112: the operation, part one

Issac walked through a corridor in Gorshen plant.  the giant metal facility was alive with a constant and resonating hum, and its halls were veins that pulsed with daysider blood.  Issac was growing familiar with the building’s layout now, and he recognized the turn ahead that would lead him to Cillian’s office.

the door was open when Issac arrived, and he heard voices from inside.  he stopped listened.

“listen, C’moy, i understand what you’re going through.”  it was Cillian.  he was speaking gently.  Issac waited, turned away, turned back to the door, and finally just stood there, not speaking.  Cillian was saying, “i can help you out this time, but this has to be the last time, okay?”

“thank ya, Cillian,” Issac heard Tocts say.  his voice was weak, but full of gratitude.  “i won’t letcha down this time, i can promise.”

“alright, buddy.  take ‘er easy.”

“thank ya ‘gain,” Tocts said.  Issac heard footsteps coming towards the doorway.  he took four quick steps down the hall, spun on his heels, and walked as casually as possible towards the door.

“nice seein’ ya, Issac,” C’moy said, avoiding the Dulvernian’s eyes.

“hey,” Issac said.  then, after a beat, “everything okay, C’moy?”

“just fine,” the miner said, forcing a smile.

“Cillian in there?” Issac asked, sticking a thumb out towards the door.

“yep,” Tocts responded plainly.

“well,” Issac said awkwardly.  “um, have a good one.”

“you too, thank ya,” Tocts said with a dip of the head.  Issac entered the room and realized that Sorensen had entered the room from another way before him.  Sorensen’s voice was sharp, defiant.

“no.  absolutely not.  no way.”  Sorensen was deep into his list of objections when Issac walked in the room.  he continued, “not if i had to fight the war a thousand different times.  not ever.”

since his time on Klin, Issac had seen Sorensen express very little emotion.  collected, rational: these were words that Issac had used to describe the tall, dark-haired Klinian since their meeting.  but there was nothing calm about Sorensen now.

“Cillian, you’ve absolutely got to be kidding me.  you know Ash, and you know what he’s done.  he’s a liar. it is demonstrable that he is a liar.  i don’t have to prove that to you: you already know that.  why in sun’s name would you expect that he could be believed now.”

“hey, Issac,” Cillian said fatly, acknowledging the newcomer’s presence.  the scruffy daysider was seated in the corner of the room, an office at Gorshen plant.  Sorensen turned to Issac, made eye contact, but did not address him.  instead, he turned a vicious gaze back towards his compatriot.

“we’ve finally got something to turn this whole mess in our favor.  Devers gave his life so that we–”

Cillian stood abruptly, cut Sorensen off.  “don’t give me a goddam eulogy, pal.  you don’t think i feel that loss as much as anybody?”

“well you certainly aren’t acting like it,” Sorensen responded, unruffled.  “in making an agreement with Ash to share the guns, you obviously seem to think that outworld imports grow in fucking dry mines, that Lathan was just a regular guy that we might find a thousand of.  i’m alarmed to hear myself saying this, but it sounds like you don’t fully grasp how much of a last chance this is for us.  we’re not going to get another shipment, Cillian.  and if we fuck this up, we’re all dead, the rebellion is dead, and it’s business-as-usual for a long, long time on Klin.  is that what you want?”

Cillian spat at the question.  he said, “yeah, you dumb son of a bitch.  that’s obviously what i want.  it makes perfect sense that i’ve devoted my whole life to this just to give it away freely because i want ten more generations of slavery.  i know i was raised on Klin, but that don’t make me an idiot.”

“you’re saying that i think that all Klinians are fools.”

“that sounds about right.”

Sorensen stiffened, took a step toward Cillian.  Issac tensed.  through his teeth, Sorensen said, “listen, friend, i’m here because i know that what happens to innocent people on dayside is no fault of their own.  just because you’re an import yourself–”

Issac heard the crack before he realized what had happened.  Cillian stood above a crumpled Sorensen, who had fallen back into a chair, propelled by a swift and powerful punch to the mouth.  Cillian seethed, and Sorensen stared up at him, stunned for a moment.  he brought two fingers to his lower lip, tested it for blood.  he saw a red stain on his fingertips.

