Chapter 1
Cassius
Home was still ten blocks away, and this neighborhood was worse than the last. The disintegrated buildings should’ve been abandoned long ago, but that would never be an option.
Even at sixteen, Cassius Ojun knew Centralia was designed to keep the poor in their places. The slums in Fairdale, hatefully named Mansionland, was home and always would be.
The privileged lived in nice, gated communities around the perimeter, while the aristocracy stayed along the equator, where the climate was mild and the air was fresh. They were far removed from the real inner workings of this place and didn’t care to know what the rest of them had to do just to survive.
Cassius made sure he was always aware of his surroundings, ears open for any unfamiliar noise and turning a full circle every few feet to make sure no one followed.
“Gimme your shoes.” Some pocket-sized jerk in an old sweater riddled with holes waved a sharpened piece of steel under Cassius’ nose.
Cassius glanced down at his tattered sneakers and rolled his eyes. The boy looked all of ten and wore better shoes than he did. He slapped the homemade shiv out of the kid’s hand and smacked him on the back of the head.
“Go home,” he ordered.
The kid ran off crying as Cassius smiled and picked up the piece of metal.
No one here could even steal real weapons, much less buy them. For all, except the Rolands and their favored few, home-grown self-defense had to suffice. There were plenty of violent deaths without the fancy weapons.
If only his neighbors would point their anger where it belonged instead of at each other.
His apartment building was as dilapidated as the rest. Most of the windows were covered with plastic or tattered blankets, all the moldings broke off long ago, and you could see where they should have been, the color of a storm cloud. Instead, there were chips of flaking paint underneath decades’ worth of graffiti.
He greeted his elderly neighbors who were perched on the stoop with a wave before squeezing past. He didn’t feel like talking. He trudged to his floor, heading straight home—one flat in the middle of the left hall.
“Hey, jackass. Where’ve you been?” Francis asked in his usual sarcastic manner. Cassius sometimes wondered who the older brother really was. Francis spent his time making jokes and causing trouble with his many dubious friends. He was probably annoyed that Cassius left early.
“Job hunting. How’s dad?”
Usually, there was an equally tart reply, but he was too depressed to trade insults. He had arrived too late to be chosen for day labor and no one else would hire him.
“Been sleeping all day. Mom’s babysitting the Cormak kids in trade for dinner,” Francis replied.
“At least that problem’s solved.”
“No luck?”
“Hell no.”
Cassius went to the only bedroom door and opened it carefully.
Daniel, his father, lay on a thin dumpster mattress in the middle of the floor. He snored a faint, wet gurgle.
Subpulmonarypathosis should no longer exist. It was totally preventable and required minimal treatment. However, when there was no money, the smog always weaseled its way inside them. The poor were a burden to the society, according to the Human Confederation. Healthcare was a privilege for the wealthy.
Cassius lifted the sheet to make sure he was dry. With a sigh of relief, he crept out and closed the door.
He plopped down on the floor beside Francis. “What did you do today?”
“I passed by the orphanage,” Francis replied.
“So?”
The Marie Roland Home used to be an orphanage, and was still called such. Over the years, it had evolved into the largest crime syndicate in Centralia. It came a long way from urchins picking pockets, and it was bad news.
“So they offered me a job. They told me to bring you along, too. We can make good money, and all we have to do is run errands.” Francis’ grin said he had just found a gold mine.
Cassius grunted. ‘Errands’ could mean anything from breaking legs to smuggling drugs. He doubted the don would send teenage boys to pick up groceries.
“We can get dad’s medicine. Mom can take a break. Come on,” Francis said as he tugged Cassius’ arm.
“You know the Rolands are part of the reason dad is so far gone, don’t you?” Cassius replied, arching his brow.
They were always turned away from hospitals and legitimate doctors. As soon as the thumb scanners verified their identities, they were escorted out. They were forced to resort to black market meds and basement hacks. The Rolands controlled both, and not cheaply. If there wasn’t money to pay, they would literally take a pound of flesh or force that person into servitude.
“That’s why this is a good idea.”
“I don’t think so.” Cassius was starting to think his brother had a death wish.
“Wimp.”
“Assburger.”
Francis punched him on the arm. Maybe he was a wimp, but the Rolands would never set him free once they dug in their claws. That was how they operated.
They sat in silence, listening to the next door neighbors’ constant bickering. They looked at each other in dismay as the insufficient wall carried the distinct sounds of slapping, followed by weeping. He would never understand why the wife just didn’t hit back. Once, Cassius tried to defend her. She attacked him for his trouble, jumping on his back while he pushed the husband away.
It was well into the night when their mother, Shandie, arrived. Francis never stirred from the fitful sleep they had to endure on the hard floor.
Cassius sat up.
“Hi, mom,” he mumbled.
“Hey, kid. Save some for your brother,” Shandie said, handing him a bag.
He scooted to the light pouring through the dingy window and opened the bag, where he found three palm-sized packages of freeze-dried work rations. They were supposed to be rehydrated, but that was impossible in his house.
Cassius ripped the insulated package with his teeth and poured dehydrated stew into his mouth. He crunched peas and carrot bits as he watched his mother sink to the floor with a groan. She peeled off her shoes with a sigh. The streetlight illuminated a glistening red smear across the bottom of her foot. Cassius gulped down another mouthful and handed her the foil package.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, folding the bag. He leaned over, pressed it against the cut, and gently slid the shoe on to hold it in place.
“They’re just dry,” Shandie muttered with her mouth full.
Cassius shook his head and changed the subject, “Did the Cormak kids give you any trouble?”
The Cormaks lived a block down. The father had a real job, supervising cargo storage. No one but Shandie was brave enough to sit for their eight children, all of them buggers. The rations were the only thing they could afford to pay, but the Ojun family didn’t complain. Those nasty packages saved them from starvation more than once.
“They’re monsters. I’m gonna have a shiner tomorrow.” She handed the package over to Cassius and stood, using the wall to brace herself. Her back and knees popped as she shuffled to the bedroom door. Instead of saying goodnight, she let out a short, wet cough.
Cassius’ heart thumped at the sound. His father’s illness began the same way. If they could just get their hands on some antibiotics, it could be stopped before it got that bad. Going back to sleep was out of the question now. He left the rations beside his brother and snuck out the door.
The night was almost as busy as the day, but he had years of practice slipping in and out of the shadows. He actually felt safer in the dark, using the cover of night as a security blanket.
For the most part, it worked, but tonight was different. For no definable reason, his gut told him someone was following his every move.
Careful not to let his paranoia show, he stepped down an alley and back up the next side street. The only things he saw were shady deals on almost every corner, hookers of all genders, and the Rolands sprinkled about like rat poison. People in the slums tended to congregate in small groups.
Cassius never bought into the whole ‘safety in numbers’ thing. Alone was better. There was no one to betray him in order to survive. It always happened.
One of the Rolands, a nineteen-year-old named Dublin, glanced his way and winked. He had been a friend of Francis before they tore the school down. Cassius held his breath and sank back into the alley.
So, they are watching, Cassius thought.
If he said no, would there be repercussions? If he said yes, would they help his mom and dad? He felt vulnerable even in the shadows, so he ambled home to argue with himself over the Rolands’ offer.
In the bedroom, Shandie was coughing as quietly as possible. Daniel’s wet snore sounded like a death rattle. The heartbreaking scenario did nothing to help his dilemma. One second he decided to say yes, and the next second it was no.
This went on until he passed out beside his brother.
Chapter 2
Cassius
The orphanage sat right at the border between Mansionland and the rest of Fairdale. With every vehicle that passed, Cassius willed his feet to stop cramping and kept himself from being envious of the people who had the joy of not having to drag their feet to their destinations every day.
He looked down and sighed as he saw that his ratted, extremely worn footwear was starting to show signs of defeat. He really needed new shoes.
Unsure of himself, he stayed two paces behind his brother. The sun had just gone down, and Francis’ friend, Greggo, led them down the alley and ushered them to the back door. No one would care who was going in and out of the orphanage, but he took precautions anyway.
He understood as soon as they stepped inside. The back door was an elevator entrance.
Greggo smiled at their surprise and said, “It’s a working fridge on the other side.”
There was no turning back now. If Cassius refused, he would die. He and Francis squeezed in without their escort. The short freefall made him want to vomit, and as the door opened, he forgot all about his stomach.
He could’ve been in another world. The place looked like it spanned the entire block, and it was filled with gadgets he didn’t recognize. To his right was a cage with a burly man in sunglasses standing in front of it. Inside, weapons lined the wall, some he recognized, and some he didn’t. It was all unreal. He never saw anything like this on the streets.
“Welcome to the subbasement.”
Cassius turned to the abrasive voice of a man in his mid-thirties. He had never seen him before, and he wondered how that could be. Francis was already shaking his hand as if they had already met. Cassius took one step back and put his hands in his pockets.
The stranger nodded and said, “Follow me.”
He led them through the maze, passing by people who didn’t acknowledge them. Cassius found curiosity overcoming the dread that dwelled in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to know what all the toys were for. He recognized the generic computers and the guns, but everything else was a mystery that he just had to solve.
Subbasement guy stopped at a door at the very back, punching a code on a number pad. It hissed as it swung open, suggesting climate control. Sure enough, as he stepped in, a shiver ran over Cassius’ arms, making his t-shirt seem like nothing. Endless drawers lined the walls in the soft, yellow light.
Cassius couldn’t help but wonder if they were in a morgue. Whatever it was, it was more organized than he expected. At the end of the hall that seemed to go on forever were a set of ornate double doors. They weren’t locked, but they still made the hydraulic hiss as they were opened.
Subbasement guy ushered them in.
The sound of the door closing was ominous, and Cassius’ anxiety rose up to his throat. There were no gadgets in this room, and it was twenty degrees warmer. Instead, there was a sleek polyiron desk, complete with claws for feet.
Sitting behind the desk was a young woman who flashed a wide smile. Her bright red hair was in a tight bun. She wore a business suit and a pair of glasses. Even with her get-up, she looked around Cassius’ age.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, bouncing out of the chair. “My name is Pashense, and I will be your facilitator this evening.” She gestured to the smaller chairs.
Speechless, Cassius and Francis eased into the chairs and wondered if this was a joke.
Pashense giggled a bit before going back to her seat. “My father is too busy for these things. I’m in charge of recruitment,” she said.
Cassius glanced at his brother and noticed the star-struck expression on his face. An inward groan almost passed his lips, so he bit his cheek to control himself.
“You two are just what we’re looking for,” Pashense continued.
“Desperate?” Cassius blurted out. The cheek biting didn’t work. Francis smacked him on the arm.
Pashense just smiled and said, “Precisely.”
At least she was honest. Cassius wasn’t snowed by her looks and bubbly demeanor the way Francis was. One slip up meant harsh punishment, and she had no qualms about doling it out.
“Think of this as your probation period. Deliver these to the addresses I’ll be giving you. Do well, and we’ll talk promotion.”
She handed them some instruction sheets, but no packages.
After the brief encounter with Pashense, subbasement guy led them out.
“My name is Adan, and I’ll be your handler,” he said as the double doors sucked themselves into place. “Your instructions are on your sheets. Read ‘em carefully if you don’t wanna mess this up. Now…it’s time for toys.”
Adan took them back the way they came, stopping in front of an illuminated table with a hinged glass top. On it were electronics the size of a thumbnail lined up perfectly until they covered the entire table. Adan punched in a code on the number pad, and the glass unlocked. He opened the lid and grabbed a handful of the electronics, distributing them evenly to the two brothers.
“These are flash bombs. They can be hidden pretty much anywhere—oh, and they’re waterproof.”
“Why haven’t we seen any of this?” Cassius gestured to the entire room.
“We don’t screw around. Watch.” Adan held one of the gadgets in the palm of his hand and pressed a hidden button on the back.
The small electronic device disintegrated into ash.
“Whoa,” Francis whispered. Cassius could only nod.
“The projectiles and blades aren’t as fun, but they’re useful,” Adan said.
“I don’t see those, either,” Cassius said as he looked around the room.
“Does anyone out there mess with us?”
“No.”
“Then you have no reason to see them. If the cops catch you, they’re untraceable and you’re on your own,” Adan said, closing the lid and nodding towards the elevator. “Just follow your instructions exactly—and we’ll handle the rest.”
Place a black rock in the mail slot of 1657 Furlaugh Street. What kind of order is this? Cassius could only assume it was significant to the recipient, and did as he was asked under the cover of night.
Francis waited up for him at home, surprising him as he crept in just before dawn. He handed him a cup of real soup—and it was fabulously hot.
“Mom and dad are asleep. Mom’s worse.”
Cassius nodded solemnly. It was to be expected.
“Hey, I know what the stones are for,” Francis said as he watched Cassius drink down the soup.
Cassius drained the cup and replied, “Yeah?” He was only mildly curious, but the excitement in his brother’s voice was almost cute.
“Black is for a meeting, and white is a warning. Both means that if you don’t show…” he made a slicing gesture across his throat.
“Fantastic,” Cassius said, frowning. He had to deliver a white stone to one of the wealthier homes in town. Not equator rich, but influential enough to be infamous to the working class.
Darkness did no good when there was a security light installed in the spot Cassius was to deliver the next stone. It clicked on just as he set the stone on the railing, blinding him for a moment. Sirens wailed just a few feet away, telling him that the Espositos had been expecting a visit from the Rolands. He couldn’t help but wonder if the Rolands knew and set him up as a test.
He reached into his pocket and realized with dismay that he had forgotten the flash bomb. He had put his share away for safekeeping, intending to carry only one at a time.
Improvising, he stumbled around like a drunk until he tripped over a garbage bin on the side of the house. Inspired, he stuck his arms in it up to the elbows, making sure to fling some when two cops spun him around.
“Evenin’ officers,” he said, licking a finger. “Want some dinner?”
“Ugh! Fucking street urchins,” one of them said. “You’re under arrest for vagrancy.” He slapped handcuffs on Cassius, cinching them as tightly as possible, and threw him in the cruiser.
Glancing back at the house, Cassius saw Karla Esposito's face peering at him through a drawn curtain. It flowed back down as soon as she spied him.
Francis bailed him out with a smug look on his face the entire time.
“Mom and dad know?” Cassius asked as soon as they were out of the building.
“Nah.”
“Where’d you get the money?”
“Pashense asked me to offer an envelope to the Deputy Chief, and here you are,” he explained.
“Uh-huh,” Cassius heard the tone of his voice and wasn’t fooled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Francis replied, arching his brow.
“It means you’re screwing the boss lady.”
It was no surprise that the Deputy Chief could be bribed, but Cassius always wondered what women saw in his brother. He was obnoxious and had a habit of finding a new girlfriend before losing the last one.
Francis feigned shock, but it transformed into a toothy grin. “Well, yeah,” he said.
“Careful. Cheating on her will get you killed,” Cassius replied as he shook his head.
“I don’t plan on it,” Francis replied as he dug a small envelope out of his back pocket and handed it over to Cassius. “Here. This is for you,”
“What’s this?” He thumbed through the cash inside.
“What does it look like?”
Cassius shot Francis a glare and said, “Don’t be a smartass. It’s from Roland himself—for keeping your mouth shut.”
Of course, his real name wasn’t Roland. Over the years, it had become a title, and one had to go through hell and back to earn it. Cassius thumbed through the money more carefully.
It was enough to score some antibiotics.
Chapter 3
Cassius
There were times, Cassius had to admit, when Francis’ native intelligence shone through his increasingly hardened gangster exterior.
One night, while the brothers were listening to Going Round in Circles, a series about the travails of an equator-based family on a faulty radio they managed to pick up along the garbage bins, Francis had poked Cassius in the ribs.
“That robot of theirs is always breaking down,” he said.
“So?” Cassius rubbed his side; Francis had sharp elbows.
Wet coughs came from their parents’ room. Shandie was responding well to the antibiotics, but Daniel was still failing. His decline had slowed down, but Cassius knew that the old man’s illness was already terminal. He tried not to think about it, burying himself in escapist crap like Going Round in Circles.
Francis sighed as if Cassius was the dumbest human being ever. “Well, they cost a bundle to fix, right?”
“What of it, weasel-dick?” Cassius replied, a little annoyed.
“Well, it gives me an idea, that’s what.”
Apparently, the Rolands appreciated out-of-the-box thinking. Francis went to them with his pitch, and they approved of it on a trial basis.
And so, a week later, wearing the uniforms of a local robot repair company, the brothers drove twin red scooters, emblazoned with the company logo along the streets of an upscale neighborhood. It formed a buffer between their home in the slums of the ironically named Mansionland section and the truly wealthy gated communities ringing Fairdale.
Their connections with the Rolands had made it easy to acquire the gear at a minimum expense to the gang—who found the idea amusing and potentially lucrative. By posing as repairmen, Francis had convinced his handler, Adan, that he and Cassius would be able to purloin high-end robots that could be either chopped or resold in the black market.
Cassius’ original leeriness about dealing with the Rolands had all but vanished in the past few months. The fact that Shandie’s feet had stopped bleeding and her overall health had improved to the point where she could take on additional babysitting gigs brought him relief.
The association the Ojun brothers were developing with the Rolands had leaked out into the neighborhood. It came with an unexpected side effect of bringing the Cormak kids into line, so that they no longer tormented Shandie nearly as much as they had been doing.
It had been easy to find out which homes owned expensive robots—all they had to do was check through the sales receipts available in the databases of nearby stores dealing in such robots, a simple job for the Rolands’ IT people.
Then, it was merely a matter of bribing the guard at the gate.
I know it’s after hours, chum, but we got an emergency call about a virus infection in someone’s C57-D, they would tell the guard.
They cruised the neighborhoods on their scooters until they could pinpoint a home equipped with a C57-D that also had sub-par security.
As they tooled along with the scooter, playing the company’s cheerful theme song as much to let the neighborhood know they were harmless and officially sanctioned as to advertise the business, Cassius couldn’t help but feel a stab of resentment. These people all had jobs. No one here got sick from subpulmonarypathosis—wetlung, in the common parlance—and there were no gangs running things behind the scenes.
Not obviously, anyway. After several months as a gang associate, Cassius knew that there were few pies the Rolands didn’t have their fingers in. He no longer cared. The money had convinced him otherwise.
Then there was his pride, too. He’d found something he was good at doing, and that couldn’t help but make a fellow feel better about himself. In addition, his success reflected well on Francis, who was rising in the gang structure.
One of the examples of that was the robot thefts. Francis had a genius idea for these little gigs that were designed to skim goods and services off the top tier of society. Best of all, no one had to get hurt.
Where the Cassius of last year might have been disgusted, the Cassius of today had developed a more cynical attitude.
These people could afford a new robot. Hell, the fact that they could afford a household automaton at all told a great deal about their financial situation.
Cassius caught the glint of streetlight off of a metal, and over his helmet phone he said, “We’re in luck. There’s one out walking the family dog.”
“Saves us the trouble of having to talk our way in to someone’s house.”
“You got that right.”
The brothers pulled their scooters over to the curb and approached the robot, which was a standard MyBot Systems model C57-D, walking a small mop-like dog.
At least, Cassius assumed it was a dog.
From his research, he knew that the C57 series had a backdoor in their software interface that allowed a maintenance supervisor access to its command structure. Most MyBots didn’t have that weakness, but the C57s hadn’t been updated yet.
While Francis kept watch, Cassius approached the bot. Its top module swiveled toward him. “Good evening, citizen,” it said.
“Hello,” he replied. “Open mode B, please.”
“Complying,” said the robot in its ‘safe status’ voice.
In like Flynn, Cassius thought, grinning. He untied the leash from its manipulator and fastened it to a lamppost. The dog made a growling noise but didn’t start barking.
Somebody’ll pick this little mutt up at some point.
The robot was now programmed to obey Cassius’ commands. The brothers got back on their scooters, and with the robot docilely wheeling along after them, headed for the main gate.
“Got to take this one back to the shop,” Francis said to the guard.
The man, a short black guy with a shaved head, frowned. “I obviously can’t let you remove any personal property from the community,” he said.
Cassius sighed and said, “Listen, this thing is infected with the Greengrass virus. Any contact with other household devices can spread it. I can call my supervisor and let him explain it to you if you like.”
The guard gave him a hard look. “Just show me your IDs,” he said.
Cassius and Francis handed him their forged data cards. They waited while he took them inside to scan them.
“I don’t know if they’ll hold up,” Francis whispered.
“Now you tell me,” Cassius said, clenching his jaw. “Are we gonna have to leave this thing here?”
“Hell, I dunno,” Francis replied as he shrugged and looked away.
Cassius swore to himself. He thought hard of how they could fix the whole dilemma, and then he remembered that the robot was now programmed to follow him.
Cassius nodded at himself and gave the robot some quick muttered instructions.
“Will comply,” the robot said.
“Hey, what’s the hold-up?” Francis called to the guard inside his post.
“Shut up, twaad,” the guard spat.
“This isn’t going to fly,” Francis muttered.
“That’s what I was thinking. Okay, let me deal with it,” Cassius said.
“What?” Francis asked, confused.
The guard came out of his hut, holding the cards. He handed them back to the brothers. “These things are expired,” he said. “You want to get out of here or you want me to call the cops?”
“Okay, okay, we’re going,” Francis said, starting his scooter. “We’ll come back for that thing tomorrow after we get updated IDs. Can you just keep it here until then?”
The guard shrugged and said, “I guess so. Park it over there.” He pointed to the bed of wildflowers planted beside his hut.
“Well, that was a fuckin’ waste of time,” Francis groused as they putted away on the shiny red scooters.
“Not really. If shit-for-brains leaves that gate open another thirty seconds, we’ll be good.”
“Huh?”
“Just watch,” Cassius replied with eagerness in his voice.
They drove down the block, passed the outer wall of the community, and Cassius pulled over to the curb.
“What’s the deal?” Francis asked.
“Wait.”
After a minute, the C57-D came trundling along the macadam, its lights blinking in the darkness. It had just followed Cassius’ order earlier.
“Well, I’ll be dipped,” Francis said in honest admiration. “How do you know to do all these stuff?”
“I believe in doing my homework, is all. You wouldn’t steal an aircar unless you knew how to fly one, right?”
“Yeah...I guess.”
Adan was appreciative as well when they delivered the robot. “This’ll fetch a nice bit of coin on the market,” he said. “Good work, boys.”
Praise was in short supply in the Ojun household, and Cassius couldn’t help but take satisfaction at Adan’s words.
“You’re good at getting your ass out of a crack, aren’t you,” Adan noted after Francis gave a glowing account of Cassius’ cleverness.
“Yeah, I guess,” said Cassius, tightening his chest to avoid showing his pleasure. He didn’t like to be seen smiling. He had noticed that the higher levels of the Rolands hierarchy, from Adan upward, smiled very rarely, if at all.
Now Adan was giving him a calculating look. “I think we ought to keep you boys paired up,” he said. “There seems to be some, what do ya call it...”
“Um, synergy?” Cassius said.
Adan snapped his fingers. “Yeah, symmetry. Or whatever. Anyway, I’m gonna put in a good word for you two.”
On their way home later that night, the brothers laughed and shouted until their voices echoed off the facades of the Mansionland tenements, not caring who heard, enjoying the sight of passersby crossing the street to avoid them.
“This is the life, brother of mine!” crowed Francis. “This is the life!”
Chapter 4
Cassius
‘The life’ continued for another year. Cassius and Francis never told their father where the extra money was coming from, and in any case, the elder Ojun was too ill to rail at them about their links to gangland activities.
