado steps into view, still covered in his fully expressed obsidian Omniskin, and brandishes a net of Detonite blocks.

“Captain Arahad, please take the child and see to your men,” he says. “I will handle Selekyulos.”

KONSTANTIN

It is a long, long time ago. The firmament is filled with stars, and against them a fleet of planets and asteroids resembling a sculpture of beckoning wings and spinning wheels
and glowing gems glitter in the darkness.

At the center of the fleet, a black mass of meshed metal—its shape is angry and vigilant and filled with lines and triangles and circles and writing that shimmer blue and
blinding white. The mass shoots out from the center of the fleet with sudden speeds toward a hungry maelstrom of darkness.

In the silence of space, there are words. Words of authority, words of naming, words of binding, words of punishment.

Konstantin is there. He, with his brethren, usher the Banished to their prison of matter. As they slide down towards the center of the blackness, he reaffirms his vows in
concert with the rest, over the constant threats and entreaties and offers and blunted curses that stream steadily from the Banished that lie chained at the center.

Konstantin knows, as do the rest of his brethren, that one day the Banished will escape—and he looks forward to that day with grim joy.

MERCY

It is 08-08-2108 at 1015, and the Remergent named Selekyulos threatens Captain Delgado and Konstantin. The blocks of Detonite are arranged in a circle around the bound monster,
and the network of cables over and shift in geometric patterns, meeting at a point immediately below him.

“Mercy for the repentant,” says Captain Delgado. “But none for you.”

“In this place and at this time, the Laws may be bent, but not broken.” says Konstantin.

“And so we pass sentence on you, Selekyulos—fallen prince, fallen power.”

Hands and fingers and thread and fiber twist and swirl.

Detonite evaporates into the air and Selekyulos is consumed in an instant by the heat and power of a split-second sun. The smoke is thick and foul and curves rebelliously into
the sky before finally dissipating in a final blossom of thin grey smoke nearly a mile above land.

By Raymund P. Reyes

The two hundred fifty-four families of Tierra 20 have been busy for the last two weeks, putting their belongings in synthetic metal crates provided by the Commission for Tierra
Satellite Concerns. Only essential items, the directive from the Commission had stressed. All possessions, at least those that were considered important by the owners, should fit the large crate
given to each household. Nothing more. Furniture, beds, computers, even utensils and clothes would be provided for in their new homes.

Amir remembered the excitement when the Community Mayor announced through the Public Address System that a representative of the UN Commission for Intra-Galactic Affairs would
visit their Tierra. A personal visit from any representative from mainland Earth was always a big deal. This was only done for very important occasions like the inauguration of a new Community
Mayor, vaccination drives sent by the World Health Organization to stop the spread of viruses that tend to multiply fast in the cramped environment of the Tierra, or an announcement of a sensitive
nature that they felt could not be broadcast through Channel 100, the UN-operated television station that beamed thirty-minute news thrice every day about Mother Planet Earth and directives to the
residents of Tierra 20 and the other Tierras scattered around the orbits of Venus and Mars. The last visit happened three years ago, a Census year.

To the earliest settlers, and now very few remaining, who came to the Tierra as young people during the Mass Migration Era, Channel 100 was the only means to cure the lingering
pangs of nostalgia and homesickness for their old home. For most of those who were born and raised on the Tierra, however, Mother Planet Earth was simply another planet in the solar system, a place
on the other side of the Moon that they might never see in their lifetime, but which had continued to affect the affairs of the Tierra although the latter has, for the most part, been administered
autonomously as an independent state under the leadership of the Community Mayor and his Board of Councilors.

The latest visit from Earth was conducted in the Central Auditorium, with every household represented. The UN Representative, a Zambian, read the announcement from the UN
Secretary General and stayed for an hour answering questions raised by the Councilors before leaving the hall.

The Tierra residents have been anticipating the announcement, although it came earlier than expected. The last Census report had put the move to take another two decades, but
it seemed that Earth Technology had grown by leaps in the duration. The last phases of the plan had been accomplished. Amir and his friends could not talk of anything else during the following days
other than the Commission’s announcement. It was going to happen at last: the move to Mars.

It was common knowledge among the inhabitants that Mother Planet Earth was shutting down the Solar Recycling Satellites, the energy source for the various Tierras in orbit. All
life on the Tierras would cease when the energy source, which also regulated air supply, would be cut off. After eighty years, surviving and thriving as a community on the intra-galactic ship that
served as temporary homes for the people, the residents of Tierra 20 were finally being relocated. It was even longer for the other Tierras, which have been in existence for over a hundred years. A
controlled, permanent habitat awaited them on Mars.

Alani and Awati, Amir’s two children, were excited about living on their own planet and moving around a larger space. The thousand-square kilometer spaceship containing
the Tierra certainly constricted their lives, but having lived here all their lives, they were unaware of its narrowness. However, every time Channel 100 showed footage of Mother Planet Earth, its
vastness, and its numerous wonders, Amir felt a longing to live in a world bigger than the bounded ship, to do what he thought would be more than what he could at present. Of course, Mars would
still be smaller compared to Earth, since they would have to live in an enclosed and regulated area, as the new planet did not have Earth’s atmosphere, but the UN had created there a
continent the size of North America, and to Amir, that was as big as a whole planet.

With all the excitement going on, one person was unusually pensive. Ina Dolor, ever since the news of the evacuation, had been brooding inside her apartment. The night after
the announcement, while the family was arguing and deciding on what to bring to their new home and what to leave behind over dinner at the old woman’s home, Ina Dolor quieted the enthusiastic
babble with her own announcement that she was staying behind.

“Ina, you have to go with us. With everyone. You cannot stay here,” Amir pleaded with her grandmother.

“Please, Ina Dolor. Go with us.” His wife joined in trying to persuade Ina. “The Tierra will die once they turn off the energy source,” Salud said.

“No, Amir, Salud. I told you before. Years ago, even before we all learned that the move would happen in this generation, you knew I would never go. You don’t think
I was serious about it?” Ina Dolor said.