Threads of Canor: Sector Bomb

  Chapter Two: In the Whole Again

  Dad asked me to assist him. When he's excited he forgets how uncoordinated he is. After dressing myself I took my place at his side. Aaran's suggestion was obvious, in retrospect. Sonata is actually styled after her physical characteristics: Short, slender and physically robust. Sonata emulates and idolizes Aaran by choice, but they're very much sisters. Like me, her limbs are not weaponized. High density allies compensate for necessity of combat, when necessary.

  Throw enough tons of stone on us and we break, like anyone else, though.

  Affixing Sonata's limb to Aaran's cybernetic interface terminal was complicated because we had to synchronize the control signals firing from her nervous system to the arm in real time. Once connected we made manual adjustments until she was satisfied with the performance.

  Dad wouldn't have tried the procedure on a new amputee. We all understood that. Aaran has experience and confidence that has inspired a lot of war amps. She isn't an official representative of any sort, but she is very attractive and charismatic, and by example has forwarded the cause for cybernetics standardization and quality of practice.

  By no means is she ignorant of this. 'Perceptive', remember? An hour later we were done. What began as robotic, planned movement became what we consider automatic, subconscious motion. She adapted quickly and was happier than I'd seen her in the last twelve hours.

  She eyed me. “You wanna wrestle?”

  I was perplexed.

  “No,” Dad cut in sharply. “You have extensive muscle tearing and deep bruises that need to heal.”

  Aaran didn't sulk. “Yessir. Thank you.”

  Then she hugged us. It was unexpected, but Dad seemed reassured.

  “If you do anything, practice blade techniques. I'll trust you not to overdo it. I've a report to make.” Dad isn't her doctor, but he does work closely with her General Practitioner. In Angel City, cyberneticists are few and far between, and even fewer are professionally trained. She turned to me and beamed enthusiasm.

  “Wanna help me, Buddy?”

  “I'd like that.”

  It was thrilling to be functional again. I could concentrate on sparring, respecting Dad's wishes, trusting he would sideband me anything of interest. Aaran is not young, but very energetic. Her wish encompassed motherhood, she told me once, and she is effectively inexhaustible. Others we have treated undergo great emotional fatigue due to the trauma, but Aaran is resilient and has impressive focus. She is a formidable combatant with decades of field experience.

  While I can overcome her with strength, reflexes and precision, I am ever the student. I was conscious, however, that she was not at her usual level of physical performance. Twenty minutes later she was warmed up but sweating.

  “This is what it's like to be Sonata?” she said, her breathing regular and deep. I smiled.

  “She wants to be you. Ironic.”

  “She misses out on the best parts,” she commented, shifting her weight deliberately. “I'd be unstoppable with her body, though.”

  I relaxed my stance to indicate a pause. “Are you alright?”

  “Fine, but let's stop here. David's got a point. I'm sore all over. Getting hit tore me up proper.”

  We walked over to a washing station and Aaran soaked a towel with cold water to pat herself down. I sat on the nearby bench and waited. Shortly she joined me, pulling at the nub of a green bottle.

  “Anything I should know 'bout my new arm?”

  Oh good. Shop talk. I grinned. That made me happy. "The skin is self-repairing, the muscle 'tissue' is tougher than military grade plasteel, but much lighter. We released the limiters on its 'strength' as well and you should be able to perform similarly to me with some practice. Your existing reinforcements account for this."

  "Been waitin' for a limb like this for years." Her eyes were clear, examining the arm. "He's a talented craftsman. When I look at it I feel like it's mine, like I never lost anything. He's a genius. Feels real good and the tactile feedback is spot on."

  "Should be. It was engineered by Natali Kraven."

  "That a fact?" she blinked with hinted awe. "She has a knack for this stuff."

  It's easy to think Aaran didn't give up much when the functionality of her amputation could be so accurately replicated. I would be wrong to assume that. She never related the circumstances and I had never asked before.

  “This? Let me tell you. I was fourteen. It was childish stupidity. My right leg too, just below mid-thigh. Any higher and I might not've had kids.”

  That's all she would say. Maybe it was the wrong time.

  “Now is a bad time to dwell on it. Now that I started I'll finish, but tuck it under your hat, okay? Keep it for a special occasion.” She made me promise I would. I did, noticing how lovely and intimidating her eyes were.

  “Just wanted to know.” Primarily I was interested in her psychological condition and intent. She smiled again and the way she tilted her head forward made me feel significant to her. It was assuring.

  “You're a good guy, but try not to be so tactless. Just ask how I feel, okay? You can do that.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I said this, watching her half-stand. Something resistant went away and she plunked back down, leaning her back against the wall. Her left hand floated up to her right shoulder.

