The Tabit Genesis (19 page)

Ninety-seven Years Earlier2712 AD

A famished boy, just eight years of age, clad in filthy clothes that hung from his bones like rags, shuffled up to his ailing mother and put a familiar question.

‘When are we going to land?’ Vladric asked.

Her good eye opened slowly, as if the act caused great anguish.

‘Soon,’ she whispered, as it closed again. ‘I hope.’

He slumped beside her, resting his back against the bulkhead. Both of Vladric’s small hands were clasped over his stomach.

‘I’m so hungry,’ he whimpered.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Will I meet Daddy soon?’

She tried to swallow before answering.

‘No. You never will, Vladric.’

That surprised him; usually her reply was ‘someday’. No other children at the shelter had fathers. Only a few had mothers. Vladric knew that was common for ghosts, even though he didn’t understand what the word meant. Mostly it was nannies and drones that looked after them. But Vladric was more fortunate than the others. Mom would visit almost every day, even though she was working hard to buy a place they could live in together. Then he could meet his father, when the time was right.

But his Mom hadn’t been herself lately. She was being more honest than usual.

Their possessions consisted of the clothes on their back and two insulated sleeping bags sprawled across the cold, grimy metal grating at their feet. They shared this part of the ship with other mothers and their children – no men were permitted. The area was a pressurised freight container hastily partitioned into compartments to provide semi-private living areas for a journey that was to last just four months. A pair of gaunt, frail women stood guard at the entrance where the module joined the freighter’s main hull, offering the illusory measure of ‘protection’ from those who might seek to do harm.

Vladric, his mother, and nearly two hundred others had boarded
The Baxley
ten months ago from Tabit Prime. They were among thousands who embarked on voyages as newly empowered free market labourers, thanks to the historic formation of the Privateer’s Union. Colonisation projects were at last deregulated from government oversight, and unrecognised citizens were now entitled to the same labour opportunities as firstborns. Vladric was too young to care about the politics. He was just thrilled to be leaving the shelter and starting fresh on a brave new world.

Dozens of ships queued outside the station offering cheap transport to construction sites all over Orionis. It was a mad rush to a new frontier, and there were fortunes to be made.
The Baxley
was on its way to a biodome project on Eris. Other ships were travelling even further, to projects on Hephaestus, Hera, the Great Belt, and even Zeus. Vladric would get to see wonders that his friends could only dream about. At last, he and his mother were starting a new life together.

Four months after leaving port,
The Baxley
settled into orbit, de-spinning to receive the dropships that would transport passengers to the surface or to orbital habitats. But after a week of microgravity with no dropships in sight, the ship resumed its spin. The captain announced that they could not disembark: there was simply no place which could take them. Every one of the corporate-owned settlements on the surface of Eris was over capacity because of ships that had arrived before them. It would be months before new habitats were completed.

Claiming bankruptcy, the captain went on to explain that they were at the mercy of goodwill from other ships to resupply, for they had no fuel to return. He urged them to conserve resources and pray. Then he signed off, absolving himself of any responsibility for them.

The crew barricaded itself in the aft compartments, where the freighter’s engines and power core were housed. The captain locked himself forward, where the bridge and communications equipment were stowed. They had stocked ample provisions for themselves ahead of the announcement. Elsewhere within the spinning metal walls of
The Baxley
, Darwinism ensued
.

Water was plentiful, thanks to the ship’s reclamation system. As was heat, electricity, and life support. Food, however, was in short supply. The passengers on board had no ties to each other
,
so the alphas among them asserted leadership to control what little remained. Bitter rivalries erupted, resulting in bloodshed that lasted for weeks. No firearms were on board; there was only the blunt trauma of survivalist’s desperation. The captain was unresponsive throughout the riots, despite being in contact with other vessels that could be seen from the viewports.

Vladric’s mother did what she could to keep him safe during the chaos, including some things he didn’t fully understand. All he knew was that these acts caused her great pain, and that he was helpless to do anything about it. But every now and then a man would bring scraps of food, often with blood on the wrapping. She would take the smallest nibble, and give the rest to Vladric. It was enough to survive the nightmare, but only just.

‘Order’ eventually prevailed, and the faction leaders came together to distribute what few provisions remained. To prevent people from eating corpses, the dead were thrown into the freighter’s slush pits, where they were reclaimed and absorbed into the water supply. By then, the food had run out completely. Even the rats, a vital staple of Vladric’s own diet after the second week without food, seemed to have disappeared. Most people had come to terms with their fate. There was no energy left to fight any longer.

