Action Figures - Issue Seven: The Black End War Read online

  “Oh, and contact the Council of Generals, please. They need to meet with the new cadet.”

  “Yes, commander,” jumpsuit guy says. “It will take some time to assemble them.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  She gestures for me to follow. Jeez, that’s all I’m doing today. She might as well put me on a leash.

  We go down in an elevator (okay, something familiar, that’s good) and step out into a massive concourse teeming with activity. I can’t even begin to process how many different life forms are here. Several of them wear Vanguard jumpsuits, a few wear formal Vanguard uniforms, but most are dressed in what I’ll call normal clothing.

  Yow, except for that thing. He’s walking around free and easy.

  (Please tell me that’s not his junk.)

  The uniformed beings acknowledge Commander Do as she passes with salutes and gestures and respectful hellos. I get nothing, not even a curious glance or a horrified gawk.

  I quickly lose track of where we are as we travel down hallways and more elevators and more hallways, eventually winding up in a high-ceilinged room with no windows, but the entire ceiling glows with soft, warm light that makes it feel like an outdoor space. There are enclosed stations of varying sizes and configurations lined up against the wall and set up in rows on the floor. Commander Do gestures toward one station, a tall cylinder made of...oh, I don’t know what anything around here is made of so I’ll just say glass.

  “This should be compatible with your visual and auditory needs,” Commander Do says. “It’s voice-activated. Ask whatever questions you will. The archives are quite comprehensive.”

  I step inside. The cylinder closes around me, and for a moment, I’m immersed in total darkness.

  “Umm...hello?” I say. Nothing. Logging in must not be a thing here. Hm. Okay, Commander Do wanted to prove that the Vanguard was fighting for a righteous cause, so let’s start there. “I’d like to search for the history of the Vanguard?”

  The cylinder comes to life with a soft hum. The show begins. Images flash in front of me, rapid-fire, like a strobe light, accompanied by a high-pitched buzz. It’s an all-out assault on my eyes and ears and mind as information floods into me, too fast for me to consciously process any of it. As abruptly as it began, it ends, and the cylinder darkens again, and that’s when my head spins violently and my stomach seizes up.

  “Let me out,” I say. “Let me out!”

  The cylinder opens. I fall out, crashing to my hands and knees. I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast and that feels like forever ago, so all I do is dry heave for several minutes. It’s embarrassing, but at least I’m not ruining their carpet.

  Commander Do kneels next to me and lays a hand on my back. “Will you be all right?”

  “Yeah. Give me a minute,” I pant. “What was that?”

  “A hyper-compressed data stream. You adapted so quickly to the translator matrices, I thought you’d be able to handle an immersion learning chamber. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You’re learning too.”

  She smiles and helps me to my feet. Once the lightheadedness passes, I feel surprisingly good — and quite educated about the history of the Vanguard. Ignore the crippling nausea and hyper-compressed data stream learning is pretty cool.

  The Vanguard has been in existence almost as long as the Kyros Alliance itself. They were assembled to act as peacekeepers and protectors, acting only in defense of member worlds against threats from outside the Alliance. They don’t get involved with internal disputes, and they don’t serve political interests. They demand certain things of their members, particularly when it comes to sharing technological advances with other member worlds and restricting the use of other technologies, but for the most part, the Alliance is pretty hands-off. Their primary duty is to deal with large-scale problems.

  Which brings us to the Black End. Story time.

  The Black End began innocently enough. The Kyros Alliance has always been dedicated to bringing disparate worlds together, but a small group of well-intentioned activists calling itself the One Light felt the Alliance wasn’t pursuing this mission as aggressively as it could. The founders of the One Light, who hailed from member and nonmember worlds alike, urged the Alliance to leverage its military might (meaning the Vanguard) to keep member worlds in-line and pressure nonmember worlds into joining up. The Alliance rejected the idea out of hand, preferring to stick to diplomatic avenues.

  (Good for them.)

