“I must congratulate you two on a job well done. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of six beings taking on a thousand and winning. And you two are to thank for that.”
General Skuar sat behind his desk, face split in a wide smile. He was not like any of the other military personnel I had met over the course of my life. While they were serious and stern, Skuar seemed to be more open and jovial. It was strange. I did not know much about military make up, but I always thought the commanders were tough old bastards who were best avoided. Skuar was tough and old, but he was no bastard nor did I feel the need to avoid him.
“Gem has already told me everything that happened, but I would like to hear it from you, personally. So, what happened on Byrea?” he asked, his long eyebrows twitching.
“Well, sir …”
Clint told him the chain of events that unfolded on Byrea, telling him everything he knew. He told him about the suits, about his taming of the Loardphuzi, and the massacre of the Swrun at the fens. He was respectful during the whole talk, saying sir and speaking deferentially. It puzzled me for a moment. I had never known Clint Stone to be alright with another being calling the shots or working under someone. Then I remembered he had been military on his planet, before the Swrun torched it. I guess it might have been comforting to him to be back in something that resembled, even in the slightest, the life he had before.
When Clint finished, I told Skuar about the attack on the gate and the mad dash through the woods. I left out the part where I surrendered to catch the Swrun off guard. I was sure that violated some military code of conduct. I just said they surrounded us. Juiwa did not say much and hopefully Gem hadn’t said anything.
We hadn’t spoken to him much since we left Byrea. He had been too preoccupied with his family on the carrier. Gem had taken Daek and Duanrel aboard the carrier to help him operate it, and Juiwa had stayed in Susan with us on the way back to Aldemere. It was a quiet trip.
“… and then we came back here,” I finished. Skuar looked on approvingly.
“You two really are something,” he said. “I’m glad you joined. Now, a few things before I send you on your way. I try to give my fighters time off after a mission when possible. I find it allows for proper recuperation. As such, you two will have the week until your next assignment. This will not be a normal thing, but I am trying to give as much rest as possible before we ramp up for war.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Clint and I echoed him. Skuar nodded and continued. “Am I correct in assuming you two have not had your tour yet?”
We nodded. “I will have someone guide you around the base and the city.” City? What city?
Skuar paused, noticing our surprised faces. He looked at us, his eyebrows drawn together. Suddenly his face broke into another broad smile. “You don’t know about the city? Oh, your tour should be interesting then. This is good. Gem tells me that you”, he looked at Clint, “have developed a suit that is capable of deflecting plasma fire. Take a sample to Tailor and he can get to work replicating it. That will give us a serious advantage over the Empire.”
“Yes, sir,” said Clint. “Who is Tailor?”
Skuar waved his hand. “He’s the one in charge of outfitting our fighters with uniforms and other clothing items. Speaking of which, you two need to get some uniforms. I’ll have your guide take you to him. There are several other things you need to know, but your guide can help you with those. If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.”
He waved us to the door. Clint saluted, the index finger of his flat right hand pressed to his forehead. I hurriedly copied him. We left, passing Noromak on the way. He looked tired, his eyes drooping and tentacles limp.
In the stone corridor outside of Skuar office, we saw a young Pthuni leaning against the way, absently spinning around a thin piece of wood in his hands. Perhaps six inches long and an inch wide, it was very thin, looking like anything more than a firm grip would snap it. He noticed us and his black eyes seemed to glow with recognition. He pushed himself off the wall, placing the piece of wood in his back pocket.
“You must be the new fighters,” he said. Now that he was closer, I could see he was not a boy, but a young man, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old. His thick black hair was cropped short on the sides, but left long in the back and the top. The top was braided in a strange pattern I had never seen before, an odd twisting spiral. At five feet, he was average for a Pthuni, who, by some weird genetic design, almost all reach five feet tall, no matter their gender. Both Cerberus and his daughter, Lady Night, were five feet tall as well. Once, they would have been at eye level. Now that I had grown through some mysterious reason, I had to turn my head down to see them up close.
