The Herem Saga #3 (Templar) E-Book

Davide Sassoli

• Herausgeber: Davide Sassoli
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Milky Way, thirteenth millennium of the stellar age.
Human beings have long since left the surface of the Mother Planet, Earth, and so much time has passed they barely remember it.
They have established themselves as the predominant form of life among the stars and all the while they expand, colonize and multiply undisturbed. At times they are at peace, other times they quarrel with one another in an endless strife of meaningless skirmishes.
But one day the balance is broken. A terrible alien race, relentless and apparently unstoppable, now threatens to upset this delicate order and wash away over twelve millennia of progress and expansion.
People in the Milky Way call them Herem, the Anathem…

BOOK THREE: TEMPLAR
Aiur Space Station, Protos System, Upper Dome: Milla is a Lunar, and she's the bodyguard of Dallàia Hessire, a representative for all Lunar Confederacies within the Regent's Conclave and the Galactic Senate. The charge seem's boring enough when a brutal homicide, both cruel and unexpected, upsets the entire station, and Milla is suddenly burdened with a different and unwanted task: to find the killer.
Her discoveries will take her far away from Protos, on the threshold of Human territories and then beyond, well within the boundaries of Herem-controlled space, where she will set foot on the surface of a world long since abandoned, one where she hopes to find an invaluable treasure: the research, once thought lost, of late Professor Emra Arkadiev.

Leseprobe

Davide Sassoli

The Herem Saga #3

(Templar)

More about the saga at:

www.theheremsaga.com

On the cover: Milla

byElena Gasparini (on FB)

Editing by:

Loredana La Puma (original Italianedition)

The Herem Saga #3 (Templar)© 2023 Davide Sassoli

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Cover page

Front page

On the Universe and its Distances

Intro

PART 1 – The Galactic Senate

PART 2 – New friends

PART 3 – Planetfall

PART 4 – Learning to Command

EPILOGUE

The Galactic Chronicles

The Herem Universe

Thank you!

About The Author

The Works

On the Universe and its Distances

The easiest way to picture the Universe isa sandbox.

You could take a flat board and draw a map of all stars and planets you know of like cities on a landscape, but that would give you a very wrong idea of the actual distances which separate objects in the cosmos and their relative positions.

Astronomical distances are often measured in multiples of c (the speed of light). How long does it take for light (the fastest medium we know of) to travel between two places? From Earth to the Sun, it “merely” takes 8 minutes, and from here to the next star… that’s “just” a few years trip. To reach the closest star cluster, however, it would take over four hundred years, and that becomes forty thousand if we’reheading to the center of the galaxy. Andromeda, the closest other galaxy we can see in the sky, is currently two and a half million light years away from us.

Why? Because the Universe is just one, enormous gravitating system. It’s made of objects which exercise a constant pull on one another, so the closest ones tend to become even closer, and they will eventually come to revolve around a common center of mass. So planets and asteroids will never stray far from their star, leaving vast expanses of empty space all around, andstars (with their full systems in tow) will keep close to other stars, forming clusters, and star clusters will eventually form the spiral arms of a galaxy. A galaxy will then seek the vicinity of its nearest companions, forming a cluster of galaxies and so forth… up to the Universe: the biggest “box” we’ve ever discovered.

So it’s actually no wonder that science fiction is forced to call upon some very improbable concepts – like hyperspace, warp speed, or worm-holes – to allow for traveling to other planets. It’s also no wonder, though it might not be so easy to imagine, that an inhabited solar system might actually have no knowledge of its closest neighbor: though bound by gravity, the two would be virtually incapable of actuallyreaching one another, so they might just as well be on opposite sides creation.

This said… get ready for and adventure!

In the Year 2491, according to the Gregorian Calendar, the first interstellar space-faring vessel left Earth, never to return.

The Galactic Chronicles record this event as the Zero Hour of the Stellar Age.

PART 1 – The Galactic Senate

Aiur Space Station, Upper Dome, Galactic Year 12,627

Milla was rapt by the sight of a thousand floating seats taking their place inside the empty crystal sphere, arranging themselves in the shape of a great amphitheater around a wide central platform. Outside, hundreds of feet above, under, and all around, the stars watched silently – and quite bored, Milla thought – as the Galactic Senate underwent its first, magnificent session.

It was a gathering of representatives from every known star system, each of them gratified with their own mobile seat and equipped with cutting-edge communication technologies. From the smallest and most insignificant rock out of deep space to the most prosperous core worlds, they would all have a say in the assembly’s decisions (which could very well change the fate of entire sectors), and thus play a key part in the future of the galaxy.

It was absurd, and a total waste of time and resources. The last, flamboyant idiocy by which Planetoids had definitely failed to impress her. She knew she’d never understand them. 

The Lunar Confederacies also had representatives in the Senate, and their seats were arranged in a wide ring above the general gathering: a kind of badly conceived symbolism, marking the distance between their two worlds and the supposed will, shared by both cultures, to find mutual grounds and establish a dialogue.

Rockshit!

