Authors: Paul Hughes
“Want some company?”
Task didn’t need to look to know that Elle had finished regen, which meant that soon it would be time to get back to work. No sleep in this night, at least not for the human member of the crew. Elle lazily swam to the observation bubble, still glowing from the recharge mist. The glow faded quickly.
“You do need to rest sometime, you know.”
“This is resting.”
“Don’t you see enough of the planet while we’re working?”
Task ignored the question. Another platform fell from the war machine above them.
“How many have you seen tonight?”
“Forty. Fifty.”
“They must think it’s safe for nears down there.”
“It isn’t safe for anyone. Never will be. They should scorch the whole damned thing and be done with it. Or send it into center-spiral. I’d never live there.”
“You’d never live on any planet, sweetheart.”
Task smiled. “Right.”
Two more platforms, one on either side of an almost-invisible sliver of silver. Task drew the reticule over the ships’ position as they planetfell, zoomed. The war platforms were escorting a council corvette.
Elle’s otherwise featureless eyes furrowed into concern as best they could. “Hannon?”
Task zoomed in. “No. That’s Berlin.”
“Against our recommendations?”
“I don’t think he’s listening to recommendations anymore.”
“If it’s still hot—”
“He doesn’t care.”
“I’ll never understand your species.”
“Of course not.”
Wake alarm. Cabin lights grew brighter. Task circumvented snooze and deactivated the anachrony of the sleep system. Time to get to work.
“Break orbit. Take us south.”
from eternal slumber
upon wings of wind and i will
we
there were in that time gods of
taken from and stolen with
hidden
deep with-in deepness
and over the sky i have
returned to
“In position.”
Hydraulics emit canine whine and the body surges forward, empty pages replaced with an ancient text.
“Begin transfer.”
Fluid swirls, suffocation. The sacrifice body, blessed soul replaced with the target of midnight prayers, sacrament of flesh imbued with divinity. Rotating placement lasers strip away flesh and sinew and the gristle of pathetic, bare man. A million, a billion, a trillion needles invade protein.
“Status?”
“Sacrifice vehicle intact. Ready for download.”
when
and when
and when and
called upon again to
wake
and wake
and wake and
be
with my children
again
“Download complete.”
Snap of static and the body flails, drowning scream from within the birth sea. Medications diffuse, calm the fury of the reborn god/dess. Fluid levels descend, now-limp body twitches to rest on the raised platform that would provide a new and shorter sleep.
“Council communication line ready.”
“Open channel.”
A flash and a projection of Hannon stood in the birth chamber.
“I see the procedure was successful. How long before we can meet with him, Doctor?”
“Give him a few hours to rest. It’s been a long time since—”
“Yes, of course. Please let me know when he’s ready.”
Doctor waved its hand in the direction of Hannon and the image ceased. It walked over to the platform, where god was curled into a fetal position. Doctor rolled the deity on to his back, inspected the new body, opened its eyelids, testing for a response.
Assistant approached from behind, stood patiently while Doctor examined the haphazard arrangement of flesh into which the humans had chosen to inject their ancient.
“How many times have they done this?”
“Twice.”
“This time and one other?”
“This time and just before the war.”
“And he doesn’t mind?” Assistant looked over the pseudo-conscious divinity.
“I think he actually prefers the rest. They don’t need him anymore.”
“I’ll never understand them.”
Doctor turned from the table and looked Assistant in featureless eyes. “Just be thankful for them. Never forget your creators.”
Assistant looked at the ground, bowing submissively to its superior. It wanted to point out the obvious hypocrisy of Doctor’s statement... Their creators had all but forgotten their own creator, choosing instead to allow him to hide in the liquid night of the center of the planet in the slumber eternal, only waking him in moments of extreme need.
The new threat was indeed a moment of extreme need. Hopefully, god would have a solution to the woman of silver. So far, no one else did.