Then a miracle happened – or what should have been one. The Orionis Navy raided
The Baxley
, arresting the captain and remaining crew. Those who witnessed the spectacle claimed the crew had been led away screaming unintelligible gibberish. The isolation had taken their minds, and Vladric had wished them all thrown into the slush pits alive. But there was still no spin down or respite from general misery. Apparently no one, not even the Orionis government, knew what to do with them. Other freighters had suffered similar fates in the mad rush to colonise, and their passengers had become orphaned to the universe, here at Eris and elsewhere.

Help was a long, long distance away, if it would ever come at all. The Navy had brought a medic, and a very limited supply of rations. The soldiers in charge of distributing them were harsh men who loathed their bad fortune to have ended up serving Orionis from the wretched bowels of
The Baxley.
Its passengers still weren’t getting the nutrition they needed; only enough not to die.

This was the situation of young Vladric that day: starving but, frustratingly, still breathing. And he had become desperately concerned for the mother who was slipping away before his very eyes.

‘Mom?’ he asked.

She made a weak noise, no more than a whimper. Her good eye opened suddenly, and she was clearly frightened. The Navy medic had seen her briefly earlier in the week, then moved on to others.

‘Mom?’ he said, leaning closer.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Vladric…I should have told you…’

Her mouth stopped moving.

‘
Mom!
’

Vladric had seen enough injuries, and knew to check her vitals; her pulse was weak, but she was still breathing.

In those short, laboured breaths, he found hope, and believed she could be saved. Phasing out the burn in his belly, Vladric rose and made his way through the camp, stepping around the bodies of the starving. The guards at the main hull entrance looked at him wearily, but made no attempt to stop his climb towards the exit. Struggling through the narrow opening, he had to lean against the bulkhead walls for support; the spin of the freighter’s main hull was almost unbearable. But hope drove him on, and soon he was staggering through areas of the ship that had not seen a child in months. Ignoring the glare of starving men who had once killed for food, Vladric found what he was looking for.

A long queue of passengers were waiting to receive their Navy rations and a brief appointment with the medic. Two soldiers with rifles strung across their chests were chatting beside them, occasionally warning people to stay in their places. Vladric walked out in the open, making his way to the end.

‘Where’d he come from?’ one of the soldiers asked.

‘Hey, kid, what freight block are you assigned to?’ the other said.

Vladric didn’t respond, just hoped.

‘Hey!’ the soldier called out, more sternly this time. ‘I’m talking to you!’

‘Leave him be,’ a spindly old man said. ‘He can have my place in line.’

‘You lose your spot, you lose your rations,’ the soldier warned.

‘I’m aware of that,’ the man snapped back, stepping aside. ‘They’ll do more good for him than me.’

All eyes were on Vladric as he shuffled forward, lifting his head only to thank the old man.

The soldiers resumed their conversation, strolling parallel along the queue of passengers. They seemed to have forgotten him almost immediately.

But while they talked, his mother lay dying, and the provisions he needed to save her life were just metres away. Precious seconds were wasting. To reach them, he needed to divert the guards’ attention elsewhere. But what could possibly occupy them long enough for him to escape? There was no time left. The world began to collapse. He had to take action
now,
but what?

Between a pair of short breaths, a vision unfolded. It was a moment of sheer insanity, disguised as hope, and it pumped adrenaline into his famished veins.

Heart racing, Vladric stuck his foot out and tripped the nearest soldier. As the man stumbled, Vladric threw himself at his legs from behind. They both fell forward, and he felt himself brush against people scurrying out of the way. The soldier had put only one arm out to break his fall; the other remained locked around the grip of his rifle, the barrel of which was facing away from him. There, before Vladric’s eyes, was salvation.

He stuck his finger inside the trigger guard and squeezed as hard as he could.

The weapon’s deafening report took his breath away. Then a sharp blow struck his temple; he rolled away from its direction. He ended up on his stomach, covering his head, his ears ringing, to realise that all hell had broken loose.

Screams and shouts filled the metal space; it seemed like everyone waiting on line had converged on the soldiers. Vladric squirmed free of someone’s attempt to grab him and began crawling through pairs of legs – and saw that some passengers were rushing the medic too. Vladric headed towards him. A gunshot rang out; then another. Terrified, he checked himself for holes, didn’t find any, and pressed on. People were fighting over the contents in the crates behind the medic, who was now overwhelmed. The rations spilled onto the deck, right in front of Vladric.