No, “rockshit” didn’t do justice to what Milla was actually thinking. It was an enormous, gargantuan, galactic puppet show, and a totally meaningless one at that. Yet Planetoids loved it so much they’d actually built a giant glass bubble, far out in the depths of space (thousands of lightyears away from any known system), just so they’d have enough room for their theatrics. 

Milla had thoroughly studied their concept of “government”, in all its many forms and shapes, for the better part of a decade, and she still couldn’t quite grasp what it was all about.

«You have to admit it’s a good show,» Dalla said, standing by her side.

She was known among Planetoids as Dallaila Hessire, Chancellor of the LCF (the Lunar Confederacies Federation), which had officially taken the place of the old Lunar Independence Committee a few decades before.

«They’re good at shows,» Milla admitted. «And that’s about the only thing they’re really good at.» 

«Don’t be so sure. I’ve met many Planetwalkers worthy of respect, and I could name many others. They’re just…»

«Too many?» suggested Milla. «Too many and too awkward?»

Dalla laughed as their seat left the upper ring and gracefully descended towards the central platform, where it anchored with the slightest of sounds.

Those were the seats reserved for the now-former Unlimited Intergalactic Council, which had been renamed the Regents’ Conclave and gathered representatives from the most important military, civic, and economic federations in existence. Throughout the last fifteen decades, this institution had effectively ruled over all aspects of life, and often death, of nearly every human being in existence. 

Dalla gracefully stepped down into the common space and politely greeted all the other Councilors while Milla took the opportunity to study them. It was the first time she had the chance to see them up close, though she quickly decided that the ones she should really pay attention to were their followers. 

Esteban Rubilio, First Speaker for the UKF (the Universal Knowledge Foundation), was escorted by three other dignitaries, standing beside him and showing off their authority, as well as four assistants, wearing dark colors and constantly typing codes and numbers on their holographic prisms, faithful to their tradition of total denial to any form of cortical implanting. Milla didn’t bother with the dignitaries, since they were probably just important scholars in some strange fields she had no interest in discovering, and three out of four of the assistants were just what they seemed: assistants and professional scribblers; the fourth, however, was a quite interesting individual. He was taller than the others, though he hunched in a way that tended to hide this quality, and his attention wasn’t focused on some passionate work of algebra or computation: his eyes were vigil, quick to react, and he walked and moved so he’d always remain just a few steps behind Rubilio: a bodyguard under false pretense, just like Milla. 

Guess we’re not the only ones expecting trouble… she thought to herself while greeting her colleague with a slight nod, which he returned only after badly showing off his surprise. 

Next came Marshal Geremy D’Otello, a tall and sturdy man who clearly suffered from the low-quality youth treatments those from the FIA were usually subject to. He was accompanied by one assistant and two other women, both of them tall and dressed in loose clothing meant to hide their build. They walked on both sides of their superior and kept looking around in a robot-like fashion, like mechanical turrets armed with lasers: Special Forces no doubt.

Everyone, Milla quickly noticed, was escorted by at least one other individual who was tasked with their personal safeguard. Some, like the FIA Marshall, were blatantly showing it off, while others did their best to keep a low profile, yet everything seemed to confirm what the Federation had feared: the members of the former UIC (may it rest in peace) didn’t trust each other anymore, and they trusted the new Senate even less.

Professor Mitkentalk seemed to be the only exception to this rule. He was a little man, very little, with a waddling stride and bald, except for a little “crown” of gray hair which encircled his head like a hallow: he had no bodyguards, no followers, and no detail of any kind. Milla knew that important Planetoids made use of genetic re-calibration to correct their many physical and somatic flaws, so she wondered what could possess the Provost of the Galactic Chronicles to bear that ridiculous aspect in front of the wide Universe. Mitkentalk was chatting amiably with everyone, exchanging pranks and seeming oblivious to that general sentiment of grudge and constant defiance which permeated all other members of the Conclave. Milla didn’t perceive him as a threat, but she kept an eye on him nonetheless, regarding him like she would an unexpected variable in an equation that was otherwise perfectly simple and linear. 

«It’s about to begin,» Dalla said in a low voice, while the other Conclave members took their seats.

«Finally,» Milla breathed.

«Remember where we are and how we must behave.»

«Don worry…» she reassured her, «it’ll be hard to forget.»

It was a long and excruciating session.

It started off with a detailed presentation of Aiur Space Station, chaired by ITA’s President, Mangano Crosby, (the ITA being the Interstellar Technological Association, a group which united nearly all great multiplanetary companies in the galaxy under its banner and whose members had been responsible for the station’s main designing and construction efforts). He spoke of the project’s initial birth and went on to explain even the most insignificant technical details, following up with the story of the colossal enterprise which had led to the existence of the Protos System and the reasons for such a peculiar choice.

Truth be told, Protos actually was a marvelous project. It was the first artificial solar system created by man in the Milky Way: a small hydrogen cloud (small only when compared to the immense expanses of a real star system) where the star formation process had been artificially sparked, catalyzed, and accelerated until it had birthed, in the span of just a few decades, a new and extremely hot little star. In orbit around this marvel, Aiur Station had then been built, and though some still improperly called it an “installation”, it served the grand purpose of being the first step in a long project of construction and colonization which would bring, ultimately, to the creation of the very first Dyson Sphere in the history of humanity. An artificial orbital complex that would eventually engulf the entire star, hosting a brand new world on the full extent of its internal surface. 