“That’s us,” said Clint. The Pthuni put his hand out to shake. I gripped it and shook. His grip was firm. Clint shook as well. The Pthuni stepped back and studied us with interest. I could feel his gaze almost look through me, studying me. The kind of look from those wise in the way of the world, who can read you with a glance. But that was ridiculous. This boy was too young to have the kind of experience necessary for a look like that.
“My name is Books,” said the Pthuni. “I’ll be your guide around the base and New Carthun City.”
“What is this city we keep hearing about?” I asked. “I thought it was just the military base.”
Books looked at me, his head tilted just slightly to the side. He laughed. “What makes you think that? Not everyone in the Rebellion is a fighter, you know. In fact, most of us aren’t.” He waved his hands around, indicating the whole base. “What you see here is just a small portion of the Mountain. I’ll tell you more about the City after we finish with the base.”
He turned and walked away. Clint and I looked at each other, shrugged, and followed Books. He looked back over his shoulder and asked, not breaking a stride, “Now, Skuar said you were to visit the Tailor?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Clint said. “We’re also supposed to bring him a suit, so if you could take us to the hangar, we need to pick up one.”
Books turned down a corridor, his legs carrying him fast enough to keep him ahead of Clint, who took much larger strides than him. I watched but Books did not seem to take any more steps than Clint, less, maybe. But he was young and had a great deal of energy, so I shrugged it off, putting it up to the lights and fatigue. Ah, the energy of youth. “Sure thing, Mr. Warfist.”
“What did you call me?” Clint asked, his voice sounding mildly amused.
Books shrugged. “Warfist. It’s what the fighters call you. On account of your hand and all.”
Clint glanced down at his metal hand and said nothing. I was amused. I had my nickname, the jahen who fights and now Clint had his own, the Warfist. I thought it appropriate. Books turned down another corridor and I noticed the strange markings at the intersection again.
“How do you read those markings?” I asked the Pthuni. I thought it would be best to find out how to navigate the base without help. Books glanced up at the wall, then replied, “They’ll teach you those later. I’m just going to guide you around for today. Ahh, here we are.”
The hangar opened up before us, the ceiling nearly half a mile above our heads. The roughly circular entryway to the hangar sat high in the wall, almost a thousand feet in diameter. It was a well designed hangar, built to shelter the ships that docked here. There was enough room for several hundred ships of the floor, each inside of a marked off area. Susan sat near the back, next to a small white ship of Skilon design.
As we walked down the rows of ships, I could see several beings dressed in dark gray jumpsuits wandering among the ships, inspecting them, clipboards in hand. I asked Books about them.
“They’re the Repairers,” he said. “They look over the ships after every flight and make sure nothing is broken or needs repairing.”
As I watched, one of the beings, a short Merarch female, seemed to find a defect in one of the ships and whistled to another of the Repairers and they came running. Clint watched in interest as well, until they passed from sight. Susan was just ahead and as we approached, I could see Books staring at her, as if trying to commit every detail to memory.
“She’s beautiful,” he said. “But I don’t recognize the design. One of yours?”
Clint smiled, glad someone appreciated Susan as much as he did. “She was a Mentas personal craft, but I fixed her up a bit, gave her a new core and made a few adjustments.”
Books whistled slowly, looking over every inch of the ship. He walked around her, bending close to look at details and stepping back to get the full view. “You really put some work into her. Any chance of seeing the workings? She looks like there’s a few custom additions to the engine, but I can’t tell from outside.”
Clint looked very pleased to have found someone to whom he could talk ships and I would have let them talk all day if we had the time. But we did not have the time. I cleared my throat, breaking them out of their ever deepening conversation. “This is interesting, but we have places to be.”
Clint looked like a child whose favorite toy got taken, but he nodded glumly. Books started, realizing he was supposed to be doing a job. Clint lowered the ramp and we climbed aboard into the bay. I saw Books’ jaw drop and he stared at the projects in various stages of completion around the bay. “Did you make all of these yourself?” he asked, a hint of awe in his voice.
