The Expendable Few: A Spinward Fringe Novel (25 page)

More so than their clothing or weaponry, the humans on Uumen used a mode of travel that seemed next to crazy. Instead of using shuttles or hub-controlled public transit, they preferred to use antigravity vehicles that travelled only one half to two metres above the ground. They called them skids. The humans and the issyrians who were friendly with them used them because all flying vehicles were tracked and registered to a pilot. The issyrians and friends used them to escape notice. It wasn’t impossible to use flying vehicles within planetary space, but the less they had to log fake or suspicious flight paths, the better. On a cosmic scale the skid wasn’t moving quickly at all, but travelling so close to the ground was exhilarating. Davi watched as Kipley flinched in his seat at the passing of every near-by tree trunk.

“Don’t worry,” reassured Isabel. “The issyrians say that these are used on colonies across the galaxy. Besides, this is a luxury model with an advanced navigation system.” She pointed at the holographic overlay between her and the roughly hewn road ahead. Roots crisscrossed beneath in a tangle of wood and ravaged brown fruit.

The luxury craft had seen better days. It carried seven passengers plus the pilot and, judging from dents and score marks, it was likely that this wasn’t the first mission the little skid had been on. “I was sure we were all going to die when Isabel took the controls for the first time,” Remmy said over his shoulder. “But now I’m only half sure.”

The wind rushing over the energy field shielding the top half of the car nearly obscured the last part of his statement. Davi wished it had. “What did he say?” Kipley asked, wide eyed.

“We’re all going to be fine,” Davi said.

“Oh,” he replied.

Davi looked to Judge. “I’m starting to enjoy this,” he said.

“I think I left my stomach in Trest,” Judge replied.

Davi noticed the large man’s white knuckle grip on the edge of the seat and laughed.

“When I get to Chan Lin I’m going to buy myself one of these,” said Mary. “Or maybe a bike version. That’s gotta be even better.”

“You’re suicidal, woman!” Kipley exclaimed. “At least with this we’ve got a buffer, and a few inertial dampers. The bikes I saw back there were just seats strapped to engines!”

“Yeah, I’ll definitely get a bike,” Mary concluded.

“Why do you want to go to Chan Lin?” Davi asked. He’d never heard of the place before.

“Most of the humans were saved by the other races there, especially the nafali. They already signed treaties, started up a new alliance. There are jobs, peaceful cities, and a new military forming. I hear even Lorander Corp is taking an interest,” she replied.

“I might just join you,” Davi said.

“You might not have a choice,” Remmy said. “If this goes bad, a lot of the issyrians might try to make a break for it, and they’ll set their course for one of the Chan Lin system’s outer colonies. Most won’t make it, but it’s the nearest friendly space that’ll take issyrians from a banished house.”

“Banished?” Davi asked.

“The Great Issyrian Houses in these sectors see this world and the people here as contaminated thanks to this forest and the diseases Regent Galactic brought with them. Everyone here is an outcast,” Remmy replied. He didn’t look away when he finished speaking but seemed to search Davi’s expression for a particular reaction before saying “remind you of anyone?” then facing forward in his seat.

Davi was starting to understand why it was so easy for Remmy, Isabel, and Mary to find their place among the issyrians. As he watched the brown trunks whip by on either side of the skid, he realized that he had been starting to see things from the issyrian perspective more and more. The plight of Freeground Intelligence and his mission seemed less important all the time. As for Remmy’s reference, he could only imagine that he was reminding him of how Intelligence invaded and manipulated the mind of their former commander, Clark Patterson.

Going native was a real possibility, especially if what he suspected about his own situation was true. There was no way Freeground Intelligence would let him and his team operate without neural implants. He only hoped he didn’t get the controller type they built into Patterson.

In the blink of an eye he was past the tree line and beneath Port Gibblin proper. It was impossible to tell whether it was night or day beneath the superstructure of the main port buildings. “Holy shit, here we go,” Kipley said with an anxious smile.

“We have to stay inconspicuous until we get the signal,” Mary said.

Kipley’s hand came out from under his loose shirt, where Davi assume he’d stashed his ripper.