Milla patiently waited while, Planetoid after Planetoid, the various astrophysicists and engineers on the ITA’s payroll basked in front of the newly appointed Senators and their followers, who just kept staring with rapt expressions and applauded in unison every time the speaker’s tone suggested they were expecting them to. Milla admired Dalla for her patience and her composure, for that sober smile which never left her thin lips, showing Planetoids everything they expected to see in a Lunar dignitary: elegance (according to their own definition), sophistication, and an essentially infinite interest for everything that regarded them (which was, by its very definition, all that mattered).

When that first, terrible torture ended, Marshall D’Otello stepped up, singing the extraordinary defensive capacities of Aiur Station: from the powerful fleet in orbit and the perfect strategic location to the terrorizing Nova Rays (an upgrade to the now obsolete Nova Cannons, which had protected human frontier worlds throughout the last centuries). Protos, the Marshall explained, was located in the Upper Dome, well over the galactic disk and in a region of space which could not be reached by traditional subspace engines. As they all knew (even the new Senators), gravity was a fundamental part of interstellar travel: the more a system was dense with matter, the easier it was to find a route to it. But Protos was located in a spot of “quantum parallax”, and a path to it could only be linearized through a system of complex coordinates traversing both quantum and relativistic space: a way of traveling which the Herem still didn’t seem to have discovered. In other words: Protos was a fortress. The perfect place to seat the most important gathering in the galaxy. 

The new Conclave, in other words… Milla mused, though careful not to voice that thought out loud: you should never be too blunt with Planetoids, especially when they were acting so serious. 

But Dalla must have known what she was thinking, because she regarded her with the slightest of rebukes, though her smile never faded as she kept nodding gracefully, following the Marshall’s speech.

I really don’t envy her, Milla decided, certainly not for the first time. 

The torture ended only after every other member of the Conclave had expressed his or her own appreciation, as well as their best wishes to the new Senators, who were about to vote on their first resolution: a motion (that’s what they were called) to confer full executive powers to the Conclave (who already had them) which could then only be revoked by another motion (of “no confidence”) and only with the approval of two-thirds of the assembly. 

«Steady yourself: the session is about to begin,» Dalla warned her without turning, with that vaguely mocking air Milla had learned to recognize so well.

«You mean it’s not over?» she depressingly asked. 

Dalla gave her a compassionate look: «I’m afraid it hasn’t even begun.»

«Chancellor Hessire, I find you as lovely as ever!» The First Speaker for the UKF greeted Dalla with a formal bow.

The session had finally been adjourned: the Senate had elected its temporary president and conferred its trust, as well as full executive powers, to the Regents’ Conclave, as expected. It had only taken an immense amount of time to do so.

«Esteban!» Dalla greeted the man in return, as though she’d been waiting for nothing else than to have a talk with him. «Be careful… on the moon where I was born, a gesture like that could cost you a double somersault.» 

Dalla came from an asteroid belt, where gravity varied depending on the specific mass of the single gravitating objects, but Planetoids weren’t interested in those details.

«Right you are, as usual, your ladyship,» the First speaker said, carrying on her joke. «From now on, it’ll be just hand kissing on my part, to be safer.»

«I’d be happy enough if you stopped talking so sophisticated with me…» Dalla puffed, in such a Planetoid way that Milla was seriously impressed.

«Never!» the First Speaker insisted. «May the stars die out and the Universe collapse before I dare offend you with petty and common speech. It would be unworthy of both your beauty and your character.»

Milla didn’t really like the way Dalla gave in to those compliments. Her “rock-jaw behavior” was too much over the edge and, she suspected, not entirely simulated, though she was becoming aware of just how much Planetoids regarded appearances. Such behavior enabled Dalla to blend in perfectly and, apparently, without the slightest effort, getting them to lower their guard. 

Her friend was a warrior, Milla realized, though not of a kind she might easily recognize. She felt stupidly proud.

«So… what do you think of this initiative, Esteban?» Dalla was asking. «I want a sincere opinion, mind you.»

«I hardly think this is the place for sincerity,» he answered sardonically. «Might I be so bold as to ask your ladyship to accompany me on a tour of the installation, once the session is over? We might discuss this issue at length and in perfect tranquility.»

«Careful, Esteban! If the engineers who built this “installation” heard you calling it that, you’d need a subspace jump to get them off your tail.»

The First Speaker laughed wholeheartedly. «True enough!»

«From this vantage point, it actually resembles a beautiful flower, though made of metal and polymers. Wouldn’t you agree?» This new voice was that of Provost Mitkentalk, who’d silently made his way up to their group.

Rubilio eyed him as if he’d just found out he was standing next to a misplaced tank for organic waste, but Dalla’s eternal smile never faltered as she gracefully greeted the newcomer, accepting his clumsy hand kiss. «I never took you for a poet, Professor.»

«Neither did I, actually,» he answered. «But I have to admit… this place can take your breath away.» 

«I fully concur.»