Clint smiled. “Yep.”
Books shook his head in awe. “You’re definitely going to be an Inventor.”
“Inventor? What do you mean?” I asked as I rummaged around in a bin, looking for a suit not too soiled with Swrun blood. Ah, here we go.
“You two really are new,” said Books. He held up his hands defensively when Clint and I looked at him. “I did not mean that as a bad thing. I just meant that I’m going to have a lot to tell you. As to the Inventors, that’s going to require a bit of explanation, so grab your stuff and we’ll be on our way.” We did so, and walked down the ramp, through the ship lot, and into the main tunnel.
Books was talking the whole way. “Because the Rebellion is a very complex organization and there are only so many personnel, each fighter has a ‘hobby’ during his downtime to keep the Rebellion running smoothly and to prevent the fighters from getting bored. Some cook, some build weapons, some train the recruits, others are the volunteer police force in the City. The Inventors build new stuff for the Rebellion to use. You’ll fit right in.”
That was interesting. And it made sense. The Rebellion couldn’t have all of their fighters out in the field at once, so they needed something for them to do. Advancing the resources and well being of the Rebellion was a good task for them.
“In this area here, is the medical wing. The physical and mental health of the fighters is dealt with here. The City had its own medical facilities.” We walked through the area where Clint and I had been examined for our physical evaluations. Mine was never finished and I hadn’t even started my mental eval. I wondered if I would ever get it done. We walked into the reception area and I saw the same Ioern behind the desk as the time we had been here.
“This is where you should come if you need any medical attention,” said Books. “They do a good job here. He waved at the Ioern, a grin on his face. She blushed and gave a little wave back. Some better than others, it seemed.
“Tedix! I hadn’t expected you back for a while.”
I turned at the mention of my name and I saw B’honnes standing in one of the doors leading inside the clinic. He held a clipboard in his hand and there was a j’Kuine behind him, who had clearly just come from an appointment. B’honnes said something to the j’Kuine, who nodded and left the waiting area, and hurried over to me.
“I have the results from your tests back.” He glanced around. “Perhaps it would be best if we spoke in private.”
There was only Clint and Books in the room, not counting the nurse at the desk. “I’m fine,” I said. Well, maybe not. I turned to Books. “Do you think you could give us a little privacy.”
“Sure thing, boss,” he said as he backed away, heading for the nurse. B’honnes sighed. “We ran every test we could think of that would tell us anything about why you are so impossibly big. We didn’t find anything.”
That took a moment to register. “What?” I asked, my voice surprisingly calm. I was freakishly tall and big, for a jahen, so big it was actually physically impossible, and B’honnes had just told me that they didn’t know why.
“There is nothing that we can detect that explains your growth. No drugs, no rare genetic syndromes, no nothing. We even checked for nanites, given your company. We found nothing. But there seem to be no side effects, so I don’t see the need to be worried.”
No need to be worried. Right, like I was worried that I was a genetic impossibility. “Will I keep getting bigger?” I asked, hoping the answer was not what I feared it was.
“We don’t know.” Crap. “But based on what we’ve seen so far, no, we don’t think you will. At least not taller. Your musculature can still get larger, that’s just basic science, but you seem to have leveled out.”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s good to hear.”
B’honnes glances at his wrist. “Well, I’ve got an appointment, but if you have any questions, I’ll be around for the next month or so until I head back to the field hospital.”
Books wandered back over as soon as he saw B’honnes leave. He clasped his hands together in front of himself. “Are you ready to continue the tour?”
I nodded, mind still processing what B’honnes had said to me. There was no reason behind it, no explanation, but I was a five foot, eight inch jahen who weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. In terms of size in my species, I was off the charts. I was so far off the charts I had broken through the ceiling and sailed off into space. But I felt fine. Whatever had done this to me did not seem to do anything else. I was grateful, in a way, because the increase of my size, and therefore strength, allowed me to fight at a much higher level than I would have been able to do before.
