Coop thanked Marle, the elderly woman who ran Moontop Towers, and went up the stairs as lightly as he could. A few creaked here and there, but they held. He kept the braided-rope lanyard around his wrist firmly for fear he’d loose hold of the brass key at its end. It was particularly small for his oversized hands.

He continued down the hallway as carefully as he had up the stairs.

It took several tries to get the little key into the lock, but eventually he managed it and pushed his way into the apartment. The door closed behind him with a clunk and he dropped the key to the kitchenette counter.

He noticed the bookshelf immediately. It was short, only three shelves and about a meter high, neatly joined from simple planks, and stained with a dark golden varnish. The shelves were packed with paperbacks: slim and thick, tattered and glossy, bright and monochrome.

There was a squeal and a thump from Lieutenant Azor’s bedroom and Coop was there in a moment. He had the door open and his claws out only to find Lieutenant Azor kneeling upon her bed SC-001 pistol drawn and pointed at him. In front of her, as though using his body as a shield, was Specialist Fosro. He held his scorpion holdout pointed at the floor.

Neither wore anything.

For several moments, Coop did nothing but force his HUD to recognize the two as allies. The markers on his area map representing them shifted slowly from red to yellow to green.

“Beg your pardon,” he said carefully, and closed the door with a tiny click.

Coop sat with his legs crossed in front of the bookshelf stuffed with paperbacks and perused the titles: The Radio Magician, Colosseum for Dinosaurs, The Guitarist. He recognized some of them as old favorites of Dr. Ark. He could almost see them, stacked haphazardly upon her desk.

He selected The Radio Magician, inserting his thick finger between the top of the book and the bottom of the shelf above it, tugging it gently from its spot. The book was tiny in his overlarge hands and he half feared he’d rip through it just opening it, but he managed to get to the first page, and began to read. It was a book of short stories and he was to the last page of the first story when Lieutenant Azor and Specialist Fosro emerged, fully clothed.

He sat facing the bookshelf, back to the room, and didn’t turn to look at them. Instead, he let his sensors pick out details. Both were overly warm, heart rate and breathing high. Specialist Fosro wore his holster and had his holdout secured. Lieutenant Azor was unarmed. They shifted awkwardly.

Lieutenant Azor said, “Coop…” at the same time Specialist Fosro said “Commander, this is my fault.

“No,” said Azor. “I…”

“I thought we should strategize, and…”

“They said you were on a flight and hadn’t come back…”

“Things just sort of progressed. It won’t…

“It won’t?”

Coop held up a hand without looking at them. He wanted to finish the story. The two fell silent and he focused on the words, letting the story play to its end. He closed the book and slid it to its spot, then stood and turned.

“Did you come up with anything?”

The two glanced at each other.

Coop waited, and when neither said anything, he reiterated. “You said you were strategizing. Did you come up with anything?”

Lieutenant Azor looked about to say something, but fell silent when Coop looked at her. He realized they were standing at attention and rolled his eyes behind his faceplate.

“Are you embarrassed about hooking up?”

“I wouldn’t call it hooking up,” Lieutenant Azor said.

“We were just…” Specialist Fosro cleared his throat.

Coop held up a hand and pitched his voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “We are incognito. We don’t stand on military formality because we are not military. I am not your commander. I am Uncle Coop. And though Uncle Coop cares about your wellbeing, Jessica, he knows it’s not his place to comment on who you have sex with or why. Even if we were in the military and I was your commander, It’s not my business. Understood?”

They nodded. Lieutenant Azor nearly saluted.

“Excellent. Now stop standing at attention. Has the strategy meeting started?”

Lieutenant Azor cleared her throat. “We hadn’t really gotten that far, C… Coop.”

“I could walk around the block a few times if you like,” Coop said.

Specialist Fosro cleared his throat uncomfortably. Lieutenant Azor blushed. Coop hadn’t meant to embarrass them. He was glad he could not sigh with exasperation.

“One of you start talking. What have you learned?”