The seat of the new Senate was protected by a great transparent bubble, built with the most sophisticated polymers in existence, and it soared about ten miles above the station’s main body, held in place by powerful graviton beams. This way, it could fully benefit from the energy of the new star and, in the meantime, be one with the beauty of space.

That condition wasn’t meant to last, however. The more the Dyson sphere neared completion, the more that starry horizon would be covered by it, until Aiur Station would totally engulf the artificial sun, leaving it standing alone in its own, private firmament.

But for now… it almost felt like being on a moon, on top of a high mountain, bathed in light and kissed by a sun that had been created for that sole purpose, overshadowing vast, untainted stretches of rock and dust.

Milla found she could agree as well.

«First Speaker Rubilio!» The little man was saying, like he hadn’t even noticed the poisonous glance the other had shot at him. «We rarely have a chance to meet in person these days.»

«Still one too many on my count,» the First Speaker brusquely sentenced. Then he spoke to Dalla again: «With your leave, your ladyship…» and he stepped away, trailed by his many followers. 

«One would think not even the pox from Earth’s dark ages could scare him off like that…» Provost Mitkentalk commented, flaunting surprise.

Milla had no idea what that meant, but she knew it was just another act: the Chronicles and the Foundation had been at each other’s throats ever since the second had been founded, and Mitkentalk had just as much reason to hate and fear Rubilio as the other man had to hate and fear him. He just had a less… Lunar way of handling the situation. Meanwhile, Dalla was chatting amiably with the little man, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

Suddenly, Milla just couldn’t take it anymore. She felt as though she’d been forced into a cage and fed survival rations for half a decade: she wanted out. She wanted to be rid of those hypocrites and their empty babbling. She wanted to act, to do something, anything! So long as it served a purpose. 

She felt Dalla’s hand on her shoulder: the slight pressure of the middle finger told her she was being dismissed, while the even slighter one of the pinkie meant it wasn’t an order, but rather a request. Her ward was telling her she needed to get on with her work, but she knew Milla couldn’t take it anymore and was worried that an outburst from her would undermine her efforts. Milla felt ashamed, realizing she was being scolded like a little girl.

She gave a nudge, saying she’d rather stay, taking a few steps away so to let everyone believe Dalla had merely asked her for some privacy. That kind of display worked well with Planetoids, since now they’d all struggle to guess the hidden reason behind that scene. On any other day, she’d burst out laughing.

I’ll take a chance to get a good look at the others, she decided as she turned away. And to catch my breath, if I can. 

«You behaved well today,» Dalla commented, resting on the comfortable couches provided by their lodgings, with her head dangling behind her shoulders.

«Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose it like that?» Milla mused.

«Don’t be silly: it’s good for you in this gravity. It prevents migraines.»

«I never had any.»

«Good for you, then.» 

Milla turned so she didn’t have to look. Seeing Dalla like that gave her the shivers. «Did you really mean it?»

«What?»

«You compliment. Was it for real?»

Dalla finally straightened up, doing some exercises that sent all the bones in her neck crackling.

«I still don’t see why we can’t have some normal gravity in our quarters…» Milla went on, just to whine a little more.

«Because I decided we shouldn’t,» Dalla answered seriously. «Asking for separate sections, reserved for Lunars, would only serve to segregate us more, and we need to be among Planetwalkers. We need their help.» 

«Or so the Federation thinks…»

«Maybe my compliments are wasted on you after all,» Dalla retorted. «You’re already behaving like one of them.»

Milla shot her a dangerous look. «Don’t you dare say that again!» 

«And don’t you dare threaten me.» 

Milla knew she could have overpowered her easily. Far from the eyes of Planetoids, she could behave exactly as she wanted, and she’d already made sure their rooms weren’t bugged. Dalla knew it too, but she kept acting like she wasn’t at all impressed. Actually, she seemed to be studying her, of all things.

«What?» Milla asked, letting it drop.

«I’m just trying to figure out how far your reactions can be excused with the day’s stress,» answered Dalla, «rather than the influence of non-Lunars.»

«Of Planetoids, you mean.» 

«I don’t use that word and neither should you. We’ll never get what we want by just scorning them.»

«And what do we want?» 

«Their help, to survive.»

On that last remark, Dalla’s voice had hardened. Milla had learned to detect those sudden changes in her mood and decided to taunt her a bit: «Not everyone thinks we really need it,» she said. «You know that, right? The Federation’s will isn’t shared by all Confederacies. Some think we should rather learn to defend ourselves and finally cut this umbilical cord that ties us to the… Planetwalkers, as you like to call them.» 

She’d hit the spot. Dalla’s face became rigid and she turned the other way, towards the window where the galactic disk was shining, thousands of lightyears beneath them. Milla waited, enjoying her little victory.

«It’s really hard sometimes,» Dalla said after a while, in a flat tone, «dealing with you youngsters.»

Milla raised an eyebrow. «You’re less than seven decades old yourself, if I’m not mistaken.»

She expected a frown at that comment – Dalla was ninety-eight standard – but all she got was a sigh as the other woman sat down again. «You know,» she began, «there was a woman once, in my same position, who thought exactly as you did…»

«Adelaide Yamanaki. I know.»

