Chapter 8

Chapter 8 of Moebius

Chapter 8

 

The boys sat in front of the screen, fingers clacking on the controllers. Shouts, groans, cheers, and moans came from their mouths as the dot on the screen bounced from front to back over the net. An announcer called the final score. Skipper cheered and Conner groaned as the cartoon character with the green hat held up a trophy of a racket and a ball, which stayed in place despite not being connected to the rest of the trophy.

“Best of nine?” Conner asked.

“If you really think you can win five in a row,” Skipper replied.

Conner sighed and put the controller down. “When we get back to Mithra, I’m challenging you to a real game.” He patted the grip of his tennis racket.

“You’re on,” Skipper replied.

“Hey Skipper,” Conner said, “for someone who claims to be raised by munkees, you seem to understand people pretty well.”

“I spent a lot of time learning,” Skipper said. “After my home was destroyed and I was taken in by the Resistance, I really wanted to understand yuman society, so I ravenously studied psychology, sociology, and linguistics all day every day. No matter how much I studied, though, I didn’t seem to fit in. Then one day, with a shock, I realized that the reason I didn’t fit in was not because I don’t understand yumans, but because yumans don’t understand themselves. They just bumble through life with whatever they’ve been taught and whatever they’ve taught themselves. After that, fitting in was pretty easy.”

“I mean, we’re still learning,” Conner said, “but we’re still smart and we know what we’re doing.”

“You think you know what you’re doing,” Skipper said, “but you really don’t.”

“Come on, of course we know what we’re doing.”

“Oh yeah? What are we doing right now?”

“We’re having a conversation about whether we know what we’re doing or not. See? Proof.”

“But why?” Skipper grinned.

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Conner said, getting frustrated. “You asked what we were doing, and I told you what we’re doing.”

Skipper shook his head. “In order to understand what we’re doing, we have to know why we’re doing it.”

“Fine. We’re having this conversation because you said something incorrect and I am trying to convince you of the truth.”

“Why?” Skipper said, with his annoying cheeky grin.

“Why?” Conner said, his body tightening and his hands clenching into fists. “Because it’s truth.”

“Nope, that’s not why,” Skipper said. He raised a finger. “Let me tell you what we just did. I made a claim, which you took as challenging your competence. This made you angry and made you feel like you had to defend your competence, so you crafted arguments and rebuttals to regain your status in my eyes. It was never about truth. Even before we started arguing, the conversation was about bonding. Although, the things I said about living with munkees and then studying yumans are indeed true.”

“But, no,” Conner said, “that can’t be it. Because truth is what’s important, not that stuff.”

“Is it, though?” Conner wanted so badly to wipe that stupid grin off Skipper’s face. “How many things are there that are true? There is a number of languages yumans have ever spoken. There is an amount of air in this room. There are a number of pets people own. There is your uncle’s best friend’s grandpa’s name. There is truth everywhere, and most of it we don’t care about.”

“Yeah but, when we are doing things it’s important that we know the truth about them, or else we’ll mess up.”

“True. But the reason we need to know the truth is not because it is true, but because it is important.”

“But if what you’re saying is true,” Conner said, feeling his chance for a comeback, “then isn’t the reason you’re saying it because you think it’s true?”

Skipper put his thumb to his chin and looked up, thinking. “No, I suppose that would be because I’m showing off.”

Conner growled, trying to think of something clever to say.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Skipper said. “It doesn’t matter.” He picked up his controller. “Want to play some more tennis?”

Conner reached for his own controller. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

When the Tarran fleet arrived at Mithra, it was breathtaking and terrifying. In the thousands, they outnumbered the Mithrassi defense force several times over. Mithra had surrounded the planet with hyperspace jammers, but even ten million kilometers did not diminish the presence of fear they brought.

Tarran had numbers, but Mithra had control over the jammers. Quick as lightning, Mithrassi strikers popped into space, fired off a volley of lasers, plasma beams, and missiles, and then blinked out of existence, only to appear on the other side of the fleet and repeat. Thus the Tarrans found themselves bombarded unpredictably from all sides by a swarm of wasps swooping and stinging.

It did very little, of course. The Tarrans had anticipated the tactic and kept all their smaller, more vulnerable craft hidden away in massive carriers. Even with the hours it would take to close the distance to the planet, most of these behemoths would likely survive.

Which was where the Mithrassi battleships came in. Headed by the flagship Emergence with Trace at the helm---or, Admiral Archaea, as she was called when the gloves came off---hundreds of titans appeared and concentrated their vast firepower on the leading warships. The Mithrassi battleships also had the advantage of hyperspace, and thus could dodge much better than the Tarrans.