Shandie, now cured of wetlung, quit babysitting to devote more time and energy on caring for Daniel.
However, despite her ministrations, Daniel died a few months later.
Cassius knew it was a blessing. Daniel Ojun had barely been able to breathe in his last days. At the funeral, Cassius wept quietly but unashamedly for the man who had always done his best but had always fallen short.
A promising baseball player in his youth, Daniel had never gotten out of the farm leagues. And with the birth of his eldest son, Francis, he had had to shelve his ambitions to care for his young family. Ill-educated, the best job he could find was that of a trash hauler. Some of the trash was toxic—and, from it, he contracted the disease that finally killed him.
“At least he died at home,” Francis said, red-eyed, as he shuffled with the other pallbearers toward the gravesite.
“And we made him as comfortable as we could,” Cassius replied huskily.
The additional money the brothers brought in meant that they all could eat better. A few weeks before Daniel died, the family also moved into a bigger apartment with a view overlooking a small park, which Daniel could see from his wheelchair near the bedroom window.
The Rolands sent fresh flowers every three days, a small gesture that nevertheless went a long way toward convincing Shandie that maybe they weren’t so bad after all.
Or at least, that’s what she claimed.
Privately, Cassius suspected that his mother was as antipathetic toward the gang as ever, but she was smart enough to know that without them, her life would be a misery.
The graveside service went on forever, or so it seemed to Cassius. Overhead, the sky was cloudless and the sun bathed them with warmth.
Cassius looked at his watch and shared a glance with Francis. They had a job that night, even just after their father’s funeral. They had just enough time to put in an appearance at the house for a brief post-funeral meal with relatives before meeting Adan for last-minute instructions.
After obliging on their family-related responsibilities, Cassius and Francis made their way to the rendezvous point. It was inside one of the warehouses owned by the Rolands, and used as staging areas for certain jobs.
“Sorry about your dad,” Adan said, his craggy face set in an expression that seemed to hover midway between contriteness and anger. It was, Cassius realized, as close to a look of sympathy as the man could get. “And sorry we had to call you out tonight.”
“It’s fine,” Francis said. “Distraction is good.”
“Right.” Adan became brusque, as though standard human emotions made him uncomfortable. “All you gotta do is a quick load-out of some material. Electronics. Three crates. Pick ‘em up, bring ‘em back here. Nothin’ to it.”
“Okay.”
“One thing, though...”
Cassius cocked an expectant eyebrow at the handler.
“We got a new guy comin’ on, Joseph. He’ll be drivin’.”
Cassius and Francis exchanged a look. Newbies were often onboarded as drivers, and they tended to be nervous. Still, there was no choice in the matter.
“We’re good,” Francis said while Cassius nodded.
Adan gave a little nod and said, “Good. Lemme get him while you change.” He handed them a bag containing moving company overalls. “Be right back.” He hurried away into the farther reaches of the warehouse.
By the time he returned with Joseph in tow, the brothers were rigged out as movers. Joseph was about Cassius’ age. He was gangly, with a sharp face and cold eyes. Cassius took an instant dislike to him but said nothing, taking Joseph’s hand and shaking it briefly. The guy had a grip like a jellyfish’s.
“So this is how it goes,” Adan said as Joseph struggled into his overalls. “Joseph, here, drives. Cassius, you do the hauling. Francis, you keep watch. Got your gun?”
Francis patted his side, where his handgun, a needler, was holstered.
“Good. Alright, you monkeys. Get a move on,” he said, and then chuckled. “Movers, right? Get a move on?”
Francis sighed. Cassius made a face.
The handler shook his head and said, “No one in this outfit got a sense of humor. Go on, get the fuck outta here.”
“What does he mean by no sense of humor?” Joseph asked as he guided the truck out of the warehouse. “I got a sense of humor.”
Cassius scratched his head and said, “Get used to it. Guy loves jokes—but can’t tell them for shit himself.”
“Where we headed, anyway?” Francis asked through a yawn. “Adan never told me.”
“Robot storage facility,” Joseph said, tapping the map screen on the dashboard. “MyBot Systems.”
“Over on 45th and O’Donnell?” Cassius chuckled. “Know it well, know it well.”
They drove through the streets with Francis riding shotgun, keeping a wary watch out for potential hijackers. Some people in Centralia were so desperate they’d try anything, even robbing a moving van, especially one that had no obvious connection to the Rolands. But there were no incidents, and they pulled up at the storage facility shortly before midnight.
It was guarded, as Cassius expected, by state-of-the-art bots. But the truck was broadcasting an ID signal known to the robots, so no alarm was sounded. In addition, Cassius had override codes that allowed him to get past the robots and unlock the warehouse doors.
Adan had given him instructions on where to find the components that were wanted. Cassius had no trouble locating them since all the aisles and bays were clearly marked. He set about gathering the goods using a tow motor forklift. He rather enjoyed scooting up and down the aisles on the vehicle’s noiseless rubber tires.
This is what some people do for honest work, he thought. If they don’t mind being bored out of their minds after twenty years of it...at least no one working here will catch wetlung.
Cassius’ chest tightened as he remembered his father. Then he shook his head and focused on the situation before him.
He had secured everything on his ‘shopping list’ within a quarter of an hour. He brought the tow motor to a halt beside the delivery truck, climbed down from the saddle, and began loading the boxes and crates into the back of the truck. Joseph, the driver, sat in the truck’s cab, hand dangling out the window. Francis stood to one side, staring around the grounds, alert as always for possible trouble.
Just as Cassius was lashing down the final crate inside the truck’s cargo area, he heard a shout.
“The hell?” he muttered, catching sight of Francis running toward the sound. There was another shout, then the zeeet of Francis’ handgun.
He made sure the crate was safe, then he jumped down to the ground and hurriedly pulled down the rear door. Joseph had climbed out of the driver’s seat and stood beside the truck, clenching and unclenching his fists, his adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“What is it? What’s happening? Are we okay? Maybe we better get out of here? Where’s Francis?” Joseph said, panicking.
“Oh, man, shut your pie-hole,” Cassius grated. “Everything’s fine, shit happens, you know?”
Francis trotted toward them from an alley between the warehouse and an office trailer.
“What’s going on?” Cassius asked.
Francis shook his head in disgust. “Some scum making a late-night inspection. I had to shoot him.”
“Shit, man,” Joseph said, his eyes going wide. “No one said anything to me about anybody getting shot.”
“You’re in a gang, you idiot. What did you expect, tea parties and doilies?” Francis spat.
“No—well…no, but maybe we ought to go to the police, huh? I mean, killing that guy wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Cripes, Joseph, don’t you have any kehonnies at all?” Cassius punched the driver lightly on the arm. “Sometimes you gotta improvise.”
“What?” Joseph asked, his eyes shifting nervously.
Francis shook his head. “When things go south, you have to run with the wind. Change the plan on the fly, right?”
“Y-yeah. Sure. I guess so.”
“Come on, help me get the guy into the truck.”
Francis and Joseph vanished around the corner into the alley, while Cassius rolled the rear door up. Moments later, they returned with the body of a thirtyish man, a cluster of plastic needles bristled like glass darts in his chest.
“Good placement,” Cassius said as he helped them manhandle the body into the truck.
Francis scoffed. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, pulling himself up into the back. “I’ll ride here with this guy.”
Joseph seemed so rattled that Cassius insisted on driving back to the rendezvous point.
Adan was waiting for them. He wasn’t happy about the shooting, but he accepted Francis’ story that it was unavoidable.
“It’s good that you don’t mind getting your hands dirty on a job,” he said to Francis. He motioned to Cassius. “Come over here, Cash. Joseph, give us a minute, huh?”
He drew the brothers off to one side. “Look, there’ll be a stink about that guard,” he said. When Francis started to protest, Adan shushed him. “Don’t get all wee-wee’d up, Frankie. We’re gonna pin it on the newb.” He tilted his head briefly toward Joseph. “The boss thinks he’s too soft and will flip on us.”
“He said we ought to go to the cops,” Francis said, and Cassius nodded.
“All the more reason,” said Adan. “Look, you guys go home, I’ll handle things here.”
Cassius and Francis walked away.
“Kind of tough on old Joey there,” Francis said.
Cassius shrugged. “Yeah. I kind of don’t like it, but hey—he could’ve figured what was gonna go down if we got in trouble. Come on, let’s go get a drink. We’ve earned it.”
Chapter 5
Cassius
Cassius approached his work with a personal touch. Though constantly preoccupied with his duties as governor, he allotted time every week to visit some of the families in the settlement. Ava didn’t like having to man the office herself in his absence, but after he hired an assistant for her, she stopped complaining—for the most part.
Today was Sunday, a good day to make appearances among his constituents. Most of his people would be home after church, as farmers in Elban still clung to the old traditions.
Ava sighed when she saw Cassius headed out the door, basket in hand. “Who is it this time, Little Red Riding Hood?”
Ava didn’t normally attend church services. She used Sunday mornings to catch up on some of her paperwork—an attempt to get away from her unruly kids, Cassius always thought.
He grinned at her.
“Marcus Young is ill,” he said. “I’ve got some jerky and an apple pie that Lyla baked.”
He snapped his fingers.
“Oh, did I mention that she baked one for you, too? It’s on top of the filing cabinet next to my desk.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s awfully sweet of her. Send her my love.”
Cassius waved at her and continued out of the door. “I’ll do that. Be back in half an hour, Ava.”
“You’re fine,” Ava replied, chuckling.
Cassius left the office while whistling a jolly tune. The idea of the pie had obviously mollified her.
Yep...the trick to managing people is to find out what they like, and deliver it. Praise, raise...or pie, Cassius thought.
He could’ve taken a ground car, but the day was pleasant. Cassius felt complacent enough that he decided to walk.
It’s that common touch again, he thought as he walked along the little town’s bustling streets; being seen as a man of the people, for the people, and among the people.
Somehow, Cassius always felt nostalgic when he travelled by foot. He had been so used to getting around with air and ground cars, that it made him feel a little lighter with his feet.
He remembered the days before he joined the Rolands, when he had to drag his feet to the places he wanted to go. He’d look at his ratted shoes and wish he had a way to get around without having to punish his feet.
Cassius smiled. He let his memories drift in his head for a while, until he reached his destination.
Marcus Young was no better, but he put a brave face on his illness.
“Don’t like being in bed,” he rasped, though his eyes lit up at the sight of the pie. “Got things to do, don’t cha know.”
“Yup yup, we all do,” Cassius said. “You’ll be up and around in no time, though, Doc says.”
Marcus grunted. “Doc don’t know his ass from—”
“Marc, keep it sweet,” his wife, Gail, said. She was a big, dark-haired woman with a generally pleasant disposition.
Now, though, Cassius noted, she looked careworn and even a little haggard, with wisps of hair floating out of her ponytail.
“Eat your pie like a good fella,” Gail said. Then, she turned to Cassius. “You be sure to thank Lyla for us.”
“Oh, I will,” he replied with a grin that masked his worry.
Marcus Young didn’t look good; the man looked gray and peaked. The farmer insisted he was down with allergies, but it didn’t look like allergies to Cassius—and he knew that Dr. Bergman didn’t think so, either, but couldn’t diagnose precisely what the ailment was.
Leaving Marcus to his pie and the daytime news stream, Cassius followed Gail into the small house’s kitchen.
“Where’s your boy Titus?” he asked the woman.
“Oh, Tite? Mending some fences. Kyle Garrety’s zeohogs broke through into our pasture and rooted the place up.” She sighed. “Tite’s not feeling so great either, but he’s better than Marc.”
She sighed. “Tite’s not feeling so great either, but he’s better than Marc.”
“Allergies too?” Cassius made a mental note to ask Doc Bergman about the sixteen-year-old’s health.
Gail shrugged. “That’s what they say.”
“You seem well.”
“Oh, I’m healthy as an ox.” She smiled, but the gray patches under her eyes belied her words. “You know, the Garretys are sick, too. All of ‘em. That’s why their damn ‘hogs got through the fence. Kyle’s been too ill to take proper care of ‘em.”
“Hmm, no. I didn’t know that,” Cassius said.
“You got one or two members of pretty near every family around here sniffling and blowing their noses,” Gail said. “Some bug going around, I guess. Harvest is due in in a couple of weeks, and the way it looks to me is you might need bots to augment the workforce.”
Cassius rubbed his chin. If that was true, he’d have to put in a requisition for the mechanisms as soon as he could. He put a red star on his mental note about Dr. Bergman.
Come to think of it, hadn’t Franky had a runny nose for the past couple of days?
A twinge of unease flickered through him.
“Well,” he said. “I know the doc has ordered a shipment of antibiotics...he’ll have plenty of stuff to keep the fevers down until it passes.”
“I sure hope so.” Gail shook her head. “Doesn’t seem like allergies to me, though, Cash, you know? I mean, when Marc gets up to go to the bathroom, he has to hold on to the bed sometimes, and when he walks he’s kind of shaky. Last night, he went to pee but ended up in Tite’s room. I got to him just in time before he peed on the boy’s wall. He made a joke out of it afterward, but I didn’t think it was very funny.”
“No, I can’t blame you,” Cassius sighed. “Well, look, Gail, I have to get back to the office. You take care, and let me know how Marc’s doing.”
“Will do. Thanks, Cash. I appreciate it. We all do.”
Gail gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He walked back slowly to town along the main road, lost in thought. He stopped and called Dr. Bergmann through his wrist slipstream device.
“Cash, I don’t have one clue about this thing,” the doctor said once Cassius got through to him. “I do know that the people getting sick are mostly the men working at the fields. Craig Lownds called it ‘crop fever’ when I saw him yesterday.”
“What, in your office?” Cassius asked.
“Uh-huh. He doesn’t like being sick, so he came to me right off. All I could do was give him antibiotics.”
“Okay, yeah. Crop fever, huh?” Cassius frowned. “Did you do blood work on him?”
“I certainly did. He has slightly elevated levels of troponin,” the doctor said as he shook his head.
“You’re losing me. Pretend I’m a jerkwater provincial politician who doesn’t know jack about medicine.”
Bergman chuckled, then grew serious again.
“It’s a marker for heart damage,” he said. “Severe infections can increase its levels, and can lead to congestive heart failure.”
“Severe...but no one’s severely sick, right?” Cassius replied.
“No, but look; we’re living on an exoplanet, and even though we’ve all been inoculated against infections six ways from Sunday, who knows what our scans might have missed? Or what antibiotics couldn’t flush out?”
“Shit. Okay, Doc, thanks. We’ll talk again soon.”
“Count on it,” the doctor said before Cassius cut the slipstream link.
More worried now, Cassius picked up his pace.
Better get those bots on order today, he thought.
A block from his office, he saw his poker buddy Davon Martinelli approach him on the sidewalk. Cassius smiled, but Davon didn’t return it.
“Cash, you hear how people are getting sick?” Davon asked anxiously.
“Yeah, Dav, I was just out at the Youngs’ place to see Marc. Gail said that Titus is feeling drippy, too.”
“This is what we get for allowing Lange to start farming land in Anupao,” Davon said. He coughed, which sent an unpleasant shock to Cassius.
Is he sick too?
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Cassius said easily, hoping to defuse his friend’s anger—but Davon wasn’t having any of it.
“No one was sick before they set up business,” he said, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t seem to realize that he had just coughed.
“Look, Dav, it’s just a coincidence,” Cassius said, and tried to explain what Bergman had told him about unknown bugs, but Davon shook his head.
You always were a stubborn so-and-so, Cassius thought as Davon stalked off.
“Poker this week?” he called after the man, but Davon didn’t reply.
Stopping by the store to pick up some milk and eggs, Cassius noticed several other people, all men, sniffling into tissues. The twinge of unease he’d felt earlier now redoubled. In the dairy aisle, he spotted Craig Lownds and Blake Hoffman talking. He walked up to them, relieved to see his friends.
“Hey, guys. Buying chips and beer for the game?”
To his surprise, both men eyed him coldly.
“Can’t make it this week, Cash,” Craig said. “Miriam’s got a ‘honey-do’ list a mile long.” He coughed. “Damn allergies,” he said tightly.
“Same with me,” Blake said. “Next week’ll be better.”
“Sure, it’s fine,” Cassius said.
He walked away quickly. Something told him their weekly poker games were now a thing of the past.
If these fellows weren’t blaming him now for this crop fever thing, he realized with dawning apprehension, they probably soon would be.
Shit-fire, he thought.
Back at his office, Ava had left for the day. He quickly went out on the web, searching for more information on the illness.
There were few facts, but plenty of opinions. Most people who were aware of the problem—comparatively few at this time—insisted that the sickness was a result of the Lange agricultural installation on Anupao. Without any real evidence yet, wild claims were flying.
The most common one was that Lange’s genetically engineered crops contained compounds that when absorbed by Elbanite insects caused a mutation in a virus in the insects’ saliva, rendering it dangerous to human beings while remaining harmless to the insects. If an infected insect bit a human, the virus was transferred and attacked its new host.
His daughter Sienna, he remembered, loved to work in the garden, where there were plenty of insects.
Anupao was a long way off.
But even so, he closed up the office and hurried home.
Chapter 6
Cassius
Cassius waited in the large room, his arms crossed over his chest, and his fingers drumming on his arm. A Town Hall Meeting had been called just an hour ago, and no one had arrived yet. His eyes darted to the clock every few minutes, and the feeling of time passing by slowly in anticipation didn’t help at all.
The solitude allowed Cassius’ mind to wander. His own son had fallen victim to a high fever that only seemed to be getting worse. Cassius was scared for his son—he was terrified of what could happen if help didn’t reach them fast enough.
But he knew he had to remain calm.
People were counting on him, and he had to set an example as their Governor.
Cassius knew he had a relatively small amount of actual executive power, but his influence on the people’s morale made up for his lack of political influence.
After another half hour of waiting, the people began pouring in.
Cassius stood to his feet. The room was filled with the low hum of idle chatter and hushed whispers.
It was clear that everyone already had a suspicion of why they had been called to this meeting. None of them was ready to accept the harsh reality of what was going on with their loved ones.
Cassius approached the center of the room. Up in the podium, he scanned the crowd, looking at the concerned faces of the people he’d been entrusted with governing. His mind steeled to deliver the speech he’d rehearsed countless times over the last several hours.
With a deep breath, he began to speak.
“I’m sure you’re all aware of what’s been happening,” he said. “A mysterious disease that has come to be known as Crop Fever has infected nearly half of the population. While its origins are unknown, we know that around ten percent of infected individuals have, unfortunately, passed away. It is characterized by a fever that gradually deteriorates into paranoia, hallucinations, and psychotic outbursts. It has threatened to cripple our very way of living.”
Murmurs flooded through the crowd. Cassius raised his hand to silence the mass before they could become unruly.
“That being said, we can’t throw ourselves into a panic. I’ve sent word to the main government of Centralia. As you’re aware, they have access to far more advanced medical capabilities than we do, and I’m sure they’ll be able to send aid to us,” he said in a confident tone.
A man stood up from amongst the congregation, his face covered with a surgical mask and his complexion a deathly pale. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes from a lack of sleep. He seemed barely able to stand, but he proceeded forward regardless to the front of the room.
It took Cassius a solid minute to notice that this sickly husk of a man was Craig.
“We can’t afford to wait any longer, Cassius!” he said, a hoarse cough between every other word. “We’re dying, more and more of us by the day. I say we evacuate the planet and go to them! If we wait any longer, there won’t be any of us left to save.”
“Craig, be reasonable. It takes time to organize things of this magnitude. We have a planet-wide epidemic on our hands. We can’t expect results overnight,” Cassius replied. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. “If we remain patient, then we can—”
“Patience got us nowhere, Cassius. Patience removed a tenth of our population. Our family and friends—they’re gone! If their medical facilities are so much better than ours, then I see no reason why going to them directly would be anything other than the best course of action we could take!”
Craig staggered his way to the middle of the stage to stand a couple meters away from Cassius. Cassius reached his hand forward to rest upon Craig’s shoulder, giving his friend a look of pure sympathy.
“I understand, Craig. Believe me, I want results as soon as possible. My son is as much as a victim as you,” he said, his voice threatening to crack with the mention of his son.
Cassius maintained his composure, turning his head to the crowd.
“How about this. We give them one more week. If Centralia doesn’t send aid to us within one week’s time, we’ll begin evacuations using the public transport ship. Is that a compromise that we can all agree with?” Cassius asked, waiting for a response from the crowd.
“All in favor, raise your hand.”
The crowd was silent for a moment, until one hand slowly raised. Soon, another joined. One by one, almost the entire group raised their hands.
A sea of positive responses brought a smile to Cassius’ face. He turned to his friend. Though his mouth was hidden by the mask, he could see that Craig’s face had twisted into one of anxiety.
“We’ll make it work, Craig,” Cassius said.
“I hope so. And I know they have a lot of advance medicine that could help us there, but I just realized…how can we be so sure that they’d accept us?” Craig asked weakly.
“I’m sure they’d be willing to help us. We’ll negotiate with them and figure it all out. Craig, for now, take care of yourself,” Cassius gently squeezed Craig’s shoulder, as if to reassure him.
It didn’t seem to work, however. Craig pulled away and slowly made his way back to his seat.
“With this almost unanimous agreement, it’s settled. We wait one more week for more supplies to arrive,” Cassius said, returning to his place at the podium with both hands on either side of it. “If they don’t respond, then we’ll begin evacuating Elban. As mentioned before, we’ll load the public transport ship with as many people as it can carry.”
The crowd began nodding in agreement.
Cassius managed another smile and gave a solemn nod to them.
“Thank you all for coming. You don’t know how much your continued support means to me,” Cassius said. “Together, we’ll overcome this obstacle—just like we always have. And we always will. If you have questions, please remain. Otherwise, you can all go.”
One by one, the people began filing out of the hall. Cassius remained in his place until the last person exited the room, leaving him alone with Craig, who sat in the back of the room.
Cassius slowly walked toward him and took a seat beside him.
He rested his hands on his knees and stared downward at his feet. The two men sat in silence for a few minutes before Cassius breathed a sigh.
“This is a mistake, Cassius. You know very well we don’t have any more time to wait,” Craig said, wheezing behind his mask as if each word caused pain.
“The people of Elban are resilient. We live on a planet most would find inhospitable and downright hostile, and we do it with pride. Against all odds, we thrive,” Cassius said.
“You call this thriving?” Craig said through another hack and wheeze. “People are dying one by one. Every day, more die from this godforsaken disease.”
“And when Centralia comes to help us, no more will die. We have to be optimistic for the people,” Cassius replied. “How they feel is more important than how things are. If they believe things will be alright, then they’ll make that happen no matter how much it’s stacked against them.”
“I think you’ve confused being optimistic with being oblivious, Cassius,” Craig said. “There aren’t many of us to start with, and by the time this is over, there will be even less of us. Ten percent of five thousand infected is five hundred.
“Tomorrow, that number will climb. And that body count will only get higher and higher from here on out. Things like this snowball and get out of control faster than you think, Cassius. We can’t sustain ourselves this way.”
Craig hoisted himself from his seat and began walking to the door.
“For your sake and the sake of all of us, I hope you prove me wrong.”
Cassius watched him as he exited the room. Once he was alone, he rested his forehead in his hand.
“I hope I do too,” he muttered to himself.
Through his confidence, Cassius couldn’t deny that he felt a little unsure himself. It was natural. Self-doubt plagued even the most confident of leaders. It threatened to infect him like the very disease he was trying to combat.