“guys!” Issac shouted.  they both paused, looked at him.  he continued, “i met two guys that rescued me from a StarEx detention facility.  they risked their lives to get me out of there, because they believed enough in their cause to do so.  now they’re screaming and throwing punches.  what the hell happened?”

the daysiders stood silent for a moment.  then Cillian said, quietly, “he pissed me off.”

“oh, perfect,” Issac scoffed.  “i have a great idea.  let’s, every time someone does something we don’t like, let’s just hit them.  how’s that sound?  i’m sure we’ll be able to build a historical movement of unity and solidarity if we just jack somebody in the face whenever they hold an opposing viewpoint.  that’s just great.  really brilliant thinking.”

“fine,” Cillian said with exasperation.  “let’s just move right along then, shall we?”

“yes, of course,” Sorensen interjected.  “right after you socked me, now’s a perfect time to ‘move along.’”

“well what the hell do you want?” Cillian demanded.  “i’m sorry, alright?”

“oh, good, you’re sorry,” Sorensen retorted.

“fine, so sorry don’t do it.  you want me to beg?”

“i don’t think that would quite do it,” Sorensen said bitterly.

“look,” Issac said, pulling their attention away from each other an on to him.  “Cillian, you fucked up, and Sorensen here isn’t going to just take ‘sorry’ for an answer.  so this is how i see it.  Sorensen, you get one crack at Cillian, just like the one he took at you.  no sucker punching — just an equalizer.  then maybe we can grow up and move on.  how’s that sound.”

a moment passed where each daysider waited for the other to make a move.  finally, Cillian said, “sounds fair to me.”

“i can accept that,” Sorensen said.  he stood, faced his longtime partner.  Cillian clenched his teeth.  they paused.  at last, Issac gave the signal.

“go.”

the crack of knuckles against jaw sounded the same, only this time it was Cillian that fell back into a chair.  he swore loudly, then breathed deeply.  Sorensen sat down.

“are we okay now, boys?” Issac asked.

“yes,” Sorensen said in a raspy exhale.

“yes,” Cillian said begrudgingly.

Issac said, “good.  now let’s actually make a decision about this.”

*

the old man looked tired.  it had been almost a year since Sentuel had met the Patriarch in person, and he had withered considerably since then.  four decades of futility had not done the Patriarch any service, Sentuel thought.  his shoulder-length white hair had thinned; his skin was impossibly wrinkled, punctuated by two large dark bags, one under each eye.  the old man crossed his arms, sunk deeply into his ornate throne, encrusted with dryjewel, dark green and luminescent.  he sighed heavily, almost endlessly.

“Sentuel,” he rasped, ancient eyes struggling to focus on the young man before him.  “is this what it has come to, after all?  after all the years, the negotiations.  Pretorick and i understood each other much better, i think.”

“my predecessor and i are not the same,” Sentuel said coolly, seeing again the old man’s proclivity to tangentially reach into the past: a time when he had more power over Klin, and over his own decaying body.  “times are different now, Mason.  the galaxy is no longer bound by antiquated ideals of heredity.  we are freed to move any where at any time, and we are powered by the ineffable will of commerce, commerce that is enabled by — solely by – the fuel that we provide.”  the StarEx head of security paused.  he was lecturing the old man, and fruitlessly.  “but you did not summon me to tell you these things: i am not an advisor.  i am…an adversary?”

“a change in the weather,” the Patriarch croaked.  “you are different, and potentially dangerous.  but whether you will be a boon or a bane is yet to be seen.”

“you are wisely cautious,” Sentuel said evenly.  “though i wonder if you do not deliberately avoid the obvious.”

