Crystal Rain (37 page)
Authors: Tobias S. Buckell
John leaned against the wall of the bathroom with his eyes closed and remembered the first time he’d wrangled his way aboard a combat ship. The surgery alone had bankrupted him: backup high-g hearts, neural taps, remapped cortex, and two years of training his mind in simulators.
The moment he’d slaved into the ship, though, he’d been both a god and a tiny speck in the middle of vast space. A gratifying experience.
Then he remembered his own son being born, something even more impressive than the light-years crossed, the scams pulled off, the adventures he’d been in, and the things he had seen on other worlds.
Pepper opened the door, and John blinked away unexpected tears, holding a washcloth up to his face. He hoped Pepper hadn’t caught that.
“There’s a crowd up on the docks,” Pepper said.
“Yeah.” John placed his palm on the diagnostic tab next to the washbasin. The readouts returned all normal. Nothing wrong with him at all. His dizzy spell after landing the
Ma Wi Jung
had just been disorientation.
Ma Wi Jung
had just been disorientation.
Twenty-seven years of divergent memories and actions had to be sewn together. Couldn’t happen without some bumps.
John wondered if this would happen again. Could he count on himself to hold up through the next few hours? And if Pepper doubted John’s ability to pull this off, he would find a … creative way of getting what he wanted.
John was under no illusions as to who or what Pepper was now. His earlier suspicions had been correct. Pepper was dangerous.
Then again, John remembered, flashes coming back to him, so was he.
He watched his new hand as if it belonged to someone else. It twitched. Nervous. John forced it to stop and faced Pepper.
“Let’s not keep them waiting.” John dropped the washcloth. It swirled down the drain, followed by a squirt of water.
Pepper put a hand on John’s shoulder. “I know you enough to want to watch this happen. It’s good to have you back, John. Even if you are twisting my hand.”
Memories of a bar popped into John’s mind. In this memory, he sat next to Pepper, watching women walk by in loose silk. A pair of guns pushed against his ribs beneath a shabby uniform. Good to have you back on board.
Honey-coated almonds.
Beer and piss.
John remembered a handshake. Dead men. Blood pooling on metal corridors. And Pepper’s half-grin beneath the dreadlocks. A friendship born in violence. He remembered Pepper’s surprise when he’d first met him on a small island, on a world not unlike Nanagada.
They were both islanders. That was the real thread. Both from Earth. Which is how they’d struck up a friendship. Two native sons on an alien planet, far from home.
John was piloting a freighter full of stolen goods for some moron of a fence and wanted the best protection aboard and that had been Pepper. They’d never drifted apart after that.
“Let’s go.” John looked at Pepper. “We flew over. You know Capitol City is close to going under.”
Pepper shrugged.
“Don’t tell me you’ve grown so cold,” John said, “that you would see your people wiped extinct?”
A single blink. But John felt triumphant to get it.
“John, boy.” Pepper leaned down and got level with him. “The reason I followed you all the way here on this fool venture was because you said the same thing years ago. And now I have fought that fight, and lost. Capitol City
went
under, for all intents and purposes, a long time ago. My only goal here is to leave.” Pepper walked out of the cabin.
went
under, for all intents and purposes, a long time ago. My only goal here is to leave.” Pepper walked out of the cabin.
The
Ma Wi Jung
rode centimeters from the edge of the docks, and several men stood there with ropes. Several others
with rifles. Pepper followed John out of the hatch and they both stood at the top of the starship, on the port wing.
Ma Wi Jung
rode centimeters from the edge of the docks, and several men stood there with ropes. Several others
with rifles. Pepper followed John out of the hatch and they both stood at the top of the starship, on the port wing.
“You John deBrun?” someone yelled.
“Yes. I’m going to come ashore.” John walked down the slope of the wing and jumped ashore. The first time he’d jumped on these docks they’d been freshly extruded. The chief architect and city programmer had toured him around the frame of the city with pride. Technically, the man had said, using nano to build a city out of the bedrock was illegal, but they were far enough from Earth, so who would care? Besides, the Loa were helping with the templates.