A shake of his head was enough to clear his mind of the thoughts. He couldn’t afford to sulk and succumb to the fear of losing this world. He needed to embody the same confidence that he wanted to instill in his constituents.
Cassius rose from his seat, turning off the lights behind him to head for home.
Chapter 7
Cassius
Day after day passed. With each day, the radio silence from Centralia became more and more crushing.
More of the population grew sick, and more died. The healthy ones waited in anxiety for help that they knew wasn’t coming.
As promised, evacuation plans that had been discussed over the last week were set into motion. They would load the ship with as many passengers as they could. They would take as many trips as necessary to get the healthy ones off Elban, and on their way to Centralia.
Cassius stood by the gate, a tablet hooked in his left arm and stylus in his right. He watched families and individuals file into the large ship. Two hundred passengers—the maximum capacity for a single trip—were all present and accounted for. Everything went according to plan.
A young woman in a uniform approached Cassius, and he tucked his tablet away for the moment.
“Is everyone on board secured and accounted for?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. We’re ready for takeoff ASAP,” she said.
“Good. Tell the captain everything is clear on my end. I’ll get to work preparing the next two hundred,” Cassius said with a smile.
As if on cue, the captain himself approached the pair, removing his sunglasses and giving a dejected expression.
“Sir, our navigation systems are down,” he said.
“Down? What do you mean they’re down? I thought we performed a check on them barely half an hour ago,” Cassius questioned, looking through his tablet for the results of the last test.
“It appears they’ve been remotely disabled,” the captain admitted. “Someone triggered it barely five minutes ago. It’ll still work, but we’d be going blind into space—and that’s never a smart idea. I might be able to trace the signal if you give me a few minutes.”
Cassius internally cursed, a low groan erupting from his throat.
“Don’t bother. I know who did it,” he said.
It had to be someone from the Centralian government. It was all starting to make sense now. Every distress call had fallen on deaf ears, and now they were blocking any attempt at escape.
Centralia didn’t want the burden of taking care of thousands of sick people, people they considered nothing more than a labor force for food production. Elban was nothing to them, and it turned Cassius’ stomach to even think about this betrayal.
Unknown to Cassius, Craig had been standing just within earshot of the three and heard every word of their conversation. Even in his decrepit state, he commanded an intimidating presence once the trio finally noticed him.
“What did I tell you?” he said, venom coursing through every word. “We gave you your week and you let us down!”
Cassius turned to face him. The man’s condition had worsened since the last time they met. He had no surgical mask on this time, and Cassius could see the cracked lines of his chapped lips. His eyes bagged from the sleepless nights, and there’s a crazed look behind those dark pupils. Craig’s teeth were bared as if he were ready to rip Cassius’ throat out with a single bite.
Cassius cleared his throat, attempting to remain calm in the face of this madman.
“Craig, please. Remain calm. I’m sure—”
“You expect me to remain calm?” he interrupted. His hoarse voice cracked with each syllable, sounding as if his vocal cords were being torn apart. “That’s what you said last week, and the week before! And look where that got us! We’re trapped here!”
The crowd around them began paying attention to them. The sea of faces whispered to each other, eyes widening in the early stages of a panic. Cassius needed to defuse this situation, and he needed to do it quickly. Otherwise, this would erupt into a full-scale riot.
“If I can get in touch with someone who—”
“Someone who’ll give you clearance to use that little ship of yours to mosey on out of here to safety while we suffer and die? Yeah, don’t think I don’t know that you can leave whenever you want!” he screamed.
His eyes were wild in rage. In this livid state, Cassius could tell that his friend wasn’t thinking rationally.
“That’s not true!” Cassius said, taking a step forward to Craig. The two men were face to face, only a half meter’s distance apart. “After all this time, do you think I would abandon my people?”
“Oh please, Cassius! They’re not ‘your people’. You’re not that high in the ranks! They only gave you this position because it needed to be filled!” he accused.
Craig’s face was flushed red, his voice even more strained than before. “Just admit it! You’re only interested in saving yourself and your family! You don’t care about me, you don’t care about my wife, you don’t care about little Peyton! I need to get them to safety too, you know!”
Around them, the crowd began to pack themselves more tightly than they had before. They pushed and shoved each other, their voices growing from the hushed murmurs to full volume conversations. Some even began leaving the ship to see what was causing the noise outside.
They grew more uncontrollable by the second.
A riot could break out any minute, and if it did, there was nothing Cassius could do to stop it. They were no longer interested in words. They wanted action, they wanted results, and they wanted it quickly.
Craig threw a punch at Cassius while he was distracted. There wasn’t much strength behind the punch, and Cassius barely registered it—the punch only disarmed him temporarily. Craig didn’t have the strength to actually hurt him, and he was soon pushed away by the crowd of people.
Nothing but the sound of their uproar could be heard. Screaming, crying, every insult the human tongue was capable of uttering—it all filled the air around Cassius and threatened to suffocate him with just how claustrophobic the situation had become.
“Please! Let me go! Let me come with you to Centralia!” one woman pleaded, gripping his shirt collar with gnarled hands. She seemed to be in the later stages of the sickness. Bloodshot eyes begged through coughing fits brought on by excessive screaming. “I don’t want to die!”
Others echoed her sentiment. The sight was pitiful, and Cassius’ heart broke as he watched his once-proud constituency crumble before him.
If this was how civilization died, it was much more horrifying than he could have ever imagined.
The crowd grew violent. Chaos ripped through their ranks; fists made contact with flesh. Some fell to the ground, trampled by the stampede of the mob. Cassius fought with everything in him to press his way through. He needed to get to the parking lot fast, before the crowd became entirely impassable.
He pressed past the nearly impenetrable wall of bodies, stepping over the remains of those who were crushed by the stampede. His ground car was in sight. Just a few more, and he would be within the safe confines of the vehicle’s bulletproof glass windows and steel frame.
The final person was overcome, Cassius unfortunately having to shove him to the ground and leave him at the mercy of the angry mob.
Cassius stumbled forward, gripping the handle of his car for stability as he fished the ignition key from his pocket.
The door unlocked with the press of a button and he fell inside, not even bothering with his safety restraints. He pressed the button to turn on the ignition, and the engine roared to life.
Cassius ordered the car to drive him home. Slowly, the vehicle started to move.
“Increase speed now!” Cassius exclaimed to the car.
The car obliged and the barricades that lowered to prevent exit splintered in their feeble effort at containment, covering his windshield in bits of wood and mangled metal.
The group that had followed him slowed their chase as he picked up speed more than their feet could carry. Rocks pelted the back and roof of his car. Cassius winced at first, before he took in a deep breath and relaxed. Though the rest of his body seemed at ease, his hands gripped tightly to his seat.
As his car drove him through the now deserted streets to his home, everything raced through Cassius’ mind.
Was he foolish for thinking that Centralia had any interest in helping them?
Was he responsible for all this?
Was it his fault that people lay dying in the streets, crippled by an illness they didn’t understand while waiting for help that was never coming?
All he knew for sure was that he needed to get home, to grab his family and find shelter before the riots became worse.
Only then, after it died down, would he be able to formulate a plan to save them all.
Because, no matter what Craig thought, they really were his people.
Chapter 8
Cassius
The road before Cassius was empty, save the occasional lone wanderer afflicted with the Crop Fever. The fading sunlight overhead wrapped the barren landscape in an orange haze, making the place even more dismal than it once was.
His mind was still plagued with the guilt Craig had instilled him. These feelings would be hard to shake, he knew. Still, he had more important things to worry about than wallowing in his own self-pity.
After what felt like a longer drive than it actually was, his home appeared over the horizon. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that none of the rioters had come for his family yet.
He ordered the car to slow down and pull away into the driveway beside his home. Once the vehicle was parked, he shut off the engine and stepped out.
Lyla was waiting for him at the door with a worried expression on her face, and he made his way over to her.
“Are you alright?” Lyla said, her voice cracking as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “I saw the news, that there was a riot near the transport ship. What’s going on?”
“I’m fine, really. I’m okay,” he said. His hands found her waist and pulled her protectively close. Franky stood behind the pair, occasionally glancing behind his father, as if anticipating more people to be coming with Cassius.
“I was overseeing the evacuation, but out of nowhere, navigation systems were remotely disabled. Everything just moved so fast from there and people started going insane.”
Lyla choked back a sob while her husband spoke. This was far too much for her to handle so suddenly. Cassius gently led her and Franky back inside and locked the door behind them.
“Listen, if anyone comes to the door, don’t answer. Take Franky and Sienna to hide and let me do all the talking.”
Lyla shook her head, wiping a tear from her cheek.
“Let’s just go,” she said. “Take the transport ship to Centralia and make them send help!”
“No, I don’t want to do that,” Cassius replied. “I have my suspicions that Centralia is responsible for keeping us trapped here in the first place. They’ve made it abundantly clear that they’re not interested in sending aid to the people of Elban. Whether they’re afraid of spreading the plague to their own city, or they wanted this to happen in the first place, I don’t know. I don’t trust them.”
“Do we have any choice? If we stay here on Elban, then who knows what will happen to us? They’re going to come for you, Cassius,” Lyla said, her voice pleading. “Please, I don’t want to stay here! We can go so easily!”
Cassius was about to speak, when a thunderous knocking interrupted him. Franky jumped backwards and nearly trip over the end table near the wall.
“Cassius, let me in!” the familiar voice of Craig called from the other side of the wooden barrier. Cassius turned to face the door and peered through the window to its left. He was cradling a small form in his arms.
It didn’t take Cassius long to realize that it was Peyton.
“You open this door right now!”
“Please, come on! Let’s go! We don’t have time!” Lyla begged. “We can’t worry about Craig and his daughter when our own children need saving!”
Three more loud thumps were heard before the door gave way from Craig’s shoulder. Peyton was behind him now, covering her eyes with her hands while her father held a gun trained straight for Cassius’ torso.
“Take her—take her now!” Craig screamed, his free hand gripping Peyton’s shirt collar and shoving her toward Cassius. “She’s the only one in my family not infected! She’s the only one that’s got a chance!”
His face was stained from the tears that had poured from crazed and bloodshot eyes. Peyton tried to struggle against his force, but the child was unable to resist even her sickly father’s grip.
Cassius raised his hands, palms facing toward Craig as he maintained eye contact.
“Slow down, Craig,” he said in a calm tone. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here and we’re going to get this contained.”
“We’re going to get this contained—ha! Contained? You think you can contain this?” Craig said, going into full blown hysterics at this point. “Look everyone, Cassius over here thinks you can contain something like this! Wow, you’re either the biggest liar, or the biggest idiot I’ve ever seen in my life!”
He tapped the gun against his own forehead before pointing it back to Cassius.
“No, how about this? How about you take my daughter, get her off this rock, and leave us to deal with the mess you’ve made.”
“Craig, even if I were to leave, my shuttle only holds four people. I wouldn’t have room for your daughter,” he said, reaching out to Craig.
Craig grew silent.
“I’m sorry for this,” he said quietly. His eyes darted around the room for a moment before locking onto Lyla’s.
Time seemed to move in slow motion for the next few seconds.
Craig swung his arm and pointed the gun at Lyla, squeezing the trigger once his hand stabilized in its aim. A loud crack rang out from the barrel along with a bright flash.
The bullet pierced through Lyla’s chest, out her back, and through the wall behind her.
She staggered for a moment, clutching the hole above her heart with a trembling grasp. She gasped for air, trying to fill her failing lungs, as blood escaped her heart and spilled onto the floor.
Cassius watched her fall back against the wall, her eyes darting between him and Craig as she slowly slipped down. The exit wound left a trail of blood along the wall until she finally hit the ground, slumping to the side and lying motionless on the cold floor.
Her last breath hissed from between her lips, while her eyes slowly slipped out of focus.
“There we go. Now there’s room for Peyton,” Craig said coldly. He glared at Cassius and shook his head. “What’s one more death among the thousands of others you’ll be responsible for? Well, two more.”
Craig turned the gun on himself, pressing the cold barrel against his own forehead before pulling the trigger. Another loud crack was followed by an explosion of red that coated the wall beside him.
His body fell forward into the pool of Lyla’s blood, his cold dead eyes looking up at Cassius.
Cassius had to choke back the bile that threatened to erupt from his throat. He fell to his knees, a shaky arm reaching to Lyla’s body.
He was in shock, unable to even cry. No words escaped his lips. His hand stroked her shoulder gently. He had to get out of here, to take Sienna and Franky as far away from the hell that this planet had become.
Cassius was broken out of his daze by the sound of sobbing beside him. He turned his head to see Peyton, crying with her face in her hands.
She was only six years old and had just witnessed her father murder someone before committing suicide. Her hands and face were covered with blood, most likely from trying to wake him up just moments ago in vain.
Cassius held his arms out and pulled her into a gentle embrace. Cradling the child, he stood to his feet and looked around for his own children.
“Franky! Get Sienna and take her out to the ship,” he said. His son was visibly shaken. He, too, was in shock and unable to really comprehend what was going on.
“We’re leaving!”
“B-but dad, what about them?” he asked, his voice shaking. He was looking at the two bodies on the floor.
“We don’t have time,” Cassius said as he walked past. “Do as I say.”
“Y-yes, sir,” Franky said, coughing and limping slightly as he turned to leave the room and fetch Sienna.
On the shuttle, Cassius tugged firmly on the safety belt that crossed over Sienna’s torso, making sure the small child was firmly fastened in her seat. He did the same for Franky and Peyton before sitting in the pilot’s chair and buckling himself in.
Fingers glided across various buttons and switches as the ship roared to life.
The ship slowly rose from the ground and moved forward. Cassius didn’t even wait for the clearance to proceed before pulling back on the controls and heading upwards toward the upper atmosphere.
Cassius’s expression remained stone cold and blank as they broke through the atmosphere and entered orbit around the planet.
He stole a look at Franky, who was sitting on the seat beside him. He was silent, staring forward at the vastness of space.
He could tell, even now, that Franky’s condition was deteriorating. If they didn’t get to Centralia fast, Franky would succumb just as all the others had. Cassius pressed forward, wanting to put as much distance between them and this chaos as possible.Cassius pressed forward, wanting to put as much distance between them and this chaos as possible.
Chapter 9
Cassius
Space held much less turbulence for them than the upper atmosphere.
They still hadn’t broken orbit, but it wouldn’t be too long until they were free of Elban’s gravity. Although the vessel was nothing but a glorified shuttle meant for the use of Elban’s governor, Cassius had it retrofitted and equipped with a sub light drive—one he expected to be enough to get them to Centralia.
Peyton had fallen asleep. Whether it was due to stress or a child’s natural circadian rhythm kicking in, Cassius couldn’t tell. But he was at least thankful that she was resting. The poor child had witnessed too much.
They all had.
Sienna seemed to be on the border of sleep and wakefulness. If she could just fall asleep, and if Franky would follow, that would make this trip much easier for Cassius to deal with.
He loved his children dearly, and seeing them suffer so far away from home was such a painful thought that he didn’t want to deal with at the time. On top of that, he had a child that wasn’t even his own to care for. Just how was he going to manage this?
Franky’s condition was becoming worse faster than he expected as well. The child hacked violently, a spot of blood spewing from his mouth and into his palm from how his throat had become raw.
It was a horrible sight, watching his son grow sicker, becoming more like the ravenous masses that had suffocated him just barely two hours ago.
It was imperative that they get to Centralia as fast as possible. Otherwise, Franky would lose his mind and suffer a horrid and painful death.
Their trip seemed to be going smoothly, until Cassius caught sight of a massive projectile hurtling past them. Alarms sounded, signifying that the sensors detected hostile activity behind them.
Someone was firing at them.
Cassius gripped the controls tightly, swerving left and right to avoid the shots that hurtled toward them. A few zipped past them harmlessly because of his deft maneuvers.
Still, it was too close for his own comfort.
This didn’t make sense to Cassius. The people of Elban didn’t have weapons like this.
Then, realization struck him.
“The Lange Corporation...” he muttered to himself.
It was all starting to make sense now. Centralia didn’t contact them back. The transport ships were disabled. Now, they were being fired upon.
The entire planet was basically under a quarantine. They didn’t want anyone leaving, not even him. And if this were the case, then that meant the Lange Corporation was responsible for the Crop fever. They made Elban a place for their farming experiments. And now that things had gone haywire, the Lange Corporation didn’t want to take responsibility.
They had left the people of Elban to die.
“Dad?” Franky asked, confusion in his voice. “What’s going on?”
“We’re under attack,” he said honestly. The child had seen so much so far, what was the harm in being blunt now?
The sirens had awakened Peyton and Sienna from their restless sleep. The two girls’ eyes fluttered open and they exchanged nervous looks around the room.
Cassius dove to dodge another projectile. It ripped past, smashing into a meteoroid and shattering the block of ice and metal like it had been nothing more than Styrofoam. Cassius’ muscles tensed, his knuckles going pure white from his tight grip.
If he had been under any more stress, he was sure a vein would burst in his forehead.
He continued to duck and weave in an effort to throw off their attackers. Cassius didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. Eventually, he was going to slip, and one of them would pierce the hull of the ship.
He couldn’t let that happen. Cassius needed to figure out a way to shake them off for good.
“Daddy? I’m scared,” Sienna said in a heartbreaking tone.
“Just hold on, sweetie. I’m going to get us out of this,” he said, continuing his maneuvers.
One of the projectiles flew dangerously close past the front window. Had he been going any faster, it would have gone straight through the cockpit and killed all four of them.
Cassius searched for anything he could use as a shield. After what felt like forever, he spotted a cluster of meteoroids drifting not too far away. Cassius banked the ship left and headed toward them, narrowly missing several other shots along the way.
He slipped between two of the larger ones, using them as a shield just in time for one of the projectiles to smash into the largest of them. That shot would have gone flying through the back of the ship and out the front.
The shots ceased after the attackers lost sight of Cassius’ ship.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“That was close,” he said, releasing the controls for a moment and slipping back in his seat.
He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been gripping them until the soreness in his hands settled.
Sweat dripped down the side of his face.
The adrenaline had begun to fade away, leaving in place the inevitable fatigue.
“Why were they shooting at us?” Franky asked, still shaking from the ordeal.
“Because someone didn’t want us to leave Elban. They have something to hide—and I know what it is,” Cassius said. He unbuckled his restraints and set the ship on autopilot for the time being.
He stood to his feet, going behind his seat to check on the girls. “It’s okay, though. We’ll make it to Centralia, and I’ll make everything right.”
Peyton sat motionless, staring forward blankly without even making a sound. Her occasional blinks were all that told Cassius that she was even still alive.
He turned his head to see Sienna beside them. Her entire body trembled, her lower lip quivering as if she were holding back tears.
Cassius couldn’t blame either child for their reactions. He wished he could be alone, even if just for a minute, and vent all the feelings he had been keeping bottled up for the sake of these children.
He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout, to curse everything over the loss of his wife. He wanted to mourn all that he’d lost in this cruel stroke of fate.
He gripped a fistful of his own hair and breathed deeply. The last of his adrenaline was leaving his body, making him feel weaker and more tired than he had ever been before.
Cassius was interrupted by the sound of coughing and wheezing. He turned and saw Franky’s entire body convulsing in a violent fit brought on by his fever. Red marks appeared on his neck where the safety restraints had rubbed against him in his thrashing, and blood trickled down the corner of his mouth.
With another cough, a spurt of blood coated the control panel in front of him.
Cassius reached inside his pocket and produced a medium sized, plain white handkerchief. Gently, he wiped the blood from his son’s face and the console.
Franky continued coughing, more blood spurting from his mouth with each cough.
“Here, keep it,” Cassius said. He handed Franky the handkerchief, which the boy took and held against his mouth to stop any further mess.
After making sure all the children were okay, Cassius checked the panel and made sure the autopilot was taking them on the right course. With his head in his hand, he leaned against the back wall and slowly slid down to a sitting position.
His breathing was deep and labored, the events of the last several hours taking its toll on him. He reached into his pocket and brought out his tablet. With a swipe of his finger, he flicked through photographs of himself with his family.
Better days—the ones where he was happy and everything seemed to be going so right for him. They were all behind him now.
Now, he only had his children, a planet in flames, and a government seemingly conspiring against all of them.
Chapter 10
Cassius
The feeling of grogginess and the soreness in his muscles alerted Cassius that he’d fallen asleep against the hull of his ship. He groaned lowly, rubbing his forehead and looking around the room. The time on his tablet said he’d only been asleep for about five minutes.
With unstable legs, he stood to his feet and attempted to regain his bearings.
Cassius staggered forward, just taking it one step at a time as he made his way back to the cockpit. He felt the start of a headache, most likely due to the brevity of his impromptu nap.
He returned drowsily down on the captain’s seat and regained control of the ship from the autopilot. Franky was gone from the seat beside him.
Where is he?
Cassius heard footsteps behind him that he assumed were Franky’s. He turned his head back to see the form of him, now more haggard in appearance than he had been.
“Franky, are you feeling any worse than before?” Cassius asked. Franky had now moved to stand beside him.
“We need to go back,” Franky replied in a monotone. His eyes were completely red, voice scratchy due to the sheer amount of tearing his vocal cords had experienced over the past several weeks.
“We need to go back now!”
“Franky, we can’t. We’d be shot down, you know that,” Cassius said, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder.
Franky promptly smacked the hand away, his face turning from a blank expression to one twisted with anger.
“We left her! We have to go back and get mom!”
“Franky…your mom died. Remember? We can’t go back for her,” Cassius said, the words nearly hanging in his throat. “Craig shot her. You saw it happen.”
“No! We abandoned her! We have to go back!” Franky said. The muscles in his neck tensed, and his face grew a dark shade of red. “She’s waiting for us, and we let her down!”
Franky lunged forward, attempting to wrestle the controls away from his father. Cassius let out a yell, fighting his son away with his shoulder. The two struggled for control of the ship, Cassius having the advantage of being strapped into his chair while the ship bobbed and weaved about.
Franky couldn’t maintain his stability. He fell to the cold steel floor with a loud thud.
Behind him, Sienna and Peyton stood from their seats, heads tilted in curiosity. Franky looked back at the pair, then back to his father. After standing to his feet, Franky took one slow step backwards.
“Franky, what are you doing?” Cassius asked, concerned for the girls’ safety. He’d witnessed firsthand what this disease did to the mind. Even the gentlest of people were susceptible to raving lunacy when the fever finally reached the end.
“Franky, stay where you are,” he warned his son.
“Gotta go back...gotta make room...not enough room for mom,” he muttered. Before Cassius could reach him, Franky darted back, grabbing Peyton with an arm around her neck. “There’s not enough room for mom!”
Peyton tried to scream, but Franky covered her mouth with his hand. Her muffled cries for help barely passed the taller boy’s hand and her thrashing was easily overpowered by him.
Slowly, he began moving toward the back, to the airlock.
Cassius didn’t think. Instead, he acted purely on instinct. He tackled Franky, trying to wrestle Peyton away from him.
“Let her go, Franky!” he yelled, his hand trying to pry the arm from around Peyton’s neck. Fingernails clawed at Franky’s arm, trying to gain a hold around it without hurting Peyton herself.
“Let go, dad! We have to throw her out! We need room for mom!” Franky screamed, inching further and further back toward the airlock as they fought. He seemed much stronger than he had over the last few weeks, at least as far as Cassius knew.
Perhaps the adrenaline, the anger, all of it amplified his physical abilities to the point where even if he was in pain, he still had the energy to move forward.
The three of them staggered backwards. Franky released his grip from Peyton’s mouth and opened the airlock door. Cassius was clawing at his arm, trying to force him to release Peyton.
