Citadel: First Colony (23 page)

Billy said nothing and did nothing. He looked at the bend in the river and wondered how quickly the others could get here if someone shouted to them.

“Sans ...
Billy
,” Jack said, putting a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Don’t lose your nerve on us. This has to be done.”

Billy felt slimy with Jack’s hand on him. He stepped back. “Look, I don’t think this is a good idea, Jack. Somar’s not really that bad, ya know? I mean he’s a good guy.”

Jack’s expression changed. His face became twisted. His nose rose and crinkled at the bridge. “Martins!” he shouted over his right shoulder.

Ted Martins came scrambling down the bank, followed by five other members of Jack’s crew. In his hands, Martins carried one of the molecular disc guns that were supposed to be under lock and key back at Citadel. When he reached the bottom of the bank, he handed it to Jack.

Jack took it, sighted down the barrel, then looked up at Billy and shoved the gun into his hands. “I told you when it was time I’d give you the word and you’d kill the scrub. Well, it’s time Billy Sans. You can stand here, now, with the real people. Or you can stand with that ...
thing
. But if you pick Somar, you’re picking a firing squad, you got it?”

“Jack, look ... ”

“Take this and shoot that bastard when he comes out of the water!” Jack shouted, leaning in so close that bits of spittle hit Billy in the face. Against his own volition, Billy took the gun. He held it loosely in his hands, as if it might suddenly wriggle and strike at him.

He turned slowly to face the water. Somar had been under for some time. When he came back out, he would immediately see Jack and the others. And Billy. Holding a gun. The thought was suddenly repulsive to him. Billy let the gun fall to the ground and kicked it away.

He turned to face Jack. “I can’t let you do it.”

Jack screamed in rage and leapt at Billy, punching him square in the jaw. Billy fell hard to the ground, and the rest of Jack’s crew jumped him in an instant, kicking him hard.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the others—the team that had come to bring water back for the colony—as they came around the bend.
They’ll see Somar
, he thought absently as someone connected hard with his ribs. This, for some reason, seemed more terrible than the beating he was getting.

“Hold!” someone shouted. The kicking suddenly stopped, and Billy found himself sprawled on the rocky ground. Jagged stones cut their way into his side and his back. His hands were bleeding from a thousand scrapes and cuts, and his ribs felt like they might be broken to bits. He coughed, and the pain nearly made him pass out.

He looked up to see Somar standing waist deep in the water.

Jack leapt for the disc gun, which lay a few feet away. “No!” Billy cried, scrambling to get to it first. The others in Jack’s crew kicked him again, kept him down.

Before he knew it, Jack had the gun in hand and stood, raising it to point squarely at Somar. The alien did not move.

“You’ve had this comin’,” Jack said. He was grinning, and his eyes were wide. He looked ... insane. The only word for it was insanity.

Far worse than the beating, the cuts and scrapes, than any physical injury he’d suffered, Billy felt the sickening, gut-twisting guilt of having caused this. The man, Somar, had done nothing but try to lead them. He’d done nothing but help them survive. And Billy had sold him out, for no better reason than he’d thought the man was cold and rude and so very different. And now, it seemed, Billy would be the cause of Somar’s death.

And mine, too
, he realized. His betrayal of Jack would end with the gun being turned on Billy as well.

Somar made no move. He simply stood in the water, watching. What was he waiting for? Why didn’t he run, or at least dive into the deeper water at the center of the pool? Why didn’t he call for help, at the very least?

Jack raised the gun, casually took aim, and fired.

“No!” Billy cried. There were similar shouts from the team behind them as some raced forward. Billy watched as two discs hit Somar, one lopping off his left arm while another sliced through his chest and emerged on the other side, flying on. Somar staggered backward for a moment, then fell back into the water, disappearing into the pool.

Jack turned, aiming the gun at Billy, and the others, who had nearly reached the spot where Jack’s crew stood, stopped in their tracks. “Anyone who worked with him is our enemy,” Jack spat.

Billy was staring up at the slotted barrel of the gun. He was aware that any second now a molecular disruption disc would fire down the length of that barrel and slice his head in two.

