Патрик Томлинсон: Children of the Divide

Benson was sure she’d been joking. Well, ninety percent sure.

“How is ze?” he asked.

“Asleep,” Theresa answered. “Or that’s what ze wants us to think. Ze’s probably going to get on a link with Jian again.”

“Heh, little sneak.”

“I wonder where ze got that from.”

“I don’t know what you mean. The only thing I sneak these days is a beer or two.”

“Or three.” Theresa reached down and patted her husband on his slowly expanding belly.

“Whatever, I can still kick ass. For a little while at least. Then I need a nap.”

Strictly speaking, they weren’t supposed to let Benexx talk to Jian, because Jian wasn’t supposed to be talking to anybody . At least no one in Shambhala or onboard the Ark. The ballsy ass kid made one last smart play when Varr’s orbit brought it back into shuttle range ten days ago. Then again, he’d had almost a month of sitting around with his thumb up his ass to come up with it. Instead of burning for the Ark where he awaited certain arrest and court martial for his exploits, he’d parked his damaged shuttle in low Gaia orbit and suited up in one of the shuttle’s emergency, one-time use reentry suits.

Calling the coffin-sized ablative aerogel sled a “suit” was being generous. It had winglets just big enough to keep it aerodynamically stable and pointed head down, a parachute pack, minimal thruster capacity for orientation in vacuum, and that was about it. Jian’s jump was the first and only time someone had actually used one of the batshit contraptions since the days of Earth, and even then, the only people brave or suicidal enough to jump out of a perfectly good spacecraft wearing one had been military spec-war operators doing orbital combat insertions, and later civilian thrill-seekers with more money than sense.

But instead of landing in Shambhala, Jian had timed his drop to put him in Atlantis, where he made his way to the gates of G’tel and requested political asylum. A status Chief Kuul was only too happy to grant. Partly as a way to poke back at Shambhala for taking in the Bearer with No Name years before, but mostly because Jian was already being venerated by the population as the human who risked everything to defend Varr from defilement. He was a hero to them, while being a wanted criminal on the other side of the ocean.

As was so often the case, both sides were spot on. Who knew which version of the truth would win out in the end? The details would be left to diplomats and historians.

“Should we stop zer?” Theresa asked as she flopped down on the borrowed couch next to Benson.

“Nah, let zer think ze’s getting away with something. We have plausible deniability anyway.”

“That’s not what I meant, Bryan.” Benson made a “go on” gesture with his hand. “I mean, Benexx already had a crush on Jian. Now after he saved zer from those zealots, it’s approaching hero-worship levels.”

“We saved zer,” Benson corrected.

“Using intel he threw away his career to get. That’s going to take even a base of flirty infatuation through the stratosphere.”

“Wait, how do you know ze had a crush on him? They’ve been friends for years.”

Theresa stared at him with a pained expression. “Oh, honey, you’re so oblivious. How did you ever get laid before I came along?”

“I don’t know. It always just fell into my lap.”

The door chimed. The longtime lovers looked at each other with surprise.

“Are we expecting anyone?” Benson asked.

“At this hour?”

Benson got up, ignoring the twinge in his right knee. Usually, he’d just query the door’s security camera to see who’d come calling, but the looters had rather thoroughly smashed it on their way into the house and it hadn’t been replaced yet.

Theresa followed close behind, holding a sidearm discreetly behind her back. Benson had no idea where she kept the damned thing hidden, but it never seemed to be more than an arm’s reach away.

They stacked up by the door, Benson’s body providing cover for Theresa and her weapon. Probably overkill, but there had been sporadic fighting in the days after the riots, and times were still tense. It paid to be overly cautious.

Theresa tapped his shoulder, signaling she was in position and ready. Benson reached out and keyed the door, which swung inward to reveal…

“Chao!” Theresa said as she stepped out from behind her husband and hugged the Ark’s longtime captain. “You’re sweating like you’ve run a marathon.”

“Hello, Tess,” Chao Feng said coyly. “So good to see you. Gravity is a harsh mistress.”

“Well don’t just stand there. Come in, come in.”

“Chao,” Benson said, with considerably more surprise than his wife had shown. “What are you doing… ahem, I mean, what brings you to town?”

“I had to come down the beanstalk for some rah-rah powwow with Administrator Agrawal. Thank Gods that’s over.”

“OK, and now you’re in our house…”

“Ignore him, Chao. Can I get you anything? Tea? A beer?”

“No, thank you. I just ate, maybe too much. We don’t get a lot of native food upwell and I may have overindulged. I am exhausted, though. May I sit?”

“Been neglecting your full-gee conditioning, huh?” Benson said.

“I haven’t had a great deal of free time lately.”

“Yeah, I can appreciate that.”

Chao groaned as he sank into the living room sofa as if a dux’ah was sitting on his chest. “Listen, I’ll cut right to the quick. I haven’t talked to my son since the riots.”

“So call him?”

“I can’t. You know I can’t. I can only talk to him off the record. Way off.”

“And?” Benson said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“And I know Benexx is upstairs talking to him right now.”

“How the hell do you… Wait.” Benson pointed a finger at him. “You’re eavesdropping on our home network!”

“No,” Chao objected. “OK, yes. Obviously. But it’s off the books. All of Jian’s accounts and network permissions have been blacked out and he’s not supposed to be talking to anybody over here. But between him and your kid’s tinkering, they get around it. Ze’s a clever little shit. I’ve… turned a blind eye. I just want to talk to him. That’s the only reason I’m here. Please, Bryan, it’s my kid.”

“Where have I heard that before?”

Theresa elbowed him in the side. “Of course you can talk to Jian.” She held out a hand towards the stairs. “Right this way.”

Benson started to follow them upstairs, but Theresa put a hand on his chest and pointed for the living room. “Nope, you’re sitting this one out, big fella.”

“But it’s my house!”

“And you can have the whole bottom half of it to yourself for the next few minutes. Shoo.”

Benson flushed, but after almost two decades of marriage, knew how to pick his battles. He turned around on a heel and proceeded to flop down on the couch lengthwise. The movie selection Theresa had made for the night was still stuck on the summary. Some insufferable-looking mid twenty-first century rom-com.

Benson wrinkled his nose at the selection and instead flipped through his plant’s entertainment menu until he found something he wanted to watch. The Hunt for Red October . Now that sounded more like it.

He toggled the playback icon, but no sooner had Sean Connery’s beard come fully into frame, an emergency call broke through and replaced the title screen with that soft, pallid face of a young floater lieutenant hovering among the buzz and chaos of the Ark’s bridge.