«Do you also know how it ended?»

«I’ve read a lot about it, but…»

«I was there.»

«You?» 

«I was part of her entourage. I was little more than two decades old at the time.»

«So you saw Mabel Adasco?» 

«Yes. I was there when Adele tried to manipulate him, to goad him into leading the Sirian Confederacy in its campaign of conquest. A poor fool of a Planetoid, lost in a world he didn’t know and could barely understand: a puppet, to play with at our leisure.»

«A puppet who, in the end, stole your army from right under your noses and handed it to the Centaurians, if memory serves.»

«Oh… he did a lot more than that: he stole the whole Sirian Confederacy from us, as well as our only link to the Sol Cluster. Do I detect a certain admiration for this… Planetoid, as you like to call them?»

«He always struck me as one of the good ones,» Milla granted. «They can’t be all bad, right?» 

«Adele certainly thought so, though she probably never told that to her friend Edda.»

«Why? Couldn’t they have shared him?»

Dalla laughed wholeheartedly. «I guess you wouldn’t have gotten along with Edda Mikstov.»

«I guess not…»

«Anyway… can you see why I brought up the subject?»

«Because you want to prove to me that we tried and failed?»

«You already know that. I’m not trying to insult your intelligence, Milla. I just want you to see.» 

«I see perfectly: your friend Adele trusted the wrong person.» 

«And who would that be?»

«Herself. She wasn’t able to control Adasco, not even with such an advantage. She let him swoop the Sirian army right from under her feet, and when she felt she had no other choice, she conceded to the enemy’s requests to save her skin! Did I miss anything?»

But Dalla just stared at her, and Milla, after a few seconds, lowered her gaze: she’d gone too far and she knew it.

«Did you ever stop to think,» Dalla asked her without any resentment, «that maybe Adele’s mistake was not to trust the right person?» 

Milla was puzzled. «I don’t follow,» she confessed.

«Why did Adasco act like that? Was it rebuke, or a game? I hardly think so. I met him, and I know he wasn’t that kind of man.»

«He was a soldier. He acted in self-defense,» Milla affirmed, confidently.

«Yes… and he proved he was smarter than all of us. Adele knew it, knew of his skills… and that was the very reason she tried to bring him to our side, but in the end, he was just another Planetoid to her: a useful tool, but still just a tool. Her mistake was not trusting him, not rusting them… I learned this lesson a long time ago, and I’ll never forget it.» 

Milla didn’t know what to say. She knew Dalla didn’t abide by the skepticism most Lunars felt towards Planetoids, but she didn’t think her admiration for them could go so far. When she spoke of this, her expression was rapt… in a frightening way. «Tell me something,» she asked, after taking a few deep breaths. «What do you think of all this?» and she made a gesture with her hands to include all that surrounded them. «Of the Senate, of this place, of the Conclave… I want a straight answer!» 

«I think,» Dalla said quietly, «that it’s the greatest foolishness human beings have ever come up with in their long history.»

Milla sighed in relief.

«But, thanks to this foolishness, we will be able to extend our contacts and our intelligence to every known star system in the galaxy. Planetwalkers are so many they can’t even be counted, and the great part of them isn’t worth a split second of our time, yet, among them, there are some extraordinary people who, if given a chance to express their potential, could finally turn the tide in our favor. We are few and with even fewer resources, but we can offer them that chance, a chance to see their talents and skills recognized and appreciated. A free, honest, and independent new world, devoid of subterfuge, tricks, or conflicts of interest where they will live long, rich, and gratifying lives. If we open our arms to them, they will come. Then we can finally leave all the others to their Conclaves, their Senates, their warships, and their absurd quests for power, because we’ll always be one step ahead. Then, in time, we’ll finally be able to impose our supremacy on this galaxy, just as it should be. We will dominate them through our technological superiority and the heights of our gravity wells: let there not be a single Planetwalker who won’t wish he or she was one of us!»

Dalla had spoken in a climax. She’d gradually lifted her arms, and her eyes were now aflame. Milla had never seen her like that.

«But it will take time,» Dalla added quietly, almost in a whisper, walking to her as if she wanted to caress her cheek. «Scorn brings no allies and haste can defeat no foe. We’re not ready for a confrontation, not yet.»

«When?» asked Milla, realizing she couldn’t withstand her gaze.

«Maybe soon, maybe later, maybe never. But there is only one path, and one hope. If we fail, it will be the end of us, and this galaxy will not survive.»

«You’re talking about the Herem now.»

«And whoever is behind them. Adele was right about one thing: the Planetwalkers won’t beat them. The Herem are a tool, which was created specifically for the purpose of eradicating human beings from the Milky Way, and they won’t stop until their task is complete. But Planetwalkers don’t understand this, or they won’t admit it… and sooner or later, we Lunars will have to face this threat firsthand. I am absolutely certain of this, and the Federation agrees with me: they’re still recovering from Adele’s failure, and they won’t risk another false step, for now.»