That was before the war. When having Loa help just meant business. And John was part of the traders and terraformers hoping to make a buck off the creation of a new human world and civilization.
Pepper landed next to John with a hop.
The rifles remained pointed. The mongoose-men among them looked grubby and tired. The nearest nodded at John’s hand. “You was describe as having a hook. What happen?”
“Now I have a hand.” John waved the good hand back at the expanse of silvery metal. “I also just landed in a large ship made by the old-fathers, so you’ll have to give me the benefit of the doubt.” He smiled. The word
old-fathers
produced another small skip in his balance. A part of him didn’t recognize it or at least felt amused by the fact that he was an “old-father.” The other part let the word slip off his tongue. A word he had used often. Nothing more.
old-fathers
produced another small skip in his balance. A part of him didn’t recognize it or at least felt amused by the fact that he was an “old-father.” The other part let the word slip off his tongue. A word he had used often. Nothing more.
A few more rifles lowered. Then a shout from a window nearby caused the rest of them to lower. Two mongoose-men pushed Haidan, wrapped in a large blanket, out of a door. They crossed the small street and stopped in front of John. Haidan looked up and grabbed John’s shirt.
“Haidan, are you okay?” John asked.
“I can’t self even believe me eye,” Haidan croaked. “You dropping out the sky. Returning.” He gave a weak grin.
A wedge of soldiers developed around them, protecting them. Despite the rubble-filled streets and the tension in the air, a crowd had still developed. Old ladies, and a few children, watched as Haidan was pushed down the street with John alongside.
“If you have something to save we,” Haidan said, “you come just in time.” He glanced down at the bystanders. “We holding the wall, but just barely.” He looked at the two of them. “Where the rest of you?”
“Ah, yes,” Pepper said. “Them. There was a mutiny. They might be heading to Cowfoot Island, if things go well for them.”
Haidan turned, grunting in pain, and frowned at him. “Who you?”
“That’s Pepper,” John said. “He’ll help. He’s very good at what he does.”
“And what is that?” Haidan asked.
“Killing people.”
Haidan stuck out a shaky hand. “Welcome.”
Pepper gently shook it.
In the middle of the eastern wall road in a tent with wheels on the wooden platform floor, Haidan struggled with a leather bag of photo plates and laid them out on a picnic bench. An air of urgency settled over them.
Pepper turned his head and pushed his foot against the wooden floor.
“We keep it moving,” Haidan said, not looking up. “Five other duplicate looking like this one run up and down each side. They more or less safe from the shelling. Azteca can’t quite reach the middle except by airship. We keep them confuse enough.”
John pored over the plates, his eyes hunting for particular shapes among the hacked-down-forest clearings and encampments. He took a closer look at a line of artillery guns. Most likely the ones pounding his eardrums at this second with steady, distant thumps.
“The minister being moved from house to house now to keep she safe.”
John scanned the rear of the camp and found what he was looking for: a round eagle stone and several lines of people in front of it. A large square shape just to the right of it.
“Tell me.” He pointed at the rear of the hundreds of tiny black and white tents, fuzzy triangles on the delicate plates. “Are these the priests?”
Haiden looked at the tiny area John indicated. He used a pinkie finger and traced it along what looked like a line of ants.
“The priest by a wooden pyramid, and a round stone. Them lines you see is people waiting to be sacrifice.”
John sat in a canvas chair. “That is their weakness. Haidan. Your best men. Find them. I want you to get pictures, get some Tolteca in here to draw pictures if we need, but we have to show your men what the high priests look like.” Haidan grabbed the edge of the table. Sweat dripped from his forehead. John got up and squatted next to him. “Haidan …”
Haidan waved him away, took several deep breaths, then slumped back into his wheelchair. “My best men?” Haidan grunted.
“Your best,” Pepper said. “There is only one chance against the tens of thousands of Azteca at your walls. You can’t hold them off.”
“What you plan?”