  Frustrations within the One Light grew, which led to dissent among its members, which led to internal conflict, which ultimately led to a violent coup d’état. Some founders escaped the revolt, scattered throughout the galaxy, and to this day they remain in hiding, but most of them were slaughtered and replaced by individuals who weren’t big on the whole One Happy Universe concept. This new regime attracted criminals, dissidents, and radicals — people with an axe to grind and no regard for who might get hurt in the process. The newly dubbed Black End took advantage of that and started making some noise through a loose-knit network of operatives.

  They weren’t capable of causing any serious harm at first due to their small numbers, relative disorganization, and lack of resources, so the Kyros Alliance wrote them off as a petty nuisance. That decision came back to bite them in the butt pretty quickly. With local planetary governments paying little attention to the Black End and the Alliance ignoring them entirely, they were free to expand their reach unchecked. The Black End sought out like-minded individuals — people eager to vent their anger over whatever real or imagined sins their homeworlds or the Alliance had committed against them. Their numbers grew rapidly, and the Black End became a veritable army right under everyone’s noses (or comparable smell-based sensory organ, as the case may be).

  When they were ready, the Black End set out to bolster their resources. They launched a series of raids on civilized worlds outside Alliance space, knowing the Alliance would symbolically shrug and say sorry, people, not our problem. They soon amassed an arsenal of weapons and a fleet of starships, mostly freighters and exploration vessels, many of which were converted over time into serviceable warships. Others served as innocuous-looking transportation so they could slip into Alliance space without drawing undue attention and work on building up the local network.

  Recently, they started turning up the heat, big time. Several months ago (however long the Alliance considers a month, I have no idea), the Black End began establishing presences on worlds that were within Alliance space but, for whatever reason, not part of the Alliance proper. Those worlds were given an ultimatum: join the cause or else. Those that did, whether out of sympathy for the cause or fear of the repercussions for refusing, became safe harbors for what could only be called terrorist cells.

  The first world to refuse the Black End, Ohkny, paid a heavy price. The death toll was estimated to be in the hundreds of thousands.

  That’s when the Alliance finally got off its collective backside and started treating the Black End as a serious threat. The Vanguard went on the hunt, sniffing out Black End hideouts and taking out cells. Several worlds that had been holding out on joining the Alliance caved and petitioned for membership while others distanced themselves further, fearful that any signs of collaboration would bring the Black End down on them like the wrath of God. The Vanguard established outposts on member worlds with potential strategic value and put nonmember worlds under constant surveillance.

  With this sudden expansion came a thinning of Alliance resources, which demanded an aggressive recruitment drive. About a third of the Vanguard’s current membership is composed of new cadets who have only a few weeks, maybe only a few days of basic training under their belts. Talk about getting thrown into the deep end.

  Now, this is not to say the Vanguard is squeaky-clean. There are blemishes on its record, but I can’t say I’m surprised. The Vanguard’s history is measured in centuries (by my best guess), so it stands to reason there’d be a black mark
or two — and to the Vanguard’s credit, the majority of those missteps occurred early in the Alliance’s history. For the most part, they are unquestionably the good guys.

  But it’s not enough. I need to know just how bad the alleged bad guys are.

  “What are you doing?” Commander Do says.

  I step back into the chamber. “I have some more homework to do.”

  ***

  The second go-round wasn’t any easier. My stomach muscles hurt from trying so hard to barf up nothing, and now I have a pounding headache to go along with it.

  I am, however, feeling extremely well informed about the Kyros Alliance, the Vanguard, and the Black End. If I’m going to look like an idiot in front of the Council of Generals, it won’t be because I haven’t done my research. More likely, Commander Do warns me, I’ll make a bad first impression simply by showing my human face. I’m among extraterrestrial races that mastered interplanetary travel around the same time the human race was figuring out how to cross the Atlantic.

  “You must understand, CarrieHauser —”

  “It’s two names, commander. Carrie. Hauser.”