Franky wrestled with his father and Peyton, trying to shove the two of them into the airlock. In a fit of desperation, Peyton sunk her teeth into Franky’s arm. He yelled out in pain, releasing her immediately.
Cassius took advantage of this narrow window of opportunity to lunge forward, shoving Franky to the ground. Franky came skidding to a halt inside the airlock, and Cassius sealed the door behind him. From the other side of the door, he could hear Franky screaming.
“No! Let me out! Gotta get mom! Gotta get mom! Please, let me out!”
His fists slammed against the door, but the reinforced steel wouldn’t budge. Cassius quickly dialed his PIN into the keypad beside him and locked the door.
“Mom needs us! She needs us!” Franky continued to scream on top of his lungs.
He began thrashing about, kicking and punching anything within reach.
“If you won’t go, I’m going alone! I’m gonna get mom myself!” he yelled.
Franky punched the Emergency Release button near the opposite door, and was immediately sucked into the vacuum of space.
Cassius watched through the porthole as Franky flipped backwards several times, his arms going over his throat. Bubbles formed in his mouth as the saliva on his tongue boiled from exposure to space.
After a few more seconds of violent thrashing, he grew still.
Eventually, his body became nothing more than a small dot, indistinguishable from the backdrop of the cosmos.
The emergency door closed shortly after sucking Franky out and Cassius’ breathing slowed. Beside him, Peyton sobbed inconsolably. Her entire body shook, eyes stained red from crying.
No, no, no—that single word echoed inside Cassius’s skull like a curse, repeating itself over and over again. His world was collapsing under his gaze, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Cassius gently pulled Peyton close, standing to walk to where Sienna stood.
“Sienna, can you go to the cargo hold and get some water for her? Make sure she drinks it,” he said, almost robotic in his actions.
Sienna didn’t respond. She took Peyton from him and Cassius walked past them back to the cockpit. He claimed his seat once more and took control of the ship.
This was the final straw. Cassius emotionally shut down, unable to deal with anything anymore.
First his people, then his wife, now his son was dead too?
If the Lange Corporation was indeed behind this, then it all went even deeper than he initially suspected.
And the worst part was the government of Centralia was helping them cover it all up.
Bile welled up in Cassius’ throat as he thought of the rampant corruption. People were dying because of the actions of a corporation that cared more about profits than human life, and the government was turning a blind eye.
The government was aiding in the slow, painful slaughter of thousands of innocent people. It was disgusting.
Cassius’ path was clear before him. His first priority would be getting these two girls to safety. He couldn’t allow them to fall victim to this horrible scheme as well. Even if the rest of their home world didn’t have a bright future, he’d make sure the girls did.
His second order of business was revenge. The Lange Corporation took everything away from him. And he wanted to make them suffer for what they’d done.
Cassius didn’t have a clear idea how, but someday, he would cripple them and expose them for the monsters they were.
And last, but certainly not least, Cassius resolved to bring down the sorry and oppressive state the government was currently in. If they could be so easily bought by large corporations, what good were they?
They didn’t deserve the power they held if they’d be simple puppets for the highest bidder. They needed to go, and needed to go quickly.
He would cut the strings, burn the puppets, and put an end to this cycle of greed and corruption once and for all.
For his people, for Lyla, for Franky, for Craig.
If the Lange Corporation and the government thought they could get away with this, Cassius was going to prove them dead wrong.
Nothing was going to stand in his way.
Chapter 11
Cassius
The girls had cried themselves to sleep in the transport’s quarters. Cassius was all alone at the helm. It was too quiet, and he was forced to deal with the trauma of watching Franky turn into someone else and then die so horribly.
It was all too much.
For the first time, Cassius allowed himself to cry.
Don’t call me Franky!
The memory made him smile through the tears. Franky had been demanding that since he was ten. Cassius and Lyla never listened, only because they thought the squabble over his name was adorable.
Sensors flashed, warning him that the fuel was almost gone and the airlock had been damaged.
Cassius considered just ramming the next asteroid he encountered. It would be easier for all of them if he just ended their misery right then. Why go on?
But the memory of Sienna’s tear-filled eyes changed his mind. He couldn’t betray her, or Peyton, like that.
His next thought was to hand them over to his brother before killing himself. It was dismissed as soon as it crossed his mind, but still hovered in the back of his consciousness.
“Daddy?” Sienna sniffed behind him, making him forget all his dark thoughts.
“Come here, sweetie.”
He pulled her into his lap and hugged her tight, keeping his shoulder up so she couldn’t see the fuel sensor. She had enough to worry about. Sadness threatened to take over again as he rocked his daughter back to sleep.
He felt a sense of peace amidst everything, having his daughter with him.
I can’t break down now, he thought. I have to protect Sienna.
Grief compressed into anger as Cassius reached Centralian territory. They were hailed as they approached the planet. Sienna poked her head up with sleepy eyes, and Cassius slid her off his lap.
A stern woman in uniform scowled through the viewscreen.
“This is planetside and occupied space defense. You are ordered out of Centralian territory. Turn that ship around now.” A stern woman in uniform scowled through the viewscreen.
“Personal transport Outer, BAK870FF. Request clearance for entry,” Cassius kept his voice calm, but inside, he was raging.
“Negative BAK870FF, all ships from your sector are under quarantine order. Return to Elban.”
Fucking perfect, Cassius thought.
Lange already sent word. No doubt they blamed him or some other innocent bastard. When the money rolled in, mouths clamped shut. He felt foolish for thinking he could change anything.
“I’m a Human Confederation Governor with two little girls and a son that needs medical attention. I need that clearance,” Cassius spat.
“Negative. Set coordinates for Elban—or we’ll fire.”
“You want to kill children?”
He hoisted Sienna into his lap.
“Wave at the mean lady,” he whispered in her ear.
Sienna obliged, her eyes wide and haunted.
“I’m broadcasting and the entire Human Confederation will know that you are responsible for the deaths of a Governor and innocent children.”
“Your little transport doesn’t have broadcast capabilities, Governor. And there are only three life signs on board.” She flashed a sardonic smile. “Nice try.”
He had only one more trick up his sleeve, and he had hoped that the officer was stupid. It was time to put his poker skills to use.
“Look, I got two kids, no fuel, and nothing to lose. Grant the clearance or I’ll hammer this little transport right up your ass. Think you can stop me? Watch.”
Increasing speed, he headed straight for Centralia’s orbit.
“Sienna, go wake Peyton up and you two buckle down tight,” he said in the most serene tone he could muster.
With the wizened nod of a girl who just aged a decade, she ran off to their quarters. Cassius held his breath until the comm beeped. “Okay, daddy.”
That’s my girl, he thought as he cranked up the speed as high as the sub light drive engines allowed.
The outer defense grid fired its first torpedo before Cassius could make the orbit zone. Knowing their tactics, he evaded easily. Another surprised him from the rear, which he barely dodged by banking hard. Both missed torpedoes made wide turns to come at him again.
They updated the turrets on the defense grid.
Damn it, he thought. That pinch-faced bitch probably run the controls herself.
Centralia had four torpedo turrets surrounding the planet, and it was nearly impossible to break through. Using the transport’s size to his advantage, he brought the Outer into a nosedive then pulled up. They whizzed past him on either side, and he set into a tailspin to keep them confused.
Sensors flashed with a warning blare. The two turrets on the other side of the planet were en route to intercept. He only had a few minutes before the Outer was obliterated.
In a move he would have never dared in his previous life, he spun and ran straight for the nearest turret.
Clenching his jaw as it drew closer, Cassius’ hand twitched over the controls. He had to stop himself from automatically pulling away. He could see the hull number now.
HC-Turret 01.
He held his breath. He was in range of the rail guns. They opened fire.
Shutting down his mind, he let his body and gut take over to wiggle through the maze of ballistics. One hit its mark, then another. The girls screamed as the ship shook, nearly spinning out of control. Cassius gained control and forced himself to ignore the tormented children.
With only two meters of wiggle room, he banked right, speeding along the side of the hull. One torpedo hit the turret, then the other in cascading explosions. Another nosedive avoided the blast, and he aimed straight for Centralia’s atmosphere.
A beep disturbed his focus. He was being hailed again.
He flipped the viewscreen on. “What did I say? I’m coming down on your coordinates.”
“BAK870FF, you are cleared for entry if you slow to atmospheric speed.”
He did as he was asked.
“Call,” he muttered under his breath. Clearance was less costly than the destruction he wreaked on the defense grid. He bet everything on it.
“BAK870FF, do you understand that you and anyone else aboard must go directly to quarantine?”
She sent him the coordinates.
“Agreed.” He cut off the channel and went in.
Government goons in hazmat suits that read HC Contagion Control escorted them from the Outer at gunpoint.
Peyton and Sienna clung to Cassius in tears. He walked at a pace they could handle without letting go. One of the guards prodded him in the back, trying to speed them up. Instead of complying, he slowed his pace in a dare.
It was ignored and the prodding ceased. They must not have wanted him dead yet. People like this usually wanted to see them suffer to monitor the progress of a disease. They would shove needles into their skin, cover them with electrodes, and take huge amounts of fluid samples.
For a moment, Cassius wished he had slammed them into a random asteroid. The kids had already been through enough, and now he understood those stories where parents murdered their children to save them from a worse fate.
The landing bay hatch sealed before the entrance to the building lifted open.
They had been preparing for this for a long time. The building was built since his last trip for Congress, and it was smack in the middle of the industrial subdivision. It seemed to have been built just for the Crop Fever, or he was probably just paranoid. It was completely self-contained with vacuum doors every twenty feet, separate ventilation for each sector, and every person except the three newcomers wore hazmat suits.
Four doors with only empty space in between opened and closed automatically behind them before the two goons in front stopped. One slid a keycard and punched in the corresponding number code. Still, they had to wait until two more goons opened the door.
Peyton and Sienna went from quiet tears to open wailing as they were gently pushed into the new hallway.
“Shhh, it’s okay.”
Cassius took each of their hands and squeezed them tight.
He didn’t blame them. Sterile doors lined both sides and dim lighting cast ominous shadows. It smelled of disinfectant and decay. They were surrounded by faceless monsters who wanted to lock them up.
“Daddy?” Sienna whispered.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“Franky didn’t break the jewelry box. I dropped it.”
It sounded too much like a deathbed confession.
“It’s okay, Sienna. Nanny would understand,” Cassius replied.
Tears streamed down his face. Sienna nodded with a sniffle.
“Stop here,” a goon demanded. “Girl one, there. Girl two, there. The governor…right there,” he pointed to three rooms on the left.
The girls were yanked away and dragged toward their rooms, screaming for Cassius.
Cassius struggled against the two that held him with all his might. Knowing he would rather die than see them separated, the two remaining goons trained their guns on the girls.
Cassius went dead still. He gave the girls a look that said they should do the same. They stopped struggling as they spied the weapons. He allowed them to drag him to his room without further contest.
Before they could close the door, he heard Sienna’s voice.
“Someday, my dad will fight you.”
The quiet determination in her voice told him that she meant it.
Cassius meant it too.
Chapter 12
Ketra
The elevator rose slowly as Ketra tapped her stylus along her tablet device. The past few weeks had been rough for the young journalist; every story she’d pursued had only led to dead ends and false information.
Ketra was growing frustrated by all of it until word reached her that a ship from Elban carrying three passengers had arrived on the planet. They were just rumors at first, but the rumors circulated with such consistency that she had no choice but to investigate.
The elevator chimed—she’d reached her destination.
The sound of her stilettos clicking against the floor filled the otherwise quiet hallway. She knew she was going the right way by the appearance of workers in hazmat suits.
A smile curled on her lips. If she managed to get this story, and get it right, then it would be the story of a lifetime.
Her prize was in sight. The quarantine area was just down the hallway from her. Ketra picked up her speed, excitement growing in her with each step until two arms extended from either side to block her entry.
“Sorry, ma’am, we can’t let you go any further,” the guard to her left said in a gruff voice. “This area’s under quarantine until further notice.”
“I’m well aware that this is the quarantine zone. That’s why I’m here,” she said. She raised her tablet and stylus. “My name is Ketra and I’m with the press. I heard rumors that someone from Elban is here, and I want to have a word with him.”
“Sorry, orders are orders. You don’t have the right clearance,” he said, his voice firm.
“That won’t do. I demand to speak to the administrator of this facility,” she said, her eyes narrowed into a glare at the slightly taller man.
“Still not gonna budge,” he said. His tone made it obvious to Ketra that she was getting nowhere with him.
“That’s too bad. Well, I guess I’ll just have to run the story as is,” she said.
She hummed, tapping her lip with the tip of her stylus.
“I just don’t have all the details since I’m working off rumors and speculation. It’ll be vague... probably freak out a lot of the readers. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”
She heaved an overly dramatic sigh and shook her head.
“If only I could go in and interview this guy,” she continued. “Then, I’d be able to dispel the rumors and prevent a panic I’m sure neither of you want to be responsible for. I guess I’ll just be leaving, then.”
The two guards shot each other a nervous glance.
“Hey, hey, don’t be hasty here,” the one on her right said, finally speaking up. “Look, we’ll let you speak to the admin, but don’t expect much.”
Ketra maintained her composure, but on the inside, she was ecstatic.
“Great. Lead the way, boys,” she said, motioning her hand.
It was just a short walk to the administrator’s office. Inside sat a man behind a transparent desk. His glasses hung low on his nose as he poured over the paperwork before him.
“Sir, we’ve got a reporter. Says she needs to talk to the guy in quarantine,” the first guard said as they entered.
“No,” the administrator said, clearly frustrated by the sudden interruption. “No one sees any of the patients.”
“That’s too bad,” Ketra said, speaking up and pushing past the guards into the office. “If I don’t get the information I need, then I guess I’ll just have to broadcast this story on what I do have. But it’s hard to tell how the people would react to hearing something like that.” Ketra tapped her chin for a moment, feigning deep thought.
“I got it: ‘Elban Man Escapes Planetary Quarantine! Crop Fever Pandemic Imminent’?” Her hands gestured outward as she spoke. “Yeah that’s a good one!”
“You wouldn’t,” the administrator said.
“You sure about that?” Ketra replied with a hand on her hip, a smirk playing at her lips.
The man thought about it for a moment. He groaned and shook his head.
“Fine. You have ten minutes,” he said. “Take her to the quarantine zone and make sure she doesn’t go past the glass partition.”
With reluctance, the two led her back to the containment area. One of the guards entered a code into the keypad, letting the door slide open rapidly.
“Ten minutes. Don’t go past the glass, or you’re not coming out.”
“Got it,” she said as she walked past the pair. The door sealed behind her, and she saw a glass partition with a man sitting behind it in a chair. He didn’t seem to be sick at all.
Ketra found a seat and pulled it in front of the glass.
“You don’t look like one of the staff here,” the man said, seeming almost relieved to see someone other than the people who locked him in there.
“My name is Ketra. I’m with Pak News. I just wanted to get a bit of information about your recent experiences for a story I’m doing a research on. You’re the talk of the town, you know,” she said, turning on her voice recorder as she spoke.
“I thought as much,” Cassius replied with a dry chuckle. “A single shuttle fleeing a world in catastrophe. That’s bound to turn a few heads.”
“Just to give you a heads up, this interview is going to be recorded, and it can be used as a source if the story is broadcasted,” Ketra said, holding up her recorder.
“Fine with me,” Cassius replied.
“So, tell me what happened. In your own words,” Ketra said as she held the recording device closer to the partition.
In response, Cassius scooted his chair closer to the divide between them.
“Well, it all happened so fast,” he began. Cassius leaned further forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, the Crop Fever, as we’d taken to call it, started a few weeks ago. It started with the field workers, hence the name. After a while, it started spreading to the general population.”
Ketra listened intently as Cassius spoke, enthralled by the story already.
“At first, it didn’t seem to be all that bad. It was mainly a fever. You might cough your throat raw, but otherwise, you’re fine.”
“I ordered some supplies from Centralia, medicine to keep the fever down until it went away. Then, it started making people go...crazy,” he continued. “And people started dying once their minds were completely gone. About a week ago, it had spread to half the population. Killed ten percent of that number, too.”
Cassius’ voice cracked from the pain of reliving the nightmare all over again in his mind.
“That’s terrible,” Ketra said, her eyebrows drawn together.
“It was horrifying. We waited one more week for the shipment to arrive, but it never did. I ordered a full evacuation of the planet to get them here to Centralia, but our navigation systems were jammed. I have a good reason to believe that the Lange Corporation is involved in all this, and the Centralian government is covering their tracks,” Cassius said. He rubbed his face with his right hand and breathed a deep sigh.
“After that, all hell broke loose. I lost my wife, my son—almost lost my daughter,” he said, his voice faltering once more. “My people are suffering and dying there as we speak, and I’m locked in here like I’m diseased. I need to get out of here and track down the person responsible for this experiment they used my people as guinea pigs for. Whoever they are, they need to be brought to justice.”
Ketra was about to respond, but a knock at the door said that her ten minutes had expired.
“Hey, I have to go. Thanks for your time,” she said. “I don’t think I caught your name?”
“Cassius. Cassius Ojun,” he said. “Go on. I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble on my account.”
Ketra turned off her voice recorder and waved goodbye, leaving the room in a hurry. She wished she could have stayed longer, but thought this should be enough to get the story out there for now.
Ketra stood in her news editor’s office and played the recording for him.
“Well? What do you think?” she asked, leaning her palms on the desk and giving an expectant look.
“Do you really want to know what I think, Ketra?” he asked, rhetorically. “I think this is a slander suit waiting to happen. You can’t broadcast this accusation against Lange and the government without more sources.”
Ketra hung her head and groaned loudly. “But I…”
“Listen, I know you want a good story, but you can’t go about it by taking the word of a man who illegally entered the planet from a colony under quarantine,” the man said.
Ketra wasn’t about to let this stop her. If the news editor wanted sources, she’d find them.
She pushed herself from the desk and reclaimed her voice memo.
“Thanks, I’ll get back to work,” she said, turning on her heels and exiting the room before he could respond.
Chapter 13
Cassius
Cassius sat alone in the quarantine room for what felt like forever.
Alone with his thoughts, the events of the last several weeks continued to torment his mind. He felt a vice grip around his heart, his lust for revenge taking greater and greater hold each day.
Lange needs to pay for what they’d done, for all they’d stolen from me.
He was taken out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening next to him. The administrator stood in the threshold.
“Come on,” he said, motioning for Cassius to follow him. “You and the kids are free to go.”
Cassius stood and met with the other man, along with Peyton and Sienna.
“We’re cleared?” Cassius asked, taking the hands of the two children.
“Yeah. No sign of the disease in any of you,” he said. “Just don’t cause any trouble out there, okay? Make sure nobody knows who you are, don‘t disturb the public—otherwise, we‘re going to have a much less pleasant conversation.”
“Duly noted. Thank you for your hospitality, anyway,” Cassius said.
The three of them followed the necessary precautions. One last checkup and some discharge forms had to be performed before they were finally allowed to leave.
A ground car was waiting for them out front to take them out to one of the neighborhoods of Centralia. Cassius guided the two girls into the car before climbing in himself and closing the door.
He gazed out the window, watching the landscape go by at a moderate speed. Sienna leaned against her father, on the verge of falling asleep. Cassius, in turn, held his daughter close, knowing she needed the comfort after it all.
Sienna and Peyton soon fell asleep.
The sun hung high in the sky; it was already noon when they finally reached their destination. Their driver pulled into the driveway of a modest home. He put the car in park and turned back to look at Cassius.
“This is our stop. The owner’s gonna let you go ahead and move in. You were the governor of Elban—we couldn’t just toss you out on the street. You’re expected to make payments when you do get settled in, though.”
“That sounds fair,” Cassius said.
He reached over to nudge the two girls’ shoulders. Their eyes fluttered open, one after another, and Sienna yawned.
“Come on, kids. We’re here.”
Groggily, the two stirred awake while Cassius helped them unbuckle and get out of the vehicle.
The two girls stumbled for a moment before shaking the sleep from their eyes. Peyton and Sienna each took a hand of Cassius, and the three followed the driver to the door.
“The lock code for the doors has been sent to you. Expect a call from the owner later,” he said. “He’ll give you more details.”
To be sure, Cassius checked his messages. Sure enough, a code for the doors had been sent from an unfamiliar sender.
“Thank you,” he said.
He entered the code into the panel on the door and entered the home with the two girls.
The living area was small, only large enough for the sofa, television, and a few plants in the corner. It wasn’t anything special, but Cassius knew he would come to see it as home sooner rather than later.
Cassius decided to explore the house a bit further.
“You two just have a seat in the living room, I’ll be back,” he said as he went down the hall, which led to two bathrooms and two bedrooms. One was obviously the master bedroom, while the other held two twin beds on either side.
Cassius made his way back down the hall, this time entering the kitchen rather than going back to the living room.
The kitchen was just as basic as the rest of the house. Just the bare necessities for food preparation. He leaned against the counter and gazed out the window to the alley across the street. Just a few minutes ago, he had thought this neighborhood looked familiar when they first entered.
Now, he realized it was the same one where the old boss of the Roland gang lived.
A young boy, no older than Sienna, darted around the corner of the alley. He clutched a package under his arm, constantly looking over his shoulder as he jogged to a nearby dumpster.
With one last check of his surroundings, he stuffed the box beneath the dumpster and moved a few boxes in front of it. Cassius knew exactly what he was doing.
It was something he’d done himself countless times.
His mind was brought back to a rainy night in the slums nearly two decades ago. He had held a package against his chest, the contents of which he’d not been made privy. The scent of decay had filled his teenager’s nostrils as the sound of puddles splashing filled his ears.
He’d had a few close calls with the authorities by then. He needed to be more careful. That was his life, doing the dangerous jobs for the Rolands. It was his lot in life to follow their orders in hopes of getting enough money to survive just one more day.
Things changed for him so much over the years, yet so little had changed overall. People still fought to survive in the streets, an uphill battle that only resulted in success for a very lucky few.
Cassius had been one of the lucky ones who were able to get out of the system. His experience had given him invaluable knowledge of the world, of its cruelty, its corrupt system. He had gotten out because of that knowledge—but he wished that life didn’t have to be the reality that so many lived with each and every day.
His mind was taken immediately to Peyton. She was alone in the world now. Her family was gone, her planet was in shambles. She had no one and no future if she were to be turned loose alone.
He couldn’t just let her fade away as one of the forgotten children of Centralia.
Overall, his position wasn’t that bad—he still held his position as governor, which meant he wasn’t destitute, and the house already had a second bed in the smaller bedroom.
There was plenty of room for Peyton to stay with him and Sienna, and the two children seemed to have bonded during their experience.
Cassius pushed himself from the counter and left the kitchen. He returned to the living room to sit in the chair beside the sofa the girls had claimed. He sighed as he sank into the cushioned fabric. The chair itself was comfortable, much more so than he had thought from the looks of it.
“So, girls, this is going to be our new home now,” he said, leaning forward so the two could give him their full attention.
“Are we ever gonna go back to our old home?” Sienna asked, head tilting to the side.
“I don’t know, sweetie,” he said. “For now, we need to make the most of what we have and keep moving forward for bigger and better things. I’m going to find the people who hurt your mother and brother. They’re not going to get away with it.”
“I’m scared, daddy,” she said, pushing herself off the sofa and crawling into Cassius’ lap. Her small arms hooked around his neck, and she buried her face in his shoulder. “Everything here is too big and scary.”
