Bones of the Exile

The exile’s footprints line miles of tundra. His mech suit beeps, and a low battery alert pops up on his HUD. When his suit dies, so will he.

The pistons strengthening his knees release steam as he finishes another lit file. This one about a vampire queen and a were-donkey. Their love causes a war that annihilates both their clans. He reads it for the spicy stuff. He’s never had sex, or been in love. He doesn’t even understand the words. Still, something softens the knot within him when he reads a good romance.

*Ping*

He dismisses the cache of lit files and notices a new alert on his HUD. There’s something on the ridge up ahead, anything with four walls and a roof would be nice. He doesn’t run, a slow pace will give him the best chance. There’s an outpost, no other buildings. Maybe it will be warm.

He laughs at the optimism.

His HUD display flickers as the suit shifts into power saving mode. Heavy thuds carry him forward. Servos beg to rest. He steps over the threshold. As the door closes behind him, his suit initiates emergency release protocols. He’s ejected onto the floor in his skintight slick-suit. A heavy breath fills his lungs with warm air.

Unnatural quiet behind a crackling fire. He’s not alone.

Four others. Two women, two men. His exoskeleton walls off the entry, composed of sharp lines like a sentinel’s blade. The hydraulics release a hiss and everyone jumps, save for the old man stuck in the rocking chair. The flannel on his legs has a layer of dust.

Fear pales their eyes.

The exile stands.

The wind wails.

No one’s supposed to be on this planet. This is his exile, to wander and never return. The young girl’s lip quivers, eyes glued to his suit.

“Why are you here?” His voice is spent shells littering the floor.

The young girl screams.

Quick movement, a weapon?

He hurls a chair, and it strikes with a crack and grunt.

A man lay crumbled against the wall, he’d dashed for the girl.

The woman muzzles the girl’s scream.

“Please, no kill.” The woman’s words are soft as snow.

Embers pop from the fireplace.

The exile holds his hands out, a sign of peace.

He attempts to calm his tone, “please, why are you here?” His words sound like a collapsing home.

Her eyes lock with his. She shakes visibly, the muffled screams vibrate her hand.

“I will not kill you. Please.” His voice steadies, sharp as a sniper round.

The woman’s throat bobs. “We hide.”

The child finally stops screaming. This is what he fears, they are refugees. By some cruel fate, they decided to settle here. And he’s just walked in with his suit, directly tied to the galactic datanet.

It’s possible the suit turned off in time. That it hadn’t sensed the fugitives.

He looks at the faces around him.

No, it isn’t likely. Algorithms crawl the datanet for any sign of illegal activity, especially non-citizens. As for him, exile contact with any living being is cause for elimination, even for an exile.

They’re all dead.

---

The enemy’s man is a massive statue in her haven. His presence spells their doom.

So much sacrifice, all to end here at the hands of the enemy’s soldier.

His outer bones block the only door, perhaps a common tactic. To see the enemy this close is unnerving, and to see them without their bones is unnatural. They almost look like Christoffe.

Christoffe’s body is laying on the floor. He looks broken, but there is no blood. She hopes he is ok, but dares not check.

She tells him they hide. It is obvious from whom. She thinks these will be her final words.

“How did you arrive?” The question is a massive blade, vanquishing a mythic beast.

Briefly, she wonders if papa knows what is happening. The darkness of the Fade descends on his mind, she hopes it has taken him today.

The enemy does not repeat himself. His urgent tension grips the air.

Her throat is dry, she chokes on a swallow. “Ship…” She croaks.

They’d come in a rickety thing. None of them understood the mechanisms well, but she knew how to control it enough to land on a planet. It was damaged beyond repair when they arrived. Now it isn’t even suitable as a structure, they were lucky to find this outpost.

“Where is it?” The enemy insists, his eyes glimmer with an what seems emotion. She did not know the enemy could feel.

“No.” It’s a foolish reply, surely taking her a step closer to the grave.

His eyes rile in anger. He takes a step forward, but only one.

“I will not kill you. I will not hurt you.” A heavy sigh. “But we are in great danger from them.” He points skyward.

The enemy’s man lets the words drip like acid to soften her metallic resolve.