As gunfire struck the bulkheads, he grabbed everything he could. Everyone around him ducked, some collapsing to the deck.

By contrast, Vladric ran as fast as he could.

Hope,
he thought to himself, as his body began to fail.

Hope,
as his blood turned to acid.

Hope,
as he fled from danger, stumbling down the freighter’s spinning hull, down the access ladder, over and around the people who needed
hope
as much as he did.

He collapsed at his mother’s feet, sucking gulps of fire into his lungs.

She was as he had left her, her blue lips frozen with the last words she would ever speak.

Present Day

‘Where were you just now?’ Lira asked softly.

Vladric’s eyes moved away from memories to the erupting colours on her bare breasts.

‘Nowhere,’ he said, pushing himself away.

‘Please talk to me,’ she whispered, embracing his turned back. ‘Let me comfort you!’

‘I’ve had all the comfort I’ll ever need from you,’ he muttered, springing up from the bed.

She glowered at him, grinding her teeth.

‘Then go burn the world down,’ she flung at him, storming off. ‘Die trying, for all I care.’

Usually her flat was immaculate and stately; like Vladric, Lira was an enthusiast for classical Earth arts and literature, and spent a good portion of her wealth on recreating living spaces modelled on various architectural movements in history. But the paintings that once adorned the bulkheads were gone, and moving crates lined the walls.

‘So what
is
all this?’ he asked.

‘I’ve always wanted to see the House worlds,’ she growled, pulling a robe on.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Vladric warned. ‘You’re not the sort who’d enjoy life in their cults.’

‘Every one of them is a safer place to be than here,’ she said, disappearing into a bedroom. ‘All thanks to you.’

‘Wrong again,’ Vladric said, now fully dressed. ‘But I won’t stop you. Though your lack of faith disappoints me.’

‘
My
lack of faith?’ she called out. ‘There’s a pandemic of atheism around here.’

‘The doubters believe in the things I
want
for Orionis,’ he said, casually inspecting one of the crates. ‘They just don’t think achieving them is
possible
. There’s a difference. I’m not crazy. I know what I’m doing.’

‘And I disagree on both counts.’

‘Thank you,’ Vladric said, pausing to remove a book –
Pride and Prejudice
. ‘The same has been said of every revolutionary in history.’

Lira rounded the corner fully dressed in a form-fitting jumpsuit like those usually worn in cryo travel. Her shock of thick, bright red hair was tied back, except for a few long, curly bangs dangling in front. She snatched the book from his hands and placed it inside the crate, then secured it with a swipe of her finger.

‘History is full of men with big ideas and tiny dicks,’ she said, moving on to the other crates. ‘They’ve ruined civilisation enough times already.’

‘Ruin is opportunity in disguise,’ he answered, easing back into a chair besides the bed. ‘No one will miss a world run by highborns.’

‘People don’t want one run by sadists either.’

‘It’s advantageous to have people think you’re insane.’

Lira smirked.

‘Then you’re not as clever as you think.’

‘You’ll see,’ Vladric said. ‘All will be revealed soon enough. And I’ll know whom I can trust. I hope you’re one of them.’

‘A confident leader never has to test loyalty,’ she said, checking her corelink.

‘No, but a cautious one does. Overconfidence is lethal.’

Lira stifled a chuckle with her hand.

‘Is that amusing?’ Vladric asked, turning red.

She couldn’t contain herself, and openly laughed at him.

‘The notion that “caution” motivates you is an understatement,’ she chuckled. ‘You’re afraid of your own shadow, so to compensate you try to control everything. And you’ve convinced yourself that’s actually possible to achieve. You’ll hurt anyone, including yourself, to hold onto that illusion. It’s a farce, Vladric. A fantasy. It exists only in the minds of psychopaths.’

He blinked a few times, then took a deep breath before speaking.

‘I understand what motivates people and use that to help get them the things they want in a way that serves my interests,’ he said calmly. ‘It just so happens that my interests are also best for Orionis.’

Lira went back to her corelink.

‘Some men survive by taking what the world gives them and adapting,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You survive by leading them into the recesses of your anxiety.’