  She nods. “You must understand, Carrie, there is normally a process for determining who is worthy of wielding the astrarma. Candidates are recommended by their homeworlds after going through a rigorous initial screening, and then the Vanguard vets the candidates thoroughly before welcoming them into our ranks. You’ll have to convince the council you’ve earned the right to wield the astrarma.”

  “That’s going to be a hard sell, considering it’s dumb luck I have them at all,” I say.

  Commander Do laughs. “Is that what you believe? That dumb luck brought you the astrarma?”

  “Commander, I’ve made the mistake of thinking I’m something special before. I try to be realistic about who I am. When it comes to how I got my powers, I was in the right place at the right time and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Carrie,” she says, smiling at me like I’m a child who just said something totally silly but absolutely adorable and aren’t I the cutest thing? “The universe is unimaginably vast, perhaps infinite. In this galaxy alone there are more than three hundred billion stars and one hundred billion planets, and only the tiniest fraction of those are home to intelligent life. Lieutenant Yx teleported blindly, in a moment of desperation. The chances of him warping into deep space, light years away from anywhere, were incalculably greater than the chances of him warping to your world and landing where you happened to be at that very moment.”

  When she puts it that way? Mind. Blown.

  “I don’t believe in random chance. I don’t believe every moment of our lives is written in the stars and free will is an illusion, but I do believe that everything that happens in life does so for a reason.” Her expression turns serious. “You, Carrie Hauser, were brought to us for a reason.”

  I’m flattered. Honestly, I am, “But that won’t be enough to convince the council to keep me around, will it?”

  “Oh, no. Belief rarely plays a role in council deliberations. They prefer facts to faith.”

  Commander Do takes me to the roof of the archives building. We take off from there and fly toward Vanguard Command for our big meeting.

  Vanguard Command resembles a domed sports stadium with a tall, narrow lighthouse attached to it, the top of which is a small landing pad for Vanguardians. We take an elevator down into the main building and step out into a foyer manned by two beings in what I’ve come to regard as civilian uniforms. One of them is an honest-to-God cyborg. Mechanical components replace half his face, including one eye, and his left arm from the elbow down, but everything is sleek and streamlined. It’s obviously not his real arm, but it’s nowhere near as fakey-looking as the prosthetics I’ve seen on fellow humans. The other guy leans against a metallic staff ending in a blue sphere that emits a glowing mist.

  They stand a little straighter as Commander Do approaches them. “Commander,” the cyborg says. “The council is convening now. They’re expecting you.”

  “Thank you,” she says as we walk past them. “The generals are likely to question you at length, and they won’t be kind about it,” she warns.

  “Guess I can’t blame them,” I say. “With the Black End making such an aggressive push into Alliance space, they can’t afford any dead weight on the team.”

  Commander Do nods approvingly. “Your insight will serve you well. Display your knowledge and give them your respect and we might yet convince them of your value.”

  “Show what I know and keep the attitude in check. Got it,” I say, which gets a laugh.

  “I didn’t say anything about checking your attitude. You have a fire in you, Carrie. Let them see it.”

  This may be the first time in my life someone has ever encouraged me to be mouthy.

  We end up in a small, circular room, staffed by two more guards and oh my God what is that?!

  “Hello, Commander,” says the thing scuttling along the wall like some giant freaky spider thing. Imagine a snail with a swirling, multicolored shell the size of a basketball, disturbingly human eyes at the end of its eyestalks, six spindly crab legs, and a segmented scorpion tail ending in a double stinger. I can’t help but slide behind Commander Do, placing her between me and —

  “Oh, hello, Jozh,” Commander Do says.

  “Welcome back,” the thing says. It cranes its head to get a better look at me. “Is this her?”

  “This is Carrie Hauser of Earth. Carrie, this is Jozh.”

  “Josh?” I repeat in a terrified squeak. The thing’s name is Josh.

  “Hello, Carrie,” Jozh says, pleasantly enough. “Your presence has caused quite the stir.”

  “Oh,” I say. I can’t keep my voice from cracking.