  “You don't need to feel bad about it. I just haven't told anyone since my kids marri... left us," she said, eyes dropping to the floor. "That brat. Keep forgetting she's divorced now. Ayani's still courting ... oh, I was saying: Masurani and I rushed the shield.”

  Never heard that before. “What's that mean?”

  She squinted at me, then recognition blossomed in her eyes. “It's a dumb stunt we came up with to prove our bravery during the war. To us, and our friends. Everyone wanted to sign up, you know. For the fight 'gainst Carso's android army, but the wishless weren't allowed. Too risky.”

  I nodded, able to recount facts but not experience. I wasn't even a blueprint in my Dad's brain, then.

  “Friends, heh. Idiots. Idea was you run up to the shield an' grab as many pieces of loose trelic as you could before you got too weak to get away. Shield exposure hits you pretty quick so you have to be even quicker. In thirty seconds most pass right out. I'm immune to it, though."

  "That sounds like a lot of time," I pointed out.

  She shook her head. "Proximity is the problem. Once you get within twenty feet of the shield you get dizzy, and it's a slog after that. Hard to stay on your feet because it heats up the fluids in your body. It'll kill the average person in five minutes."

  "I see."

  "No, but listen up and you will. Masurani was the one to beat. She's a born runner, and so much tougher'n everyone. She came away with three shards. Masurani's the kind who benchpresses people, given the chance. Blasted impressive. We all thought so, but it wasn't 'til later I found out she'd had her wish granted. No one else had. Just her. Waste but I'm a shard-swallowing fool.”

  “You mean you 'were',” I corrected, as helpful as I could think to be.

  She smirked wryly. “I survived, and that taught me. I'd already pulled a fist-sized chunk away from the shield. What possessed me? I can tell you're wondering.”

  Aaran took a long pull at her bottle. Her face colored with emotion. “We were sworn-in squires. Yeah, me. I don't look the type, do I? I was naive then, but I had to prove a wishless could keep up. Big shardin' chip on my shoulder. You don't know it, but you have one too. S'why we get along so well."

  "It is?" That seemed too simple an explanation. "How can that be accurate?"

  "It just is, trust me. We've got a lot of good allies ... Masurani's my bosom pal from way back. Reggie too, even though she's opted to fight from the outside of the arena." Aaran's eyes were half-lidded, and her rationale made little sense, but I had time to scrutinize them. I would too, over time.

  "Trelic is nasty business, but good creds. Fuels you, fuels this arm. Sealed right it doesn't do any harm, but life wouldn't
be possible if we couldn't refine it into a useful source of power. So it's a status symbol, right? See, you've got to figure this was before they culled trelic intrusions into the shield. Makes interesting art now. Few of us were naturally resistant to the toxin. Yeah, like me. So we could climb up the crystal towers.”

  I felt nervous, like I should react somehow. She paused and gauged me.

  “It's okay. You're a fine listener,” and she half smiled. “It happens, you know, and you lose something you'll never get back. You just keep going. Just like you, smashed to pieces in the rubble.”

  “I believe I understand.”

  “You sure do. I had a point to prove. So, I was looking at this twelve foot tall outcrop. Just a single standing piece of trelic, like a bent finger sticking out into the ground poking the shield. Scratching it a with a fingernail. I thought 'I'll climb up top and snap a piece off'. Why not?

  “I guess you'd know this, but trelic's a pretty soft, brittle mineral. It'll crack through like a diamond if you kick it too hard but is soft enough to leave an indent with your fist. No one can explain why, but you can.

  “It's exhilarating to be the central figure – needle in everyone's eye. I was gonna do the insanely stupid and get away with it. Enthralling. Climbing up was the easy part. Scaling the stuff's a cinch if you're any good at it.

  “I'd had practice so I was confident. I remember looking up at the tip I'd ripped off, rainbows moving up the outcrop in ebbing waves. Deadly gorgeous. Then my foot slipped and I remembered my situation. Habit told me:

  “Jam your foot into the wall or you'll fall and break something. Seven feet to fall was too far to explain to Mom. Dad would never forgive me. Logical fear got in the way of the instincts that normally keep me safe. They told me that was a bad, bad idea.

  “The girls were shrieking at me and I couldn't understand why. Then I heard a massive crack-cr-cr-aaack! Like throwing rocks at the husk of a tank. Weird how it sounds hollow. It got dark around me and I looked up.

  “A half-dozen pieces of trelic had sheared right off the top and were coming right down on me. Automatically I pushed away from the wall. Trelic isn't heavy, but when it breaks like that it's sharp. Super sharp. On the way down two big chunks fell down and snipped my leg and arm off.

  “The way I landed sealed my leg shut and Masurani sacrificed a one-of-a-kind tailored jacket so I didn't bleed out while the girls got help. I owe her my life many times over.”