It was only then that Milla could really understand Dalla’s extremely delicate position: she had convinced the Federation to accept her long-term plan, using the memory of Adelaide Yamanaki’s failure as leverage, but she had no idea how long she would be able to keep them from retracing their steps and reverting to their previous positions, born of ideas which were very similar to the ones Milla had always believed in. Dalla said she needed time, but she knew she had very little of it.

«You know… I don’t envy you at all,» Milla confessed with a half smile. «But I’m willing to give you a hand. I just hope we’ll see some action, sooner or later.»

Dalla, however, didn’t bother humoring her. She seemed worried. «I’m afraid that won’t be a problem at all,» she said, looking out the window again.

«Do have any suspects?»

«Let’s just say…»

But they were interrupted by a very unexpected and troublesome communication.

Mitkentalk’s body still hadn’t been moved, no one could get close, and the whole area had been put under quarantine so the medical and science teams could do their jobs. Preliminary analysis, however, seemed to point to a “natural” cause of death: his heart had simply stopped beating all of a sudden and this had brought the brain and all other internal organs to shut down. Both robotic and human intervention, to try and reanimate him, had proven useless.

He’d been found in one of the many areas still undergoing construction, where one day the structure’s maintenance sublevels would be located, though the area was currently employed as housing and administrative offices; a place like any other, with no distinctive features. Mitkentalk had been walking alone, apparently out for a simple stroll.

«I hardly see what all the fuss is about,» Milla said. «Maybe he just wasn’t on youth treatments like the others. He did seem a bit too old-looking.» 

«Mitkentalk was two hundred and forty-seven years old,» Dalla told her. Her expression was dark and gloomy, while she observed the corpse through the transparent walls isolating the section.

Milla whistled. «Are you sure?  That would make him older than many Lunars…»

«Do you know of a way to mask actual age, to a medical scan?» Dalla skeptically inquired.

«Not really.»

«Then I’m more than sure. And to answer your first question: the sudden death of a Planetwalker, due to natural causes, is just as likely to happen as a star exploding without warning.»

«Why? Why is it so strange for an old man to die?»

«It’s not strange that he died, it’s strange that it was so sudden and that it happened without him knowing of it. Genetic manipulation and youth treatments allow for exact timing of internal organ failure, and death by consequence: Mitkentalk, by all accounts, was in perfectly good health.»

«So we’re suspecting murder.» Milla felt a gratifying sense of expectation at the thought. It was high time something interesting happened!

«I don’t know what to make of it,» Dalla said. «Let’s just wait for the autopsy results.» But her expression betrayed her worry.

«I could take a walk around if you like…» Milla suggested.

«No, not yet. Let’s let the meteor shower subside for now. Come on, let’s go.»

Fortunately, the news hadn’t spread, so most of Aiur Station's residents were unaware of the incident, at least for now, and this was mostly thanks to the fact that the now-former Provost of the Galactic Chronicles had come to the station alone, bringing only his clothes and his luggage. 

The body had been transferred to a specialized lab and Dalla had asked Milla to audit the autopsy, a request she’d accepted eagerly and not because she had a particular taste for the gruesome, but rather because this would give her the chance to move around freely for a bit. She liked Dalla, more than she’d be willing to admit, but she was also a free spirit and needed her space from time to time. So Milla was now looking inside the sterile room where the medial robotic units were about to start the procedure, standing with her arms crossed.

She wasn’t the only one there of course: many of the Conclave members’ assistants (they’d all been warned of the incident) were present as well, and Marshall D’Otello was actually there in person, guarded by one of his little SF she-hounds. Milla, among the others, recognized the guy who had accompanied First Speaker Rubilio at the Senate meeting, noticing he too had acknowledged her presence.

Aiur Space Station’s interiors looked very much like a Lunar habitat, except for the excessive gravity, since they lacked the grandeur and the overly bright colors that usually fell into step with Planetoid installations. This was quickly explained by the fact that those quarters would soon be replaced by enormous surface constructions and refitted into storage rooms, emergency energy units, and defensive platforms, so there wasn’t really much sense in wasting time on them. Milla still liked them, though: they made her feel safer.

She was pondering on all of this when she noticed Rubilio’s guard approaching her.

«You should work on your subtlety,» she suggested before he could introduce himself, lowering her voice so the others wouldn’t hear. «I can see you’re military from an AU off.»

«I’m working on it,» he confessed, with a voice that was a lot more croaking than Milla had anticipated.

«It’s in the way you move,» she told him. «You have to relax, and most of all, you shouldn’t avert your gaze: if you don’t and someone notices you’re looking, they’ll just think you’re weird, but if you abruptly stop staring at your prey, it will know you were really looking its way and be on its guard.»

«Thanks for the lesson. By the way, I’m Malcolm,» Malcolm croaked.

«Does that voice come from a mistake in your genetic re-calibration?» Milla inquired.

«No. It’s part of my camouflage.»

«Are you serious?»

«No.»

Milla laughed in spite of herself. Perhaps she was underestimating this Malcolm: he surely had no idea how to blend in with a group of research assistants, but he did know his way around a Lunar. Planetoids were full of word tricks, unspoken meanings, and two-faced expressions, and the more they talked like that the smarter they thought themselves. But with a Lunar, at least if you wanted to gain her attention, you had to be straightforward.