Isabel took tight turns on the spiral ramp that led up into the belly of the main brown and grey metal structure made Davi dizzy.

“Oh God,” he heard Tamera say as she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

The skid came out onto a flat platform section, brightly lit by recessed lights and reflective walls. Dozens of ships marked with black and yellow X’s across their hulls sat idle. “This looks like an impound,” Judge said to no one in particular. “I’ve never seen so many small ships held in one place.”

“They transport the bigger ones off world, who knows where they go from there,” Remmy said as they slowed down.

They came to a stop around a corner where the busier segment of the port started. The largest class of ship they had seen so far - corvettes under one hundred metres in length - were lined up in rows. The hangar seemed to go on forever. Crews from across the sector and beyond tended to their daily business of maintenance, loading, and repair. From a quick glance Davi could see that most of them were either loading cargo or making major repairs. No one was unloading.

“Resource harvesting from the planet,” Isabel said as she slid the door to the skid forward and stepped out. “Blue crates are raw foods, green are compressed biomass, and we don’t know what the other three colours are.”

“The other skid just arrived in their sector,” Remmy announced quietly. “We’re on time.” He led them to a lift that sent the group of eight up to the fifty fifth floor, where Davi was confronted by a sea of colour as soon as they stepped out onto the public transport dais. The swiftly progressing lines to and from the bank of transit pods reminded Davi of the animated model of the human vascular system he referenced constantly during his basic medical training. People moved in and out of the transit hub as if it were a beating heart. In the main gallery below there were thousands of people dressed in styles of clothing that he would have never imagined. The sight of so much variety in one place, and the crush of people was more than he’d ever seen anywhere, especially on Freeground.

The stores were islands of products, barely walled in so everyone could get a good look at them. They sold everything from hot food to toys. Larger stores lined the oval market space. Their signs were simple, static two dimensional affairs. They didn’t have to be any more than that from the look of things; people were constantly entering while others were emerging with colourful bags, some of which projected holographic advertising that spoke and pointed towards their point of origin. “Hey! Looks like you could use some new shoes, fella! Treadwise is right over there, go check it out,” said one of the holographic ad-men as he was projected by bag in a passer-by’s hand.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Kipley said. “A hologram just told me to get a burger down there because I look hungry. How the hell did it know?”

“Marketing is an art,” Remmy said. “Just like interrogation.”

“We didn’t go to the same art classes,” Judge replied. “We’re really going to pull this off here?”

“It’s the best place,” Remmy replied.

“See that pillar?” Isabel said, pointing ahead and above.

Davi looked through the gallery’s transparent roof and saw a pillar blocking part of the blue sky above. It extended well out of sight. “That’s one of the atmospheric modification pipes,” he guessed.

“Exactly. One of the primaries. The main feeder lines are right under that Americana joint,” she replied. “Looks like you can get that burger.”

Remmy and Isabel led the way down the stairs and to the red, white, and blue burger stand. It was a circular bar with stools set around it. The kitchen was in the centre, where Davi saw them frying potato strips and grilling meat products of all kinds.

“It smells like they’re burning meat in hot lubricant,” Tamera muttered.

“This is fucking authentic, don’t you know anything about history?” asked Kipley. “Once upon a time people knew how to eat.”

“But everything that isn’t green or chipped here was alive once,” Isabel countered.

“Nope, not really.”

“Don’t you know where meat comes from?” she retorted.

“He’s right, check it out.” Remmy pointed to the holographic Flipper Boy sign above as images of headless chickens and cows danced around the letters. “Headless livestock.”

“How does that even work?” she asked.

“Who cares?” Kipley said as he stepped up to the counter and selected a combination with two hamburgers and a basket of chicken nuggets. “Animals are for eating.”

“They grow the meat and organs in vats, connected to artificial support systems. They don’t actually grow headless animals,” Judge answered as he posted his own order: a variety basket of breaded chicken, ham, and beef.

“Is that all they serve here?” Isabel asked.

“I’ll order you some coleslaw. If it’s anything like the stuff in the period pictures, it’s just salad,” Remmy said as he sat down between Isabel and Davi.