He’d be dead, but at least, in the end, he had tried to stop the evil he’d started. This was his fault, and he deserved to die for Somar’s death. He deserved to die for betraying his Captain.

Jack settled the gun, preparing to pull the trigger, when one of Somar’s team shouted, “Look!”

All eyes turned to look back at the water. Somar rose, slowly. He staggered, naked, out of the pool. The stump of his left arm waggled and writhed as he moved forward. The hole in his chest closed, slowly. And before their eyes, a sprout formed on the stump of his left arm, budding into a bicep, a forearm, a wrist, a palm, five digits. As they watched, Somar’s arm grew back to what it had once been. The group, both his team and Jack’s crew, stared in a mix of shock and horror.

Jack screamed in what Billy thought might be a jumble of frustration, rage, and fear. He raised the disc gun once again, taking aim.

Billy wasted no time. He grabbed one of the sharp, jagged rocks that had only moments ago dug into the skin of his side. He quickly leaped to his feet, raised the stone, and drove it hard into the back of Jack’s neck.

In a convulsion, Jack pulled the trigger on the disc gun, but the aim was off. The disc sailed wildly, striking a tree across the bank of the river. The damaged trunk folded and the tree fell slowly into the river.

Jack stood, swaggering, for just a moment. And then he, too, fell. Like the tree, Jack tumbled forward with his face in the river. Dead.

The gun dropped to the ground, and Billy quickly scooped it up. He jumped away from Jack’s crew and held the gun on them. He was prepared to fire if they wouldn’t back down. He felt it within himself, where yesterday there had been no room for thoughts of murder. He was prepared to kill every one of them with whatever remained in the clip of the disc gun. There would be a few thousand shots in there, he knew. More than enough to slice these men into not much more than atoms.

“Hold, Mr. Sans,” Somar said. His voice was weak and quiet. He stepped forward and stood beside Billy, surveying Jack’s crew.

They were scared. All eyes drifted, inevitably, to their leader. Jack still lay face down in the river, and the slight current caused his head to bobble and bang into one of the medium-sized stones that broke the water’s surface, now coated in a scrim of blood. From here they looked to Billy, who had the gun trained on them. But their real fear, the unmasked and unhidden fear that dominated their gaze, was directed toward Somar. The Captain had proven himself to be far more alien than they had imagined. He was immortal, they must have thought. He couldn’t be killed. But he could and would kill them all.

“Your leader is dead,” Somar said. Some of the strength had returned to his voice. “What path will you now choose?”

They looked at each other, helpless to understand.

“Will you choose to join your leader, face down in the river, or will you join the community here? Will you die a pointless, useless death, or will you become one with your people? Do humans have to die to be at peace?”

It was shocking language, but it worked. The men who had only a moment ago been eager to see Somar die now bowed their heads, refusing to look at him. They suddenly found the ground to be the thing that drew their attention. They said nothing at all.

Billy lowered the gun, then handed it to Somar. “I was one of them,” he said simply.

“I know,” Somar said.

“You do? But ... ”

“They came knowing I would be vulnerable. You are the only one who knew where I would be and what would occupy me. You had planned to betray me.”

He said it plainly with no anger or malice. He wasn’t accusing Billy, he was naming his sin. And in naming it he seemed to be forgiving it.

“Captain Somar,” Billy said, feeling tears burn in his eyes, “I’ll take any punishment you feel I deserve.” As he said it, Billy knew he meant it. He was prepared even for death if that’s what the price of betrayal would be.

Somar suddenly raised the gun and aimed it at Billy’s throat. He locked eyes with him and said slowly, “Do you consent to die, Billy Sans?”

Billy swallowed. He blinked. He took a deep breath and said, without wavering, “Yes, Sir.”

“What path do you choose?” Somar asked.

Billy paused and thought for a moment.“The one I should have chosen in the first place,” he said. “I choose to be a part of the community.”

Somar stared him down, and then lowered the gun. He looked up at the team that had accompanied him to the river. He looked then at Jack’s crew. And finally his eyes rested on Billy. “Mr. Sans, please take charge of the water collection team at this time. These new recruits are no doubt eager to help bring water to the people of Citadel.”