John picked up the plate and pointed at the sacrificial areas on it. “They depend on their priests and gods. We capture or kill them, the Azteca have been practically trained to give up.” John set the plate back down. The pictures were burned into the back of his mind. He’d match them up in the ship with other instruments.
He remembered lessons from three hundred years ago. Everything Oaxyctl had ever told him on the decks of
La Revanche
reinforced what John knew of the Azteca. The original Azteca civilization had perfected the art of the Flower Wars. The highest of Azteca fighting involved the capture of slaves and sacrificial victims, not the killing of enemies. And the Teotl, John almost laughed, the goddamned Teotl had been using Flower Wars for the past few hundred years to perfect their human soldiers.
La Revanche
reinforced what John knew of the Azteca. The original Azteca civilization had perfected the art of the Flower Wars. The highest of Azteca fighting involved the capture of slaves and sacrificial victims, not the killing of enemies. And the Teotl, John almost laughed, the goddamned Teotl had been using Flower Wars for the past few hundred years to perfect their human soldiers.
Generations of Azteca had clashed on the other side of the mountains, getting better, training for a final war against all the humans on this planet. And no doubt the Teotl had been hoping to wipe out the Loa and capture the
Ma Wi Jung
so they could return to space and find their kind.
Ma Wi Jung
so they could return to space and find their kind.
Here they all were, all gathered around the city.
John knew the Teotl had one gaping weakness he could exploit. John deBrun would drop a Flower War on them unlike anything in Azteca recorded history. If the Teotl could use human foibles and traditions against the city, John could reply in kind.
The question was, which was more powerful, the tradition of the Flower Wars, or the orders of the “gods” when they realized their own tool was backfiring on them?
“Oh,” John said, as if an afterthought. “Make sure to equip them with nets. Weighted nets.”
“Nets?” Haidan asked. “Like for fish?”
“Like for big fish,” John said. “And, Haidan, we need to get you fixed. You aren’t in good shape.”
Haidan shook his head. “We don’t have time. You need go now.”
John looked at Pepper.
“You’re not thinking right,” Pepper said. “But if you’re going to do this, I want ammunition, guns, and a good trench coat. I want to guard the ship.”
John put a hand on Haidan’s shoulder. “There are things I can use to help you when I get back, okay? So hang in there.” John knew now what ailed Haidan on top of his wounds. Cancer, developed from the high radiation of Hope’s Loss where old reactors had plunged back to the ground. John’s own body could handle that, but now, with those gut wounds, Haidan had a few days left at best. He was up and about now because he was too strong, too stubborn, to give up.
Haidan nodded and leaned back in the chair. Mongoose-men surrounded him.
“We’ll get everything you need together. Leave him be for now. We need let him sleep some. This tire him a whole bunch,” one said. “He get hit by a whole wall, and he already sick.”
John nodded.
Overhead a wedge of red Azteca blimps fought to get over the city. Four small, more agile, Capitol City blimps converged on them, firing their guns with random popping
sounds. Grapelike clusters of bombs swayed from the Aztecan undercarriages.
sounds. Grapelike clusters of bombs swayed from the Aztecan undercarriages.
A Capitol City blimp exploded and fell out of the sky. Men jumped from it, clothes on fire. They fell until they disappeared in between the buildings.
John watched the last of fifty men walk aboard
Ma Wi Jung.
They climbed up the wing, looking around nervously.
Ma Wi Jung.
They climbed up the wing, looking around nervously.
Another detachment of mongoose-men stood on the docks, guns ready.
Clusters of bombs exploded in the streets. An Azteca blimp caught fire and headed back out to the forest. It blazed its way down over the walls.
Several permanent stacks of smoke hung over their heads. Two of the small Capitol City blimps dipped into the smoke to hide and wait for the next Azteca wedge to bomb the city.
John stood up from the wing.
Time to pull his plan off.
John walked forward to the tip of the wing and addressed the mongoose-man on the dock who had rounded up the men inside the ship. “Your men know that I, and only I, command this? You told them what they might have to do if I need help?” The mongoose-man nodded. “Then good luck holding the Azteca back.”
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