The woman releases her hand from Anna’s mouth with a soft coo.

“Ship not work.” She does not break eye contact.

Neither does the soldier, “I know about ships. I can fix it, maybe.” He looks to his bones, the final words spoken to himself. “A ship. A long shot, maybe too bad condition. It’s something...”

The woman understands him perfectly, and her words can be quite eloquent. However, she’s learned not to reveal herself, especially to the men of the enemy.

“Show me to the ship.” The soldier’s gaze returns with a sharp movement.

Silence stretches between them. He clears his throat and tries again, “Please, I want to fix the ship. We can all leave.”

She does not believe him. He is a machine deployed by the enemy. There is no end to his deviousness.

She risks a look at his bones. Why doesn’t he wear them? Perhaps he is wounded, unable to use his outer bones. She shakes away the thought, there are more pressing matters.

She is certain they are in danger, whether from him or not remains to be seen. Either way, they cannot stay here, and the very reason they are doomed has offered hope. She has little choice but to accept.

---

“Can two bodies fit within these bones?” The woman’s cryptic question is laced with fear and wonder.

“What?” He asks, disturbed.

She points to his mech suit, “Bones are safe outside. Two fit?”

Bones? He’s never heard that one, but it seems appropriate. When he’s inside, the suit feels like a part of him.

His chuckle sounds like glass crunched under foot. “It’s- No we will not be able to use my ‘bones.’”

She nods, then snugs the blanket around the girl and deposits her before the fire. The woman moves to the crumpled man and checks his pulse.

The exile walks over to her. “I’m… He shouldn’t have moved so fast.” He kneels down, “may I help you lay him down comfortably?”

The woman avoids his eyes, but nods. The knot tightens when the man whimpers, unconscious. The woman stands and moves to a small cabinet in the corner.

“Not far, we need this for warm.” She turns to reveal a bundle of fluffy fabric in her arms.

The swaddling process is strangely vulnerable. Each is forced to remove their eyes from the other. The child hums softly as the exile secures the woman’s garment around her back. His instincts scream as she secures his.

The unconscious man hasn’t roused, and the old man has a dripple of spit running from his mouth. The idea of leaving the girl here unattended worries the woman, but the planet is empty save for them. He convinces her there shouldn’t be any danger.

With effort, they are able to slide his mech suit aside and crack the door.

It gives the exile some small comfort that it will stand vigil.

---

The woman has not been outside in days, perhaps months. She takes an involuntary breath as the wind slices through her like a knife.

The stalwart soldier appears unbothered by the fierce weather, as if he is made of living stone. His hand secures the door behind them, sealing in the warmth and light.

The enemy’s man looks to her, his guide. The woman can’t help but recoil from his eyes, where thousands of dead appear. Words are useless in the storm that holds this planet. She points toward the ship and begins walking.

The trip is not distant, but takes hours. The enemy would be faster alone, but he needs her navigation. Her boot catches an unseen rock, sending her tumbling. The ground crumbles like falsehood, and the mouth of a crevasse opens before her.

Fear is an icy blade in her heart. She thinks of Anna, papa, and Christoffe. The memory halts her.

No, she turns to see the enemy’s hand, a vice on her ankle. He hauls her up through the opening.

Her heart is racing.

The enemy speaks. His words are thrown by the wind, but the woman understands. She nods.

They’re close now.

---

It’s almost colder in the ship than outside.

Maybe it’s the chill from his hands. He’d been the one to dig through packed snow to find the entrance. The woman’s hands are small and delicate like the fabric holding them, he does not want to risk her injury.

The ship is a tug. Small, but tough. There are some punctures in the hull, but not too wide. The emergency repair kit he finds should have everything they need to get it space ready.

Now, he has to work out the more difficult part – how to escape without notice and, if possible, fake their demise.

The woman shivers in the captain’s chair. She’s dealing with the cold, but it’s hard to know how long she can last.

“You can go back to the building if you want.” He says, not looking up from his work. “I’ll get you when I’m finished.”

“I stay.” The words escape through chattering teeth.

She’s brave. His mind flashes with memories of countless brave faces he’s punished for the trait.

He bolts his lips. No time for nonsense.

