Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the Air Tonight
Morning came, and our baby lay in a small wooden rocker-crib my father had carved by hand from twisted desert trees. He'd poured every spare moment into it, sanding down the knots, shaping it smooth, and adding the curved bottom.
A mechanical aunt and uncle gently rocked our child, then turned toward the wall lit with pixelated static.
"Fourteen separate data streams," Axios reported.
"Interception probability is below one percent.
" They joined hands, and the distortion morphed into a clear live image.
General Westmore's face appeared weary but focused.
First Contact and everything since had taken its toll.
I understood, even if our battles were different.
"Thomas. Zephyron," he greeted us, then addressed our Simulacrum family individually by name. "The channel's secure. If anyone intercepts a stream, it'll be incomplete. We can discuss our plans."
Volardi security didn't work like ours. Their encryption relied on heavily practiced whistle-coded keys that only 'Soundmasters' could easily imitate. Splitting and recombining data wasn't typical for them, which hopefully meant it was something Tydalos hadn't figured out yet.
"...the path is simple," said Zephyron. "I will go, defeat my challenger, and return."
"Even so," Westmore replied, "we need a strategy. He's taken a hit after that interview, and that makes him dangerous." I adjusted my seat, sniffling quietly. I hadn't said a word about my allergies to our Sandari hosts. No sense in offending them when they'd done so much.
Westmore continued, "We assumed he'd go from Earth to Sudo for the Trial. Instead, he went back to his planet before doubling back toward Sudo. That's no short trip even with a Folded Space drive."
Axios stood with a projection light coming from his eyes. "His action indicates there is something or someone needed on Aquanta."
Solis agreed. "His plan involves whatever or whomever he retrieved."
Westmore leaned in. "Your buddies are right. From one soldier to another, Tydalos is plotting. I can smell it, and he's bringing something to use against you."
"A warrior cannot bring anything extra to use in a battle," said Zephyron.
"Can't, or not allowed?" I asked.
Zephyron's voice lowered. "To an honorable warrior, both are the same."
"He seems more like a corporate warrior," I said. "You know, media presence, keeping things hidden... wait! What about Ryan? He's been starting his own network with Gloom War veterans. Anything there?"
"No," said Westmore, "Only that he agrees. He's convinced something's brewing. We all can see it. Even Maurice called to tell you to be careful."
"He did?" He was Brandon's father figure, but always nice to me.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Westmore's mouth.
"Maurice called him a 'bloody wanker.' He's finishing up the latest Doctor Who shoot.
The next broadcast episode has a parody of our aquatic enemy running tonight, and we're making sure Tydalos sees it.
Brody, or someone in his entourage, will tell him.
It'll throw him off his game." He paused.
"This may antagonize him into doing something more extreme, but we're already down this path. Might as well fire another rocket."
His gaze went down as my baby let out a high-pitched gurgle. He smiled. "I'd like to see the little fella. Been hearing a lot about him."
I reached into the tiny handmade rocker crib then held up our son. The general's face warmed. "Cute kid," he said.
"Do you have any children?" I asked.
Westmore nodded. "Yes. That's part of why I don't want Earth under someone like Tydalos.
Volardi partners or even a hegemony? Sure.
But tin-pot snakes with hidden agendas? No, thank you.
That's nobody's future." Westmore gave a sharp nod.
"Take care of the little guy and stay safe.
Keep me updated when you get another secure channel. Westmore out."
The screen flickered off, leaving the room in a tense silence. Zeph's hand lingered on my back as the crackle of the nearby fire filled the space.
The Trial would be here soon. I could just feel it.
***
The message with coordinates arrived with only a few hours' notice. Tydalos had given no heads-up despite what he said on the news. As far as anyone else knew, it was all official and above board.
Zephyron paced our stone hut, his jaw and body tight with tension. "He gives us until the end of the day and a distant location to force us to stumble," he muttered. "Water dwellers! They are so—"
"What? How are we?" I asked.
"I did not speak of you. Earth has too much land to be a true water planet. Besides, you do not hide under waves with deceit."
"Can you file a complaint?"
"I could, but judgment would be decided by a council. If I do not show, I lose the Trial."
And Tydalos gets me, my son, and Earth. Zephyron loses everything.
I stepped closer, my hands resting on his chest. "Then we go. Beat him at his own game. Kick his..." I turned to our kid. "Uh, butt."
