In Due Time

It was a long drive back to the residence hall. Sangoku had quickly picked up Maro in his own transport after giving him a few minutes to say his goodbyes. Maro had little energy to protest or demand just to finish this day. To the commander’s credit, he made little attempt at small talk on the ride— perhaps as compensation for the celebration, or maybe because any catching up would bring to mind that it was his authorization that landed Maro here in the first place. Maro never decided if knowing this made it easier or worse.

Three others sat in the transport with them— a woman and two men. No one was particularly chatty. On the corner sat Sangoku. There was more silver at his temples than Maro remembered. He didn’t recognize the men, but after twelve turns he didn’t expect to. The people he had come to know were likely packed up and moved on. But the woman he’d recognized— Sikimi. She had an extra pin: a ring with a quarter taken out of it pinned beneath her five leaves. Sikimi only briefly glanced at him, as if confirming it was really him. Maro looked away first.

There was little ceremony as they barreled past the buildings and carried on towards the dusty landing pad that sat apart from the rest of the complex. Seated there was a rather large jet, about the size of a small warehouse. It was dark with an even finish, commanding respect. A ground crew lurched from rest with their arrival. Still no one talked, and Maro’s appreciation for the silence began to wane.

“So, out with it, then. What’s—”

“In due time.” Interrupted Sangoku. “In.”

He headed up the ramp without checking whether Maro followed. The plane’s interior smelled of recycled air disinfectant. Eight seats lined the hull in pairs with smooth fabric and plastic covering every surface. A narrow aisle led toward a sealed cockpit door. It was enough to appeal to more than just military users, but not by much.

“This is Sikimi Major Amapim, Netamit Captain Kumi, and Kuzan Captain Idiku,” Sangoku said, which was the only introduction Maro would get. Everyone inclined their their heads at him when their names came up, and Maro matched it. “They’ll be with us the whole way.”

“The whole way where?”

Sangoku settled into the seat closest to the cockpit across the aisle. “Sit down, Maro Lunsi. You’re shaking.”

Maro hadn’t noticed. He sat. Captain Kumi handed him a strap without comment and brought out a slate. The engines woke beneath them in stages—first a whine, then a bassy hum that rose in pitch before giving way to a far-quieter purr he felt more in his teeth than his ears. It had been twelve turns since he’d last felt a jet come alive around him like this, and his body remembered before his mind caught up. Like an elevator, the floor pushed into his feet. The engines tentatively revved as the plane lifted straight up off the pad.

Below, the residence hall shrank into a scatter of low gray roofs. The fields spread out into a quilt of green and brown, row upon row, the lookout towers reduced to brown squares breaking up the landscape. Somewhere down there Rodgio was probably telling the story already, embellishing the part about the beam. Maro watched until the farm was just a smudge of color against the dirt.

Clouds came up beneath them in loose white strands, thin enough at first that he could still make out the ground through them. He watched until there was no longer anything down there worth studying.

Across the aisle, Sangoku had closed his eyes. Sikimi sat two seats ahead of him, her slate balanced across one knee. The three-quarter ring pin caught the light whenever the plane banked. She no longer wore her characteristic long braid; her dark hair was shorter and pulled into a tight low bun. She held herself upright against the movement of the plane.

Her eyes met his. He looked away, at the cohort he was with. Sikimi was Pasana, he knew that from prior, but the others. Captain Kumi was a beefy man. Teze, probably, but that was the sort of thinking thinking Maro should have quit many turns ago. Idiku had lighter skin and pursed lips. There weren’t many his‘e with characteristic light skin. Urako, maybe.

The transport leveled out. A soft chime came from somewhere overhead, followed by a slight change in the engines. Everyone habitually unfastened their seatbelt. Idiku leaned into the aisle to retrieve something from a compartment beneath his seat. Sikimi put her slate away and stood up, grabbing hold of the overhead cable and walking to the plane’s aft.

“Are we going to talk now?”

“No.” Sangoku replied without opening his eyes.

“It’s not ‘due time?’”

“No.”

Maro let his head fall against his seat for a moment. He could make out the airship in the distance, getting closer with agonizing sluggishness. “When will it be time?”

Sangoku lifted his eyes, irritated. “When it is.”

Kumi tried to hide a smile. Maro folded his arms, which still quivered. His legs, too. He clenched his hands into fists until the shaking eased, then stared at his knuckles and tried, almost by reflex, to draw something inward. Not much; just enough to steady the muscles. One mastered oneself with Zari, and it wasn’t something that easily left. Yet over the past twelve turns he had grown incredibly weak. There was something there, at least, but distant. Thin. Whatever this was, they would expect him useful again.

“Since you’re anxious, I’ll tell you we have a task force.”