Options pour like rain in his mind. Each one pools uselessly with the others.

A plasma burst in low orbit would overwhelm the kill drone’s sensors, but a launch requires too much power. Same problem with an entanglement hack, even if he were capable.

The wind shrieks outside. He can construct a simple turbine to charge the suit. It wouldn’t cost much power to project decoy life signs.

Some quick math killed the idea. The turbine would give him maybe two minutes of juice. Cut that to less than one if he wanted it to move. Nowhere near long enough to get everyone to the ship.

It felt impossible. These people had made a life here. It’s hard, and the planet is inhospitable, but it’s something. He can tell from this woman’s eyes, what she will do to protect the others.

“I’m sorry.” He says with the sound of setting bone. “I’m here, and now you will die. It’s not my fault, but I’m sorry.”

He hopes she understands enough of the words.

---

She allows his apology to drift, her cold digits forgotten for a moment.

She hesitates. “Tell me what you are, really.”

He stops his work for a split second, then continues. “I’m an exile. Forbidden my rank and privilege, the comfort of home or the faces of my brothers. Forgotten from the book of life.”

The woman skips to the important question.

“Why?” Simple words bring a stop to his work.

His shoulders deflate. She spends time they cannot afford waiting for his answer. The enemy’s tear stained gaze is on her.

“A child.” His voice cracks. “I chose a child’s life over obedience.”

The enemy’s man returns to work, smaller now.

She waits. He wants to tell her, she just needs to allow it.

---

The memory wells. It steals the air from his world. Why did she have to ask that? The worst possible question.

Now her silence cuts deeper than the icy wind of this planet.

He glances. Her eyes are waiting, patient, but intent. Her gaze pulls at the knot in his soul.

He hopes she does not understand most of his words. “I was sent to exterminate a settlement. Low tech space station, population seventy-five hundred, all civilian.”

The exile turns to the woman. “Cover your eyes.” It sounds like a father’s lie to his daughter ‘everything will be ok.’

He rips the chem strap and the mending bag lights up, sealing the patch to the hull. One more to go.

“You can open your eyes.” He moves to the next breach.

“It was a simple job. Just some retro-fitted residential module, made to look pastural. They sent two of us, me and Lambda12.”

This hole’s bigger, probably needs two patches.

“But it wasn’t easy. They knew we were coming and set up defenses and a comm scrambler. It only slowed us down. Took a week to demo all but a dozen structures, all from a safe distance.”

Suddenly he feels weak.

“Then it was close combat. I’ve never experienced anything like it. The closest thing is manning a kill drone, but…” He gathers his wits with a deep breath, grateful for the bite.

“It wasn’t so bad for the first few. Just dozens of militiamen. But each building contained fewer soldiers and more women… and children.” The last word was brittle as eggshell.

“Lambda12 relished the slaughter.” The exile spit the words with disgust. “The final building was filled with innocents. Lambda12 demolished the cornerstone with his mech fists, crushing all inside.”

“Their cries broke something within me.” The exile returns to working on the patch. “I embraced Lambda12 as a brother, then tore his head from his body.”

The words hung in the hull. He’s sure the woman can hear his heart pounding against his ribs.

“I was only able to excavate two bodies. The rest were...” His voice trails off. “When I was out of range of the comm scrambler, my feed synced to the datanet and I was pronounced exile. My ship was directed here and ejected me from orbit about 170 rotations ago.”

“Cover your eyes, please.” The words are soft, like the crackle of fire.

---

The woman ponders the soldier’s story on their return to the others. She does not know whether to believe it. She has never heard of the enemy’s soldiers crying. Not even in laughter.

Warmth and light greet her, everyone is here, safe. She thanks the forgotten gods for that.

The enemy’s man, or the exile she is no longer sure, squeezes through the door behind her. “I’ll need to make something. Prepare yourselves to leave, we have little time.”

She makes a decision. “Explain your plan.”

The enemy or exile rummages through gear he collected from the ship. “No time, you’ll need to trust me.”

“No. I trust no one without reason. I am smart, you will not need to explain simply, but you will explain thoroughly.”

She braces for anger, instead a smirk adorns his face.