“what is obvious?” the old man soliloquized.  “among the choices before us, which seem clear?  can you answer me, my young, iron-eyed man?”  he waited for an answer, not expecting one, and not receiving one.  the Patriarch continued, “if Klin is the engine of the galaxy, it is a forgotten one.  what are the lives of the miners in comparison to the life of a thousand worlds?  what is the wealth of a corporation to the lives of a billion men?  what are the billion men to say to their billion women?  does the good of the trillion outweigh the needs of mere millions?  indeed, are questions of scale even relevant, Sentuel?”

“you ask questions that you know i cannot answer, Patriarch.”

“yes, yes,” the old man sighed.  his eyes left Sentuel’s face, floated about the room.  “can you hear that, Sentuel.” the old Patriarch raised a bony hand, wrinkled and calloused for decades of service, much of it along side with his Klinian people.  he gestured to the air around him.

“i hear nothing out of the ordinary,” Sentuel said patiently.

“ah, but you’re not listening.  you hear many things.  you hear the whirring of the ventilation systems.  you hear the tip tip tip of the rain hitting the roof — did you realize it had started raining, Sentuel?”

“i had not noticed, Mason.”

“and there is something else.  something much further in the background.  do you know what it is?”

“perhaps you are referring to the shielding system,” the security officer said.

“yes, yes.  the shield.  if the wall is our great physical achievement, the shield is our great technological achievement.  strange that they should serve the same end, don’t you think?”

“not at all.  Klin has unique and priceless resources; all measures must be taken to protect them.”

“a work of galactic proportions,” the Patriarch continued as if Sentuel had not spoken.  “the one device perpetually powered by the burning of dry.  two decades’ worth of research, and another decade of construction by the wealthiest and most powerful people in the known universe.”

“it ended the war,” Sentuel noted.

“yes, yes.  you are correct,” Mason said, his voice lowering.  “no c-ray can penetrate the Ring from orbit, or from the surface, for that matter.  and we are safe.  isolated.  safe.”

“you still have not told me why you have requested my presence.”

“you oblige for political expediency,” Mason chortled.  “you need not be here; i know it, and you know it as well.”

“perhaps,” Sentual said without emotion.  “but i responded to your request in any case.  so, if it would not trouble the Patriarch, i would ask what business you have with me so that i might carry on with the many tasks i have at hand.”

“yes, yes,” the old man rasped, a fatalistic sense of humor ringing in his voice.  “i do not delude myself that i can change much now, though i am the son of the son of the most powerful ruler Klin has ever known.  and i do not expect much in the way of grace from a man such as you, an agent, an eternal child of the galaxy’s greatest corporation.”  he paused, fell into a fit of coughing.  after a moment, he resumed.  “i am searching for my son, my youngest son, to carry on my dream.  these other children of mine…fools, Sentuel.  ineffectual and ungrateful; a terrible combination.  each lined up for a throne devoid of nearly all but a sense of history.  i hope i will find him, my son, a man worthy of ruling Klin once again, a man worthy of the power our family once had, a man worthy of the miners.”

Sentuel squinted his eyes at the white-haired royalty.  dubiously, he said, “and you wish me to find this son?”

Mason broke into a crackling and broken laugh.  “no, no,” he said between hacks and spits.  “of course not.  you are Sentuel, a man of one name, a man of most critical importance in the StarEx organization, a warrior against dissent and a champion of compliance.  i would never expect you to accept such a menial task.”

“and yet there is something you do ask of me,” the younger man said, masking his irritation and stalling his impatience.

“yes, yes.  and i suppose that you only feel slightly more inclined to follow this order than the one you supposed.”

“and it is?” Sentuel encouraged.

expansively, the old Patriarch said, “show mercy, my young man of iron heart.  if i had the power to ask for more, i would, but that is not strength that i have.”

Sentuel stood abruptly.  “if that is all you have for me, Mason, i will be on my way.”

the old man seemed exhausted, as if a simple question had nearly drained him of what little life remained stored in his bones.  “yes, yes,” the old man wheezed.  faintly, he said, “have mercy.”

Sentuel’s rapid footsteps drowned out the Pariarch’s final words as the young StarEx officer exited the old man’s audience chamber.