We passed through more winding passages and came to the area where we had gone for combat eval with Kra-ort. “This is where the recruits train and the fighters maintain their skill. In the area through there,” Books pointed at a wide tunnel, “are the barracks. When you are training or on duty, that is where you will sleep and spend your free time. When you are on leave or break, a house will be set aside for you in the City.”
“Enough about the base,” said Clint. “We’ll get to know it rather well in the future, I expect. Show us this damn City you keep talking about.”
Books looked resigned to the fact that he would not be able to finish our tour around the base. His voice did not show it, though. “Very well, if you would please follow me.”
He led us back to the main tunnel, passing several beings on the way. They were dressed in the blue uniforms of the Rebellion and they watched us as we walked by. They seemed to recognize us. It wouldn’t be very hard, we were fairly well known in the galaxy, with all of the exploits we’ve been through. Plus, Clint is one of the biggest beings they will ever see in their lives and I’m a freakishly large jahen.
Books kept walking down the main tunnel, deeper and deeper into the mountain. The floor had a slight slope to it, not enough to feel awkward while walking, but enough for water to run down without pooling. We walked for about twenty minutes, ever deeper into the mountain, Clint and Books having a detailed discussion about the improvements Clint had made to Susan.
A gust of wind blew up the tunnel from deep within the mountain. It carried with it the smell of … bread? I was not expecting that. I should have smelled rock, musty air, water too long underground, the things you expect from caves. But I smelled fresh bread, the grainy smell heaven to my nose, which had smelled metal and blood for far too long.
The tunnel ahead seemed to widen and I could not see the sides anymore. A faint light was glowing at the end of the tunnel, growing brighter as we drew closer. The ceiling disappeared over us and we stood on the edge of an enormous cavern, easily fifty times larger than the hangar above us. It was so wide I could not see the other side, even with the light coming from the ceiling. I could see massive pillars jutting up from the bottom and pushing against the roof, holding it in place.
As I looked up, I saw that the top of this gargantuan cavern was within fifty feet of the ledge we found ourselves standing on. It glowed with a bright yellow color, the color of the sun. This close, I could see that it was not the entire surface that glowed, but veins of a transparent material, running through the dark rock.
I looked down and saw that the floor of the cavern was over two thousand feet below us, reachable by a broad ramp that cut back and forth across the cliff face we were standing on. In the basin formed by the walls of the cavern, which was easily a dozen miles wide, there was a city. It was huge, formed of stone buildings that looked like they had been carved from the cavern itself. They spread across the floor as far as the eye could see and farther. Slender towers and sprawling complexes formed the structures, with streets cutting between them, lined so straight, they looked like they had been cut by a razor. I could hear the faint noise of millions of beings going about their daily lives below, the murmur of speech, the sounds of engines, machines running in the industrial sector.
I said the only thing that seemed appropriate. “Whoa.”
Books smiled, looking like a proud parent. “Welcome to New Carthun City.”
“Let’s go down,” said Clint. “I’d like to finish this tour and get some sleep.” Books looked mildly disappointed that Clint had not reacted to the sight of the miraculous city, but he lead us down.
The way down turned out to be a massive metal plate, easily fifty feet across, that traveled up and down the cliff face as a lift. The ramp was still functioning, but Books said that it was used for emergencies, when the lift was down. It took a full thirty minutes to walk up or down all of the ramps, and that was if you were feeling good. It took the lift seven minutes.
The farther down the cliff the lift went, the more detail I could see of the city. It was enormous, one of the biggest cities I had ever seen that wasn’t part of a city cluster. And it was in a mountain. The engineering required to create such a marvel had to be incredible. I could see how the city had been build around the pillars holding up the ceiling. There was a space around the base of each, filled with fountains and vegetation, which must have gotten its nourishment from the light emitted by the ceiling, and statues. They were parks, set into the bustling city, pockets of peace in a sea of chaos. Books gave us an audible tour as the lift lowered itself to the ground.