“I know, but don’t worry. This is where daddy grew up. I’ll keep you safe. No more bad things are going to happen—not if I can help it,” he said, a hand reaching up to pet the back of her head while the other held her close.
He looked to Peyton and motioned for her to join them. She was reluctant at first, sitting for a moment on the sofa, before crawling into Cassius and Sienna’s embrace.
“You’re part of our family now, too. Your dad trusted me to take care of you,” he said, each and every word feeling like a nail clawing up his throat, “and I’m not going to let him down.”
Peyton didn’t speak. Instead, she hugged him as tight as her tiny frame would allow, her body shaking a little at the mention of Craig.
Cassius could imagine the trauma that she’d experienced, and how it would most likely linger with her for the rest of her life.
At least, he would make sure he would be there to try and lessen the pain as much as possible.
Chapter 14
Cassius
Cassius threw his comm away in frustration. He thought he had good rapport with those he tried to contact, yet another refused to take his call. It was easy to give up at this point.
He was alone. Again.
If his wife was there, she would tell him to stop whining and get it done, so instead he wrote up an official request to speak at the next Governors Congress meeting. When he needed a voice of reason, he always asked himself what Lyla would say.
The meeting was only two weeks away—that gave him time to prepare and hopefully sway some of his counterparts to his side.
Approval was granted right away, giving him the fourth slot. By then, after new business, old business, announcements, and updates, the governors would already be tired.
Three speakers ahead of him and he would have the crankiest bunch of governors of the day. He had a suspicion it was designed that way.
At least he would get to speak. They had to be selective with their topics, and declined more than they approved.
They probably knew that everyone would have questions about the incident on Elban and would find it strange if it wasn’t raised. With the right mixture of official reports and rumor, they could control the population’s reaction.
Cassius got up and walked over to the comm, debated stepping on it, and grudgingly picked it up. He placed it gently on the desk next to the slipstream. He just stood there and glared at them as if it were to blame, jumping when the comm beeped.
“Governor Ojun, I have Secretary Mehidas to see you.”
“Send her in,” he barked. He never bothered to remember his Centralian assistant’s name. He was a young man fresh out of school, and that was all Cassius knew.
Lavinia Mehidas sashayed through the door and sat opposite the desk without being invited. She was in her late thirties, but looked twenty-five. She was used to flaunting her sex appeal and bitchy attitude to get her way.
As Secretary, she ran the Congress Department of Financial Affairs.
“Governor Ojun,” she barely glanced at him, studying her tablet while she talked. “Elban has taken a considerable hit. Where the hell have you been?’ She just gave him the patient school look. Of course, she knew about the outbreak and subsequent events. She just didn’t care. Numbers were her job, and that was all that mattered.
“Don’t blame me. If you want someone, go talk to the Lange Corporation.”
“Funny, they said the same thing about you,” she replied.
“What could I have done? Sneezed in someone’s drink?”
“They said you willfully ignored the signs of outbreak. You covered it up when an old man killed himself.”
“He was already senile and had tried that before. How was I supposed to know?” he hissed.
“That’s not my department, Governor,” Lavinia stood. “Your statements have been noted and you’ll be advised of your review hearing.”
Without so much as a farewell, she waltzed out the door shaking her narcissistic ass.
Cassius was getting a headache. To think he was part of the same bureaucracy he hated so much. He hoped he never acted that arrogantly to the farmers he had grown to consider as friends.
Two weeks passed ever so slowly as he waited for the Governors Congress meeting.
No one would talk to him still. That only meant two things; either they had been paid off, or threatened. He would never understand why life meant so little and profit meant so much.
No one cared when he told the story of how his Franky deteriorated and ultimately killed himself. They only cared that their bribes kept rolling in.
What would Lyla say?
The political wheel is a slow machine. Be patient. Focus on your real life.
Of course. He spent every possible moment with Sienna and Peyton, trying to transform their haunted eyes into the innocent wonder they used to be.
He made them fabulous meals (and some horrible ones that were good for a laugh), and did his best to take one day at a time.
He took them to live shows and the Zero-G Derby. They loved that one. It was nothing but a brawl in a low gravity ring. They both adored music, so concerts were a regularity. Every moment he spent with them, he filled with silliness and fun.
He relished it, knowing it could be taken away any time. They knew it too. Once in a while, the haunted look would return. It vanished just as quickly, and sometimes he wondered if they were trying to comfort him.
Finally, the meeting day arrived, and Cassius found himself dreading it. He had immersed himself wholly into giving the children good memories, and now he had to face reality again.
The kids let him relive the simple life he used to have. They reminded him of the hope that was still left. Life would be so much better if children were in charge, and adults got grounded for being evil.
Faces stared up at Cassius, some in boredom and some in stone-faced defiance. No one wanted to hear what he had to say, but by the time he was through, a few would at least be concerned for their own people.
He took a deep breath.
“By now all of you have heard rumors of the tragedy on Elban,” Cassius started. “They’re true. The outbreak of Crop Fever has devastated the entire planet, and the risk that it could devastate yours is certain.”
That got their attention. Murmurs rippled through the crowd—some in disbelief, some in worry. The people he took note of sat still without a word. It was as if they already knew what he was going to say. He kept a closer eye on them throughout the speech.
He cranked up the volume on the thumbnail-sized mic on his collar.
“That’s right. You’re vulnerable too. If you’re content to sit there and watch everyone you know and love die—then by all means, ignore the problem. But don’t deny that it exists.”
Everyone in the room took a defensive posture in some way. Arms crossed over chests, legs crossed, some leaned forward as if preparing for a fight. Those were the ones that needed watching.
Just the effect Cassius was waiting for. He straightened his back and leaned forward for dramatic flair.
“I’m not speaking here for sympathy. I came to warn you. This pandemic was engineered and distributed by a corporation you all know and trust. The—”
His voice ceased reverberating throughout the auditorium, and he realized someone cut the signal to the microphone.
Determined to keep his temper, he stalked backstage. The governors muttered amongst themselves in confusion while he came face-to-face with the meeting facilitator.
He didn’t slow his pace until he could smell the bald man’s breath.
“I was given twenty minutes,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet.
The facilitator backed up a step. “I’m sorry, Governor. You can’t continue. There’s a legal issue.”
“What legal issue?”
He had been given permission to speak. They knew what he wanted. What the hell was the problem now?
“Um,” he glanced over Cassius’s shoulder. “There’s an attorney here to see you.”
Cassius turned around to see a younger man with platinum blonde hair and a charcoal suit approaching.
He had to admit the contrast was intimidating. He set his jaw and prepared for the worst.
The meeting facilitator took the opportunity to scurry away.
“Governor Ojun, my name is Trom Barrett. I represent Vice-Chancellor Jebediah Lange.”
He tapped his tablet a couple of times.
“You’ve been served.”
“With what?” Cassius brought out his tablet to look at the documents the lawyer just passed to him.
Jebediah Lange, the official signature on the purchase of the Elban continent.
“A cease-and-desist on all moves against the Lange Corporation, and a gag order for the events on Elban. Violating these will result in prison time.”
“That’s a load of bull,” he said, but it wasn’t. A small time governor wouldn’t win against the palm greasers.
“Need I remind you how the system works? Your child will disappear into it and you’ll never see her again.”
The man was a good two feet shorter, but he still managed to look down at Cassius.
Sienna was his weakness, and they knew it. His shoulders slumped in resignation.
“Although, Lange Corporation is willing to cover the expenses for the relocation of the remaining survivors. Which is what, two hundred?”
“Five hundred sixty-nine. Fine,” he said. With a plan already brewing in his head, he put on his most thoughtful poker face. “I’ll shut up. But first—”
Cassius punched the son of a bitch square in the nose and walked away. It was obvious the man took pride in his appearance, and messing with that felt too good.
He would shut up. Cassius knew how to do that.
But he wouldn’t sit still.
He was beginning to understand that he would have to combine his rough childhood with his bureaucratic adulthood in order to win this race.
Chapter 15
Cassius
Cassius’ fist rapped against the door in front of him.
The last several days were dead end after dead end. This stop was his last—the final member of the Congress who he hadn’t spoken to yet.
The door opened before him, revealing an aging man, appearing to be in his late fifties, sitting behind a desk.
“I hope this is good for you, to come in while I’m doing paperwork,” the man said.
“Yes, of course, I won’t take too much of your time,” Cassius replied, walking inside to take a seat in front of the desk.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, son,” he said with a light laugh. “It’s just an old man carrying on. Truth be told, you’re saving me from an aneurysm.”
He reached across the desk to shake Cassius’ hand. Cassius reached out his and shook the congressman’s hand.
“So, you’re the man from Elban everyone’s talking about?”
“For better or worse, yes,” Cassius said, now a bit more relaxed than he was when he first entered.
“Well, you’re not going to find any judgment from me,” he said. “I don’t care where you’re from, as long as you’re a good man and a hard worker. Consider this the fresh start you deserve.”
“Thank you. You’re too kind, Mr. Luna,” Cassius said. “But as far as our meeting today goes, I just wanted to discuss a few things with you.”
“No trouble, son. What’s on your mind?” he said as he saved the work on his workstation and closed the programs to minimize distraction.
“Well, I just wanted to talk about what happened on my planet,” Cassius said honestly.
“Yes, of course. What a tragedy,” Luna said, stroking his white beard slowly. “I can’t begin to imagine what that must’ve been like for you.”
“It was...difficult,” Cassius said, feeling his chest tighten as memories of what happened recently flashed through his mind. “It’s still difficult.”
“Oh yes,” Luna said. “Things will heal over time, but the scars will stay for the rest of your life. I know it sounds harsh, but take it from someone who has been around for a long time.”
“I figured as much,” Cassius said. “But yes, I just can’t shake this feeling that there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
Luna raised his eyebrow, shifting to the side in his seat. “What do you mean by that?”
“I can’t help but think that there was an...intervention,” Cassius said.
“Nonsense. It was a plague, and nothing more,” Luna said dismissively. “Things like this happen, and your planet was one of the ones unlucky enough to be struck by it. What happened to Elban is a tragedy, but I have no reason to believe it was anything more than a fluke in the evolution of a terrible virus.”
“You weren’t there. You don’t know the things I saw,” Cassius said.
“I don’t need to have been there to know that there was no foul play,” the congressman said.
“So you don’t have any suspicions about the Lange Corporation, or their involvement in any of this?” he asked.
“I have a suspicion that you’re chasing phantoms. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and say that you’re under a lot of stress right now. People think irrationally when they’re under stress,” the older man said as he stood from his seat.
“That being said, I think it’s time for you to leave. I don’t foresee us getting any further in this conversation. The Lange Corporation has done nothing but good for the people of Centralia and beyond. I won’t have you dragging their name through the mud.”
Cassius stood to his feet and made his way to the door.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Luna. I’ll be on my way.”
So far, every meeting had ended the same way. He would speak with a member of Congress, things would go well, and then as soon as any hint of corruption or the Lange Corporation was brought up, the conversation would end.
No one wished to speak ill of the company, whether through the use of fear or fortune.
Cassius shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked back down the stairs and through the front door of the office. Dinner time was nearing, and he needed to pick up a few things to make dinner for the girls.
On his way down the street, Cassius’ wrist slipstream device beeped. He looked at it and saw an unfamiliar name on the caller’s information.
Thomas Alver.
He answered it regardless, and a face of an old, postured man appeared before him.
“Cassius Ojun,” the man on the other end of the line said.
“Yes. I believe we haven’t met?”
“Thomas Alver, I’m one of the senior members of Congress,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you through the grapevine.”
“Nothing good, most likely,” Cassius said, turning the corner to the store. He stood out to the side while speaking with Thomas to avoid eavesdroppers.
“Quite the contrary, friend. I’ve heard many, many things about you that I find interesting. I’ve heard you’ve been going around to my colleagues, prying about the Lange Corporation,” Thomas said. “I know things went about as well as one can expect.”
“It seems like anyone saying anything negative about them is out of the question,” Cassius said in a disgusted tone.
“It is. You know, you remind me of myself when I was a governor. Standing up to corporations and calling them out on their shady dealings. Would you care to meet me for lunch tomorrow? I’d like to discuss this in greater detail in person.”
Cassius thought for a moment. With everyone in the planet dismissing all of his thoughts about the root of the Crop Fever in Elban, having someone interested in talking to him about it became unbelievable.
However, this was also his chance to finally get some answers out of someone willing to speak honestly and openly with him.
“Of course. Time and place?” he asked.
“Around noon at the Moonlight Dream restaurant in the center of town. Don’t worry about the cost because I’m buying. It’s the least I can do,” Thomas said.
“Consider it done, and thank you for your generosity,” Cassius said.
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine,” Thomas said. “Until tomorrow.”
Thomas cut the call, leaving Cassius staring blankly ahead.
He saved the number into his contacts so he would have it in case he needed it before going inside the store to pick up the groceries he needed.
The night came and went, and morning finally broke. Cassius stood waiting outside the Moonlight Dream. It wasn’t the most upscale restaurant he’d ever seen, but it was very pleasing to look at on the inside. The aroma of the food inside wafted out the door and filled Cassius’ nostrils. It all smelled amazing.
“Cassius!” the voice from yesterday called out. He turned to see Thomas approaching him. He reached his hand out and the two firmly shook hands. “Pleasure finally meeting you in person.”
“Likewise, Mr. Alver,” he said.
“Call me Thomas, please. We’re both off the clock,” he said as he patted Cassius on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ve got our table reserved. It’s in the back where we’ll have some privacy.”
The two entered the building and were promptly escorted to the back of the establishment, in a private room that Cassius could gather was usually reserved for parties and meetings. They were seated promptly, and Cassius glanced over the menu.
“So, you said you wanted to discuss things further?” Cassius asked once the waitress had left.
“Yes, I’ve heard you’re on a mission to take on the Lange Corporation,” Thomas said.
“Well, my initial plan is to find out how they brought in the Crop Fever to Elban. But yes, I guess you can put it like that. So you’re going to help me?” Cassius asked expectantly.
“Well, that’s the thing,” Thomas said. He sighed. “Look, I get what you’re trying to do here. Really, I do. I admire it, even. You remind me of when I was your age. But I just wanted to let you know, that you’re going on a fool’s errand.”
“What do you mean?” Cassius asked.
“People have been trying to take down Lange for years, and none of them have even come close to putting a dent in their operations. I’ve seen it happen time and time again, been on that end of it many times myself. But it just won’t work,” he said. “They’re too powerful, and too many people high up stand to lose a lot of money if something happens to them.”
“So we’re just expected to let them get away with this? What they did to my people was murder, in cold blood,” he said, hushing his tone in case the walls had eyes and ears. “I can’t just let this go by unpunished.”
“I’m not gonna stop you, I just want you to have some realistic expectations. Even if you make some headway, it’s not going to happen overnight. It probably won’t even happen in your lifetime, if ever,” Thomas said.
“Your concern is touching, but it’s not going to discourage me,” Cassius said.
“Like I said, I’m not out to tell you not to. I just don’t want you to be too disappointed if you end up failing like the rest of us have.”
“Of course,” Cassius said. He was about to continue the thought, when the server returned.
The two gave each other a glance that said it was best to end their conversation for the time being and placed their orders.
Chapter 16
Cassius
Over the next several days, Cassius and Thomas continued to meet and discuss things about what happened with Elban and the Lange Corporation.
With each day, Cassius could tell that Thomas was starting to come around, a spark being reignited in the older man’s eyes that had previously long since been extinguished.
It gave Cassius hope that he would be able to make a difference sooner than later—and if it had to be later, then he would at least set the events in motion that would bring justice to the ones that destroyed his home.
He’d been called for another meeting with Thomas. The man wouldn’t give Cassius any details, but said it was of the utmost importance. Cassius found himself waiting outside the court house for his new found ally.
“Glad you could join me again, friend,” Thomas said as he rounded the corner. He motioned for Cassius to follow him inside. “I’ve got some news for you.”
“Oh really, now?” Cassius asked as they made their way through security and down the halls. “What kind of news?”
“Well, I’ve been looking into some things. As you know, I’m getting older—and honestly, I’m tired of fighting,” he said. “So, I’ve decided that I want to nominate you for my position in the Labor Oversight Committee.”
“Really? Well, I...I don’t know what to say,” Cassius said. “Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Thomas said. “We still have to get you voted in.”
“And that’s easier said than done?” Cassius asked.
“Somewhat. I can pull quite a few strings, get a lot of people on your side, but you have a background in politics. You know how these things work,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, just let me do the talking.”
“If you say so,” Cassius said. “If it gets us closer to reaching our goal, then I’m willing to do whatever’s necessary.”
“That’s the spirit, Cassius,” Thomas said.
The pair made their way down to the main hall of the court house. Several people were gathered in the room, discussing the day’s business. It seemed as if their meeting was almost ready to conclude, which was possibly the reason Thomas wanted to come at this time.
Anyone they could talk to who could help move them forward, they would be sure to catch.
The two of them found a group of Thomas’ colleagues chattering among themselves in the corner once the meeting was adjourned. It took a moment, but the group finally noticed them and ceased their conversation.
“Thomas! Friend, you never call me anymore!” one of the men said in a booming voice. He was portly, seemed to be just as old as Thomas himself, if not a bit older.
“Sorry, Peter,” Thomas said. “I’m just getting old. The mind is the first thing to go, you know.”
“Bah, nonsense! I’m still as sharp as I was when I was a young man!” Peter said jovially.
“So you’re saying you were a rather dull child?” the woman beside him said, trying to contain her laughter.
“Exactly! Wait a minute…” he said, his eyes opened wide for a moment before grumbling at her.
Thomas snickered for a moment before shaking his head.
“Anyway, I’m not just here for pleasant conversation,” he said. “I’m here to ask a favor. My friend here is looking for a new position. You know, he’s the governor of Elban. Anyway, I’m looking to retire soon and I want to nominate him for my position. Would you be willing to get behind him?”
Peter stroked his white beard for a moment, giving Cassius a glance through his round spectacles.
“Sure, why not?” he said with the same bravado as all his other sentences. “I trust your judgment. If you think he’s cut out for the job, then I’ll support him!”
His other two companions nodded in agreement.
The slender woman who appeared to be a few years younger than the rest spoke up.
“Of course, you have my vote,” she said.
“Thank you, Victoria,” Thomas said. “Well, it was wonderful catching up with you.”
“Likewise, friend! Don’t be a stranger!” Peter said, gripping Thomas’s hand in a tight shake. Thomas winced lightly, but it didn’t appear to hurt too badly.
The two parted ways with the group, going around to each of the different members of Thomas’ party and having similar conversations of recent events. It seemed as if they were getting traction with all of this.
The sun was beginning to set when Thomas and Cassius found themselves sitting on a bench outside the courthouse, tallying the list of names they’d taken on Thomas’s tablet. The list of names was impressive, especially to be in support of someone who had never held office on Centralia before.
“Seems like we’re all set,” Cassius said. “It looks like we have most of the party on our side.”
Thomas bit the end of his stylus while counting and recounting the names.
“You would think, but we’re just one vote shy of the support we need to get you in,” Thomas said. “Namely, this one.”
Thomas tapped on the name that was in red, pulling up a picture of a man Cassius remembered seeing earlier. He hadn’t spoken to him personally, namely letting Thomas do the talking, but he definitely remembered the face.
“And he doesn’t want me in?” Cassius asked.
“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than just that. He’s got connections to Jebediah,” Thomas said. “Cracking him won’t be easy. But if we want to get you in, we have to get his vote. His name is Augustus Langley.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Cassius said, standing to his feet and straightening out his clothes.
“Well, by all means go for it,” Thomas said. “I already tried, but hey…if he’ll listen to you, then that’s great. He should still be here somewhere. He doesn’t usually go home until late.”
Cassius nodded. He parted ways with Thomas for the time being and entered the building.
After spending the entire day at the courthouse, he basically had the layout memorized already. He made his way through the halls, keeping an eye out for Augustus.
He eventually stumbled on the office where Augustus was sitting, going over paperwork. His eyes lifted when he heard Cassius enter the room.
“How can I help you?”
“Good day, my name is Cassius Ojun,” he said. “I’m looking to get my foot in the door after Thomas Alver retires. I was just dropping by to ask if you’d be willing to lend me a vote. I only need one more.”
“Ah yes, I’ve heard about you. Good things, unflattering things, but it’s not my place to judge either way. You get a full blank slate with me, as far as all that is concerned,” Augustus said with a smile curled on his lips. “So, you need my vote?”
Cassius nodded, the smile giving him a bit of hope that Augustus would concede and throw his hat in for the vote.
“Believe me son, I’d love to help you out,” he said. “But I’m afraid my vote has already been promised to someone else. You understand, I can’t go back on my word for a friend. I’m sure you’d do the same in my position.”
This wasn’t the news Cassius had wanted to hear, but he wasn’t entirely surprised either. “Of course,” Cassius said. “Thank you, though.”
He didn’t bother waiting for a response from the other before turning and walking out of the room. Corruption seemed to run deep, even in this sanctuary of supposed democracy. It was the same, no matter where he went.
The Lange Corporation’s claws were sunk into every aspect of society, from the highest offices to the lowest slums.
Still, Cassius wasn’t about to stop now. He had plans, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way.
The Lange Corporation would pay for what they’d done to not only him, but also to the other innumerable people they’d hurt over the years.
The door closed behind him as Cassius formulated his plan to try and get Augustus’ vote.
Chapter 17
Cassius
Cassius sat in the tastefully decorated office. He skimmed through a copy of the latest EVENTS magazine that had been broadcasted to his tablet, trying not to let his nervousness show.
The secretary at her desk took his name and spoke a few muted words into her headset; half an hour had passed since he walked in.
Cassius was beginning to think this was a stupid idea. After all, he no longer had any connections here.
He leafed through EVENTS even though none of the pictures or text registered.
Maybe he should just get up and leave. He had other options. Thomas could be a help.
The thing was, Thomas operated on a level that had little to do with the real power on this planet.
Cassius hadn’t grown up here for nothing. And that was what had brought him to this office, in this building.
An old acquaintance had given him the address, saying, “You didn’t get this from me, Cash. You hear?”
And now here he was, back where he’d started, almost. He looked up from EVENTS to see the secretary regarding him with a baleful eye.
“He’ll see you now,” she said with a barely concealed sneer.
He muttered his thanks and passed through the door she indicated.
Beyond it lay another even more opulent suite. Wonder of wonders, there was even a water wall, with plants arrayed around the small pond at its base, in which koi swam.
Expensive chairs were positioned on the thick-pile carpet. The far end of the room was one large window overlooking the city.
“It’s a long way from Mansionland,” said a familiar voice behind him. Cassius turned quickly.
“Damn, do you have kehonnies coming here,” Francis said, advancing toward his brother, his face solemn. “How long has it been, ten years?”
“Nine,” Cassius said, walking toward him. The brothers met in the middle of the room and shook hands.
Close up, Cassius saw the years on Francis’s face—and knew that they showed even more plainly on his own.
They stared warily at each other. Francis had put on a fair bit of weight, though his impeccably designed suit hid the extra bulk. His hair was thinner, too, and he had a small gang tattoo on the side of his neck showing above his collar.
Cassius wondered how he appeared to Francis. Thinner, no doubt, but there were wiry muscles on his frame now.
“You look like crap,” Francis said. “You’re supposed to be the younger one. Damn, you look just like Dad!”
“I...”
“You didn’t come for Mom’s funeral,” Francis said. “Everyone was pretty mad about that.”