«So, what do you think?» Malcolm asked her, coming to stand by her side.

«Of this?»

«What else?» he mused.

«I confess I’m not an expert on Planetoids. Do you think he died of natural causes?» 

«That’s the official story, right?»

«Is there an unofficial one?» 

«If there was, would you happen to know it?» 

Milla figured that espionage might not be her thing. «Look,» she said, trying not to show her impatience (after all, she was still dealing with a Planetoid, and they took this kind of thing very personally). «If you have any useful information you’d like to share with me, just do it and don’t waste my time, please.»

«I was actually hoping you had some.» 

«So was I.»

«Then I guess we’ll get something out of the autopsy.»

«I guess so.»

The autopsy was a long and slow procedure. It started off with the most basic of non-invasive scans, followed by the sampling and analysis of practically every type of organic tissue in existence; only then did the internal organ sectioning finally begin. Milla had heard that some Planetoids were particularly attached to the bodies of the dead, expecting them to be preserved so people could venerate them afterward, but she had always thought they were teasing her; and from the way poor Mitkentalk was being cut down, it just didn’t seem like such a plausible story. Malcolm was still standing by her side and she noticed his skin color had changed, for the worse.

«You ok?» she asked worriedly.

«Ah… yeah, I think so.»

«Never seen a corpse before?»

«Nope.»

A straight answer… Milla decided she was in a good spot. «Is your name really Malcolm?» she inquired.

He didn’t answer, and he didn’t avert his eyes from what they were watching (one of the robots was beginning to cut the skull open), but he was clearly making an effort.

«You should try and focus on the details,» Milla suggested. «Taken one at a time, they won’t give you any trouble.»

«Maybe we should both focus on our job, don’t you think?» he retorted, still looking straight forward.

«All right,» Milla agreed, chuckling. «Let’s concentrate on the job.»

«Fissures?» 

«That’s what I said.»

«I know what you said, but I would like some details.»

«He had furrows in his brain. They’re trying to work on probable causes, but there’s nothing new for now.»

Dalla paced around the room without looking at Milla: she was clearly worried. «Is that all we’ve got?»

«Yes, from the autopsy. For my part… I can tell you that he wasn’t just the victim: he was also himself a killer.»

Dalla raised her eyebrows. «Does anyone else know?»

«Only if they were able to notice what I noticed.»

«And what would that be?»

«His expression.» Milla took the time to enjoy the bewilderment on Dalla’s face. «People maintain their expressions when they die,» she explained. «A victim has one, a killer has another.»

«And where would we find the second body? If you’re right, there should be two of them.»

«That’s an excellent question.»

«You’re not helping me.»

«My apologies. Would you like me to go look for it? The second body, I mean.»

Dalla made no answer and kept pacing, her gaze unreadable as it was lost in thought.

«Tell me what’s worrying you,» Milla asked again. «When I told you about the fissures, you were clearly frightened, and it’s pretty obvious you’re thinking in circles right now.»

«Are you reading all of this from my expression?»

«That and the way you move. Your tone of voice is also a hint… it’s a lot easier when a person is still alive.»

«You know… I’d really like for you to teach me,» Dalla confessed. «I’d be a lot better off in my line of work if I had your skills.»

«Don’t be so sure… you usually find out things you’d been better off not knowing. Well?»

«Well what?»

«Are you going to tell me what this is all about?»

Again, Dalla chose not to answer, so Milla decided she would wait. Her friend eventually sat down and spent a few minutes studying her own hands.

«You’re right: I am a little nervous,» Dalla finally confessed, forcing a smile. 

«You don’t say! Though now that you’ve told me, you’ll never know if I was telling the truth,» she teased her.

«I guess I won’t…»

«So?»

«So I still haven’t decided if I’m willing to share this information with you or not.»

«You should. I need to be informed if I’m to protect you.»

«That’s precisely the point.»

Milla thought that Dalla could be worse than a Planetoid at times. She thought of Malcolm with some amusement.

«As you know,» Dalla began with a deep breath, «at the time of the Sirian Confederacy and Adele’s mistake, we were convinced that the Herem could have originated in the Sol Cluster and that the Centaurians might have played a key role in their creation. We had important evidence to support this claim.»

«Non-terrestrial lifeforms, right? Some scientist made a big deal about those some years back.»

«We’ll get to him soon enough. Whether our claims about the origin of the Herem were true or not, we believed the Centaurians had developed a form of mind-control technique which involved a non-terrestrial parasitic lifeform: a biological agent capable of penetrating the cerebral tissue and bending the victim’s will to its control. Fissures, or furrows, had been found in the course of many autopsies, all very similar to the one you witnessed. We knew this thanks to the spy network Edda Mikstov had set up for us.» 

«Wasn’t she a reporter?»

«For the GUN, not for the Lunar Confederacies. Edda was also able to give us a detailed account of the events involving Mabel Adasco and his alien encounters on Planet Ber in GY 12,539.»

«And did he know about this?» Milla asked, raising an eyebrow. 

«I don’t know and I don’t really care. What matters is that we know what happened down there, and also that those events were connected with the Antinia Massacre, which took place in GY 12,515.»