‘Ceti isn’t perfect, but it’s a better alternative than anything else,’ he declared. ‘The trouble is denial and complacency. Highborn hegemony threatens the freedom that people here take for granted. They either refuse to see this, or believe it’s inevitable. I won’t accept that. Whether they understand or not, securing their freedom is my responsibility.’

Exasperated, she looked towards the ceiling.

‘What would you do if the
Archangel
was in your possession right now?’

‘I’d fuck you right on the bridge.’

‘And then what?’

‘I’d arrest Vespa Jade for crimes against humanity. I’d repeal the Heritage Act and recognise all people as citizens of the new government. I’d seize the transfusion assets from corporations and make radiation treatments available for everyone. And when Orionis was truly free, we’d press on to Tau Ceti. Assuming the ship really is capable of reaching it.’

She placed a hand on her hip.

‘And the Navy?’

‘All firstborns relieved of command and, where appropriate, tried for war crimes.’

Lira leaned over a chair, exposing her ample bosom.

‘Ceti has no laws,’ she reminded him. ‘By what judicial standard would you proceed?’

‘My own,’ Vladric replied, distracted by her provocation.

Lira hung her head in apparent disgust.

‘I have to go,’ she said, returning to the bedroom.

‘You aren’t yourself today,’ he commented. ‘Is something troubling you?’

‘No trouble but the sight of you.’

‘Have I asked you to do anything I shouldn’t have?’ Vladric persisted. ‘I mean, above or beyond the services you voluntarily provide?’

‘Are you referring to my Jack Tatum assignment? Jack Tatum?’

‘Yes. Did he “bare his soul” to you, or just his seed?’

Lira returned and took a seat directly across from him, crossing her legs.

‘I asked him to describe the experience of torturing a man to death, just to get an idea of whom I was dealing with,’ she said. ‘His answer was interesting. So out of curiosity, what’s yours?’

‘My what?’

‘Say, a description of castrating a man.’

‘No different from cutting off that ginger mane of yours,’ he hissed. ‘Now, Jack Tatum …’

She nodded politely at him.

‘“The Minotaur”.’

‘The who?’

‘It’s what he calls himself,’ said Lira. ‘And the name seems to have stuck. He’s a remarkable contradiction.’

‘How so?’

‘On one hand, he loathes himself. He’s a hopeless drug addict, high or intoxicated most of the time. Yet there is incredible strength in him. He is strangely approachable for a Ceti Lieutenant. He can talk to anyone; he looks everyone in the eye, from commanders to mutants. And he handles himself rather well in a fight, which is odd. Plus, he seems to have a knack for learning the truth about people.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘The bounty sums for him are as high as they are for you. Rumour is the Navy is bidding the price up.’

‘So more people with guns are coming to Brotherhood.’

‘No more than usual. But that isn’t should concern you.’

‘Then what is?’

‘The fact he is well liked by everyone. People respond to him during crises – there is a reassuring authority to him. He leads when others freeze or panic. His clarity under duress makes me wonder if he possesses the Gift. The Minotaur persona is making waves in the culture here, starting a legend. Perhaps one greater than yours.’

‘Are you provoking me?’

Lira smiled as he rose abruptly.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m just stating that it’s unclear to me whether or not he’s favourable to your interests. For all his flaws, there is much about him that reminds me of you.’

Vladric began making his way to the door, pausing at the entrance. She remained seated.

‘Well done, Lira,’ he said.

‘Enjoy your war, Vladric,’ she said.

The main hangar at Helodon was always closed to civilians, but today it was closed even to the personnel that managed it. Evidence of the fleet’s imminent departure was scattered across the expansive deck: crates of supplies, ammunition, and fuel tanks standing beside dozens of mech loaders lining the boarding areas where Ceti corvettes once sat.

Only one remained, suspended from the last mooring in the hangar. It was a hybrid design; the boxy, functional Jackal hull designed by the privateer-operated Lantrek Yards; Ceti-manufactured Sunburst vectored pulse thrusters; and two pairs of salvaged Navy MK-221 rail guns. A patchwork of chequered black and yellow paint with the Ceti seal was emblazoned on the aft sensor dome; the designation CW-266 was stencilled on the hull. Rows of fangs had been painted on the bow, and beneath them was a series of skull and crossbones, one for each registered kill. Some had been placed over an Orionis Navy logo.

Her name was the
Griefmaker
, owned by the late Atticus Lazrel, and she was to be Vladric’s flagship for the invasion
.