“Very well.” He schools his expression. “I’ll construct a wind turbine, which will charge my mech suit-“

“Outer bones.” She corrects.

“-My outer bones enough to trigger an explosion.”

“We will have to outrun the explosion?”

“No, it won’t be very large, but the EMP will be enough to fry the kill drone. The difficult part is tuning.”

“What do you mean ‘tuning?’” She understands everything else. It is a good plan, with one major flaw.

“If we want you all to actually get away, we need the drone to believe you’re dead.” He explains.

It sounds like he sees the flaw as well. Perhaps it is not a flaw at all.

She decides then that he is the exile.

“I can tune a comm beam to read like EM emission from a geological event. The cleanup drone will be shortly behind, but you’ll have time to escape unseen. When the second drone arrives it will record remnants of an explosion.”

An interesting idea. “Do you have the skill to accomplish this task?” She wonders aloud.

“This is the biggest stretch of the plan. But, even if I fail, you’ll still escape. Just not unnoticed.”

Does she see blush adorn his cheeks? The woman laughs at the ridiculousness of an embarrassed soldier of the enemy.

“Do not be concerned, exile. I am able to do this ‘tuning’ quite easily.”

She fetches a small satchel and walks to the exile’s bones.

---

The exile gapes at the woman working deftly on his suit’s comm system. Did she just pull out a tiny screen? Unexpected eloquence is one thing, he respects her wit in hiding the truth. But this is impressive. It stalls him longer than it should.

Several hours later he’s deployed the turbine in the eternal storm. The woman is in the final stages of tuning.

It’s impossible to know how long it will take a kill drone to arrive. This system must be remote to be chosen as an exile site, but nothing is too far from a deployment facility.

He walked through that door six hours ago. Kill drones are unmanned, so they can travel exceptionally fast, limited only by relativity. They need to be out the door within the hour. Hopefully, there will be enough charge by then for the blast.

The man wounded by the exile wakes from with a grunt. He blinks quickly as if it will change reality.

“I regret the chair.” The exile says.

“Uuuh...” He replies dumbly, and looks toward the woman who quiets him with a nod.

“Christoffe, gather our things. We are leaving with haste.”

His face turns white, but he complies. The old man is silent and unmoved. The child fiddles with her blankets, her eyes alert.

“Can I assist?” The exile askes the woman.

“It is unnecessary.” The woman replies. “Christoffe can handle it.”

“I don’t know your names…”

“Nor I yours.”

“Can I know them?” His voice softens to freshly fallen snow.

A smile grows as she speaks. “That is Christoffe. The young one is Anna. He is papa.”

“And you?”

“I have given up mine.” She doesn’t explain. “What is your name?”

“No name.” The idea feels more vulnerable than open terrain.

“That makes it simple.” She teases.

“How lucky for the both of us.” The exile chuckles. “Why did you give up your name?”

Her voice grows far off. “When raids began on our home world, I abandoned my village. I gave up my people, so I gave up my name.”

“These are not your people?”

“No. They are my family now, but they are new to me.” A sad smile creases the side of her face. “Papa was at the spaceport where I stole the ship, Christoffe was an accountant waiting loyally for death when I shook sense into him, and Anna… clever Anna I met as she dragged a bag of mellons up the gangway onto the ship.”

Anna releases a giggle. Her smile fades, “I didn’t want to share and now the melons are all gone.”

“Don’t forget that I traded you candy for melon fairly.” The woman says.

“Oh yeah!” She perks up. “That’s gone too, though.”

The suit beeps three times.

 “All set.” The woman confirms.

“Time for evac.”

---

The woman spends a moment with Christoffe. He never expected a life like this. She wonders whether she should have convinced him to live, and guilt grows in her belly.

“I am sorry we must move again.” She says.

Christoffe looks to the ground. “I do not know what I am doing.”

The woman puts a hand on his shoulder, and he winces in pain. She pulls it back. “We are surviving.”

His raises his head, soft firelight reflecting in wet eyes. “I am scared.”

“I am, too.”

She recalls her younger brother, struggling to balance water on his head. Her father would shout at him, you are wasting life when you spill! Her father had not seen when his son’s blood stained the dirt.