  “You’d do well to get used to the Cestrans,” Commander Do says to me in a whisper. “They’re vital members of the Vanguard. They possess eidetic memories and perfect recall — qualities that make them ideally suited for their role as our living archivists.”

  “Is he — it — he going to be at our meeting?”

  “He is.”

  Great. Intense scrutiny and harsh judgment I can handle, but a freaky snail-crab-scorpion thing hanging out on the wall? That is a big ol’ bucket of nope right there.

  A door slides open. The Vanguardian that steps out has a wizened look about his broad, distinctly froglike face. “Commander,” he says. “We’re ready for you.”

  “Thank you, General Tis,” Commander Do says.

  I follow the commander into a dark, round chamber. I suppress a shudder as I hear Jozh skitter in behind me. He circles around to take a position on the wall where he can see everyone. Commander Do and I move to the center of the room and stand before a semicircular table, at which sit five beings in Vanguard uniforms. General Tis sits, making it six alien faces staring at me in curiosity, doubt, contempt...

  “Are you ready to proceed, Jozh?” General Tis asks.

  “I am, general.”

  General Tis grunts in my general direction and says, “So. This is the fargirl.”

  Fargirl? Why do I feel like that’s meant to be insulting?

  “Generals, this is Carrie Hauser of Earth,” Commander Do says, putting on her best game face. “Her world is located in a solar system in the Lehzutan Arm of the galaxy.”

  “Have we charted out that far?” one of the generals asks, posing the question to anyone who might be able to answer.

  “No, General Ezenti, we haven’t,” Jozh says. “That entire arm of the galaxy has been rough-mapped but there have been no extensive surveys of that arm or any system therein.”

  “Then how, exactly, did our astrarma come into the possession of a heretofore unknown alien species?” General Ezenti, a feminine humanoid with skin the color of charcoal, gives me a once-over, her iridescent green eyes narrowed to thin, glowing slits. “Is she even capable of speech?”

  “She is perfectly capable of speech, General Ezenti, thank you for asking,” I s
ay. General Ezenti harrumphs, thoroughly unimpressed. It can talk. Big whoop.

  “I’d prefer to hear from Commander Do,” General Tis says, “in the interest of having an official account.”

  “As would I,” says a general who appears to be the same snakelike species as Lt. Commander Fast.

  “Of course, General Rist,” Commander Do says, launching into the epic tale of How Carrie Got Her Astrarma. I stand there quietly as Commander Do tells the council how Vanguardian-turned-Black End hitman Galt (the mere mention of his name causes the generals to spit and curse) ambushed Lt. Yx, intending to rip his astrarma from his dead body. Yx, mortally wounded and desperate to escape, warped away and wound up in Earth’s gravity well. He fell to Earth, where “a native girl” found him. Yx passed his astrarma on to the girl, who used their power to fight evil on her own world.

  However, unbeknownst to Carrie Hauser of Earth, the astrarma are linked on a cosmic level, and every time she used her powers, she caught Galt’s attention. He methodically tracked Yx’s (former) astrarma to her world and parked his strike force’s ship, the Nightwind, at the edge of her hometown to wait for the Earth girl to show herself. When she did, Galt attacked. And then the Earth girl kicked Galt’s ass.

  Okay, maybe Commander Do’s story paints a slightly more favorable portrait of me, but I’m not about to correct her. She’s selling me to the council, and I have every intention of letting her. Problem is, the council isn’t buying.

  “One minute, commander,” says a general by the name of Ahm Ahm Re Da, who, no kidding, could pass as Cher’s twin sister (if Cher had vivid pink skin, that is). “You expect us to believe that this fargirl, who had no access to Vanguard training, developed sufficient skill with the astrarma to best Galt in combat?”

  “You’ll soon see for yourself, general,” Commander Do says.

  “Galt has been incapacitated and is as we speak imprisoned aboard the Nightwind — which, I would like to note, is currently disabled and stranded on Carrie’s homeworld.”