*

having put an obviously childish display of aggression behind them, Cillian and Sorensen, remarkably mediated by Klin’s most recent immigrant, sat across a low, square table and faced one another.  Cillian reclined in his chair, rubbing his stubbled jaw with two fingers between puffs on his cigarette.  Sorensen leaned forward, lips pursed with intensity, hands folding and unfolding on the dark surface of the table.

Issac broke a long moment of silence.  “you’re going to have to fill me in here a little, fellas.  i’ll admit my memories of Ash are a little faint; it was a little, well, late in the night for me.  he seemed a little, i don’t know, shifty, you might say.  and Cillian, i know you weren’t a huge fan of the guy.  but i didn’t expect you to get punched in the face for talking to him.”

Cillian smiled insincerely.  “you wanna take this one, pal?”

“don’t call me ‘pal,’” Sorensen said humorlessly.  “it’s condescending.”

“ooo, it’s condescending,” Cillian mocked.

“shut up,” Issac commanded.  “don’t get all fussy on me again.  just one of you tell me the story behind this bastard.  or take turns telling it, i don’t care.”

“fine.  Sorensen, care to fill the kid in?”

Sorensen ignored Cillian’s still-haughty tone, slowly returning to his logical center, and turned to Issac.  “As you know,” he began, “Cillian and i are outworlders.  or at least, we were — we’ve been here so long, i suppose there’s not much of a difference now.  well, a difference to us, anyway, and to most people.  Ash is not one of those people.  he’s a native — a defector, actually, raised in the Ring.  it’s a pretty interesting story, actually, if you get a chance to hear it.”

“yeah, yeah, the stuff galactic dramas are made of, ain’t that right?” Cillian sneered.

Sorensen ignored him.  “in any case, he’s always been resentful of us, especially since our plant has outperformed his consistently for the last ten years.”

“he’s jealous?” Issac asked incredulously.

“put very briefly, yes.  there’s a lot at work here.”

“the time Sorensen was referencing–”

“you mean when you punched me?”

“yeah, that time,” Cillian sneered.  “anyway, we had a couple issues here at Gorshen.  we’d been runnin’ the drills for three straight days just tryin’ to make quota.  neither of us had slept in, i dunno, three days?”

“four,” Sorensen corrected.

“three or four days.  anyway, things were getting pretty grisly around here, but we were close to getting the quota shipment out.  well big guy over here” –he gestured to Sorensen “drove the goddam lead truck into the wall of the garage on its way to the Ring.”  Cillian started to laugh; Sorensen crossed his arms, scowled at his partner.  “the whole damn engine nearly fell out of the thing.”

“it was an old truck,” Sorensen grunted.

“it was an old truck that he drove into the wall,” Cillian said to Issac, his laughter growing.  “oh, you shoulda seen it, kid.  Sorensen over here’s raising all kinds of hell — language that would make the hardest miner blush, i tell ya.  if the truck wasn’t broken when Sorensen hit the wall, it sure as shit was once he was done with it.”

“it’s a great story and all,” Issac said impatiently, “but i’m assuming Ash is actually involved at some point.”

“calm down there, kid,” Cillian chuckled.  he wiped a tear from the corner of his left eye as his laughter simmered into a grin.  “yeah, so, Ash.  genius over here is still trying to get the shipment to the Ring on time, right?  so he calls up the one guy who don’t like us and asks him for a favor.”

“he was the only one with spare trucks,” Sorensen said coolly.  “i had no other choice.”

“sure, sure, it was all very logical, i know.  so anyway, Ash comes to the plant, picks up the dry, and ‘promises’ he’ll deliver it in our name.  well, he didn’t — he delivered it in his.  his plant made double quota and we got fucked.  Sorensen here looked like a real asshole after that all went down.”

Issac paused for a moment, turned to Sorensen.  “so you don’t want to work with him because he made you look stupid?”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, a smile touching the corner of his lips.  Sorensen said, “it wasn’t that he made me look foolish.  it’s that he stole from us and broke his word.”

“and that he made you look stupid,” Issac insisted.  Cillian laughed; Sorensen pursed his lips and said nothing.

