Wasteland of flint

memories flushing with strength.

The display did not change. The engines did not ignite. There was no familiar chuckling hiss of hydrogen filling the fuel lines. Russovsky moved her hand across the panel again. Nothing. The machine did not stir to life, did not shiver awake to answer her will.

Is this disappointment? The memories held many examples, though they were distant and cold, untouchable. Sealed away behind layers of glassite. The machine does not work. There is no…fuel.

Russovsky scrutinized the memories with more care. A universe of mechanical systems was revealed, awareness of thousands of substances and chemical processes was uncovered. And with them, the slow, growing conclusion the human had not known enough about the intricacies of their manufacture to allow Russovsky – as she now stood – to replicate them, even with a firm grasp of molecular control.

Again, an emptiness where memory suggested there would be ‹furyragedespair›.

There was something inside the human which was not in the hathol, a brilliant unique spark which could not be ‹consumedknownunderstood›. Russovsky thought, considered and decided this was the emptiness she felt within. Something lacking which made even the carefully hoarded memories of the human Russovsky, as tightly held as Gretchen's children splashing in the pool, seem flat and lifeless. I am like the hathol and the firten, she thought sadly, only a mechanical process of electrons and chemical reactions.

Russovsky climbed out of the aircraft and walked to the hangar door. The sun was still high in the sky, but she turned and paced down to the edge of the landing field. Long blond hair luffed in the wind as she raised a seamed, weathered face to the sky. Far above, far away now, there was a shining bright speck. A gleam of metal and composite spiraling higher and higher into the black heavens.

Tendrils of hair began to break down, smashed by the radiation flooding from the blazing disk blazing in the west. Then the skinsuit turned gray and began to crack. The constant wind abraded Russovsky, chipping away at tools, djellaba, the threads of the kaffiyeh. Slowly, she eroded, eyes still raised to the slowly dimming spark high above.

Aboard the Turan

Smoke curdled in the air, seeping back into the space blown clear by the Webley's concussive blast. Thrown flat on the deck, Hadeishi's combat armor sizzled with waste heat from the impact of the flechettes. Four hand-size blotches glowed cherry-red on his breast and side.

Alarms continued to honk in the distance. All three corridors had been sealed off by the pressure doors. A half-heard, half-felt vibration was absent from the usual run of background noise aboard ship. The air circulators had shut down when environmental override isolated the level.

Among the uneasy crowd of his men, Ketcham slowly lowered the pistol. The blowback mechanism had already reloaded the firing chamber. The riggers at his side started to inch forward, emboldened by the sight of the stricken black-armored figure.

'Wait.' Ketcham's basso voice carried easily in the smoky, troubled air. 'He might not -'

Hadeishi's head moved. The suit speaker, mostly destroyed by the impact, made a distorted growling sound, then the control fabric adapted to the damage. 'Uhhhh… that hurts.'

The chu-sa levered himself up from the ground, the mirrored faceplate of his visor reflecting the crewmen shrinking back from his movement. Ketcham raised and sighted the gun again, his face blank with surprise. The refinery captain seemed equally shocked at having shot Hadeishi and at the chu- sa surviving the blast.

'There is no quarrel between us, Captain Ketcham.' Hadeishi's voice was slurred and tinged with a buzzing edge of feedback. He was having trouble breathing. He wondered how many ribs he'd broken. The Nisei braced himself with both hands and stood up, swaying slightly. 'I know what Fleet did to you, but I am not the Admiralty or the promotions board. I'm just a ship captain, as you were. All I want to do is talk.'

'About what?' Ketcham bit out the words, his blood pressure rising again at the very mention of the word 'Fleet.' He usually accounted himself a patient, reasonable man, but the very sight of the Nisei's black combat suit inspired stomach-churning hate. But the absolute, unflappable confidence of the man standing in the middle of the passageway gave him pause. Unless he was insane, no officer – much less a commander – was going to put himself in harm's way like this, not without an enormously good reason.

Hadeishi gingerly prodded the impact points on his armor. Hissing cherry-red slivers of metal poked from the outer layer. A heat haze trembled around them. He decided they were better left alone. 'Captain, you should put on a breather mask.'

Without the vents going, the smoke from the RSM rounds was beginning to percolate down the corridor. Most of the miners already looked a little green around the gills. Ketcham noticed the danger and backed up, waving his men back. They scrambled down the hallway in a confused mass, pushing and shoving each other.

The refinery captain ignored the dissipating gas, continuing to block the hallway, the Webley still centered on Hadeishi's chest. The chu-sa took two steps forward, then stopped. He reached up and unlocked his visor, letting the servomotors in the joint swing it up and away from his face. Ketcham's gimlet-eyed expression became even harder as he took in the classically Japanese features.

'A brave gesture,' the captain said bitterly. 'But you've proven yourself recklessly bold already. Say your piece.'

Hadeishi thought he had the measure of his opponent. Seeing the man now, in person, and knowing he'd been a ship captain in Fleet had settled his mind about one thing. The sense of imminent death – a taut, blood-stirring tension vibrating in every muscle – had not slackened. Indeed, Hadeishi was very sure he was far, far closer to death now, staring down the muzzle of the pistol, than he'd been before stepping out into the corridor. He had, in fact, a very clear view of the inside of the pistol barrel from where he now stood.

'The third planet of this system is a First Sun artifact.'

Ketcham did not blink or otherwise react. 'I know, we saw the Company exploration ship in orbit when we… wait. The entire planet?'

Hadeishi nodded. 'This system is now under interdict. An Imperial nauallis aboard my cruiser has issued a directive-six order encompassing the entire Ephesian system and everything within twenty-five light-years.'

'Wha -' Ketcham shook his shaggy head from side to side in disbelief. 'Interdict? The planet…' His eyes widened in astonishment. 'A ship? The planet is a First Sun ship? There's a planet-scale starship orbiting this sun?!'

'It is necessary,' Hadeishi continued in a firm, level voice, 'for all human ships, yours and mine alike, to leave this system in the quietest possible manner. No comm transmissions, no hyperspace transit within detection range of the third planet. None of us will be allowed to return. In the fullness of time, a distant picket will be established to keep the unwary from stumbling into danger.'

Ketcham gave him a pitying look. 'Do you really think that will happen? The Empire will cordon off this sector and leave well enough alone?' He made a disgusted gesture. 'If what you say is true, if that world is a ship, they will have survey teams and exploration drones and an entire bloody battle fleet here as fast as a reliable squadron commander can make transit from Earth.'

'I know.' Hadeishi nodded slightly, acknowledging the man's point. 'I am not a well-connected man, Captain Ketcham. I am not reliable. My family is small and poor, though we have a noble name. I do not have any friends -' here he placed a sharp emphasis on his words '- among the great princes or the clan lords. But I do believe in duty and in honor.'

Ketcham started to interrupt, his broad face twisting into a furious epithet, but Hadeishi made a sharp motion with his hand, cutting him short.

'I swore an oath, Captain Ketcham, to protect humanity.' A finger stabbed at the refinery captain. 'Including you and your crew. Now, what you do once you're out of this system is your business. But right now, today, I need your help before you leave.'

Ketcham just stared at him. At the same moment, there was a soft chime in Hadeishi's earbug. He almost collapsed in relief and could not keep from swaying a little. The refinery captain did not lower his pistol, but a