He shook his head no. "You will stay here. It is safer for both, and you are still recovering."
"Zeph, come on, we've been over this. The nanites helped with recovery, so I'm fine." I lifted my top, showing some flabby skin, but otherwise I felt great.
"It is not merely a case of ensuring your well-being. We owe our hosts a debt. If I bring you, the village will lose a protector."
I blinked. "You see me like that?"
"Yes, and I am surprised you do not. You defended your friends on Earth with a mining suit.
You have given a life of meaning to Simulacrums. While our scientists debate their sentience, you extended your authority to protect them.
Instead of thinking only of a win at the Festival of the Gold Dust Woman, you protected Karel.
My people know a universe where we helped is immeasurably better. You, my mate, have a Volardi soul."
I leaned against him. "Sorry, I just never had anyone say... anything like that."
"Then please, Thomas. Stay with the Sandari." His voice softened. "It is for your safety, our child, and theirs."
Before we could continue, a familiar 'Shave and a Haircut' knock came. We stepped out and discovered our discussions were a lot louder than we'd realized. My dad heard, as did our large-eared friends.
My dad chimed in. "Look, I know I'm still on thin ice."
"We would say standing on shifting sand or a slope," said Zephyron.
"Right. Anyway, my kid Tommy, he's a man, and he's got a need to be with his loved one.
And you, I get you want to protect him, and I'm grateful, but take it from a man who lived through nearly losing someone before she left forever.
It'll drive you insane wondering if he's okay.
Take those Sim buddies of his, and I'll go too if that's allowed.
Hell, Parker's raring to join in so he can document the last fight. "
"I cannot leave the Sandari unprotected."
"Well, what about one of those Armored Dead fellas?" Dad glanced at me, then at Zephyron, waiting for him to answer. "Yeah, that black-armored guy from earlier who brought me. He was a mercenary and decent enough. He'd do it if asked—"
Zephyron's face tightened, and he held up a hand. "No more!"
"What?" I asked. "I thought it, or he was a battle Sim."
Zephyron hesitated. "No. They are soldiers, injured in the Gloom war."
"But you have combat-level nanites for war. Wouldn't they have been healed instantly?"
His jaw tightened. "The Gloom infected our soldiers, overwriting our nanites. Combat stress activated their infection in various ways, sometimes explosive, other times subtle. Always taking out brothers in battle."
"And those who didn't die?" I asked.
"During peace, our enemy's weapon still activates when exposed to stress, fear, or even grief," said Zephyron.
"Any elevated emotion. Our Dara scientists studied the mechanical infection, trying to reverse-engineer to find countermeasures.
We found no cure, only the most basic understanding of their design. "
He gestured toward the ship, and I followed with our child.
"They live for now, awaiting an injury yet to come, but one day the infection will activate," he said. "Despite the danger, we cannot kill our brothers in combat. Hence, they live alone and in suits, except for when they sleep or when they are relaxed with sedatives."
Dad nodded with a grim look. "It's kind of like what I have. Not the same, but it gave them the idea."
I stared, stunned. "Wait! You used technology based on the Gloom's weapon? On my father? The ones who wiped out most of your Femeni?"
"I did not," Zephyron said, firm. "I stayed my hand and offered my blade to the void. High Command assigned the mark and punishment. It responds to his voice alone. I cannot override it."
Dad's hand drifted to the thick silver metal scar beneath his shirt, then turned away.
"Unbelievable," I whispered. "What if the pain grew too much? What if he gave up, even for a second? The nanites wouldn't hesitate. They'd follow like good microscopic soldiers. My father? Gone."
I hadn't realized I'd spoken the fear aloud until everyone fell silent. No one corrected me and said I was wrong.
Zephyron's shoulders stiffened. He took a slow, grounding breath before speaking. "Perhaps... it is best you come with me after all," he whispered. "I do not wish to leave you burdened with such turmoil in your heart."
He paused, longer this time, choosing his words carefully. "I will defeat Tydalos, yet possibilities exist, and you must be ready." His gaze flicked to Solis and Axios. Both nodded silently, accepting an unspoken command.
For a warrior like Zephyron, even the hint of failure was sacrilege. Volardi culture wouldn't allow him to outright suggest I break protocol, but I know in my heart, he gave me a backup plan.
Appreciate it, but I don't need it. My man will kick water planet ass.