“so, that still leaves us where we were,” Issac said.  “personally, the way you guys were acting, i thought the guy had killed your mother or something.  i say, let the past rest and let’s get something done.”

“Issac,” Sorensen said, “i know you’re anxious to get a ship so that you can go home.  and i want nothing else for you.  but we have to exercise all degrees of caution.”

“i understand that,” Issac said.  “but if Ash is right, this isn’t an opportunity that’s going to be around forever.  and if your story tells me anything, it’s that Ash takes advantage of whatever situation gets put in front of him.”

“the kid’s got a point,” Cillian said.  “if i can say one thing for Ash, he don’t miss much.  and he knows what he can get away with.”

“granted,” Sorensen said, “but how do you know the opportunity isn’t us?”

“bah,” Cillian said dismissively.  “ripping a day’s dry — which you gave him, let’s not forget — was petty low, sure, but that was between two miners, two plants.  this here, this is something else altogether.  Ash ain’t dumb enough to throw away the whole rebellion for a couple’a crates of guns.”

Sorensen paused again, frowned.  finally, he said, “well, this is getting us no where.”

“i say we let the kid decide,” Cillian said.

“Issac?” Sorensen balked.

“no, the other kid in the room.  yes, Issac.  i ain’t gonna convince you and you ain’t gonna convince me.  so let’s see who convinced him, and we’ll go with his decision.”

“fine,” Sorensen said.  “i’m not happy about it, but i agree that we are at an impasse.”

they turned to him.  “well?” Cillian asked.

Issac felt his cheeks get warm.  he looked back and forth between them, inhaled deeply.  “i don’t see what choice we have other than to trust him.  Cillian’s reasoning is sound: he would be a fool to throw away years of work to get a few more weapons for himself.  obviously, we’ll have to keep an eye on him.  but if we want to get anywhere, now’s the time.  if it’s up to me, i say we go.”

Sorensen turned to Cillian.  “that’s it, then,” Sorensen said with a mixture of reluctance and optimism.

*

a few hours later, group of eight men were about to enter the same tram that had brought Issac safely to dayside after the crash of the Lathan Devers.  they had arrived not long ago, and distributed, as agreed upon, the expected number of weapons to Ash.  he had placed the crates in his own groundcar, and it had occurred to Issac that on Dulvern — or any other world for that matter — such an exchange would have almost certainly taken place under the cover of darkness.  on dayside, though, there was no darkness.

“two groups of four,” Ash said.  “two of us and two of you each trip.”

“you pickin’ teams?” Cillian asked.

“if i must.”

“be my guest, sweetheart.”

the interactions thus far had not been without tension, Issac had noted, but he was as yet unsure how much was actual resentment between the two parties and how much was simply an expression of old habits.  remarkably, Sorensen had said relatively little to Ash, and Ash had in turn said almost nothing to Sorensen.  Cillian, on the other hand, despite his support of Ash’s plan in private, was not short on sarcasms and nicknames for the steely miner, who responded with little apparent recognition that he was being insulted.

“fine,” Ash said smoothly.  “Sorensen and Issac, go with Joyn and Lareth.  Cillian and i will follow with Tocts and Hepturm.”

“let’s go,” Sorensen said bluntly.  he slung his firearm over his back; it was a sleek, black weapon with a short stock and narrow barrel.  Issac continued to marvel at the primitiveness of the weapons: each gun had a long clip that extended from the barrel and held the ammunition.  because each clip could only hold perhaps a dozen or so “rounds,” as Sorensen called them, each man had to carry additional clips on his belt to replace the empty ones after they were spent.  Issac himself, leery of the larger and more dangerous looking weapons, had opted for a smaller handheld weapons that resembled a small c-ray blaster.  he had fired the weapon a few times in case he was required to use it in some unforeseeable situation.  the guns were deafeningly loud, and kicked like a Dulvernian plow-ox.  he felt marginally confident in his ability to wield the weapon, but still hoped he would not have to.

the four entered the tram and closed the door behind them.  the large gyroscopic transport dropped below ground-level and rolled, almost imperceptibly through the tunnel. Issac glanced at the faces of Ash’s men.  the first, Joyn, was a brute of a man, six inches taller than Issac and no doubt twice as strong.  the second man was also impressive, but not quite up to Joyn’s standard.  “i’m Lareth,” he said.