Specialist Fosro spread his hands. “I’ve been assigned to temple security. Some in the hierarchy fear the UPSF will launch an attack. Which, considering we’re here…” he shrugged. “I’m the new guy, so it’s a trial period at this point. I’ll have to gain their trust to learn anything and I get the impression that takes a while around here.”

Lieutenant Azor cleared her throat gently. “I’m getting along with the others in the advocate corps. They’ve got a full set of UPSF law books. With my cover as prelaw, it makes sense I’d already be familiar with them. I have to say, it’s a good thing you didn’t put out the fire when you had your chance.”

“Wait, you’ve already had a chance to complete the mission?” said Specialist Fosro.

Coop turned his head so his faceplate with its sculpted skull looked at the young man full on. Coop could not remember if his real face had been intimidating when he’d still had it, but he knew most people found the faceplate of his power armor unsettling.

Special Fosro dropped his gaze quickly.

“I wasn’t judging, Commander. Um… Coop. But it would be nice to have this one done.”

“Like I was saying, it’s a good thing he didn’t,” said Lieutenant Azor with a touch of exasperation. “So far the Voice of Gaia doesn’t meet the criteria of enemy combatant. They’re not guerillas. They barely have a security force and almost no police force. Nothing that could be called a military. They might qualify as zealots, but I’m still collecting information. Either way, assassinating the Father now would be legally dubious.

“Shellback falls under the same criteria as every other human settlement on Gaia IV and enjoys the same protections. They are welcome to install monarchy, theocracy, democracy, anything they like so long as the UPSF charter is followed. I recommend you continue hold off on completing the mission until I’ve gathered more information.”

Coop nodded. “Very well.” He considered a couple beats, then said, “I think I’m going to take a walk. You kids have fun.” He returned to the little bookshelf, plucked The Radio Magician from it, made sure not to forget the little brass key, and left.

• • •

“What are you reading?”

Coop loathed that question, especially when he was obviously, actively reading. He supposed some thought it was friendly to take interest in what he was doing, but Coop thought it silly, at best, to interrupt his reading to ask what he was reading.

He straightened from his hunch, letting his sensors take in his surroundings. Tinker Street had been full and bustling all evening, so Coop had wandered, letting his visual display fill with its map of Shellback, until he found a quiet spot his HUD labeled Apex Park. He’d sat upon the curb at the edge of the park and read.

Coop looked at the page number to mark is spot, then held up the book to show the cover of The Radio Magician.

The Father was clad in a pair of loose, faded cotton pants and sleeveless shirt. Both were rough and well worn. He carried a long duffle slung over his right shoulder. He smiled gently.

“I’m not familiar with it,” he said. “I haven’t much time to read for pleasure these days. Mostly its government related memoranda.”

Coop grunted, trying not to show his irritation. He had questions for the Father and did not want to drive the man off. “What brings you out here so late?”

“Late? It’s quite nearly dawn.”

Coop hadn’t realized how much time had passed. He gave a mental tap at his HUD and sent a message to Lieutenant Azor, letting her know he was already out for the day.

“Then what brings you out so early?”

“I like to get a workout in before I head to the temple. Care to join me?”

Coop remembered the shelter on the balcony where he’d first met the Father. He had thought the man lived there. But it didn’t seem appropriate to ask. “What kind of workout?”

“Meditation, stretching, a jog around the park, then sparring if I can find a partner,” he hefted the bag at his shoulder. “Forms if I can’t.”

Coop stood from the bench. His joints crackled. His hips ached. But there was no headache. “I could be up for that.”

The Father gestured at the park. “There’s a spot I like, further in.”

Coop followed the Father, trying not to think about how easy it would be to put out the fire with the man’s back turned to him. It would be naught but a thought to push his claws from their sheathes and plunge them into the unprotected back. But Lieutenant Azor had told him it was wise to hold off.

Besides, Coop found that he didn’t want to.

Presently they came to a small copse of trees. The grass here was thick and dotted with little flowers. They sat, facing each other on the soft, dew-soaked grass.

