Archer Sector, Centaur System, Sagittarion
Five, six, seven, her hand moved quickly, tapping the children on the shoulder as they scurried by. Eight, nine, ten, the sirens in the next block over began to wind themselves into a scream, their howl churning the nighttime smog.
“Hurry!” she whispered, pushing the line along. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. The flashing lights of fires and sirens was giving the particle-laden air a dawn-like glow, unwanted and unwelcome as the false daylight grew ever-closer. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.
It was getting closer. The sound of distant screams reached her ears, echoing down the narrow alleys of the decaying megacity. Twenty-two, twenty-three, they had to move faster. Flakes of ash were raining down, dancing on the rancid wind like the snow no one born on Sagittarion had ever seen.
A thunderous boom clapped through the air, and then the sound of the riots was peppered with gunfire. Twenty-five, twenty-six and twenty-seven. That’s everyone. “Alexian, hold onto Veronica till we get there,” she called to the last boy in line, who half-carried one of the younger children in his arms.
“Yes, Matron,” he nodded, rushing after the others in the littered alleyway.
She fell in line behind him, ushering them faster. Almost there. The riots behind them were drawing closer, the swell of violence uncontainable on such a miserable world, but the greater threat was gathering above the city in the hot and heavy air.
It was damp, the humidity rising as she drew her shawl around her shoulders. The rain would be here soon. It would put out the fires and end the riots, chasing anyone who didn’t wish for blindness into shelter, corroding another bit of Sagittarion’s internally rotting infrastructure.
They had to hurry.
Behind them, the riots had ignited a building. The orange flames burned above the cityscape, a funeral pyre for a dying world. She turned from the screams, chasing the kids from the stained concrete filth of the alley.
They knew the way, rushing onto the walkway in front of them. A sinkhole had swallowed the buildings around it years ago, leaving this raised path a lone bridge onward. Welded to the railing, curving up and over like rib bones, old lamp posts lit the solitary path, but not the inky pit of acidic sludge below it.
The air reeked of chemicals, warning that anything that fell would be slowly dissolved into its component ions and the flickering artificial dawn of the fires and sirens gave barely enough light to see the churn of the swamp. It was little more than streaks of obsidian swirling around black shadows in the darkness. In the daylight, this toxic lagoon swirled around the skeletons of long-dead trees and the husks of abandoned machines – slowly but inevitably dissolving them down into compounds that would join the churning sludge.
The children in front of her knew well the dangers of what lay below. Their footfalls were hurried, but not careless as they fled. They hadn’t asked questions. When she’d woken them in the middle of the night, they had gathered their things – what few possessions they had – and followed her into the littered streets, now racing across this long and narrow bridge that stretched on toward a seemingly distant star.
Almost there, she thought again, rushing forward into the bright white spotlights. Twenty-eight pairs of feet thudded up the metal stairs, knocking chips of rust into the darkness below. The bitter stench of fuel greeted them on the patched asphalt as they pushed past a corroded safety gate.
The raised platform extended from there, an artificial plateau that met the city again on the distant side of its flat acres. Ships were parked atop it, resting on weathered landing gear, many of their hulls tarnished from atmospheric reentry, as varied in their condition as they were in their purpose.
From just the edge of the landing field she could make out the streamlined hulls of personnel transports, the boxy holds of freightliners and the massive round, protruding tanks of chemical haulers. “The Badger,” she whispered to the kids, “We’re looking for the Badger.” The captain of that ship had agreed to take them on for no charge, or so he claimed. Everything had a price, but the Matron was too desperate to contemplate it. One problem at a time.
They moved poorly as a unit, more like a shapeless amoeba that held no true shape as kids started off in different directions, then roughly pulled back together as they tip-toed in the shadows of the ships. Under the bright spotlights of the landing pad, they were far from invisible, and it cost them.
“Halt!” A pair of silver droids stepped out from behind a ship’s lower hull, their metal plates glittering in the white lights. “Identify.”