‘She’s no
Aria Black
,’ Dr Tallendin said, as the two men walked beneath the huge vessel, gazing up at her ventral hull. ‘But she’ll do.’

The doctor was exhausted. A full beard sprouted from his face and chin; he seemed to have aged decades in the last few months.

‘What you’ve accomplished here is astounding,’ Vladric commended him. ‘I won’t forget this.’

Dr Tallendin kept speaking as though he hadn’t heard.

‘I thought to have it painted over so as not to draw enemy fire,’ he said, ‘then I remembered that we ought to have done the same for every other ship.’

‘Paint won’t make a difference,’ Vladric said. ‘The shielding is what counts.’

‘If I had just four more weeks, I could probably finish the rest,’ Dr Tallendin said. ‘We’ve automated the most tedious steps of the installation.’

‘You know we don’t have time.’

‘I was hoping that had changed.’

Vladric kept walking as he spoke, admiring the
Griefmaker.
She was ninety metres long from bow to stern.

‘The longer we wait,’ he said, ‘the more people will suffer.’

Dr Tallendin stopped.

‘Is that really true, though?’ he called out. ‘
Inevitable
suffering and oppression?’

Vladric turned around.

‘Look at everything you’ve built,’ Dr Tallendin continued, his hands clasped together. ‘Must we risk it all now?’

‘Complacency is the temptation of success,’ Vladric said, his voice low, but gentle. ‘A generation ago, many died to make all this possible. I won’t waste their efforts.’

‘No, of course not,’ Dr Tallendin said. ‘I just wish we could delay a bit more, is all. To protect more of
our
lads we’re putting in harm’s way.’

‘There’s never enough time to prepare.’ Vladric said. ‘But the sooner we go, the better our chances.’

‘I understand that.’ Dr Tallendin was looking nervously at his shoes. ‘I mean, I’m no soldier, but …’

He took a deep breath.

‘They all know,’ he said, wiping his brow. ‘The fleet captains. They know what I’ve done to their ships … which ones are protected, which ones aren’t.’

‘Of course they do,’ Vladric shrugged.

‘There is talk of desertion,’ Dr Tallendin added. ‘Mutiny, or worse.’

Vladric crossed his arms.

‘The officers are managing their concerns fairly well,’ he said. ‘Once the crews learn our plan, they’ll realise our odds are much better than they think. The reason for secrecy ought to be obvious by now. They also know any deserters will only live with their mistake for a short while. No Ceti station will allow them to land or refuel. And that will be the least of their concerns once the
Archangel
is ours.’

‘It might help if they all knew sooner,’ Dr Tallendin said. ‘To inspire them.’

Vladric grasped the frail man by his shoulders.

‘Ilya, we’ve known each other a long time,’ he said. ‘I have taken every precaution to protect you and your loved ones – not because I have any doubt of the outcome, but to ease your concerns. Now, tell me the truth: have I ever given you any reason not to trust me?’

Dr Tallendin flushed red.

‘Of course not.’

‘Then trust me now,’ Vladric insisted, releasing his grip. ‘This assault is going to correct some of the mistakes I’ve made. Not all of them. But most. Things will be different when this is done.’

‘Mistakes?’

Vladric threw his hands up, then began pacing.

‘Ceti isn’t what I hoped it would become,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve done terrible things. And I’ve enabled others to follow my example, all in the name of “freedom”.’

The doctor’s face betrayed complete surprise.

‘Freedom is bloody,’ Vladric continued, resuming his inspection of the
Griefmaker
. ‘It needs weapons, incentives, and cold men who will do cruel things to protect it.’

He stopped.

‘I used to
love
the idea of the
Archangel
,’ he said. ‘I was inspired by its purpose. The original one.’

‘Then how will attacking it amend for mistakes?’ Dr Tallendin asked.

‘Because Ceti is on the same corrupted path,’ Vladric said. ‘It was a noble idea that’s morphed into something else. I have to regain our purpose. If we take that ship …
when
we take it … We’ll make sure it does what it’s supposed to: find a world that we can
all
call home. Not just the ones who call themselves firstborns.’

Dr Tallendin nodded wearily.

‘That will always be a worthy cause, sir.’

Vladric checked his corelink. The fleet was amassing at Brotherhood. It was almost time.

‘Ilya, thank you for helping me,’ he said. ‘My biggest mistakes won’t be on the ships you’ve shielded.’