«I’ve never heard of it.»

«It’s public domain, you can easily look it up. Long story short: an Alien attack overwhelmed an FIA orbital starbase and the Feds were forced to evacuate the system after the planetary defenses had blown the station to space dust to halt the infestation. What is not generally known is that, according to the communication logs recorded right before the artillery fired, the station’s security protocols were violated thanks to an infiltrator.» 

«A human under Alien influence, I’m guessing.»

«Right you are. Then, some time later on Ber, the FIA analyzed the corpses of the indigenous population, which had been strongly altered by an Alien infection to the point that they were decimated while trying to assault the federal training camps without any equipment. Guess what: aside from the extended physical mutilations, nearly all recovered bodies presented deep markings inside their brain tissue.»

«And now we’ve found those very same markings inside poor Mitkentalk. Which means…» Milla ventured, «that he was an Alien?»

«Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,» said Dalla. «The autopsy didn’t reveal anything other than those fissures, am I right?»

«Yup.»

«So it’s very unlikely the Herem were involved, otherwise, we would have found traces of physical mutilation and serious accretion.»

«Accretion?»

«Pieces of alien organs grafted inside the human body: no subject was ever found that didn’t have some. Being subjugated by the Herem is not just about mind control: it changes you on the inside until your guise as a human being is merely an appearance. Mitkentalk still had all of his arms and legs, and all internal organs were in their place if I’m not mistaken.»

«But he still had the fissures…»

«Exactly. Just like in those autopsies we came to know of thanks to Edda. Only, in those cases, just like with Mitkentalk, the bodies bore absolutely no sign of accretion.»

«So you think we’re dealing with two separate phenomena?»

«I don’t know what to think, but we do know something for sure: one of those autopsies was performed on a man coming from the Sol Cluster.» 

«Alpha Centauri?»

«We cannot be sure, but it’s far too strange a coincidence to ignore.»

«But this could have a thousand explanations,» Milla said. «And now we still have to deal with the second body, which was never found.» 

«The one you believe Mitkentalk killed before dying? But how can we be sure there even is one?» 

«I am sure of it, and you should trust me.» 

«And what would you do?»

«Go look for it!» 

«Alone? Here? We’re in the thirteenth millennium and if there was another dead body on the station, I should think we’d know about it.» 

«Unless the Feds are keeping it a secret…»

«I know they’re not. D’Otello is no idiot: he knows he can’t keep something like that from me or any other member of the Conclave.»

«But the fact remains: Mitkentalk had the death of another individual in his eyes.»

After that last exchange, Dalla was silent for a while, resting her elbows on her knees and rubbing her arms. She did that when she was very worried, or when she felt totally clueless. «I don’t think you’ll like what I’m about to tell you,» she said, without looking at Milla, who walked up to her and sat by her side. «Try me.»

«I’d rather blow off some steam first.»

Milla smiled at that. «Always happy to oblige. Computer, let’s have Lunar gravity, please! I set it while you weren’t looking…» she explained.

«I actually like standard gravity,» Dalla complained, as their bodies became lighter and Milla pulled her closer, encircling her waist. «You just like this better because you can show off.»

«And you like it when I take that out on you.» 

Lunars liked to do it the old way, without stims of strange-looking tools, except for the most basic upgrades. It was less intense, but better… more real. Even among women.

«I never asked you…» Dalla mused, grabbing her chin as Milla worked her, «whether this is a natural talent of yours or… or if they trained you for it.»

«Don’t be ridiculous,» Milla teased her. «Of course they trained me for it.» 

Dalla laughed, and she opened up to her completely. «Show-off…»

Some time later, they were getting cleaned up and dressed again.

It was always the same: after a few hours, it was like nothing had ever happened. It was necessary, to stay focused on their respective duties, though Milla was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t something else brewing between them, aside from the simple want for physical pleasure.

«Listen to me,» she said, breaking the silence. «Maybe you’re right and I’m just overreacting. If that’s the case: all the better. But, since we don’t really have anything better to do right now, let me try and go look for some clues. I’ll be quiet and discrete, I promise. Plus,» she added, «if you really want me to infiltrate a rebel Confederacy, I’ll need a bit of practice.»

«And how in the world would you know that?» Dalla asked her aghast. «I’m sure I never told you, not even when you were… you know…»

«No,» Milla answered, «you didn’t tell me, but I’m on to you: you want me to find a way to reach Alpha Centauri and discover what they’re up to on that planet, once and for all. Right?»

Dalla lowered her eyes. «It’s an extremely high-risk operation,» she said, «and…»

«And you’re doing exactly what you always warned me not to do: you’re letting our relationship influence your judgment.» 

«Milla…»

«I love you.» Had she just said that? Yup, she’d said it! «But if you think I’m the right person for this job, then you shouldn’t hesitate to entrust me with it, no matter the risk.»

«I know I… I just don’t wanna lose you.»

«Don’t worry, I don’t wanna lose myself either. Anyway, we still have time: I won’t set off right away. I still need to see clearly into this business with Mitkentalk.»

«You’re not gonna let the rock drop, are you?» Dalla was smiling now. She had a beautiful smile.