The Naked God — Flight

The crews were starting to refer to themselves as the Deathkiss squadron. On several occasions the phrase had almost slipped from Rear-Admiral Meredith Saldana’s own mouth as well. Discipline had kept it from being spoken, rather than neural nanonic prohibitions, but he sympathised with his personnel.

The sol-system news companies were hailing Tranquillity’s appearance in Jupiter orbit as a huge victory over the possessed, and Capone in particular. Meredith didn’t see it quite that way. It was the second time the squadron had gone up against the possessed, and the second time they’d been forced to retreat. This time they owed their lives entirely to luck . . . and his own rebel ancestor’s foresight. He wasn’t entirely sure if the universe was being ironic or contemptuous towards him. The only certainty in his life these days was the squadron’s morale, which was close to nonexistent. His day cabin’s processor datavised an admission request, which he granted. Commander Kroeber and Lieutenant Rhoecus air swam through the open hatch. They secured their feet on a stikpad and saluted.

“At ease,” Meredith told them. “What have you got for me?”

“Our assignment orders, sir,” Rhoecus said. “They’re from the Jovian Consensus.”

Meredith gave Commander Kroeber a brief glance. They’d been waiting for new orders from the 2nd Fleet headquarters in the O’Neill Halo. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, it’s a secure operation. CNIS has located an antimatter production station, they asked Jupiter to eliminate it.”

“Could have been worse,” Meredith said. For all it was rare, an assault on an antimatter station was a standard procedure. A straightforward mission like this was just what the crews needed to restore confidence in themselves. Then he noticed the reservation in Rhoecus’s expression. “Continue.”

“A supplementary order has been added by the Jovian Security sub-Consensus. The station is to be captured intact.”

Meredith hardened his expression, knowing Consensus would be observing his disapproval through Rhoecus’s eyes. “I really do hope that you’re not going to suggest we start arming ourselves with that abomination. ”

If anything, Rhoecus seemed rather relieved. “No, sir, absolutely not.”

“Then what are we capturing it for?”

“Sir, it’s to be used for fuelling the Lady Macbeth ’s antimatter drive unit. Consensus is sending a pair of ships beyond the Orion nebula.”

The statement was so extraordinary Meredith initially didn’t know what to make of it. Though that ship’s name . . . Oh yes, of course, Lagrange Calvert; and there was also the matter of a ludicrously ballsy manoeuvre through Lalonde’s upper atmosphere. “Why?” he asked mildly.

“It’s a contact mission with the non-Confederation Tyrathca. We believe they may have information relevant to possession.”

Meredith knew he was being judged by Consensus. An Adamist—a Saldana—being asked by Edenists to break the very law the Confederation was formed to enforce. At the least I should query 2nd Fleet headquarters. But in the end it comes down to trust. Consensus would never initiate such a mission without a good reason. “We live in interesting times, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir; unfortunately, we do.”

“Then let’s hope we outlive them. Very well. Commander Kroeber, squadron to stand by for assault duties.”

“Consensus has designated fifteen voidhawks to join us, sir,” Rhoecus said. “Weapons loading for the frigates has been given full priority.”

“When do we leave?”

“The Lady Macbeth is undergoing some essential maintenance. She should be ready to join the squadron in another twelve hours.”

“I hope this Lagrange Calvert character can stay in formation,” Meredith said.

“Consensus has every confidence in Captain Calvert, sir.”

The two of them sat at a table by the window in Harkey’s Bar. Glittering stars chased a shallow arc behind them as their drinks were delivered. Two slender crystal flutes of Norfolk Tears. The waitress thought that wonderfully romantic. They were both captains, he in crumpled overalls but still with the silver star on his shoulder, she in an immaculate Edenist blue satin ship-tunic. A handsome couple.

Syrinx picked her glass up and smiled. “We really shouldn’t be drinking. We’re flying in seven hours.”

“Absolutely,” Joshua agreed. He touched his glass to hers. “Cheers.” They both sipped, relishing the drink’s delectable impact.

“Norfolk was such a lovely world,” Syrinx said. “I was planning on going back next midsummer.”

“Me too. I’d got this amazing deal lined up. And . . . there was a girl.”

She took another sip. “Now there’s a surprise.”

“You’ve changed. Not so uptight.”

“And you’re not so irresponsible.”

“Here’s to the sustainable middle ground.” They touched glasses again.

“How’s the refit coming on?” Syrinx asked.

“On schedule so far. We’ve got the new reaction mass tanks installed in Lady Mac ’s cargo holds. I left the engineering team plumbing them in. Dahybi is running integration protocols through the new node; there’s some kind of software disparity with the rest of them. But then there always is a problem with new units, the manufacturers can never resist trying to improve something that works perfectly well already. He’ll have it debugged ready for departure time.”

“Sounds like you have a good crew.”

“The best. How’s Oenone ?”

“Fine. The supplement fusion generators are standard items. We already had the attachment points for them in the cargo cradles.”

“Looks like we’re running out of excuses, then.”

“Yeah. But I bet the view from that side of the nebula is quite something.”

“It will be.” He hesitated for a moment. “Are you all right?”

Syrinx studied him over the top of the flute; her ability to read Adamist emotions was quite adroit these days, so she considered. His genuine concern gladdened her. “I am now. Bit of a basket case for a while, after Pernik, but the doctors and my friends helped put me back together again.”

“Good friends.”

“The best.”

“So why this flight?”

“Mainly Oenone and I are flying because we think this is how we can contribute best. If that sounds superior, I apologise, but it’s what I feel.”

“It’s the only reason I’m here. You know, you and I are pretty unique. There’s not many of us who’ve come face to face with the possessed and survived. That does tend to focus the mind somewhat.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I’ve never been so scared before. Death is always so difficult for us. Most people just ignore it. Then when you start to see your last days drifting away you content yourself that you’ve had a good life, that it hasn’t been for nothing. And, hey, there might be an afterlife after all, which is good because deep down you’ve convinced yourself you did your best, so the plus column is always going to be in the black when it comes to Judgement day. Only there isn’t a Judgement day, the universe doesn’t care.”

“Laton worked it out; that’s what gets me. I’ve retrieved that last message of his time and again, and he really believed Edenists won’t be trapped in the beyond. Not even one in a billion of us, he said. Why, Joshua? We’re not that different, not really.”

“What does Consensus think?”

“There’s no opinion yet. We’re trying to ascertain the general nature of the possessed, and compare it to our own psychological profile. Laton said that would provide us with an insight. The Mortonridge Liberation ought to generate a great deal of raw data.”