There was a shocked moment of silence as everyone looked at each other, wondering what to make of this. “Sir,” Billy said, “We’ll get right to work.” He motioned for Jack’s crew, now part of Somar’s team, to join the others. As they did so he glanced over to see Jack’s body still lying on the bank of the river. “Captain Somar, should we bury Jack?”

“No,” Somar said.

There was a moment of quiet outrage among his crew. He was, after all, someone they had followed and respected. “But Captain ... ” Billy started.

“I will take care of his burial myself,” Somar said. “He was a man fighting for his beliefs, and he will be honored as such.”

The quiet of the group now turned to astonishment, even reverence. And as Billy led them back upstream to where the water containers would be filled, he heard the starts of whispered conversations. Could it be, they all asked, that Somar could be so forgiving? Could he really respect life so much, that even his enemies deserved an honorable burial?

Billy knew that was exactly how it was. And once the team was back at the task of gathering water, now with new recruits to help, he made his way back to Somar. Silently he joined the Captain in digging a grave high on the embankment. Somar was dressed in his uniform once again, and was silent as he worked. Billy didn’t interrupt. He merely helped dig, and when it was time, he helped place Jack’s body in the grave and covered it with dirt. When it was done, Somar took a knife from its scabbard on his side and sliced into the flesh of his hand, letting his blood fall on the grave of his enemy.

Billy, who knew he would not heal as quickly or easily as Somar would, took the knife and did the same, before Somar could stop him or object. And there, over a grave on the bank of a river on an alien world, human and Esool blood mingled and soaked into the soil.

––––––––

M
itch
tightened the final bolt
as Alan put their tools and gear into stowage in the cargo bay of the shuttle. It had taken longer than he would have liked, but the repairs had gone surprisingly well. In fact, with the parts they’d scavenged at the crash site they’d actually managed to make the shuttle space-worthy again. The environmental systems had been easy to replace with parts from the colony module, and the thrusters and propulsion systems had been a cinch to patch up and repair now that they had the parts they needed. They had stayed to take a risk on fixing the shuttle, just to get it to a point where it could fly reliably. Now it was fully repaired. The risk had paid off bigger than they’d hoped.

And yet, Mitch felt uneasy.

It had started as a general sort of anxiety. He and Alan had worked tirelessly at removing and repairing the components they had needed. They had a singular goal—fix the shuttle and get the colonists back to Citadel. But as they had worked, in relative silence, Mitch began to feel as if they were not alone among the wreckage. It was beyond paranoid, and maybe even a little cliché, to think that someone—or some
thing
—might be watching them. He’d seen enough horror vids to know that he was being paranoid. Still ...

There were the malfunctions. The external data and power port, for example, had been a particular problem. He had fixed it by replacing the port all together with a spare from the module. But a few minutes later, as he was working on one of the atmospheric stabilizers, he heard a sizzle and pop, and smelled the unmistakable aroma of electrical burning. Within minutes, he’d tracked it to its source and found to his frustration that the external port was burned out again.

Shortly after that, one of the relays for the navigation system blew. He and Alan heard the pop from where they were working on the other side of the shuttle. It sounded like a gunshot. They ran to it and found it smoldering and arcing. It took half an hour to replace it with one from the module.

And it wasn’t just the shuttle. Several times they had been forced to suddenly put out an electrical fire in the crashed remains of the module. The power cells for the module were dwindling, but they still had enough charge to cause damage. The fires had been a threat to the two of them and the shuttle, and had had to be put out, but Mitch was frustrated by the delays they caused. What was it about this place, this area that caused electrical anomalies like this?

The real question, however, was voiced by Alan as they put the finishing touches on the shuttle repairs. “Are we being watched?”

Mitch had just stepped away from where he’d been working, and he looked quickly up at the young man. There was no trace of fear or worry on his face, and his voice had been even-toned and matter-of-fact. He wasn’t asking out of fear. It was more like ... curiosity.

“I don’t know,” Mitch said.