Maro turned his attention back to Sangoku, who had sat up and was now staring at him.

“It’s a joint force, all the usual, with authority from the Service and the Force. We’ll meet them at the ship, and then we’ve got some reps from the ISA.”

Everybody looked at Sikimi.

“Adjunct,” she said. Her voice had changed less than the rest of her.

“You’ll be with our group, then?” Maro asked.

“ISA has jurisdiction over part of the work,” interrupted Sangoku. “Amapim stays with us unless that part becomes relevant.”

Maro still couldn’t fathom what would prompt them to spend all this effort grabbing him.

“But yes, Major Amapim is mainly serving our working group. Orders from the Director.”

Maro looked toward Sikimi again. She seemed completely at ease, which bothered him. He wanted some sign that this was as strange for her as it was for him. The two of them under the same leadership, just as before. Like nothing changed. She just picked up her slate and returned to whatever she had been reading. Perhaps she had known she’d be here.

“And the others?”

“Captain Kumi is a fellow at the Si‘adad Harmonic Institute. He worked on field stability. And now he’s with us.”

Kumi didn’t strike Maro as a research-oriented man. Of course, Maro shouldn’t have been assuming anything, but he looked like a special ops soldier. He eyed Idiku.

“I’m a zariki too,” he volunteered. Kumi rolled his eyes. “The Pasana adopted me from the Urako about a cycle ago.”

So he was right. That was less satisfying than it should have been. “You must be very proud.”

“Very much, yes. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Maro nodded. Sikimi was trying to get comfortable in her seat while examining whatever it was she was working on. For the better part of an hour the airship had been a gray smear on the window. The jet crossed some threshold and it was simply here now. A hull they size of a city block, hanging in the air like a storm cloud. A sight to behold, quite especially after only rarely seeing any on the farm. Smaller craft moved around it as bees tending to their queen in deliberate little arcs. The upper hull disappeared above the windows as they drew closer. Panels drawing open revealed hangars passing slowly by. There were maintenance workers around planes resting on stenciled numbers stenciled numbers. Farther forward on the hull Maro saw the corner of the World Union’s seal. A pillar of leaves against a mountain range.

He looked away from that. Nobody was talking. The silence before had been withholding and a little smug. This Maro likened to a reverent awe. They were almost posing for photographs, their eyes on windows, hands on knees or caressing chins.

“Tell me how a repulsor fails, Maro.”

“Sir?”

“You learned enough at the academy. Tell me.”

Maro looked at Sangoku. The commander had the same face he held on the farm, broad and amused, but the amusement was fading. “Because… passive units burn out slowly, they— they get to a point where they can’t invert that much area so…” He racked his brain. “The wells can’t all go at once because of how they’re designed, but they will go, then it’s just physics that determines when the lifting force isn’t enough.”

“How many airships have fallen out of the sky since the Proclamation?”

“What?” It was an absurd question. “Only in testing—”

“None,” Sangoku agreed. “Five hundred and some turns.”

The airship was nearer now and he could see the gantries in one of the hangars. Men among them like seeds. He could feel a distinct lateral movement in the plane now. It felt like the airship was swallowing them.

“A little before dawn, a freighter loses every well she has in eleven seconds. She’s over a great plain, so at least when she does crash there’s not much cleanup to do,” Sangoku said. “Forty souls.”

Maro realized they hadn’t been looking at the ship, but at the waves of air that emanated from the cells along the underside of the ship as they had ever since they were turned on. They were all wary of the same thing and taking care not to betray that. So goes the performers, he thought. He was far less tolerant of this behavior after twelve turns with straight people.

“At this point I’m just a farmhand. You saw,” his voice came out smaller than he wanted. “Why me?”

“Do not think you have gotten weak. You were able to lift four tons like you were in a gym.”

“The Palaren can—”

“The Palaren asks for your service, Maro. That is the matter.”

The plane shuddered as it docked. The repulsors’ rattle faded into a whine as they disengaged and the engines shut down. The silence they brought was grander, dominated by the ship’s ambiance. A low growl that occasionally became a hum. Everybody clicked open their straps and stood up. The last to rise was Sangoku, holding on to the overhead cable and staring down Maro. For a moment his amusement was gone from his face and underneath was just a tired face with elements of fear.

The ramp came down and light poured in from the hangar. Distant echoes of chatter and clanking of equipment. A man in service dress waiting with a slate held to his chest. He stood, and his legs held. Strange as it was that two hours ago he was spent, and now the floor was steady under him and the shaking had simply left. He walked down the ramp after the others. The farm was dim in his thoughts was was the accident, or the fellows who would spend their days just the same without him. I know what to do now.