“If you can see, that gray area to the right is the industrial area. That’s where the guns, uniforms, and other equipment for the fighters are made and the various other items needed for non-combat work, like computers, transports, and machines. That’s where we’ll find the Tailor. This smaller part in the middle is the business sector. Everything that’s not industrial, you can find there. The markets, the banks, the thousand other little things you think you wouldn’t need but you do.
“And the Library.” Books smiled at this. “That’s my favorite place in the whole city. It’s not a grand building, but they had some books in there that you can’t find anywhere else in the galaxy.”
“How did you build this all in less than twenty years?” I asked. The Rebellion had only been around twenty years, since Skuar had refused to surrender to the Empire. They couldn’t have built any sooner than that. Books looked at me and laughed.
“The Rebellion didn’t build this, they just settled it for their purposes. It was built by some very old civilization, one that isn’t around anymore.”
The lift whirred as it travelled down the cliff face. It made much more sense that the city hadn’t been built by the Rebellion but rather had been repurposed to its needs. But that raised several more questions. Clint asked one of them.
“What civilization?”
“We don’t actually know, which is strange. Usually you’ll find some trace that can tell you who was here before, but here there isn’t anything. There are the statues in the parks, but they don’t give us much information. They are very detailed, but they are just statues of the rest of the races. There aren’t any statues of the race that built this place. We know they aren’t one of the known races, because the architecture and their language is completely different than any other race.”
“I thought you said there was no trace of them? Where did you find the language?” I asked. I realized the answer as soon as I asked the question.
“From the markings in the base,” Books said, the answer I had expected.
“You know a lot about a lot of things,” said Clint. “Ships, lost civilizations, what else? Where do you learn it all?”
“From the Library,” said Books. “I try to know everything I can about the galaxy. It makes it that much more interesting.”
The lift slid softly into the platform at the base of the cliff and we climbed off, passing several Cthyns and a Fnera. They looked like fighters and I assumed they were on their way back from break. Books lead us into the industrial sector, a faint haze filling the air above our heads. Books kept up a constant chatter about how many stars the Ersa system had, and when certain plants bloomed, and every other little tidbit under the sun. He also threw in facts about the city as we based by several large buildings.
“Those are the rifle factories. That one over there is where energy is generated for the city. See the wires coming from the top? Those carry enough energy to incinerate you in less time than it takes a Onegt to catch its prey.”
And he carried on, not letting Clint or I get in a word edgewise. I did not really mind. Some of the facts were actually interesting, and Books seemed excited to share them. A low, sprawling building came into view, constructed of the same rock and metal mixture as the rest of the buildings I had seen. Books said that no one had been able to quite figure out how it had been made, but he did know that it was an incredibly strong material, capable of withstanding great pressure and enormous force.
“This is Tailor’s,” said Books. The building lacked notable features, but there was an air about it that made it seem very remarkable. Books marched up to the large front door and swung it open. We followed him into a large room. It was a bare, empty room with a glass back wall. Through that wall, we could see a vast area covered in long lines of machines, running from one end of the cavernous room to the other. I could see the parts moving in a frantic rush to product the fabric that spilled out from the end, piling into large baskets that were then taken by several workers into another room through a door set in the far wall.
The noise was deafening. A deep whirring and thrumming filled the air, coming from the machines. The metallic clatter of cogs and springs could be heard, multiplied by hundreds of machines. Books smiled. He seemed to do that a lot. “Here comes Tailor,” he shouted, making himself heard over the racket.
Through a door set in the side of the waiting room we found ourselves in, walked a middle-aged kantim, his ears wrapped in a thick cloth material and graying fuzz on his feline face. He waved at us and motioned for us to follow. He led us through a short hallway into a small room, when compared to the room we had just seen, filled with tables and workstations. There were machines, much smaller than the ones out on the work floor, resting on the ground in between the tables and on top of them. Spools of cloth and material hung on a wall and the other three had a hundred different sheets of paper, each with thin lines of writing, noting what, I did not know.