The children began to scramble back. The Matron had to fight a riptide just to get to the front of the group. “Helena Delleora,” she said, presenting her citizenship card with shaking hands, “Matron of Orphanage 3461.” She could see one of the droids scanning over the card, sweeping the data, “These children are my wards.” They were members of the working class who were too young to survive on the streets by themselves, though they, just like everyone else, slaved in the factories of Sagittarion.
One droid lifted its angular head, the antenna atop it bouncing as it orders received from the mainframe. “You are outside your block. You are in violation of current emergency lockdown orders.”
Whirring and clanking, the droids shifted their arms, presenting their rifles. “You have been identified as disobedient,” they said, pre-recorded voices perfectly in sync, “Disobedience is punished by death.” A whine built in the hot and heavy air, the energy weapons tethered to the droids beginning to charge.
“No,” she pleaded. We’re so close. They were on the landing pad of the spaceport. They were just minutes away from escaping this miserable world. “Not the children,” she begged, raising her hands in surrender. “Spare them. They were only obeying me. They’re not disobedient.”
The droids paused momentarily, receiving new orders from the mainframe that controlled them. “Step away from the children,” they commanded. “They are of laboring ability. They will be used.”
“Used?” For what? What use were another twenty-seven slaves on a planet of fourteen billion captive lives?
Still, she stepped away, breathing in the humidity of Sagittarion’s poisoned atmosphere as the heels of her government uniform tapped on the tarmac. “Go,” she told the kids. If they left now, they might still make it.
“You have thirty seconds to make peace in your thoughts,” the droids said, their recorded voices choppy as the words were spliced together by the speech algorithm of an uncaring computer program. “Attempt to flee and you will be killed immediately. Your time begins now.”
It was meant to be a kindness, this chance to find peace, but it was just a mocking reminder that she was entirely helpless. Her pitiful human strength and intelligence was nothing against these machines. The plating that concealed and protected their innards was shiny and untarnished by this ruined world. Vaguely bipedal in body shape, any resemblance to humanity stopped there. Their angular heads were eyeless and faceless.
They were practical machines, unconcerned with appearance. Their knees bent the wrong way, and they had no hands, just mechanical claws that served a similar purpose. The Sags themselves had manufactured millions of them with the materials and funds provided by the New Era Movement, not realizing their intended purpose.
Now those droids policed the streets. They shot dissenters dead and quelled the riots with any necessary force, uncaring of the casualties. Heeding unknown orders, they had broken apart and forcibly isolated the planet’s population. No one knew what was happening beyond their own city block anymore. They were ordered to work, forced to, but after weeks, it had become clear help wasn’t coming.
The only escape was off-world as the riots worsened. Laborers were vanishing by the hundreds and without the planet’s imported food supply, people were beginning to starve. So here she stood, with guns aimed at her head and her plastic heels pinching at her feet.
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The feel of everything was just as bitter as the reek of fuel in the air. Thinking death would be easier if it was a surprise, she turned to the city scape on the other side of the sinkhole’s inky void. The riots had extended further, a ring of fires and lights illuminating the city’s smog. What a miserable place.
It was the only home she had ever known, but this planet was nothing but misery, a dead, overpopulated world. She could only dream about blue skies and green grass, something she’d read about, but never seen.
The crackle of electricity bit the air, and she braced for the searing pain of their energy rifles, but it never came. The acrid scent of burning electronics reached her nose. “’Ena,” someone shouted, “we need to go!”
A man stood behind the droids in a tarnished police uniform, nightstick in hand, the electric prod on one end arcing into the humid air. “That won’t keep them down for long.” The electrical surge he’d given the droids would cause them to restart, deactivating them for the better part of a minute.
She didn’t think, just ran. Officer Jones took her hand and led her back the way he’d come. A ship was waiting there, engines warm, the ramp to the hold down as a line of weary children climbed up into the warm, inviting light. A man in the blue garb of a civilian ship captain stood on the top of the ramp, counting the heads as they passed into the hold.