“i know,” Sorensen said, not making eye contact.  “Ash mentioned it.”

Lareth seemed confused.  “he told you both of our names.  how do you know which one is which?”

“i know him,” Sorensen said, tilting his head towards Joyn.  the man smiled, and Sorensen turned to make eye contact.  “you’re Regin Joyn.”

Joyn smiled.  “you’ve heard of me.”

Sorensen shrugged, trying to seem unimpressed.  “stories get around.  they say you killed your cousin when you suspected that he was going to turn you into StarEx.”

“Perek fell down a mine shaft,” Joyn said.

“i’m sure he did.”  the group passed the rest of the journey in silence, and it was not long before the tram slowed and stopped.  the door opened, and the four piled out into the subterranean cavern that housed the tram on its Ringside endpoint.  Sorensen told Lareth to search the area, and he did.  meanwhile, Sorensen strode to the tram’s external control panel and began striking keys.  his brow furrowed, and he frowned.  the panel made an unpleasant squawk.  Sorensen repeated a series of keystrokes, and again the panel made the sound.

“what’s the matter?” Issac asked.

“seems like there’s something wrong with the docking sensors.  the tram rolls over that little catch on the tracks, which triggers the clamps where it stops.”

“it didn’t work?”

“it did work.  that’s the weird thing.  we stopped just fine.  but now it won’t release the tram — it’s like it doesn’t think it has it.”

“anything you can do?” Issac asked.

“well,” Sorensen said, approaching the tracks.  “i can try to reset the catch and maybe reinitialize the clamps.  let’s see if that works.”

Sorensen crossed the platform to the tracks and lowered himself into them.  the tram traveled along a U-shaped groove, the middle of which was dugout even further straight down and at a ninety degree angle.  Sorensen dropped himself into the lower cutout and flipped open the top of the metal node that connected the two ends of the catch.  he faced away from the tram itself, and only the top half of his body was visible above the lip of the track.  “alright, i think i see the problem,” Sorensen called.  “go over to the panel and do exactly what i tell you.”  Issac complied, and followed a list of Sorensen’s instructions.  he proceeded slowly at first, but the controls were intuitive and slowly became more comfortable inputting commands.  after a certain string of commands, a little light on the panel changed from red to green.  the squawk sounded one more time, then was replaced by chirp that pulsed several times in rapid succession.

the next thing Issac was aware of was Joyn sprinting across the platform towards the track.  Sorensen’s head was down as he fiddled with the catch.  the pulse sounded several more times in rapid succession as Joyn approached Sorensen.

he’s going to kill him! Issac thought, panicking.  Sorensen was right!  we are betrayed! Issac screamed Sorensen’s name, but Joyn was already on him.  in a split second, the bulky man launched himself from the lip of the track towards Sorensen.  the pulse sounded a third time, but it was not silence that followed the pulse.   it was a high-pitched squeal that carried on for the split second that Joyn was in the air.  Joyn crashed into Sorensen and the two disappeared below the lip of the track.  a split second later, the clamps on the tram released and the tram exploded from its docking place and roared down the track.  in the blink of an eye, the tram had passed where Sorensen had stood just a moment before.

Issac screamed and rushed towards the track.  Lareth, hearing the commotion, and rushed back into the cavern, eyes wide with surprise and alarm.  before Issac could reach the track, though, first Joyn, and second later, Sorensen, stood from the cutout below the tram’s track.

Sorensen wore a bewildered look, glancing slowly from the ground, to his hands, and up to Joyn’s face.  “you just saved me life,” he breathed.

the large miner laughed, slapped Sorensen on the shoulder.  “let’s get out of here before that tram comes back for more!”

Issac fell into a sitting position on the ground, stunned by what he had just seen.