The room was also considerably quieter than the waiting room. When Tailor shut the door, all sound was cut off from the outside. Considering the amount of noise, it was very impressive. It must have been something to do with the rock-metal walls. Tailor unwrapped his ears and left the length of cloth on the nearest table.
“Pardon the mess,” he said, his voice a soothing mix of rough and soft. “But I am on the verge of discovering the correct composition of a material that will allow for nearly a hundred percent retention of body heat, while being no thicker than your shirt there.” He pointed at Clint’s red shirt.
Tailor moved closer tilting his head slightly as he peered at Clint’s shirt. “That is a particularly nice shade of red. Very rich. Where did you get it?”
Clint chuckled, a low sound that did not convey humor. “The red is from the bloodstains. I only wear red shirts, otherwise the stains ruin them.”
“Oh.” Tailor’s eyes widened. But they did not seem shocked. “I must write that down,” he murmured under his breath, at a level we were not meant to hear.
Books cleared his throat, obviously hearing it as well. “Tailor, this is the being who made the suit that can deflect plasma.”
“Well,” Clint added, “it doesn’t deflect it so much as absorb it.”
Tailor’s eyes widened again, this time with surprise. “Wonderful! I’ve been searching for a material like that for a while. Give it here,” he said, stretching his arms out, finger grasping.
I handed the suit I had been carrying since the hangar, rubbing my arm. It hadn’t been heavy, but even the lightest weight will feel like a boulder when carried long enough. Tailor made a soft noise of excitement and laid the suit on a nearby table. He ran his hands over the material, feeling every inch of it. When he was finished with that, he carried the suit over to a large machine with a raised platform and a narrow tube looking down at the platform.
It was a microscope, but of a type I had never seen before. Tailor laid the suit down on the platform and peered through the eyepiece, muttering all the while. Clint ground his teeth at the delay. “Excuse-”
Books cut him off with a finger over his mouth. Clint seemed taken aback. No one touched Clint Stone without his consent, not those who wished to have unbroken bones, but this young Pthuni had acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t interrupt him. He works at his own pace.”
Clint stared at Books, but Books did not seem intimidated by the glare that had reduced stronger beings to submissive huddles. Clint sighed and turned his attention back to Tailor. I did as well. At the moment, he was sliding a strange looking instrument across the suit. It beeped.
“Wonderful. Truly wonderful,” said the kantim, rubbing his hands together. “You have managed to create a fully functional IPDM. I have been searching for this for years and I’ve never even come close.”
“IPDM?” I asked.
“Ionized Particle Dispersion Mesh,” said Books. “It’s a highly conductive material that was theorized to be able to disrupt plasma shots, rendering them inert. Anyone who possessed it would be impervious to plasma shots. Of course, no one could test it, because they couldn’t make it.”
“They aren’t fully impervious,” said Clint. “They can be oversaturated and fail.”
“Ah,” said Tailor, “but that is a far cry from a single shot killing you. I’ve made material that can withstand a few shots, but this could withstand hundreds before failure. This will revolutionize warfare. And we’ve got it.”
He sounded positively gleeful. I could see why. With suits of IPDM, the Rebellion could march straight into the Swrun and not be harmed. Only for a little while, but in combat, every second counts. Tailor waved his hand. “Now go about your business. I’ve got to figure out a way to mass produce this.”
He turned to the suit and seemed lost in a different world. I glanced at Books and he shrugged. “He does that,” Books explained. “Only focuses on a single thing at once, if his interest is piqued. We should probably get going. Wait, hold on.”
His belt chirped and Books pulled out his communicator. He put it to his ear.
“Yes. Okay. Understood, sir.”
He looked up. “Sorry to cut your break short, but something’s come up. We’re going back up top. Skuar wants to see you.”