“Captain!” the policeman called to him, “We need to go! Now!” More droids would come. They would detain everyone on the ship, then cannibalize it for parts.
“We’re ready for takeoff,” the Captain called back. “We just need to seal the hold.”
Rushing up the ramp, Helena wasn’t given time to think. She barely got a look at the ship, but memorized what she could. This would be the first time she’d ever gone off-world. Most Sags simply never made it that far.
The Badger was more cargo space than ship. Built around a rectangular hold, it could have swallowed some of the smaller ships on the landing pad. Still, it was in better shape than some of the others, the hull plating all looked like it belonged, even if it wasn’t new.
The moment they were inside, the Captain punched the hold controls, and with a hiss, the ramp began to rise, slowly sealing up the ship.
“Wait, wait!” she cried. “Do we have everyone?” Had any of the kids been left behind?
“I counted twenty-seven,” the Captain answered, “and we’re leaving.” It was no longer negotiable. “I’ve heard chatter from the other ports. Ships all over the planet are taking off. They’re going to run the blockade. Now might damn well be our only chance to get off this rock.”
She nodded, it was all she could do. Any orbital blockade was above her concerns by a few thousand kilometers. “Thank you, Captain, for agreeing to this.” With no way to pay for transport, she’d been turned down by many of the other ships.
“Captain Merlyn,” he introduced himself, “but don’t thank me yet.” The hardest part of this trip hadn’t yet begun. They still had to find a way past a military blockade. “I’ll be on the bridge. Do your best to keep everyone calm.”
“Arno,” the Matron turned to the policeman, “did no one else make it?” The orphanages of the neighboring districts had planned this escape together. There should have been four other groups here.
Jones just shook his head. “I think they got caught in the riots.” There was no one else here, and they didn’t have time to wait. “I’ll go help the Captain. He’s down a crewman.” One had disembarked a few days ago and not returned, also likely caught in the violence. “Tell the kids to sit down and hang on.”
With that, Jones jogged across the bay and hauled himself up the ladder. He was forced to duck under pipes and structural cross braces as he wove through the ship’s cramped innards. When he arrived, the door to the bridge swished open, revealing a small, cramped module. It poked slightly out from the ship’s main body like the round head of a tortoise, the front half of the room made of reinforced clear silica material. The visibility of the surroundings was great and necessary for the docking and landing procedures the ship usually ran.
The Badger wasn’t a fighting ship. The bridge was a visible and viable target, though small and difficult to hit. It was cramped, wires and screens mounted in front of the two stations on the sides, as well as the Captain’s chair in the middle, already occupied by Merlyn himself.
“Take comms.,” the Captain ordered, his hands working the pads of controls around him, “and keep an eye on our rear sensors. If anyone starts trailing us, I need to know.” He tapped his headset, simultaneously launching the ship with his other hand, “This is CT Badger, committing,” he announced on the radio.
Immediately, the ship began to rumble, the engines roaring as the Badger lumbered upward, ascending slowly into the sky. “Nearly four hundred ships have committed to running the blockade together. I’ve just added us to the list,” Merlyn announced.
“Blockade?” Jones said, strapping into chair and beginning to familiarize himself with the surrounding screens and controls.
“Last I heard, there were three battleships forming an orbital blockade. They’re not letting anyone into or out of orbit. Our only chance is to run the blockade with so many ships they can’t sink all of us, or to hope that the guilt of killing so many people will force them to back down.”
“Why don’t we just escape from the other side of the planet, away from the blockade?” They didn’t have to run past the battleships themselves.
“They’ll have drones and support craft covering all of Sagittarion. Even if we survive that, the battleships themselves will be on us before we can jump.” It was better to confront the problem directly and hope the battleships would back down before sinking several hundred unarmed refugee ships.
Jones found it hard to focus with the strong vibration of the Badger’s main engines pushing them into the air. “You don’t sound too sure, Captain.”