“We can live through fear.” She meets Christoffe’s eyes, and receives a silent nod as a tear falls.

“Will you carry papa?” She asks the exile.

“I…” He stutters.

“Christoffe, take Anna ahead, I will be right behind.” The woman directs.

Christoffe hesitates at the door. The woman sends him a reassuring smile and it gives him strength. For a breath, the room is quiet.

“Exile, I know your plan.”

“Yes, we agreed-“

“Exile.” Her eyes darken. “I know your entire plan.”

He grows smaller, like he had in the shadow of his memory.

“I do not wish to stop you, exile. In fact, I want to thank you.” She speaks softly.

She’s done the math, with less than one minute of power, there’s no way to trigger and escape the blast. The stranger, once enemy, plans to become a martyr for her family. She cannot understand, but she is grateful.

“I still need to ask one more thing.” She continues “I cannot carry papa, and Christoffe will take too long. I need you to carry him, then you may return to your duty.”

The fire pops. His jaw flexes as he nods.

They turn to find an empty rocking chair.

“Papa?” She calls.

“How do I trigger it?” The old man inspects the suit. He looks tired, but stands firm.

Wind rages and the fire crackles. The woman and exile stand frozen as the planet.

“You need to get to that ship.” Papa chides. “Show me the switch or whatever it is.”

The exile steps forward, the woman holds up her hand to stop him.

“Are you sure?” She asks.

“You saved me. But you’ve seen that I’ve got the Fade. I don’t got much time before I’m a sack of mud.” A rebel’s smile blooms. “I prefer to go out on my terms.”

“What will I tell Anna?” Tears lace her eyes.

“Tell her the truth. Let her remember me as a hero.”

Papa’s smile spreads to the woman. She notes the switches he must flip and gives him a hug.

A crackling static rises from the exile’s suit.

KDZeta722. Heliopause entry.

“Times up.”

The exile pulls the woman from her embrace and runs out the door.

---

The bruise on her arm pulses with her heartbeat. Not the first time she’s been handled by a soldier, but this time to protect. A bruise from care. How odd.

Her ragged breath drowns out the wind. Soon the icy temperature dulls the throbbing. As they climb through into the ship, the planet shakes with the explosion. No time to mourn.

The array inside the ship wakes, lighting the exile’s face. Switches flip with crisp clicks and thrusters rumble to life. It reminds her of the first escape.

The thrusters die. The lights shut off.

“Did they find us?” Christoffe cries out in confusion.

Anna grips her blanket like a treasured plush.

They have minutes to escape undetected.

The woman jumps to the main panel, her mini-screen in hand. Lines of code pour down, she scrubs them with her eyes and an algorithm designed in another life. Her eyes catch the error.

“Exile, valve actuator twenty-one, jammed.”

“On it.” The exile replies swiftly.

He moves with speed and precision. Determination burns from him. As she prepares the software for refire, she feels the same fire.

---

Idiotic.

He should have checked the physical components when they were here. Everything has been rushed since he opened that door. And now he isn’t thinking straight.

The look in the woman’s eyes pulls something from him. It loosens the knot in his soul.

He can’t let her die.

The thruster burn melted the snow, giving him easy access to the assembly.

Wide shoulders squeeze, and numb fingers reach for the actuator. A silent estimate ticks in his mind, can they make it?

Click. Jam fixed, he shimmies out of the assembly. The thrusters fire as he slides into the ship.

The woman’s eyes shoot to him. “There’s a ping.”

His breath stills. “Has it moved?”

“No.”

It’s too close.

“They sent it right behind the kill drone. It got hit by the EMP, but wasn’t destroyed.” His mind races.

“How long do we have?”

“No way to know.”

---

The launch is ragged, with no less than three skips over the ground before takeoff. The woman grips her harness and Anna as the ship skim the planet’s surface to hide within the atmosphere until they’re on the opposite side.

The drone doesn’t move while it’s on radar, but they’ll never know for sure whether it marked them. Unless they’re chased, of course.

The woman barks a laugh, loud with the tension from these last strange hours.

As they pass out of the system many hours later, Anna asks. “Where’s papa?”

The woman grows a sad smile, “I’ll tell you the story of the great hero, papa.”