  [Buddy, I need you and Aaran to come here.] It was Dad, transmitting text via a terminal in his secure office. [Representative Castlegar has requested your presence.]

  It interrupted the story, and when I told her she didn't seem displeased. She was dabbing the towel at her face, which told me she'd probably been crying again. I wished I understood what that meant to her, how it affected her. Too bad I won't ever have a wish granted.

  Dad was still online with Representative Castlegar when we arrived just a few minutes later. Aaran was immediately sceptical and confrontational with her. "So what d'ya want now, y' ruthless tyrant?"

  She was grinning, so I thought maybe I'd misread her mannerisms. Reggie's haggard face was on screen, fatigued from countless communications and meetings in the wake of the attack on Sector 9. Another kind of tireless. They truly were women of a kind.

  "Razor Colony's launching tomorrow, Aaran Coates. I need you and Buddy up on Talon yesterday. Anyone else you can spare would be dandy."

  “'Dandy'? Turned in your vote so soon?”

  “Had to eventually.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Aaran considered this. "That's all? Anyone know who attacked Angel City?"

  "You were in Sector 9. What did you learn?”

  She grimaced. “Not to bring perishables into marked zones. That's it. Doesn't smell of anything strange to me.”

  “That's a shame. This is not like anything we've ever seen before. We don't like the idea but it could have ties to weavers."

  Taboo, forbidden knowledge suppressed and buried for centuries. "Tell me you'd like a regular terrorist?”

  “Probably,” Dad quipped out-of-turn.

  “It's easier to shoot ordinary terrorists,” she mock-explained, barely skipping a beat. “So you've talked to Fife?"

  "No one talks to her. She volunteered and practically wrote us a poem on the subject. Unfortunately for us no one reads scattered rose petals. I've promised you'll evacuate our personnel from the Colony before someone loses their temper and bombs the place."

  "Why say that? You know something?"

  Rep. Castlegar angled her jade eyes at me. "We know a lot, but I'm counting on what you can find out while you're up there."

  "I'll do what I can," I replied.

  "Cut it for a sec. This makes no sense to me." Aaran's caustic attitude bit down on Rep. Castlegar's haggard mannerisms.

  "We know someone's ready to bomb Razor if its Independence doesn't go smoothly. If it's linked to the attack on the Twin Cities we don't know it.”

  “And you're leaning on me to find out,” Aaran said, checking a split thumbnail.

  “Wholly optional. We have teams working ground zero. You have twenty hours to prevent the bombing and bring our people back safely."

  I received a glyph containing a somewhat sparse list of individual profiles and last-known locations. A hastily prepared sitrep and with the barest of mission parameters. Little more than her words to us, in fact. Aaran must also have received the same, as our eyes met, hers filled with rancour.

  "You have hours? There are hours?” she snarled. “Fl-curse this, Reggie! The pressure's on us to locate our people, too. You're out of practice for a C.O. Needed to make some kind of brief before you started crackin' our heads together!”

  "Pardon me, Aaran. I've had no time to prepare,” she shook her head. “I truly am sorry. The AOC has been of almost no appreciable use to me.”

  “I'll forgive you only 'cause you're not accustomed to gettin' hung outside the shield by your toes.”

  “You don't have to be grateful for your paid procedures and medical talent.” Reggie eyed Aaran's prosthetic arm and frowned. “Twenty hours. Not much time, I'll grant you. I can't even guarantee your arrival time. The elevator isn't operating yet. We've tried to get communications through to Marlene but only short wave radio is reliable."

  "Sonata will be useful, then," I supplied hopefully.

  "We're counting on that. She has all the information I lack. I can't be where she is. Trust won't be an issue," Reggie pointed out with a hint of guilt. "You're getting every resource I can throw at--” she tilted her head back, blinked and focused on Aaran. “Thanks. That is good timing.”

  “Good for her timing,” Aaran murmured crossly. “She trying to impress me or something?”

  “I have good news for you, Aaran. Yale is alive. We received a message from Nasura a few minutes ago. He's in emergency care, but stable and expected to make a full recovery after his surgery."

  "Surgery?" Aaran's head bowed.

  "He's having a prosthetic left hand installed."

  The room turned dark and quiet. Aaran exhaled audibly. She is not, in my experience, prone to emotional control. However, that does not determine if she is the crying type. Her face colored, but she did not raise her eyes, face angled forward the floor.

  "That hard-plated fool," she breathed. "I can't see him. Can you get a message to him?"

  "Anything you like."

  "Tell him if they don't match I'll have to disown him," she looked up, face alight with subdued gratitude. "Thank you. Reggie. Sorry for chewing on your pride."

  "What d'ya think I'm trying to do, impress you? Git. You're welcome,” she replied, half-smiling. “I've done my part—mostly. Now you two get a move on. Crack a shard for me."

  “Yes ma'am,” Aaran nodded.