She was young, so young when first he’d seen her on the landing platform, standing at attention with the rest, sun-stained face blank and down in submission to the visiting dignitary. The stark gray of her eyes had been hidden by the black fan of lashes in that position, but as soon as he signaled for the team to stand at ease, he found those eyes boring into his own boring browns.
“Sir.”
“Doctor.”
Their first exchange of civil conversation gave no hint of the life they would spend together, the sunsets, the children they would create, but at the same time, Berlin paused, took a breath.
Black converges on gray. “Sir, have we—”
“No.” The interruption more forceful than need be. The doctor immediately shifted back into formal posture, dropped eyes back underneath the veil of black.
“Sir, I’m—”
“Let’s get started. We break orbit in three days. Mustn’t waste time.”
“Sir.”
They were magnificent creatures, the inhabitants of Planet Four: intelligent flora that sailed through the mist canyons on waves of chlorostatic, sometimes miles in length. Berlin could only watch in awe from the observation platform as a pod of carnivores swarmed and eradicated a rival and weaker group.
“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
Berlin
frowned at the amicable tone of her rhetorical inquiry. She’d been off-one for far too long. The informality of the outer planets had begun to replace her training. He couldn’t really blame her; the striking sunlight, the fresh air, the distance from the tentacles of bureaucracy and hypocrisy... He would forgive her for now.
“They’re... impressive.”
She smiled, a total breach of decorum. Tanned hands grasped the railing, leaned farther over than she probably should have.
“We’re fortunate to have this place. They’re fortunate to have a world that hasn’t been used up.”
“We’ll see.”
The smile dropped almost immediately from the doctor’s face. “Is that why you’re here?”
Berlin
cleared his throat. “Doctor—?”
“Kath. Botanist.”
“Kath. Botanist. They have the ability, correct?”
“A very limited form of the ability.”
“But you’ve been researching them for years now. Can it be recreated?”
A particularly large specimen of the lumbers flew fast enough underneath the platform to rock it gently. It left behind the disconcerting scent of pine pitch.
“We’d have to capture some of them.”
“We have the means.”
She frowned, shook her head. “Sir, this is a sanctuary planet. Even posting observers here breaks all of the preservation protocols.”
“We need this technology.”
“Understood, sir.”
“They’re just plants, Kath.”
She looked as if she’d been slapped. “They have a civilization.”
Berlin
had been waiting. “Show me.”
The humble botanist withdrew once again, focused on the handrail.
“That’s an order.”
“And this heart, for you.”
Berlin
opened his eyes at the whisper, spinning around to find only a near bowed in submission. His chest pounded. An inhalation not unlike a sob escaped before he could gain his bearings. The near ignored it.
“What is it?”
The almost-living warrior snapped to attention. “Hover position above Seven, sir.”
Berlin
motioned and the wall became a window into the world below. Audio was inactive, but he imagined the scouring metal dust would make a sound not unlike a hailstorm... Or sand. Or the brush of evergreen limbs on the underside of an observation skiff.
“Ready a landing party. Dismissed.”
The near bowed and walked out. Berlin turned back to the viewer.
What are you doing here?
He had to be sure, had to see for himself. Had to see the extent of this act, had to know in his hearts that this fury was appropriate. He had to prove to himself that what he would do to Maire would be a just punishment.
“Kath. Botanist.”
He didn’t turn this time, didn’t flinch at the whisper.
The rough hand of a soldier grasped in the tiny hand of a doctor, guided to the wool scarf around her neck. Unwrapped slowly, breathing ragged, loop after loop of material exposing the white of her neck. Lips explored, clasps unclasped. Moonlight pupils displaced the gray of iris, lashes tickled his cheek. So cold. So cold in that night.
She drew his hand to her chest, bare skin goose-fleshed under moonlight, palm dragged over nipples erect to that place and that moment. She drew his hand to her chest and placed it over her left breast.
“This heart for my spirit.”
He let her guide him. Up, collarbone, supra-sternal notch, collarbone, down. She held his hand above her right heart.