Davi took the time to take in the crowd again. While some of his people seemed easily distracted by the exotic food, he was still astounded by the mass of people with individual tastes in clothing, dialects of speech, and music he overheard as they passed. “This is how humans should live,” he said to himself. “Why isn’t it like this on Freeground?”

“We all get the same education until the GAT,” Remmy said as he was handed a basket filled with steaming fries, topped with a disc of meat trapped in a dripping bun. He handed a bowl of dressing-soaked shredded vegetables to Isabel and a small container of fries to Davi. “Here, they’re potato fries.”

Davi accepted, and decided to wait for them to cool before he tried one. He remembered the General Aptitude Test faintly; he took it when he was ten. That was probably the least of the similarities that all Freegrounders shared in their experiences growing up. Unlike most of the people on the Sunspire who were exiled from Freeground, he never felt his choices in entertainment, career, or most other experiences were limited. If there was one thing he could change about Freeground, it was the new breeder mentality, which hadn’t been mainstream long.

Sitting on a stool at Flipper Boy, watching a sea of individuals walking around, he couldn’t help but wish his husband were sitting beside him. He’d love the vibrance and endless variety.

They had a chance to eat their food and sip their sugary sodas. Davi couldn’t get past the first taste test, it was so intensely flavoured that he thought he was trying to drink syrup. “What’s the signal we’re waiting for?” he asked Remmy.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” he replied. Without a word he looked over his shoulder and nodded slowly. “Watch that storefront.”

How Davi hadn’t noticed it before, he couldn’t imagine, but once he followed Remmy’s gaze and found an Order of Eden Support Centre, he realized that the Issyrians were about to take the opportunity to make some kind of statement. There were four lines of people waiting to enter the busy social centre, and there wasn’t a guard in sight. He spotted soldiers mixed in with the crowd throughout the gallery, but none specifically watched the Order of Eden Centre, which he thought was strange. “Is that a registration centre or something?”

“Nope, everyone you see here is either registered or not human. Those centres are for people who want to find jobs with the Order, or advance towards Living Paradise. The hundred thousand credits us humans pay for protection from the Eden Virus and registration is only the beginning,” Remmy replied.

“So if I wanted to become an officer in their military, or gain civilian rank, that’s where I’d start,” Davi replied.

“Yup, that would be your gate to the Promised Land. Immortality in paradise and elevation to a whole new plane of existence are yours, but only if you jump through their hoops. Most people who sign up become civil servants, or low pay workers, a few become military.”

“You have some pretty good intelligence,” Tamera said.

Remmy brought up the public computer directory screen on the counter and pressed the Order of Eden logo in the corner. The green and blue planet logo spun and enlarged, stopping as it overwhelmed the display. It was an electronic pamphlet with testimonies and a directory offering more information than any of them could get through while they waited. “They turn out more propaganda every day,” Remmy said. “It’s good entertainment.”

Davi turned his attention towards examining the area between himself and the Order Support Centre. There were permanent trash receptacles, a ramp-way leading below, and a few holotransmitter posts no thicker than his arm.

“Checking for cover and forming a plan?” Judge asked him quietly.

A shiver ran up Davi’s spine before he could answer, and he flinched visibly. “If this mission kills us, our death will come from the sky, or through that door.” He tried his first fry and couldn’t help but appreciate the texture, the richer flavour of the salt and other, unidentifiable seasoning. He thought the treat would help hide his rising anxiety, but he was wrong.

“Easy there, Lieutenant,” Judge said. “We’ve made it through retrievals that would have made most infantrymen break rank.”

“With a few losses along the way,” Davi replied. “Not just in death, either. Foster cracked so hard he got dropped from the unit. He’s probably still back on the Sunspire, getting grief therapy.”

“You know what they say,” Judge replied. “One in nine people can live as a soldier for longer than two years. The rest just fall apart and fall out. Foster lasted a long time for a softie.”

“Shouldn’t have been in the service in the first place,” Kipley said, wiping mustard and catsup from his lips with his sleeve.