“Are you practiced in meditation?” the Father asked.

“No.”

“Would you like me to guide you?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The Father’s voice was low and smooth and deep. “First, relax your jaw. Unclench it, and feel the tension built over a restless night drain from your head, through the sides of your neck, and into your chest. Imagine a block of ice on a summer’s day, set upon the lawn. How it slowly melts.”

Coop had no jaw to relax, but he did his best to let the Father’s voice lull him into relaxation, to imagine a melting block of ice.

Next, the Father showed him a series of increasingly more difficult stretches. Coop managed the first several, but soon he wasn’t limber enough to continue. His joints popped and cracked, loud enough the Father noticed. Even so, by the end, he felt remarkably loose.

The Father set a brisk pace as they jogged around the park. The smooth, concrete pathway wound about the perimeter of the well-maintained space. Coop feared the weight of his body would crack the concrete, so he jogged on the grass beside the concrete, knowing his heavy, thudding boots made divots in the turf. Even without lungs or a heart, he could feel the pumping rhythm of the run pushing his body.

“Any luck on finding Dr. Ark’s notes about the Cypress armor?”

The Father glanced at him. Sweat dampened his brow and he breathed deeply. “I’ve asked the librarian to look into it. He’s got a lot on his plate. But he assures me it’s at the top of his list.

“I don’t breathe, but I feel something working within. It makes me wonder what sort of circulation I have.”

“A curious question,” the Father agreed.

They completed the circuit thrice, returning to the curb where Coop had spent the night reading. On the eastern horizon, to the headside of the Gaia Beast, a pale band of dawn greyed the sky.

“It’s been some time since anyone would spar with me,” the Father said. “You up for it?”

Coop felt light and relaxed and the thought of a sparring match would have made him smile if he could. He contented himself with nodding.

The Father unzipped his long duffle and withdrew a pair of wooden practice swords. Each was a bundle of precisely measured lathes, smooth and rounded and bound by thin twine. There were two, and he hefted them, one in each hand. Then he looked at Coop’s lower left hand, where he gripped the sword of Dr. Ark in its wooden sheath.

“Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve been holding that sword. Did you think you’d be attacked in the park?”

Coop lifted his lower left fist to look at the sword. He hadn’t thought about it when he’d left the apartment, or when he’d sat reading, or when he’d jogged around the park. Carrying the sword was as natural to him as anything else he did. It was almost a part of him.

He gave a vague shrug.

“River Boro tells me you call it the sword of Dr. Ark.”

Coop hesitated, but he wanted answers from the Father. Perhaps the best way to get them would be to provide some of his own. He took several moments to compose his thoughts.

“The afflictions of Gaia IV are numerous and varied.”

“I’m aware. The stories are that Dr. Ark was turned into a vampire after being bitten by a Firetooth mosquito.”

Coop nodded. “Dr. Ark was killed by a lithomorphic beam.”

The Father’s eyebrows shot up. “How can you possibly know that?”

Coop shrugged. “I have very few memories from before I was cyberized. I think I might have worked for her. But this much I’m sure of. Because of the effects of her illness, Dr. Ark did not completely turn to stone. Instead, her blood turned to metal. The metal was forged into this blade.”

The Father twirled one of his wooden practice swords. “Why?”

• • •

Coop cobbled together a crude crucible from materials taken from the portable laboratory.

It’s not hard, you idiot.

He didn’t have any skill with engineering or forging, but the fragmented voice of Dr. Ark in his head pushed him on. It was her notes, or his memory of them, that guided his hands in building the crucible, the furnace, the anvil…

You can do this.

Dr. Ark’s skin flaked away, dropping to the floor of the lab and scattering on impact, fine sand whispering across the bumple-textured surface. He brushed it away with his hands, fumbling with this new, four-armed body. It was the deepest part of the muscles he wanted, and when he got to them, he ignited the furnace and stacked the metallic remains of Dr. Ark, bit by bit, into the crucible, watching them melt.