Mara and Oliver watched the battle on a screen in the cabin of the Black Fire in the Emergence’s hangar. At their request, they had been put in a reserve squadron to be deployed later in the battle if backup was needed.

An alert popped up. New enemy ships were emerging from hyperspace. Small packs of about ten each, from various approach vectors outside the jamming field.

“Uh oh,” Mara said.

She and Oliver waited, but the Resistance made no move to intercept. “What’s wrong?” Oliver asked over the squad channel. “Shouldn’t we be doing something about those?”

“Negative,” squad leader Lawrence said.

When he did not volunteer any more information, Oliver asked, “Why not?”

“They’re just distractions,” Lawrence replied. “Trying to draw us away from the main fleet. Much as I’m itching to jump into the fray, it will be hours before we have to worry about them. Better to concentrate our fire on the ships we’ve already weakened and take a few out before they reach the planet.”

“But can’t they fire on Mithra from where they are?”

“Not with precision, except for guided missiles, which ground defense can easily take out. Believe me, we would rather they waste their firepower now than save it for when they’re close enough to bombard cities.”

Mara’s breath caught. “They’re . . . going to attack cities?”

“Yep.” Lawrence’s voice dripped with contempt. “It’s how they force surrender. Threaten massive numbers of civilian casualties, and then deliver on that threat. Some planets with weaker defenses have surrendered quickly and were spared. Us, we’re driving the b******s away with everything we’ve got.”

Mara breathed out slowly, and her chest wouldn’t take in another one. Oh no. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. To attack a military force was one thing, but thousands of ordinary people minding their own business? An image of her home, Oridion cavern, burning in the pressure and heat of a nuclear explosion flashed into her mind. Such cruelty was beyond imagination.

The main force continued its dogged approach, the hyperpace fighters swarming around them like bees. The number of ships on both sides ticked down at a rate of a few per minute, only small ones so far. It looked like, no matter which side won and at what cost, this battle was going to get into the history books.

 

* * *

 

Conner stood with the rest of the strike team on the bridge when the Lizardhawk dropped out of hyperspace. Although the field of stars looked hardly any different from anywhere else, it still brought with it a sense of foreboding. This was the heart of enemy territory. If they were noticed, they would be killed, and if that didn’t work, imprisoned.

Conner waited for the security call to ask them who they were and what their business was. But the Lizardhawk coasted closer and closer to Tantalus with no hail. Conner leaned toward Skipper. “Why haven’t they asked us who we are yet?”

“Because they think they recognize this ship as one of their own,” Skipper replied. “Something about registries or something. Callum told me once, but I don’t really understand it. He also said it’s a one-time thing and won’t work for any other ship.”

“That’s a relief,” Taea said.

“You mean the part about not raising suspicions,” Core said.

After a pause, Taea said, “Yeah.”

“So where on the planet are we landing?” Conner asked. “Planets are big, you know. I learned that on my last adventure.”

“Imalis, the capital city,” Skipper said. “The Emperor of Tarr conveniently lives in a massive tower.”

“Then why don’t we just fly in and shoot it down?”

“Because it’s the most fortified structure in the known galaxy. Plasma, explosions, heat beams, nothing can threaten it. Even if a meteorite took out half the city it would leave the Imperial Tower standing.” He made a disgusted noise. “Leave it to the powerful to use up vast amounts of resources to keep themselves in power.”

“We have to protect what’s important,” Taea said.

“Important?” Core snapped. “We’re talking about generations of overlords who dupe their citizens into compliance by---”

“Girls, stop,” Skipper said, stepping between them. “I know you’re upset, but fighting will make it worse. We’re on the same side.”

“Don’t tell us to stop when it was your comment that started it,” Core said.

“I’m sorry,” Skipper said. “I should have thought before speaking. What’s done is done, and now all we can do is try to make up for it. Taea.” He faced the Tantalian girl. Are you willing to let this fight go?”

Taea hesitated, her eyes flicking from Core to Skipper, her jaw clenched and her lips parted, showing teeth.

“Just for now,” Skipper said.

Slowly, Taea relaxed. “For now,” she said.

“And you, Core,” Skipper said. “Are you willing to drop this fight?”

Core folded her arms and looked away. “I would be a jerk if I picked on someone who wouldn’t fight back.”

That made Conner’s heart jump. She was aggressive, but kind on the inside and knew when to hold back. He imagined what she must have been like before the Shroud: cheerful, generous, confident. Conner vowed internally to give everything he had to see this mission through and return her to her normal---no, her true self. And Taea too, of course. It was not like he was picking favorites or anything.