“Are we going to have this conversation again? Look, I couldn’t get away. It was my first year as governor.”
Dementia had come on Shandie with lightning bolt suddenness. Wetlung seemed to be a precursor in some cases, and it was Shandie’s bad luck that she had been one with such a case.
Cured of the disease, but not able to duck its side-effects—she died within four months.
Cassius had spoken to her via slipstream, but couldn’t get away from his responsibilities to his constituents, or his family.
“You broke her heart, man,” Francis said as he shook his head.
The old tension between them webbed the room. Cassius restrained an impulse to spit out a curse and walk away.
He couldn’t do that. He needed Francis, he needed his help.
He looked down at his scuffed shoes. “Fran, look, I...I didn’t come here for this. I’m sorry.”
“You should be. So what are you here for, Cash? I mean, the fuck you want from me? Why didn’t you just stay on fuckin’ Elbow or wherever the fuck it is.”
“Elban,” Cassius felt his temper rising.
“Whatever you call it. Jeez, Cash—”
“You don’t have the least idea why I’m back?” Cassius asked, interrupting his brother.
“Hey, I keep my head down and tend to business. That’s all.”
Cassius nodded. Well, that was why he was here—because of his brother’s ties to the Rolands. He slowly unclenched his fists.
Then, somehow, they found themselves hugging. Francis smelled of expensive cologne, not too liberally applied, and depilatory cream.
Cassius was all too aware that he probably reeked of sweat from the heat outside.
“Weasel-dick,” Cassius muttered into Francis’ shoulder.
“Shit-heel,” Francis said huskily.
He abruptly thrusted Cassius away.
“Come on, take a seat,” he said, looking a little embarrassed at the sudden rush of emotion between them. “You want a drink? Something to eat?”
At Cassius’s refusal, Francis said, “I was just bustin’ ya about Ma. She was so far gone after a couple of months she didn’t know who anyone was anymore.” He sighed. “Would have been nice if she could’ve seen Lyla and the grandkids one time, though. Hey, how are they?”
Cassius stared at him. “You still don’t ever watch the news, do you?”
Francis scoffed. “I got no time for all that fakery and propaganda, brother of mine. The family keeps me too busy, like I say.”
“Maybe I’ll have that drink,” Cassius said, reaching out for the glass Francis was holding.
Over some excellent single-malt scotch, he outlined his story: Crop Fever, Lyla’s death, Franky’s death, his endless frustration with the governing body here on Centralia—everything.
All the while, he was uncomfortably aware that the last time they had spoken, he was turning his back on the Rolands, and leaving Francis to deal with all their problems, including their mother.
Francis listened, staring down into his glass, swirling its contents slowly and sipping every once in a while. Cassius barely noticed when his own glass was empty until Francis reached out to pour more scotch into it.
“Oh, man,” Francis said at last, after Cassius had run out of story and they had sat silent for a few minutes. “Lyla and Franky gone? Sienna?” His face had gone pale, but whether with fury or shock, Cassius couldn’t tell.
“Oh, man,” Francis muttered.
He looked at Cassius through stricken eyes.
“Okay, this is horrible, and I’m so, so sorry for what happened.” He shook his head. “But there’s something I still don’t get.”
“What don’t you get?” Cassius asked.
“You. You were always so good at talking your way out of tight places.” Francis smiled wanly. “I remember that robot job we pulled...you remember that? The first one?”
“Oh, yeah, with the...” Cassius gestured. “The C-whatever.”
“C57-D. That was it. You got the guard to let us go.”
He shook his head again. “Amazing. I’m good at what I do, but you always had the brains. So why couldn’t you, as the governor of the whole shebang, get your people to go along with you?”
“They were sick, they were scared,” Cassius said.
“It was like you and me with the wetlung and Dad. We were kids, what could we do? I’m not a kid anymore, but still—I had nowhere to go. No one was listening. And heck, no one is still listening. I mean...you know what I mean.”
He grinded his teeth. “I got this one guy, Alver. He has a position in the Labor Oversight Committee, and he listens.” He shook his head. “But I don’t know how much good he can do, he’s just one man, and he’s retiring.”
“Alver, yeah—Tom Alver. I’ve heard of him. A good guy, I hear.” Francis replied.
“He is, but that and two credits will get me a cup of coffee. He says there’s too much money floating around the upper levels. No one wants to take on Lange Corp.”
“But he’s handing his seat to you, you say. So that’s good, so you can get at Lange from the inside.”
“The vote’s tied up, like I said.”
Okay, he said to himself, here we go.
He explained that his nomination to the Oversight Committee was one vote short.
“The holdout is connected to Jebediah Lange.”
Francis’s eyes went wide. He put his glass down carefully and stood up to pace the room. The water wall trickled, and the koi splashed while he walked back and forth.
“Well, fuck me,” he said at last. “You don’t do half-measures, do ya?”
“Believe me, Fran, I wouldn’t be here if I had any alternative. It’s not you, or us, or anything—it’s my whole damn planet, man. It’s Lyla and the kids, everyone’s kids, everyone’s family. Lange did this, and I’m going to see them pay,” Cassius exclaimed.
Francis blew out his breath. “Lyla was my sister-in-law, and your son was my blood. Sienna is my blood.” He scowled at the floor. “Okay, listen. I have a lot of pull on my level, but the bosses above me...well, they’ll listen to me, but more than that I can’t guarantee, you hear what I’m sayin’?”
Cassius sagged in his chair with sheer relief.
“That’s all I ask, just for you to talk to them, lay it out for them. I need that vote changed. Hell, I’ll come in and talk to them if you need me to.”
“Shouldn’t be necessary. This is a family thing, and they understand that, all right. Do they ever!” Francis cleared his throat. “But I’ll need a little quid pro quo here, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, not really, but you name it and I’ll do whatever I can.” Cassius said, heaving a deep sigh.
“Good,” Francis grabbed his glass and drained it. “Listen, I got things to do. You go home, take care of those girls, and you’ll be hearing from me. Soon. Real soon.”
Chapter 18
Cassius
Sometimes Cassius wondered what he signed up for.
After Francis worked his magic, the final vote came through and Cassius quickly found himself in the Labor Oversight Committee.
He read through another budget proposal and tapped veto with a sigh. This one proposed firing half the workers in the shipyard and cutting the salaries of the rest. How the hell was that supposed to help costs?
It would only delay cargo coming in from the other planets and piss off a whole lot of people. He would think his colleagues were idiots, but no. They were greedy little bastards.
Greed at the expense of thousands of hard workers was pure evil. That was the fifth proposal that day, and every day was the same.
“I’m going out for lunch,” he barked through the comm. He had to get out of there.
The Backwater Bistro was a favorite out-of-the-way dive. It sat in a slow section smack in between the slums and the working poor. The block was filled with languishing artisan businesses.
Somehow they stayed afloat, though Cassius had the notion his brother was behind that.
The bartender, a girl barely out of her teens, smiled and nodded as he walked in. It was surprisingly busy, with five tables full and three others at the bar. His usual table at the back corner was empty, at least.
He sank into the booth and pushed the order button. Pasta and wine was his usual order, and they probably had it ready.
The server brought it with a smile, and Cassius deposited a generous tip along with his payment.
Busy stuffing his face, Cassius didn’t notice the two burly men approaching until they overshadowed his plate. He stopped mid-chew and stared up. They wore dirty shipyard uniforms.
Let me at least finish my wine before you beat the shit out of me, he thought.
Instead, they slid into the booth across from him and smiled.
“We just wanted to say thank you.”
Cassius glanced around, saw everyone in the place looking at them, and back to the men. “Sorry?”
“Before you came into office, do you know how many worked themselves to death just so their families wouldn’t starve? One in five,” one of the men said.
“Yes. Now we have labor limits, paid vacation, and a hike in wages,” the other continued.
“How did you know it was me?” Cassius asked.
“Don’t be dense,” the other man said. “Word gets around. We’re all on your side.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. It means a lot to me,” Cassius nodded.
The men got up and left him to his lunch.
As he left the bistro, everyone he passed nodded his way. Cassius smiled and nodded back to every person.
The encounter set his mind in motion. He fired off a memo to the rest of the Labor Oversight Committee and made his way back to his building.
Cassius passed by his assistant—who he still didn’t know by name—and entered his office. He sank to his seat and sighed.Labor without an organized union was slavery. Every worker had the right to fair wages and hours. His goal was to have a union in place for the shipyards by the end of the month. The rest would follow.
That would do it. Cassius worked on the organization while waiting for the storm to hit.
He only had to wait forty-five minutes before the comm chirped and his assistant’s voice came in.
“Sir, I have Vice-Chancellor Lange’s assistant to see you.”Cassius didn’t answer right away. Instead, he finished his next proposal and let him sweat.
“Sir?” The assistant repeated.
“Send him in,” he barked, trying to sound inconvenienced.
Cassius should have been nervous, but he got a sadistic thrill out of Jebediah Lange’s squirming. Sending his assistant and not a message told him just how desperate the Vice-Chancellor was becoming.
He had never met Lange’s assistant, but had seen him skulking around. A gentleman in his mid-forties with salt and pepper hair, the man never smiled and barely spoke.
Cassius motioned for him to sit and stared at him expectantly.
“The Vice-Chancellor wanted this personally delivered,” he said, sending a document through tablets.
Cassius looked down and snorted, “A cease and desist on all attempts to create a labor union.” He ran the stylus across the screen a few times and tapped, sending it back.
The assistant’s eyes bulged in shock.
“I can’t cease and desist my job. If I were removed from office now, the laborers would riot—all of them, not just one shipyard’s worth,” he spat.
The man stood, clearly unsure of what to do, “Sir, if I take this back, I’ll lose my job.”
“If you don’t, I’ll break your fingers,” Cassius said nonchalantly and went back to his documentation. The meeting was over.
The timid assistant ducked away. Cassius had to admit that he was a little creeped out. The assistant seemed like one of those mousy guys who ended up a serial killer. Oh, he is the best neighbor. Always so quiet. He babysat for my kids.
Cassius shuddered.
He looked out the window of his office. The shipyards were on strike. They stood outside with signs and chanted Cassius’ name.
One brave soul wheeled up an eight-foot tall LED billboard that flashed the word UNION every half-second. Cassius couldn’t help but wonder where he stole it from.
Cassius took out his tablet and typed a message for Ketra, the journalist, letting her know of a good news scoop happening before him.
Minutes later, the Pak News aircar appeared, but it wasn’t Ketra who stepped out of it.
The replacement journalist reported from across the street, shuffling her feet like they hurt.
She wasn’t as outgoing as Ketra, but if the story would go to all the planets in the HC, Cassius couldn’t ask for more.
He commed his assistant, “Set up a meeting for me with the anchor reporting outside after I leave my office later. Backwater Bistro.”
“Noted, sir,” his assistant replied.
An intra-office messenger arrived with a package. Cassius signed for it and ripped the envelope. Inside were hard copy photos of Sienna and Peyton, along with a handwritten note.
Be careful, was all it said. Cassius had already had meetings with the rest of the Labor Oversight Committee. None of them were thrilled with his actions.
Not that he cared. Nothing would stand in his way.
His guess was that it wasn’t any of them, though.
The Vice-Chancellor himself had been trying to get rid of him since Elban, and this had his stink all over it.
The threat only made his resolve solid.
He shoved the photos back in the envelope and crumpled it up. He paced back and forth by the window, checking on the striking laborers. The cops were trying to break it up, but they showed no signs of tiring.
Cassius had just sent his assistant home when he heard a light tap on the door. Nobody knocked anymore.
Puzzled, he cracked the door open.
“Governor Alver?” Cassius and Thomas shared the same views, but he wasn’t one to rock the boat.
“I didn't want to use the slipstream.” Thomas held up a bottle of whiskey. “Can we talk?”
Cassius let him in and dug two tumblers out of the desk.
After they had a couple of sips, Cassius groaned, “Would you please stop fidgeting with your glass and tell me what’s up?”
“This.” He pulled his shirt collar down to reveal a big purple bruise. His clavicle was obviously shattered, and Cassius could see the bruising trail down his shirt. Cassius let out a low whistle, “Who did it?”
“Not the Rolands,” Thomas muttered.
“Inside, then,” Cassius lost his thirst and set his tumbler down.
“I’m a little too friendly with you. I’ve been told to stay away, or my family gets it next,” Thomas said anxiously.
“They threatened mine as well.”
“Can’t you leave well enough alone? If you keep your head down and work behind the scenes, you can accomplish more than your berserker approach.”
Crashes and bangs from outside startled them. The strike had turned into a riot.
Cassius watched for a few minutes and turned back to Thomas. “Those people out there are getting beat and shot. Why? To feed themselves. Their families. To pay for medicine. They’re getting beat down because they want to live. And it’s all on tape.”
Cassius smiled. He wanted everything that happened to be a media sensation.
“You’re a cold bastard, you know that?”
“For the right reasons.”
“No. You’re making enemies you don’t need to make. Can’t you just enjoy your life with your girls and call it good?” Thomas gave him a pleading look. “Sometimes I think you’re a good man, and sometimes I think you don’t have a clue.”
In his happy years in Elban, Cassius was content to ignore the problems.
Fading into the background was easy. Look where it got him.
If he was going to die, it would be loud enough to make history.
Thomas and Cassius walked out of the building together. They parted ways and Cassius made his way to Backwater Bistro.
The new reporter’s name was Mia Holcomb. Cassius looked her over as they took their seats.
“Ketra had to cover a different event, so I took over the coverage of the riot earlier. My main question for you, however, is about the allegations of document tampering to get you into office,” Mia said as soon as she took her first sip of tepid water.
“What?” Cassius thought she wanted to talk about the riot. What the hell was this?
“An anonymous source tipped us that documents had been forged to place you in your present office,” Mia said, arching a brow.
“Well, that’s just stupid. Let me guess. Your anonymous source came from the office of Vice-Chancellor Jebediah Lange.”
Her face turned several shades of red.
Their meals arrived and he used the distraction to turn the conversation, “So…nice riot you covered there.”
“Officially, greedy workers wanting a bigger cut.”
“No,” Cassius said as he leaned to the table. “This is the story.”
Chapter 19
Ketra
Ketra ate her lunch absent-mindedly as she listened to the interview Mia just sent.
“So you’re accusing Vice-Chancellor Lange of mass murder?”Mia asked.
“Yes,” Cassius replied.
“And you claim this is why you’ve been accused of falsifying documents?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Is a dead planet proof enough?”Cassius replied.
“Unfortunately, no. I need proof that Jebediah Lange willfully poisoned the population of Elban. Otherwise, it’s just a terrible coincidence,” Mia said as she took down notes.
“I have documentation of everything leading up to the events, and of being fired upon when I tried to escape.”
“Suspicious, yes. But you were under quarantine, so it wasn't illegal. You need that one piece that proves it was a malicious act.”
Cassius just snorted in disgust.
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Ojun.”
Was this vehement man the same one she interviewed not too long ago? Losing his family had devastated him, but now he had a mission.
The thing was, although Ketra knew Cassius was right, she also knew that Mia was right. They couldn't run the story unless there was irrefutable proof against Lange.
The snide little prick knew it, too. Oh, how she would just love to take the story and broadcast it.
She came to a decision and took the last bite of her sandwich. She was going to find that last bit of evidence Cassius needed. She would have to start by digging into his life, but that was a small price to pay. Especially if he didn’t find out.
“Thank you, Mia. I'll take it from here,” she said to her comm.
She missed investigative reporting and couldn’t wait to get started.
Francis Ojun, Cassius Ojun’s brother. Now that was interesting.
Francis called himself an entrepreneur, but the translation was an open secret. He was a gang boss.
Ketra licked her lips and kept digging. There were rumors of falsifying documentation and voters being pressured into getting Cassius on the Labor Oversight Committee, but she could find no substantiation. As far as Ketra could see, they were just brothers who grew up differently and rarely spoke. Francis kept his nose clean, while Cassius was conjuring up a storm.
She had never seen so much backbiting all her life, as she did in the Governor’s Congress. They listened to Cassius because he gave them no choice, but they all worked against him in some way while working against each other.
It was a mess, and that was just what they let the media see.
Ketra couldn’t wait to see what happened in private.
The labor riots worried her. They shouldn’t have escalated that quickly.
Her suspicion was the involvement of the Terran Reunification Front. Would Cassius realize that his platform was being used as a front? She thought to send him an anonymous message but decided against it. This time, it was her that didn’t have proof.
Instead, she messaged another governor in the Labor Oversight Committee:
Governor Radcliff, can you tell me of your experiences with Governor Ojun?
As far as she could tell, Radcliff was the yes-man in the committee. He never had anything new to add and always voted with the majority. He saw everything without bias. It seemed he didn’t really want to be there, so he was the perfect candidate for an interview. Well, a quick note, anyway.
He’s a crusader and a fanatic. You can’t reason with people like that, was the only reply she got.
He didn’t say if he agreed with him or not, but Ketra was good at reading between the lines. Radcliff agreed, but wished Ojun would compromise. It was a start.
She was busy looking for dirt on Lange when her tablet pinged. Governor Radcliff was more accommodating than she hoped. Her inbox filled with recordings of private meetings—the stuff the media wasn’t allowed to see. They seemed to be recorded in secret, and she had to guess who the speakers were.
“Your proposals are ridiculous. Ideas like these will crash the entire economy!”
“There is no real economy, Governor Luna. The poor stay poor, the rich stay rich,” she knew Cassius’ voice.
“That’s capitalism, and we are a capitalist society. Are you suggesting we change the entire societal structure?”
“Not completely, but some things need to change. If they don’t, this planet is as dead as Elban.”
“First, your allegations against the Vice Chancellor, and now this. You’re insane!”
“And you are an example of a privileged prick.”
Chuckles echoed throughout the committee, leaving Governor Luna to bluster.
Cassius was so noble it made Ketra a little queasy, so of course she wondered what he was really up to. No one could be that noble, could they?
On one hand, she wanted to believe it, but the jaded reporter had learned to trust her gut. It told her that his interest in fair labor was minimal, and he was buying time—maybe to look for the evidence he needed to remove Lange from office.
Governor Alver seemed sympathetic to Cassius’ agenda. He was the voice of reason, trying to make Cassius’ outlandish claims seem plausible. At the same time, he made counter proposals in which Cassius would have to budge on some of his stances.
Cassius was having none of it.
“If we raise the food tax, a pay raise for the shipyard is workable,” Alver suggested.
“I proposed a wage increase so they could afford food. Mr. Alver, I suggest that you sit down if you’re not going to help.” Cassius spat back.
Alver cleared his throat. The rustling of his stuffy business suit told Ketra he did as he was told.
“If nothing else, cut our salaries to pay for it. You want to talk about economic collapse? Without those poor people to do your heavy lifting, you’d all be doomed.”
Ketra couldn’t help but smile as some chuckled and a few gasped.
“If the basic needs of the working poor were better met—food, housing, and basic healthcare—they would work more efficiently,” Cassius continued. “They would last longer, too. The average lifespan in the outer slums is fifty-five. The further in you go, the shorter the lifespan.”
Ketra perked up her ears. As a reporter, she should have known that. Those statistics were never released to the public. It left her with a knot in the pit of her stomach.
“Hospitals say they never turn anyone away, but when my father was sick with wetlung, I couldn’t even get him antibiotics. That’s the typical treatment of the people in Fairdale. They’re not worth your time because they’re poor. They’re poor because they’re not worth your time. You’re the problem.”
Murmurs of dissent echoed through the recording.
Ketra had heard enough and stopped the recording.
On one hand, Cassius was right. On the other, so were they. If he set too many changes in motion at once, Centralian civilization would be thrown into chaos.
If life went on as usual, half the population would be lost. The problem was bigger than she expected, but still it felt like a smokescreen for a larger agenda.
Ketra kept digging.
It had something to do with Jebediah Lange and the outbreak of Crop Fever on Elban. Cassius’ wife and son died along with most of the planet, but he suddenly switched gears to fair labor and health care.
His goal seemed to be to rile up the population against the government as revenge. It was working. The poor loved him, most of the middle class agreed with him, and the upper class were silent. Things swung in his favor a little more every day. Ketra couldn’t help but admire that.
She found more than she expected, but still no evidence against Lange. He was a man who knew how to keep his hands clean.
Grunting in frustration, she grabbed her coat and stormed out of the office.
Too obnoxious to be a spy, Ketra still knew her way around private information. After getting home, she poured herself a big glass of whiskey. She got comfortable on her plush recliner, contacted an accountant for Lange Corporation, and deposited a hefty bribe into his account. 20,000 credits earned her an immediate reply.
I’m sorry, I don’t know anything, but for that many credits, I would be happy to snoop around for you, was the response.
Yes. Thank you. Wipe your messages, Ketra replied. Then, she deleted all of her message history. It was still traceable, of course, but only for someone who knew what they were looking for.
Ketra drained her glass and poured herself another whiskey, thinking of the frightened man in quarantine. She drunkenly wondered why he fascinated her so much.
She wanted to help him, but at the same time, his exuberant ideals scared the shit out of her.
Chapter 20
Cassius
The house was quiet, with Sienna and Peyton sitting in the living room watching television while Cassius prepared breakfast for the three of them. For all the chaos that had been going on lately, it was these small lulls in activity that made Cassius thankful that he at least still had these two children. They were survivors against all odds, and Cassius hoped the two would never forget that.
As he laid down the knife, his slipstream device beeped. He answered the call and Francis’ face appeared in front of him.
“Hey!” Francis said. “How’s it going, brother?”
“Oh, hey. Everything’s fine,” Cassius said, turning around to lean against the counter top. “I was just making some breakfast for myself and the kids.”
“Cool, cool. Hey, I just wanted to call you to take you up on that favor you owe me for getting you that vote,” he said in a smooth voice.
“Alright, Fran. What do you need?” Cassius asked, a bit concerned as to what his brother would want so soon.
“So, Cash, you know one of my businesses is a security firm, right? Well, the contract for the Treasury is up for a vote—and I want it.”
“So? You want me to pull some strings to make sure you get it?” Cassius asked.
“Hah! Exactly, man,” he said.
Cassius felt conflicted over everything. He knew how these things worked, how his brother operated. If he granted this security contract to his brother, then it would open the door for sticky fingers to reach in.
Any money that could be used to help the citizens of Centralia would potentially end up furthering the goals of underground organizations. Nothing much would change, and that was what everyone in power seemed to want.
Still, he saw where his brother was coming from as well. He knew the Pak family was the one that usually held the contract. Much like the Langes, they were embedded and corrupt.
Of course, they did the exact same thing the Rolands would do if they got the contract. And at that, at least Cassius would have a contact with Francis so he would know what was going on with their activities.
At least, he’d have a general idea of what was going on anyway.
“Well, I owe you, after all,” Cassius said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Man, you’re the best!” Francis said. “I’ll let you get back to your breakfast. Call me when you’ve done what you need to do.”
“Fine, talk to you later,” Cassius said as they both ended the call. He turned back around to finish preparing their breakfast.
The three of them finished their breakfast rather quickly, the girls’ expressions showing that they enjoyed what he had cooked for them.
The day came and went uneventfully. As the sun began to set and Cassius put the girls to bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he was going to do tomorrow. Corruption was the very thing he was fighting against, but it seemed now that he was aiding in it.
Still, he used the same rationalization he’d been using since his brother asked him to in the first place. He would be able to closely monitor the activities of the Rolands with Francis being his brother, rather than let the Paks run rampant without his supervision.