• • •

Coop shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I get the impression, that it’s what she’d have wanted.”

The Father furrowed his brow at Coop. “What do you mean?”

“Dr. Ark pioneered harvesting the beasts of Gaia IV. She figured since every living thing on this planet is trying to hunt and eat every other living thing, the humans should learn to live the same way. Crafting bones into tools isn’t too far from eating flesh for fuel. Or so she told me. I think she would have appreciated the coincidence of her remains being crafted into a tool.”

The Father snorted. Almost a laugh. “Care to spar, Mr. Coop?” he twirled one of the wooden practice swords again and held it out to Coop, handle first.

Coop took the practice blade. It was light in his hands, delicate almost. He didn’t spar with his fellow soldiers back at Excelsior. Military-rules martial arts was an encouraged pastime for UPSF personnel, but Coop’s physical advantages made him dangerous in that arena. That the Father was interested in sparing with him was a rare delight.

“I’ll thank you to keep your vampire sword sheathed.”

Coop nodded. “Of course.” He laid the blade in her wooden sheath upon the park bench and gave the practice sword a few experimental swings.

The Father, walked out into a wide, grassy area of the park.

Coop followed. “I’m kind of surprised at how quickly you accepted my explanation of the sword.”

The Father shrugged. “Is it true?”

Coop nodded.

“Then I accept your word. If you’re lying, it’s an exceptionally interesting one. If you’re mistaken, then someone else gave you that story, which is also interesting.”

Coop nodded again. It was basic information gathering.

The father hefted his practice blade in both hands and went through a quick series of movements. Coop suspected it was a rote practice and each movement had a title. He understood there was an advantage to practicing combat movements, building muscle memory, but didn’t find them useful for himself.

Coop took the moment to consider the man. The Father was not a looney, as General Ashpholt had said. He was calm and careful and possibly even kind. Further, based upon Coop’s reading of the constellations, the Great Gaia Beast was not headed for Vesper. So that was twice the General had been wrong about the Father, assuming he hadn’t lied outright.

But there were still the matters of whether the Father had a psychic link to the giant turtle, whether he was recruiting superpowered children, and whether he had contact with the city-slagging aliens.

The Father settled into a stance, left foot forward, knees bent, both hands on the handle of the sword. He held the wooden blade at a sharp angle before him and took a deep breath. Coop mimicked his stance, gripping the handle in both upper hands and clasping his lower hands behind his back.

The Father seemed content to wait.

Coop tried to let his body settle as the Father’s had, but his shoulders began to tense, his neck to stiffen, his knuckles to ache. He became aware of a blister on the heel of his left foot. The ever-present headache just at the base of his skull thrummed. Coop shifted and tried to focus, but the irritations built, a droning buzz he couldn’t ignore. Coop knew if he moved, he could focus on the attack and the irritations would fade to the background. But the Father simply stood, at the ready, still as a sheltered pool on a calm day.

It felt like a test.

Coop didn’t know why he cared whether he passed. He didn’t know this man, wasn’t beholden to him, and was assigned to kill him. And yet, even as the droning buzz of aches and pains encroached on his attention, he realized he did not want to be found lacking. He stretched his neck side to side and it cracked.

The Father took a breath and shifted to the side.

Coop reacted, expecting an attack, and swiped at the space he expected the Father to step into. But the Father just settled back on into his stance, as though he’d only been shifting.

Coop grunted in irritation. He decided on a different tactic.

“There are rumors about you,” Coop said. He took a step to the right, wondering if the Father would allow himself to be flanked. “Wild rumors.”

The Father shifted to follow. “Are there?”

Coop jabbed with the tip of the wooden sword. The Father stepped gracefully out of range.

“Rumors of the cult on the back of a giant turtle were all over Conway, even before the guerillas took over,” Coop said. “Folks claimed you were a madman driving a living warmachine, recruiting super powered child soldiers, even communicating telepathically with aliens.” He cut his sword down and to the right as the Father feinted a lunge, then had to dodge back awkwardly to avoid an attack aimed at his faceplate. The Father remained poised and at the ready.