After a planetary entry of held breaths and high heart rates, the Lizardhawk successfully found its way into a hangar lot and the team out into the city, the three non-Tantalians wearing hats and covered in sunscreen.

Like the last time he had been there, Conner was struck with how different a Tantalian city looked from a Mithrassi city or a Moebian town. Maybe it was the square stucco buildings under dark, steeply slanted overhanging roofs. No, it was definitely the yellow leaves and plants. Despite a copious density of trees and bushes, there wasn’t a spot of green in sight.

“They’re looking at us,” Conner whispered, feeling the eyes of the passersby on them.

“Think nothing of it,” Skipper said. “They’re just momentarily curious. Wouldn’t you pause to look if a few Tantalians showed up near your home?”

You mean in the daytime, like reasonable people, Conner thought. He supposed Skipper was right, but that didn’t make it much less uncomfortable.

“We’ll be fine,” Skipper said. “Just keep calm, avoid the police without looking like you’re avoiding them, and don’t ask questions everyone knows the answer to.”

They found a bus station and boarded a bus to find a hotel some distance away from the spaceport, to avoid as much suspicion as possible. A news station was playing over the radio. Apparently a terrorist organization called the Aventari had raided a military supply station last night.

“Look worried,” Skipper whispered in Conner’s ear. “But I think we may have just heard something that could help us.”

“What, the---”

“Don’t say it. Just wait.”

The Aventari? What would Skipper see in a group of terrorists? The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, Conner supposed, but really? Terrorists?

After a good forty minutes, Skipper nudged Conner and pointed out the window. “There it is,” he said. “The Imperial Tower.”

It rose above the tops of the buildings around it, an immense black pillar with a design of flowing vertical red lines, and a symbol Conner took to be an imperial sigil. Core commented on how the tower looked like a certain part of the male anatomy, which sparked a shouting match with Taea and made Conner blush profusely.

“Hey,” a boy nearby barked. “Be quiet on the bus.”

Core and Taea glared at him, and he mumbled something about “degenerate marshmallows,” which Conner felt was completely unfair, considering one of the two who were arguing was Tantalian, and that they lumped in Skipper and Conner despite the two of them not contributing to the fight. The girls settled into their seats, facing away from one another.

All the hotels close to the tower were high-class and charged foreigners even more exorbitantly than they charged the locals. So they had to settle for a place a good forty kilometers away. They reserved two rooms, and went up to them to drop their luggage, and then gathered in the boys’ room to do some planning.

“Time to find out who the Aventari are,” Skipper said, pulling out his handheld computer.

“What makes you think terrorists are a good choice for allies?” Conner asked.

“We don’t know they’re terrorists for sure,” Skipper said. “Think about it. Where did we hear they were terrorists?”

“The news,” Conner said.

Skipper nodded, grinning. “And who controls the news on Tantalus?”

“I don’t know.”

“Take a guess.”

“Uh . . .” Conner only knew of two organizations, and one of them was the one in question, so he supposed there was nothing to lose by guessing the other one. “The Empire?”

“Exactly. And knowing what we do about this empire, how likely are they to call any dissident group terrorists, regardless of whether they really are?”

Conner took in a breath of realization. “Oh, I see.”

Taea fidgeted. “Do you really think they would?”

Core and Skipper looked at her incredulously. Conner felt a little sorry for her.

“Anyway,” Skipper said, “let’s see what we can find.”

“Should we be worried about our searches getting tracked?” Conner asked.

“Nah,” Skipper said. “Veronica set up this computer so that it always tracks as if it’s in another city. She explained it, but it didn’t make any sense to me.” He shrugged. “What matters is that it works.”

For the next several hours, they poured through news outlets, devouring all the information they could find about the Aventari. Apparently they were a planetwide group of people who fought specifically against the imperial leadership. There were plenty of stories about them causing riots, destroying property, looting, and defacing public monuments, but different sources told contradictory tales about these incidents. It turned out Skipper was quite good at sifting through information, and eventually came to the conclusion that the Aventari were specifically an anti-Spellcaster faction. The Aventari had appeared some time after Spellcaster had come on the scene, evidently named after a high-ranking government official who had resisted Spellcaster even after having the Shroud cast on him, and been killed for it.

“See,” Skipper said, “not terrorist.”

“That assumes your interpretation of the information is correct,” Taea said.

“Yes it does,” Skipper replied, “but I am confident. Either way, we’re going to find out when we join them.”