Cassius retired to his bedroom after a shower and a change into his pajamas. With a yawn, he soon fell asleep. His rest remained uninterrupted for the rest of the night, and he woke at the crack of dawn.
The morning came and Cassius got ready for the day. The Labor Oversight meeting was in a few hours, where he planned on making good on his promise to his brother. During his walk, he scrolled through some of the paperwork he needed for the rest of the day.
In the pit of his stomach, he knew that he was being somewhat of a hypocrite with all of this, but it was going to be for the good of everyone involved. He had to keep telling himself that, anyway.
He entered the building, making his way to the meeting hall and taking his seat near the front of the room.
“So I’m sure we’re all aware of today’s order of business,” Cassius said, standing to his feet when the meeting commenced. “Today, we vote on the security contract for the Centralia Treasury.”
One of the other members spoke up, “You mean today we renew the Paks’ contract,” he said. “They’ve held it the longest, they have the most experience.”
“And they also have a track record of letting funds...mysteriously disappear,” one of the other members said. “I personally don’t trust them as far as I can throw them.”
“But who else has the means necessary? They may not be perfect, but they’re better than nothing. Unless you’ve got a better idea?” the first man replied.
“Actually, yes, I have a better idea,” Cassius spoke up. “I spoke with a representative of Starbright Security, and I believe they would be perfect for the job.”
“The one run by Francis Ojun, which is oddly similar to the name Cassius Ojun?” the first man asked, raising an eyebrow at Cassius. “Are you sure your opinion isn’t somewhat tainted?”
“Despite my relation to him, I can assure you that I’m impartial on this. We haven’t spoken in many years and simply connected recently through my efforts in finding the best means of serving the fine people,” Cassius explained.
“Interesting. And you think that he’s good for the job?” he asked.
“Looking into their history as a company, they have a near spotless record. Customer satisfaction is through the roof, no reported thefts of any significant amount, no property damage, and no casualties on premises,” Cassius said as he flipped through a few slides that he’d projected.
They contained information he had received from his brother about the company, things that would make them look to be the most appealing choice out of all the other possible candidates.
“And with that, I present to you the alternative,” Cassius said, flicking through the final slide. “Starbright Security holds a lot of potential. And they have my vote. All in favor of Starbright?”
Cassius watched as just a little over half the room casted their vote for Starbright.
Cassius’ brother’s company won by 65% of the vote. It wasn’t unanimous, but it was more than enough to secure the job.
When the meeting was adjourned, he thanked everyone for their support before leaving. As soon as he was cleared of the building and on the streets, he pulled out his slipstream device and tried to connect with his brother.
After a few seconds of waiting for his call to be accepted, Francis’ face appeared on slipstream. “Hey, man! I heard the good news,” he said in a jovial voice. “I knew you’d pull through for me!”
Cassius managed a smile and cleared his throat. “So I did,” he said. “Well, glad I could help you. It’s the least I can do for you helping me get this position in the first place.”
“Oh, believe me, Cash. It will be mutually beneficial for both of us in the years to come,” Francis said. “You help me, I help you. You know that stuff. We’re family, after all.”
“Sure, family,” Cassius said. “Hey, I need to get going. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, talk to you later,” Francis said. “I need to finish some shitload of paperwork for my new contract, anyway.”
Cassius disconnected the link and started walking.
He thought about the events of the day as he went home. Despite his rationalizations, he still felt a pit of guilt in his stomach.
What he’d done was a clear and blatant case of nepotism, regardless of how he tried to doctor it up with impartiality. It wasn’t impartial, he knew it, and he knew he’d lied through his teeth in front of all those people in that room. He was sure that they knew it, too, but they didn’t seem to care.
Was he willing to fight corruption with corruption?
Was it really corruption if it furthered his goal to get justice for his people?
These were questions that Cassius couldn’t really find an answer to on his own.
He just had to believe, in his own mind, that what he was doing was right, and that it would get him one step closer to his goals.
Chapter 21
Ketra
Ketra waited patiently and jumped as the slipstream device beeped, satisfied when Cassius finally answered on the other end.
“Cassius Ojun? It’s Ketra, the reporter. I hope you remember me,” she said.
“Oh, hey Ketra,” Cassius said. “The last time I heard of you was from Mia, the other reporter.”
“Yeah, I believe you had a quick interview with her?” she said.
“As far as I could remember, yeah,” he nodded. “What can I do for you?”
“I was actually wondering if I could have another interview with you,” she said. “For initial research on a story I’m following.”
“Of course,” Cassius said. “Meet me outside my office in two hours. We can do it over dinner.”
“Perfect, see you then!” Ketra said.
The line disconnected, and she started gathering her things. She had roughly an hour to get ready, and then another hour to meet up with Cassius.
In a rush, nearly automatic in her motions, she freshened herself up and put on a fresh change of clothes. Ketra hurried out the door, catching the first transport to the inner city she could find.
The ride was spent in silence, Ketra occasionally looking down her watch to check the time to make sure she wasn’t running late. The closer she got to her destination, the more obsessive she got with checking the time. She knew it was irrational, but she couldn’t help herself.
It was just a short walk to Cassius’s building, and Ketra waited outside the door for him. It didn’t take long, as she was just a couple of minutes early.
He emerged from the revolving door and she smiled wide.
“Hey, Ketra,” Cassius said.
“Hey, thanks again for agreeing to meet up with me,” she said.
“Of course. I’ve got a car waiting for us out to the side. He’ll take us to a restaurant I have a soft spot for,” he said.
Ketra followed Cassius into the parking garage and entered the car on the opposite side as him.
The drive took her in an unexpected direction. She fully expected that he would take her to the upscale neighborhoods, but instead, they started toward the slums.
Ketra tilted her head in confusion, wondering why someone as highly ranked as Cassius would even think about entering such a sketchy neighborhood.
The car parked outside a small hole in the wall. If they hadn’t stopped there, Ketra would have not even seen that it was a restaurant. Cassius motioned for her to get out, following suit himself and meeting her on the other side.
“After you,” he said, gesturing toward the door.
She entered the restaurant, seeing that it was a small, somewhat cramped even, diner. The waitress motioned them toward the closest clean and available seat. Ketra sat down, ordering a glass of water to get started.
“So out of all the places we could have gone to, what brings you to this place?” she asked, swirling the water in her glass and examining it to make sure it wasn’t filled with contaminants.
“I used to eat here when I was younger. It holds a lot of sentimental value,” he explained.
“Really, now? And you’re still comfortable coming here?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice. “Not afraid of getting mugged or shot? It’s not exactly the safest neighborhood for someone as high profile as yourself.”
“This is where the real people of the Human Confederation live. I don’t want to become out of touch like my colleagues,” he said. “These people are ignored and forgotten enough by the people who want to stay on the nicer side of Centralia.”
“I see. You know, I can understand that and appreciate it,” she said. “Now, onto business. I wanted to ask you about how the Lange Corporation is responsible for the plague on Elban. You know, the thing you were ranting and raving on in the beginning.” Ketra leaned forward, listening intently.
Cassius shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, if you want to get some information for your story, I think a better place to start would be the corruption of the people trying to get me out of office,” he said.
Ketra clued in almost immediately he was trying to change the subject.
“Mr. Ojun, with all due respect, everyone already knows about that. They’re not interested,” she said bluntly. “Let’s cut to the chase, here. I want to know why you seem like you gave up on fighting for your Elban and for your people. Ever since you got in office, it seems like you’ve lost sight.”
What was that? A sneer curling up on his lips at her words?
Ketra knew she’d struck a chord, finally. It took a bit of prodding, but now she was starting to get the results she wanted.
At least, that’s what she hoped.
And if not, she’d keep digging, keep rubbing salt in this crack she’d found.
Cassius sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes tightly for a moment.
“Think about it for a moment, Ketra. Why haven’t I gone further with this? Think about the reason your story wasn’t approved all those months ago,” he said.
“Yeah, lack of evidence,” she said. “That’s why you haven’t done anything, right?”
“No, think harder,” he said in a low and more serious tone. “There are people out there who don’t want information on them getting out to the public. And you’re the number one source of the people when it comes to information.”
“What are you trying to insinuate?” she asked, knitting her eyebrows together. He couldn’t possibly be talking about her news editor, could he?
“I think you know,” he said. “You just can’t bring yourself to admit it, because the illusion is just too good to let go. Just like the people in the upscale neighborhoods.”
Ketra bit her lip. She hadn’t once stopped taking notes since they’d sat down, and her voice recorder was still going.
“I think I do know,” she said, all the gears now turning in her mind.
Cassius began to smile, taking a sip of his water for the first time since they’d arrived. “Excellent. Just be careful, watch your step, and things will work out,” he said.
The subject was quickly dropped when the waitress returned to take their order. The two of them ordered their food, which was quickly brought to them, and they ate in silence.
When their dinner was finished, Cassius took the liberty of having the driver take her back to her home.
“Hey, thanks for the ride back,” Ketra said as she got out of the car.
“Don’t mention it,” Cassius replied, rolling down the window. “It was a pleasure, really. Just take care of yourself out there, okay?”
“You take care, too,” she said. The window went up, and Ketra entered the front door of her home.
She locked the door behind her and hung her coat up on the rack near the door. Quickly, she laid her recorder on the table in the middle of the room and sat down in a chair.
Ketra went to work, listening to their conversation over and over again while taking notes down, beginning to compose a coherent story out of what they’d discussed.
The more she listened, the more his words sank in deeper than before.
They were playing a dangerous game, the two of them. She could tell that he truly believed in what he was doing, even if it seemed on the surface like he’d abandoned his prior goal of bringing justice for his people. There were risks, there were people who would silence those who dug too deep.
He was playing it safe, just as she knew she had to.
The worst part of all of it was that Ketra was now faced with the reality that her news editor wasn’t the man she thought he was. She’d looked up to him as a beacon of journalistic integrity, but now her vision had been shattered to reveal the ugly truth that was now before her.
He was corrupt, and didn’t want to make waves for fear of prodding the wrong bull. The status quo was working well for him, and he was simply unwilling to upset it.
But Ketra herself wasn’t satisfied with that. She wanted change, real change for the real people of the Human Confederation.
And if Cassius wasn’t going to give up, then neither was she until she saw that real change she so craved.
Chapter 22
Cassius
“The Secretary for the Governor’s Congress Department of Financial Affairs has been charged with embezzlement this morning. More to come as details emerge.”
Cassius couldn’t help but give a tight smile as the news reported on Lavinia Mehidas’ uncovered corruption. He sat up straight and leaned in on the last report.
“This will be my last report on air, as I will be now taking over the position of news editor, and I will be continuing my duty to provide you with the latest, most important news behind the camera. This is Ketra Wolakkan of the PAK News Stream, now signing off,” Ketra said.
The screen went dark, leaving him to mull over everything. Things were happening quicker than Cassius thought they would. Thanks to his connections and his willingness to fight dirty, his efforts were finally paying off.
The previous news editor should be laid up in the hospital with two busted kneecaps, all courtesy of the Rolands. A couple of taps later and his curiosity was satisfied.
The one thing about the Rolands that outscored the political arena was that they were true to their word. Yeah, they liked to play dirty, but they didn’t pretend otherwise.
The tenacious Ketra was now the news editor, and maybe the rest of the media would fall in line. She was an idealist like Cassius was, once upon a time. With every day, he grew more and more jaded.
He hoped to hell that didn’t happen to Ketra. There had to be more like her out there somewhere. She was just the tool to root the corrupt out.
The comm chirped just as he exited the hospital database.
“Sir, your ten-thirty is here,” his assistant said.
He quickly tapped the record button on the tablet, “Send her in.”
A frail-looking sixty-year-old who smelled of mentholatum walked inside his office. Her official name was Sandra Vang, and she was here for an interview to fill the messenger position.
The job position requires her to carry files from one office to another, run errands, and make sure the mailroom didn’t mix anything up. Cassius was no fool, though. He ran a background check on everyone pre-interview and knew exactly who she was.
“Ms. Stone, I believe we have something to discuss.”
Her mouth opened and shut several times, her hand went to her chest, and her green eyes bulged.
It made Cassius’ day.
“Don’t look so shocked. Did Pak think I wouldn’t check prospective employees? Your name is Vivienne Stone. You’ve been with Pak since its inception. Your stats say you’re a lowly assistant, but we know better, don’t we?”
Vivienne Stone smiled coyly, “You’re a sharp young man.” She sat up straight and dropped her frail demeanor. He could tell that, when she was young, she used sex appeal to get her way. Now she had savvy and deceiving age lines. She was probably a better poker player than him.
“I’m sure espionage is your usual game, but not this time. Right?” Cassius said.
“Right again,” Vivienne replied.
“What do you want?”
“I actually came here on behalf of Pak and Lange. We’d like to make a peace offering.”
Hold on. What? Cassius thought.
What a twist. The bastards were caving. He wanted to laugh in triumph.
You have nothing I want.
“We’re prepared to offer you, well, everything at our disposal. Money, sex, health care for your old neighborhood. You name it.”
Cassius leaned back and looked at the ceiling. He could get money and sex on his own. That was the lowball offer.
Thanks to Francis, the Rolands took care of the old neighborhood. She knew that. If they were willing to go that far, though…
He sat up straight and shot her a glare that made her jump, “Tribune.”
The lady made a priceless incredulous face that made Cassius laugh this time. Who knew an old lady could twist her lips like that?
“But, I don’t know—” she sputtered.
It was an obvious act. Chancellor or Vice-Chancellor would be out of the question. The Tribune position was doable.
He held up a hand. “That’s my price. If Pak and Lange can come together to try and shut me up, they can make this happen. Get me that position, and I’ll back off.”
Vivienne stood, her wrinkled face pinched in a tight scowl.
“Oh, and Ms. Stone? If I ever see you again, I’ll put an old-fashioned bullet between your eyes. Same goes for any rep who shows up. I’m sick of you people.”
He waved a hand in dismissal. She opened her mouth several times before clamping it shut and scurrying away.
In the eyes of the administration, Tribune would be a place to stick him and forget about him. A political oubliette. While they were going about their pointless business, Cassius would be maneuvering under their noses.
It had been created to waylay the corruption that took over. Obviously, it was now a dead position, only filled because it looked good to the public.
The one thing that everyone seemed to forget over time is that the appointed position of Tribune was third in line for Chancellor.
While they thought they could just tuck him away into a quiet corner, he planned to make it into what it was intended to be.
The day went on without any other major events, and Cassius started to gather his things and got ready to go back to his sanctuary, his home.
“Daddy, can we go to Derby?”
Cassius rolled his eyes at the innocent stares of Sienna and Peyton. His life outside of work had become Zero-G Derby. The girls insisted on going every week. All he could do was wait in the lounge with the other bored parents and drink bad coffee.
“We’re not watching the Derby this week,” he said.
Their fallen expressions lasted two seconds and he couldn’t take it any longer. He sauntered over to the front closet, which slid open at his approach. He pulled out two matching lycra uniforms with pink and purple padding and matching helmets.
“You are now Young Confederates.”
Both screamed with joy. Cassius winced and handed over the uniforms. They rushed to their room to change, chattering unintelligibly the whole time. He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one.
If they had all the fun possible, maybe they wouldn’t notice everything falling apart around them. Evil hid around every corner. Sometimes, it was easy to spot. Sometimes, it held the face of a kid with shiv made of scrap metal.
He had been planning things that could provide a better life for his children. On the other hand, it could get them killed.
Visions of his wife and son haunted him all the way to the Derby ring and he knew he would dream of them that night.
The ring was loud, dirty, and reeked of body odor, as always. Instead of ducking into the lounge, he stood up front. It took the girls a few tries, but soon they got the hang of free floating. The team captain showed them how to push off the strategically placed railings to make their plays.
For the next two hours, he cheered as his daughters rammed into other players, causing as many bruises as they gave. He forgot about his nightmares in the unfettered joy on their faces.
Four weeks passed and still Cassius waited for an answer. His considerable patience wore thin. Retaliation weighed on his mind, but he decided to give it a while longer. If they didn’t contact him within the next business day, he would make sure his recorded conversation with Vivienne Stone got publicized.
That might not accomplish much, but it would blemish their reputations as competitors.
As if reading his thoughts, the tablet on his desk chimed. The notification for a priority message popped up, and he threw it a hateful smile before tapping the screen.
“Congratulations on your appointment of Tribune. Please turn in your final reports before vacating the office.”
This cold, straightforward message was all Cassius wanted.
Better office, more pay, and less responsibility meant more time to devote to his real agenda.
His final reports took too long. There was too much paperwork when exiting an office, and he had to call the babysitter to stay late with the girls. Finally, he felt confident enough to buzz his assistant.
“Isaac,” he said through the comm. He finally had to learn the poor boy’s name, as he stuck around through it all.
Isaac NeVine knew everything, and he was incorruptible. That was the rarest quality in the Human Confederation.
In fact, the man was so noble that Cassius couldn’t bring himself to let the boy know of his shadier deals. The most Isaac knew was his family’s connection to the Rolands, and he understood how life on Centralia went.
Once, he confessed he was proud that his boss had brought himself out from the slums and made something of himself.
“Yes, sir,” Isaac replied through the comms.
“Have a few guys come from the mail room and pack everything up. We’re moving again,” Cassius said.
“Where to, sir?”
“The office of the Tribune.”
“Yes, sir.”
The offices were about to close for the night and the men who came to pack up were in sour moods. They grumbled and slammed the furniture around.
Cassius just stood back and watched them work, but Isaac was a nervous wreck.
“Be careful. That equipment’s delicate. Don’t shove it through the door, turn it!”
They just ignored him and went about their work, occasionally pushing him out of the way.
It only took them thirty minutes, even with Isaac hovering.
It only took them thirty minutes, even with Isaac hovering.
Chapter 23
Cassius
It had been a while since Cassius was appointed as Tribune, and things seemed to be going smoothly for him. Everything was going according to plans—at least as well as could be expected.
Cassius sat in his chair, a mug of coffee in one hand and his tablet in the other.
With his thumb, he flicked through the various news stories in his feed, skimming over the ones that caught fleeting interest. It was more to pass the time than anything else, not for his actual work or his personal vendetta.
A minute later, his comm chirped in. “Sir, Jebediah Lange wants to have a slipstream call with you,” Isaac said.
He smirked and set his mug down the coaster. He walked towards the slipstream monitor. “Well, patch him in.”
The face of Jebediah Lange appeared on the slipstream monitor.
“Hello, Mr. Lange,” Cassius said.
“Cassius, well, hello!” Jebediah replied with a smirk on his face.
“I was just thinking about you,” Cassius said. “Did you need something?”
“Well, I was just wondering if you’d want to pay me a visit at my estate so we can discuss a few things. Nothing too serious, just what we’ve been through, maybe have a few drinks. Very casual,” Jebediah said.
This was perfect. Having drinks with Jebediah in private was everything Cassius wanted. “I’d like that very much, actually,” Cassius said.
“Perfect. We’ve had our differences, but I’m sure you and I both would like to put this behind us,” Jebediah replied.
Cassius knew his words were hollow, but for his purposes it didn’t matter all too much whether he were sincere or not. Jebediah Lange didn’t hold an honest bone in his body, and Cassius would use that to his advantage.
“I’ll have someone pick you up shortly. Be ready when they arrive,” Jebediah said. “Until then, friend.”
“See you then,” Cassius said, followed by the slipstream monitor going blank.Cassius stood to his feet. He sipped the rest of his coffee down in one gulp and quickly began getting ready.
All in all, his shower, shave, and change of clothes took around half an hour.
The sound of a car horn honking outside rang out as soon as he slipped his shoes onto his feet. Outside, a black air car was waiting for him in the driveway. He stuffed a discreet package into his coat pocket then slipped outside the door and into the car.
The ride was quiet and uneventful. Soon enough, he arrived at the Lange Estate. The pilot of the car escorted him to the front door, Cassius being of a high enough rank to not need to pass through security.
He slipped into the building and found Jebediah’s office rather quickly.
He knocked at the door once, and a voice called out from the other side. “Come on in,” Jebediah said.
Cassius opened the door and walked through, the door automatically closing once he was in. Behind a large wooden desk sat Vice Chancellor Jebediah Lange.
Cassius did a wonderful job at not showing that the sight of the man caused bile to stir in his throat. Instead, he put on his best smile and approached the empty chair in front of the desk to sit.
“Thanks for having me,” he said. “It’s a pleasure having this alone time together.”
“Trust me, Cassius, the pleasure is all mine,” Jebediah said. “You’re really doing wonders in gaining popularity in this fine community. The people love you, your policies are extremely popular. I just hope that, the further you go, you don’t forget those of us who put you here in the first place.”
Cassius could see through the saccharine words that oozed from Jebediah’s lips.
To the uninitiated, it would seem like a compliment, but he could tell that it was a reminder that he could take away the power he’d given Cassius at any moment he wanted.
“Of course. That’s something I won’t forget,” Cassius said with a smile. Cassius stood to his feet and began walking around the room, examining the various knickknacks and tomes adorning the shelves.
“Good, good. It’s not very becoming to forget where you come from,” Jebediah said. “One must always remember where they─”
Jebediah was interrupted by Cassius mindlessly bringing up his tablet and scrolling through it. Cassius smirked, seeing Jebediah surprised through his periphery.
“Excuse me, Cassius. Are you listening to what I’m saying?” Jebediah said, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Hmm, what? I’m trying to look up new pizza recipes,” Cassius said, only half-looking at Jebediah.
“Are you mocking me? That’s incredibly rude. You can do that on your own time,” Jebediah replied.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cassius replied in a very sarcastic tone as he finally put his tablet away. “I was under the impression you thought it was okay to ignore others.”
“Cassius Ojun, how dare─”
Cassius was in front of Jebediah’s desk, his palms resting on the bare wood. He knew his form was intimidating. He was a large man, and he was using this to his advantage against the older man.
“How dare I what? I’m only doing what you do to countless innocents,” he said.
Cassius tapped his chin for a moment, as if pondering something.
“Speaking of them. Do you ever wonder what happens to people who are ignored and abused by their leaders?” he asked rhetorically. “The smaller communities no one thinks about, no one cares about? Those unseen people.”
“What are you getting at, Cassius?” Jebediah asked, obviously shaken by the sudden outburst.
“Eventually, they start getting a bit desperate. Some might think Reunification is the right answer,” Cassius said as an example. “There are some who get a bit extreme, too. They’ll go to any length to get what they feel they deserve.”
Cassius reached into his coat pocket for the package he’d picked up at his home earlier, producing a small, round object about the size of a lemon. The metal parts glinted in the light from above, and the plastic parts felt rough against his skin.
“Sometimes, they’ll use bombs like these. Think of them like proximity mines,” he said. “Except that they can be rigged to detonate with their particular target’s DNA.”
“Cassius, what are you doing?” Jebediah said, slowly scooting his seat back from the desk.
“They’re discreet, easy to conceal, and no evidence of the creator is left behind,” Cassius said.
He turned the device in his hand and paced around the room for another moment.
Then, Cassius stopped just by the door and threw the device towards Jebediah’s direction. It landed beside his desk, the man’s eyes growing wide as he realized what was going on.
He barely managed a scream as the bomb detonated. Shards of metal and plastic burst outward in all directions, shredding Jebediah’s flesh while the force of the explosion spread and created a red mist where Jebediah used to be.
Cassius barely had time to brace himself from the force before he was sent flying backwards. His back slammed onto the bookshelf at the back of the room, volumes of now-ruined books falling onto him while other debris also piled on top of him.