“I’m not.” Once one spent enough years in space, one came to realize that the void was ruthless, as was everyone in it. The powerful, riding high on their mighty battleships had no pity for the little people and their slow, unarmed freightliners. “I doubt the they’ll even hesitate.”
Above Jones, the air filtration systems kicked in. Cool, metallic air was pushed down onto him as the landing pad shrank below them. “If this is a suicide run, then why did you agree, Captain?” Why bother even trying to take Matron Delleora and her wards off-world?
“Let’s just say I couldn’t walk away,” Merlyn said, easing the Badger’s lethargic mass into a turn.
Rain had begun to streak the bay windows in front of them, streaking out the flickering lights of chaos in the city. It was a light rain, one that may have been soothing on another world, but on Sagittarion, the unrestricted pollutants in the atmosphere rendered the water dangerously acidic. It slowly eroded buildings, irritated unprotected skin and blinded exposed eyes – a silent, but severe threat.
Jones hadn’t been airborne since his brief training with the planetary police force’s airships. He’d forgotten how small and unimportant everything looked up here. It was beautiful in a way, terrible in another. No wonder the wealthy businessmen that controlled the factories never cared about what became of the planet or its people. Coming and going from off-world, it must seem so irrelevant.
The mists and smog of the night had almost completely obscured the ground, but from the churning clouds a skeletal structure emerged. It curved upward like the backbone of a monstrous animal, red warning lights blinking along its parabolic rail.
“What is that?” They were well above cloud level now, but that rail and the anchoring structure below it continued upward, its end unseen.
Merlyn steered them well-clear of the hazard, “Heaven’s Ladder.” Sagittarion’s only line of planetary defense. Without a standing army or navy, that weapon was the only reason Sagittarion had survived the Hydrian War. “It’s an orbital mass driver.” Built originally to launch satellites and payloads into orbit, it had been modified to launch multi-ton slugs: a one-hit killer to any ship that strayed into its path. Resting here on Sagittarion’s equator, it could be slightly aimed to intercept almost any orbit with its deadly masses.
“But Heaven’s Ladder was disassembled.” The centralized republic government had seen to that. The weapon was dangerous, and considering the amount of UCSC fleet traffic that normally hit Sagittarion’s orbit, it was an unallowable risk, even this close to the neutral zone. The government would rather risk Sagittarion’s total annihilation than risk Heaven’s Ladder ever being used against their ships.
“It seems someone has re-assembled it.” The rails that had been removed after the Frontier Rebellion had been replaced. Merlyn would not theorize anything about the intent behind that, except to note that Sagittarion’s overpopulated wasteland was apparently no longer expendable. Someone had gone to great lengths to secure control over this planet and ensure it could be defended.
Something beeped on Merlyn’s displays, and Captain looked over to check it, his expression turning just a bit more hollow. He pulled back on the controls, slowing their ascent through the middle of the atmosphere, uncaring of the resulting fuel wastage. “We have to turn around.”
“No!” Jones said, “We can’t.” There was nothing left for them on the surface of this ruined world but starvation and suffering.
“We don’t have a choice, check the radar. Those big white blips are battleships.” Their forms weren’t properly resolved this far down into the atmosphere, but it was clear enough what they were, idling in formation above. “No one will make it past six battleships.” It was too many. “We have to turn around.” Three battleships, which Merlyn had expected to find, would have been more than enough to blockade a planet. Six was nothing more than a declaration of death.
“But the other ships…” there were hundreds of smaller green dots still rising through the atmosphere.
“They’re flying toward their deaths.” Even now, Merlyn could see the battleships responding, maneuvering into an attack formation. “I’ve seen this before.”
Jones swallowed. Hundreds of ships, thousands of lives, and they were flying straight into the gaping maws of death. “Why?”
“Whatever’s happening on this planet,” with the droids taking over and Heaven’s Ladder being rebuilt, “they want to contain it.” Whether that was to contain a physical danger or merely the truth of Sagittarion’s predicament did not matter. “They won’t take survivors.” They never did. “This will be a massacre.”