Coop reset himself.

The Father smiled gently. “Wild rumors, indeed.”

The Father twirled his sword in a defensive pattern. It was careful, well-practiced, and predictable. Coop waited a beat, then another, the buzzing of his headache turning to a throb in time with his count of the pattern.

“Any truth to them?” Coop asked.

The Father breathed a laugh as he approached the end of the movement.

Coop lunged for his foe’s face and saw the Father’s eyes widen.

A frantic series of strokes and counterstrokes clacked across the empty, dawn-lit park. The Father regained his aplomb after only three exchanges of sword on sword and defended with practiced precision. Soon they came to a stop, still and silent, the Father breathing deeply.

Coop took a step back and waited.

“I suppose…” the Father said, then took a slow breath. “I suppose it depends. Some of it is flatly false. Some of it…” another breath. “Depends upon one’s perspective.”

Coop continued to wait. The Father took a step forward, then back, trying to bait Coop into attack.

Coop shrugged. “You don’t have to answer for other people’s wild assertions.”

“You’re not curious?”

“Of course I am. But I know how stories can get around. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

The Father gave him a speculative look for a moment, then attacked. It was a practiced set, but Coop didn’t know it, and the Father was fast, faster than Coop had seen thus far. Without his prompting, Coop’s HUD lit up, inflating his jumpack, prepping the nozzles on his underwrists, even pushing the tips of his claws just past the sheathes on his forearms. Coop took a hard mental grip on his HUD, preventing any counterstrike that would be lethal lethal. The concentration on his HUD cost him concentration on the fight and the Father’s practice blade smacked Coop smartly upon his brow, just to the left of the center most horn upon his forehead.

The Father blinked at him, breathing hard.

Coop stared back.

After several moments, the Father relaxed and took a few steps back. Coop tried to relax, but his mind and body were tense. It felt like he’d strained every muscle in his body at once.

The Father lowered his practice sword, turned, and strode back to the bench where he’d left his bag. After a few moments, Coop followed. The Father pulled a towel from the bag and wiped at his face.

“The Great Gaia Beast is not a warmachine, and no one drives her. Nor do we recruit children. It is true, however, that there are some among the refugees we’ve taken in who’ve displayed… powers. Some, most actually, quite young. And not just the psionics humans are prone to, but… Well, that’s not mine to tell. As for the aliens…”

The derisive way he said the word plucked at Coop’s doubt.

The Father dropped his towel back in the bag, followed it with the wooden practice sword, then held his hand out to Coop. Coop handed him the other practice sword.

“We all know that’s a lie.”

Coop fingers and toes went numb and every joint buzzed. “What?”

“The alien attack was a lie, Mr. Coop.” The Father’s expression turned curious. “Do you believe it in Conway? I thought you all lived far enough from the capitol to be free of most of the propaganda.”

• • •

Ground Zero, and everything withing a thirty kilometer radius, was still a glowing, irradiated furnace of a crater, anything solid vaporized or slagged into a puddle of molten glass. It wouldn’t cool entirely for years yet. For another fifteen kilometers, or so, the city was flattened to rubble and dust. Beyond that, building were knocked over, collapsed, destroyed, but still recognizable as what they’d once been.

Dr. Ark, clad in her power armor, sealed against radiation and equipped with a self-contained air supply, walked through the city streets on the outskirts of the Eos, looking for… anything.

• • •

“But Eos was slagged,” said Coop. “I saw it.”

“Did you?”

Coop nodded before he could realize his mistake. Eos had been slagged a hundred years ago. There was no way he’d seen it. Unless he was older than he remembered.

“A companion of Dr. Cypress Ark and a witness to the destruction of Eos. Seems you’ve been around a long time. What brings you here, Mr. Coop?”

“I…”

He was on the verge of confessing his assignment when the Father bent to zip up his bag and sling it over his shoulder.

“Never mind. I should know better than to ask prying questions. Thank you for the sparring match, Mr. Coop.”