Cassius must have blacked out for a moment, as he rose to his feet groggily. He pressed his hand to the side of his waist, feeling the warm wetness of blood. There wasn’t much wound or injury, but it was enough to cause a bit of pain and discomfort.
Slowly, he stumbled out of the office and was met with a crowd of people.
“Jebediah...explosion...awful,” he managed, putting on his best performance.
In truth, he felt no regret, no remorse for his actions. It was all part of the plan and he knew it. Still, the people around seemed to believe that he was genuinely upset about what happened. No one suspected anything.
Cassius may have stepped far enough before he tossed the bomb to Jebediah and kept himself from being lethally wounded, but his injuries were still rather severe. Shortly after emerging from the office, he fell face first into a group of people. A large man managed to catch him, but he was long since unconscious.
The next thing Cassius knew, he woke up in a hospital bed. The sound of beeping machines filled his ears while his vision cleared up.
In a groggy state, he tugged the collar of his hospital gown to see that the shrapnel wound had already been stitched up and covered in bloody bandages.
He sighed, reaching his hand up to his forehead. He couldn’t believe he’d finally done it.
Jebediah Lange was dead.
He’d gotten his revenge for his family and for his planet.
He’d gotten his revenge for himself.
He’d gotten his revenge for himself.
Chapter 24
Cassius
Cassius had gone accustomed to the beeping and whirring of the machines in his room. He had been in recovery for a week now, under observation and urgent care and was healing more quickly than someone in his position should.
Still, he needed time to recuperate. The doctors had done a good job, but they could only do so much. He still had a lot of recovering to do.
He’d heard that it took an entire team just to clean the stain of ash and blood that was once Jebediah Lange off the walls and ceiling, and that idea brought satisfaction to Cassius.
Of course, he had to keep up appearances; he pretended to be traumatized about the ordeal, but internally, he hadn’t been so happy since before his world fell apart.
That didn’t stop the authorities from poking their noses in, though. They wanted to see him, and he knew there was no getting around this. So he had to hope they would buy his story.
He’d worked out a story that he was sure enough people would believe to the point where it would be a non-issue.
Two Security Forces agents entered his room, one politely knocking as he entered, while the other quickly made his way to one of the free chairs.
“Tribune Ojun, we’d like to have a word with you,” the polite one said.
Cassius sat up, his body still aching from the blast. He let out a small gasp and winced, but quickly recovered.
“Sure, what can I do for you?” he asked, settling against a pile of plush pillows.
“We just have a few questions,” the agent said. He took the other free chair and pulled it up beside his partner. He seemed to be the older of the two, his hair white while the other man’s was black.
“It’s no secret that you were there when Jebediah Lange was killed. We just wanted to see if we could get any leads,” he said.
They were so predictable. Cassius knew that would be how they worded it. It wasn’t like they were going to outright accuse him. No, they wanted him to dig his own grave if they believed he was responsible.
“Right, of course. I’ll help in any way I can,” he said.
“Good, good. So, why were you at Mr. Lange’s office to begin with?” the older man asked.
Cassius leaned back and crossed his arms, maintaining eye contact with the two men.
“Well, he invited me over that morning,” Cassius answered honestly. “Said he wanted to have some drinks, congratulate me in person on my new position as Tribune. He and I were going to have a nice friendly day at the estate and mend any rifts between us.”
“I see, I see,” the older man said. “Did you notice anything suspicious while you were there?”
“Not at first, and I’m kicking myself for not seeing it coming,” Cassius said. His sorrow was false, but neither of the men called him out on it. Perhaps his act seemed genuine enough for the investigators to believe it.
“There was a bomb planted under his desk with the Terran Reunification Front’s logo on it. The last thing Jebediah ever said to me was to get back when he held it up to get a look at what it was,” he said.
“I’ve heard whispers about them getting more radical,” the younger man said.
“They’ve been working in the shadows trying to subvert, but now they’re getting bold. Assassination? Disgusting.”
“I’m sorry that you had to witness that,” the older man said. “I can’t begin to imagine the trauma it’s had on you, being so close to something so horrific.”
“I still see it when I sleep,” Cassius said. “Right alongside my family from Elban.”
Cassius’ lip quivered at the mention of Elban.
“Please, say no more...I think we heard enough,” the younger man said.
“I think I know where the TRF is getting the means to do this, as well,” Cassius said. “I’ve heard that they’re working with one of the crime families, getting supplies from them and whatnot. They’re covering their tracks, but they can’t hide from all prying eyes.”
“If you can give us details on them, everything you know, that would be wonderful,” the older man said. “So we can lock up the people responsible for killing Jebediah.”
For the next hour, Cassius weaved his story to the two men. It was all fabrication, carefully crafted lies that he’d spun before even thinking of committing the act.
The criminal organization he pinned it onto had been in direct competition with his brother for years; setting them up killed two birds with one stone. It got them out of the streets, and out of his brother’s hair.
As for the Terran Reunification Front, someone needed to take the fall. This would give the people someone to hate, someone to fear, and get them on Cassius’ side while he fixed the system from the inside.
It’s a fool proof plan, Cassius thought.
He knew that the people loved and trusted him, and that was all the encouragement he needed to keep going and believing he was doing the right thing. Even though his means weren’t pure, the end he hoped to achieve would make it all worth it.
The two men wrapped up their questioning and rose in near unison. Both offered Cassius a handshake, Cassius returning it weakly.
“Thank you for your time, sir,” the younger man said. “I think we have all the information that we need for now. If we need more, you’ll see us again.”
“Please, anything I can do to help bring justice, I’m more than happy to help you,” Cassius said.
“The important thing now is for you to recover,” the young man said. “You get some rest, and you’ll be back in the office in no time.”
The two left the office, leaving Cassius to his own devices. He slipped back down in the bed, falling back asleep rather quickly.
Cassius spent another couple of days in the hospital. The discharge process felt like an eternity, something that was true for hospitals all over the galaxy, it seemed.
A transport took him back home afterwards, dropping him off in his front yard. Slowly, he made his way into the building with a bag of his prescriptions and a handful of paperwork that he’d been given.
It probably would have been best if he’d gone to check on the kids in the meantime, but he’d just spoken to the babysitter on the way home and she mentioned they were asleep.
The stress of all this must have been too much for them, he thought.
He locked the door behind him and went to his room to have a slipstream call with his brother.
“So it’s done?” Francis asked, knowing full well what had happened.
“Yeah, it all went perfectly. They bought every word,” Cassius said with a smirk on his face.
“Perfect. And the competition?” Francis asked.
“Taken care of,” Cassius replied. “You’ve got nothing to worry about now. Hook line and sinker.”
“Damn, you’re the best, Cash!” Francis said excitedly. “See, we make a pretty good team—you and I.”
“What, did you expect anything less, Francis?” Cassius asked.
“No. But I’ve been disappointed before too. You didn’t disappoint me, which is great,” Francis looked at his watch and clicked his tongue. “Shit. I have to let you go. Need to deal with some stuff. It was great talking, and hey—thanks for the help.”
“Yeah. Of course. Talk to you later. Bye,” Cassius said, cutting off the slipstream link.
He slowly made his way up to his bed so as not to reopen his wounds where the skin was still thin.
The moment he felt the mattress under his back, he fell into a deep sleep.
The moment he felt the mattress under his back, he fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 25
Cassius
Cassius strode through the hall leading to Chancellor Duvid Greenberg’s office.
Unlike any other building on the planet, the Chancellery was decorated in a style reminiscent of a ruler back from the old Earth, Louis XIV.
The building reflected Greenberg’s rather ostentatious personal taste: the furniture was veneered with foreign woods and inlaid with brass, pewter and faux ivory. Bronze mounts protected the corners and provided more ornamentation.
The walls bore paintings of previous Chancellors and other Human Confederation officials, all solemn and dignified in their heavily gilded frames, foliated scrolls identifying each personage.
The entire setting was designed to be imposing; the paintings were massive, the walls were stark white, and the carpet underfoot luxurious. The hall was wide enough for three ground cars to drive side-by-side through it and tall enough for four enormous chandeliers to hang from the ceiling at intervals along its length.
Also posted at intervals were brush-cut husky young armed guards, all standing at attention, staring out of the curtained windows that comprised the opposite wall and ignoring Cassius as they would presumably ignore anyone else.
At least the poor bastards have something to look at during their shift, Cassius thought to himself, allowing a small wry smile—almost a smirk—to briefly creep across his lips.
The two guards posted outside the Chancellor’s door eyed him, however.
He tensed when the guard on the left stepped forward and said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Tribune.”
Cassius put a grin on his face as he raised his hands from his sides.
“No need for apologies,” he said. “I know you’re doing your job.”
“Thank you for understanding that, sir,” the guard said, expertly patting him down. “Some folks get kind of outraged that we do this.”
Cassius chuckled. The guard’s questing hand found the small bulge of the plastic bottle in Cassius’s left front pocket. At the man’s enquiring look, Cassius dug into his trousers and pulled out a small bottle of over-the-counter headache medicine, a well-known brand.
“Oh, hell, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—huh!”
He shook his head.
“I just forgot the damn things were there. Migraines, you know?” he added with a rueful face.
“That’s okay, sir,” the guard said. “I take those myself sometimes. Works pretty good.” He popped open the plastic bottle and poured the pills out into his palm, then poked them around with a finger, inspecting them. They were identical, pale blue capsules.
Most homes in Centralia had at least one bottle of them in the medicine cabinet. The guard tipped his hand so that the pills tumbled into the bottle, then capped it and handed it back to Cassius.
“Go ahead on in, sir,” he said, stepping back to his place.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Cassius said.
They knew that there was no way he would have gotten this close to Greenberg if he posed any threat. They also knew that Tribune Cassius Ojun was a trusted and loyal member of the government.
A surge of anticipation shot through him. He tamped it down as he opened the door.
“Oh, say, sir” the guard asked.
Cassius froze. “What is it, Sergeant?”
“Uh, I kind of hate to ask, but could you spare me a couple of those?”
“Of course I could.”
Cassius opened the bottle and shook out a few pills. He gave two of the pills to the guard, who thanked him.
Cassius stuck the bottle into his pocket and went into the office.
Chancellor Greenberg looked up from his computer. The desk, as ornate as the hallway furniture, was littered with papers and brochures.
“Ojun,” he barked. “Good to see you. Sit.”
He nodded at a Chippendale chair in front of the desk.
“Good to be seen, Chancellor,” Cassius said easily, settling onto the chair. It didn’t go with the rest of the décor, but was comfortable enough that the Chancellor’s visitors would be ill at ease after sitting in it for any length of time.
“Now what was it—oh, yes,” Greenberg stood up. He was a short man, but strongly built, with curly dark hair and a pencil mustache. “We’ve been facing a lot of unrest lately, Tribune. It’s supposed to be your job to take care of the screaming masses.”
Cassius allowed himself a frown. “That’s—they’re hardly screaming, sir. And we’ve got to permit them some safety valves after all, don’t you think? We’ve got some of the more outspoken dissident artists under scrutiny, and have made it difficult for them to have exhibits and gallery shows,” he crossed his legs and continued. “Plus, the nightclubs aren’t booking any of the protest bands now, so the kids are having to circulate their recordings clandestinely. It’s hard to track that stuff.”
Greenberg scowled.
“Those damn kids,” he said. “They’re smart little assholes, some of them. We should recruit some of them for the police services.”
“Yeah, no—good luck with that,” Cassius said. “No one under twenty-five would be caught dead talking to a cop these days”
“Send them under cover, then,” Greenberg said. “We can’t take any chances here, Ojun.”
He sighed. “The point is, I know you’re doing what you can. You’ve done a terrific job reigning in the media, but fearmongering about the TRF isn’t the way I want to see this going.”
Cassius tapped his finger.
“Speaking of fearmongering, sir,” he said, “My office has been carrying on its investigation into the events on Elban.”
“Where?”
“My home planet. Elban,” Cassius said, a little more sharply than he’d intended.
“Oh, yes. That...Crop Fever business.” Greenberg shot him a dark look. “What of it?”
“Well, we recovered some alarming evidence from the Lange Corporation factory here.”
He pulled out a card-sized data clip from his jacket pocket and put it on the Chancellor’s desk, tapping it as he did so. “If you get a minute, maybe you’d—”
Greenberg waved a hand as if to erase the clip from his awareness. “I know how you feel, and I sympathize with you for your loss. But frankly, Cassius, in the grand scheme of things, it’s just not an important factor. Stopping people from rioting so we can focus on appointing a new, more profitable Vice Chancellor—that’s what’s important.”
Cassius grinned to himself. He had expected nothing less.
“Yes, sir. Thank you,” he said.
“I’m glad we understand each other, Tribune,” Greenberg favored him with a sour smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course, sir.”
You worthless, dog-bopping twaad, Cassius thought to himself.
He stood to leave, unobtrusively dropping the small capsule he had earlier palmed to keep the headache-prone guard from selecting it, and toeing it toward where Greenberg sat, so that the desk would block his view of it.
It was in any case nearly invisible against the blue rug, which was, fortuitously, almost the same color as the commercial product. That was why this method of delivery had been selected in the first place.
Greenberg was already back at his papers and seemed to have forgotten Cassius was even there.
Outside of the bottle, the capsule would maintain its integrity for five minutes. After that, the plastic would degrade into powder, releasing the contents, a small concentration of a powerful and nearly undetectable toxin, into the air.
All courtesy of Cassius’ brother.
On his way out, Cassius stopped to chat with the guard to whom he had given a couple of capsules. “Feeling any better?”
“A little, yes, thanks, sir.”
“Keep up the good work, then,” Cassius said. As always, he prided himself on his common touch. He took note of the guard’s name from the man’s badge. No doubt he would remember Cassius’s appointment with Greenberg, and even connect it to the Chancellor’s subsequent illness.
But Cassius would see to it that both the sergeant and his comrade would be transferred to a better posting within two days. He judged that the man was smart enough not to voice his suspicions to anyone. Cassius meant to keep an eye on him anyway, just in case.
The amount of toxin in the air of the Chancellor’s office was small, and the office was sealed well enough that little if any of the chemicals would make their way out into the hall.
Though Cassius didn’t expect that to happen, it was not his concern if it did; it would be as good a way as any to take care of the guard, if the reposting didn’t work.
Sacrifices must be made, Cassius said to himself as he walked along the over-decorated hall.
Most likely, though, the only person who would be affected would be Duvid Greenberg, who wouldn’t budge out of his office for at least another hour or so, amply long enough for the toxin to sink its hooks into his body.
Cassius whistled cheerfully as he left the Chancellery.
I’ll have this place completely redone, he thought.
I’ll have this place completely redone, he thought.
Chapter 26
Ketra
The newsroom was never quiet even on a slow news day, but today seemed to be particularly hectic for Ketra. Or perhaps it was because her job responsibilities had recently doubled—with no concomitant increase in pay.
After stepping down as a news anchor and assuming the position of news editor of Pak News, she had been so busy researching and approving news scoops.
Yet somehow, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something that needed to be out there. Something the people needed to know.
Ketra blew a lock of red hair back from her forehead and stared at her computer, frowning. She had been reading the same news scoop sent by Mia for hours now. Around her, the whole news team were tapping away at their keyboards, talking on the phone, or consulting one another about their work. Conversation ebbed and flowed along with the ticking of keys.
“Hey,” a voice at her elbow said. “Coffee?”
It was Lynda Orlando, one of the reporters of Pak News. She was close to Ketra since they joined the news station at the same time. They has been been through the ups and downs of the media world together.
“Yeah, maybe it’ll help get my brain in gear,” Ketra said, rising from her chair. She followed Lynda to the break room, a small space with vending machines and an ancient coffee maker that steamed and sputtered but still delivered an acceptable brew. The women poured cups and sat at the small table.
The newsroom buzz and hum was still present, but somewhat muted.
“So how goes it?” Lynda asked. “Feel like you’re finally getting a grasp of your work?”
“Well, considering that I just spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to find a new angle on the same news scoop I’ve been receiving for days now, fairly well,” Ketra said. “I’m kind of used to going out there and actually doing the research, you know. Being on the field.”
Lynda made a sympathetic noise. “We miss you on cam too. But hey, this way, you get to control the news.”
“Exactly my point. I’m controlling the news…but I’m not there, investigating it myself. I guess I miss the hustle and bustle of it. And somehow, I feel like there are more stories that need to be out there.”
“Oh, pfft. Good luck with that. You know how difficult it has been to get news scoops that actually have substance these days,” Lynda rolled her eyes.
“Ugh, I know. Ojun and his bully-boys started cracking down on freedom of the press and shut down some online outlets.”
“I thought you liked the guy.”
“Please. I was kind of sympathetic to some of his ideas, but he’s let me down. He’s let everyone down,” Ketra said, feeling heat rise in her face.
“Thank your lucky stars for Pak News’ viewers, then,” Lynda said. “Whether Ojun and Greenberg like it or not, people don’t want their access to the news cut off. And there’s plenty going on these days...Greenberg still hasn’t appointed a new Vice Chancellor to replace Lange, TRF attacks have increased. If we just…”
“I know, I know.” Ketra frowned
“We’re on it.” Lynda laid a hand on Ketra’s arm.
Ketra shrugged. “I feel like we’ve been hiding and aren’t really doing our responsibility to the people properly.”
Lynda sighed. “Well, nothing’s gonna happen if no one’s gonna step up, you know. But I guess what everyone’s trying to think about is keeping their jobs. If we start releasing news about this…You’re right. I’m sure Ojun’s gonna shut us down.”
“I don’t think that’ll happen,” Ketra said. “Greenberg will keep Ojun in check. He won’t let it happen. I think Greenberg’s a jerk, no doubt, but at least he pays lip service to freedom of the press.”
“Oh, sure he does. That’s why so many news outlets have been forced to close already, right?” Lynda didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of her tone.
The doorway darkened as Ed Burkleigh, the producer of Pak News bustled in, empty coffee cup in hand. He looked at them over his half-moon glasses, which were as usual halfway down his nose. “Oh, you two have time to sit down? Maybe I’d better give you some more work,” he said.
The two women were about to stand, but Ed gestured for them to stay seated. He filled his cup with more coffee and sat on the couch in front of them.
“Ketra, I have to be honest. Our views have declined recently. I’m starting to think our content have become, well, inefficient. We even released a scoop with a supposedly different angle yesterday. The story basically had the same angles.”
“Sir, I’m really doing my best to find different angles over the same news scoops.”
“Are you? I mean you’re supposed to make sure our stories are compelling as possible in order to attract viewers,” he said. “You know how to get the story, but I’m still not convinced you know how to control which goes out and which doesn’t.”
Her face burned at the dressing down, particularly in front of Lynda Orlando. “Yes sir, thanks, I’ll do better,” Ketra said, edging out of the break room.
“Hmmm. Well, get to it, then.”
Ketra sat down at her little desk, uncomfortably aware that everyone in the newsroom must have heard him talking to her. Lynda cast her a sympathetic glance, but said nothing.
Then, as if on cue, Mia came in the newsroom and hurried toward Ketra. When she arrived at Ketra’s desk, Mia carefully set down a pile of paper in front of her.
“We…we need to get this out. I have reliable sources on this,” Mia said, panting.
After reading a few words, Ketra sat bolt upright. She smiled at Mia. “Good job, Mia. You’ll break this news.”
Mia shook her head slowly. “I can’t. I’m on field duty and I need to report at the venue...” Mia looked at her watch then gasped. “In 10 minutes! Oh God. Ketra. It has to be you. Please. This could be the start of us finally doing our jobs.”
Ketra took Mia’s hand and squeezed it. “Very well, then. I got this. Now, run!”
Mia gave her a thumbs up and hurried away to the door.
Ketra stood up with her head held high and walked to the set of Pak News. Ed was arguing with the director when he saw Ketra.
“Where the hell is Mia? We’re going live in a few minutes!” he said, his face turning red.
“Sir, Mia is on field duty. I’ll be the one breaking news today,” Ketra said, smiling.
“What? No. Let’s have Lynda,” Ed said, his brow arched.
“Sir, Lynda just left for field duties tonight, too,” the director joined in.
“Then let’s have someone else!” Ed blurted out.
“Sir, you have me—”
“No. Go back and do your job,” Ed interrupted.
“I am, sir. This is my job. To let people know what they need to know. Besides, you want a compelling story, right?” Ketra snapped back.
Ed stared at her for a few seconds before saying, “Fine. The seat is all yours. Now bring us back our viewers.”
Ketra cringed a little to that. This man’s all about the views, eh?
Nevertheless, she nodded and the make-up department started to prep her up.
When she sat down on the anchor’s seat, Ketra’s heart started beating fast.
Cassius Ojun had let her down since he started closing down news outlets that reported and pointed out stories involving him.
Ketra and her whole team had been keeping their heads down low for Pak News to survive, but this could finally be their chance to make a change.
The director called her attention. “Ready?”
Ketra sighed and smiled. “As ever.”
“In 3,2,1!”
“I’m Ketra Wolakken for Pak News,” she said in a somber tone. “For our breaking news: Sources now confirm that Chancellor Duvid Greenberg has died from a suspected TRF biological attack. Tribune Cassius Ojun is now Chancellor of the Human Confederation. I repeat, Tribune Cassius Ojun has taken the post of Chancellor of the Human Confederation. Stay tuned as more details come in.”
as more details come in.”
Chapter 27
Cassius
The day was gray and foggy. Cassius went through the papers in his briefcase while his car threaded through the city streets. It bounced into and out of a pothole, causing him to drop the document he held, and he muttered a curse.
One of the many unglamorous things on his agenda was to deal with Fairdale’s crumbling infrastructure. Under his predecessor’s corrupt regime, plenty of money had been earmarked for such work, but it all had been funneled into the pockets of contactors who set up barriers and warning signs but did nothing else.
Meanwhile the potholes, especially in Mansionland, got worse and buildings grew seedier. Garbage lay in piles, uncollected, attracting rats and other vermin.
The car came to a halt, and Cassius looked up. They were nowhere near his office.
“What’s the problem?” he asked the car, but even before it replied, he saw that the façade of a former shopping mall had collapsed across the road.
“I will have to take a detour,” the car AI said in its monotone voice. “I am sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Alright. Just go,” Cassius said. He sighed. After having taken over as Chancellor from Duvid Greenberg, he had found to his dismay that a big part of the job involved dealing with paperwork. It was endless, and most of it could not be delegated to underlings.
The car backed up and turned down the last side street it had passed. Rain pelted down on the vehicle’s transparent canopy.
Cassius sipped coffee from his travel cup. He always had a hard time getting started on days like this. He wouldn’t be fully awake for another hour or so, and there was no sense in trying to deal with the paperwork until his brain was fully in gear.
He switched on the car’s screen and turned to Pak News Stream.
He blinked when he saw the newscaster: Ketra.
Her red hair with its distinctive cut—long on one side, cropped close to her skull on the other—made her instantly recognizable.
Why is she back on air? He thought.
“Now that the dust has settled and the people’s Chancellor, Cassius Ojun, is unequivocally in charge, questions are arising about how well he will deal with our domestic problems. While it’s certainly true that terrorist attacks continue with the Terran Reunification Front claiming responsibility, closer to home there are food shortages and general unrest,” Ketra reported.
Cassius growled at her. “You try keeping this mess in check,” he said.
“Emergency powers have been granted to Chancellor Ojun,” Ketra continued, “which has resulted in the swift and decisive quelling of the TRF threat—for now, at least. Unfortunately, in the chaos of the recent weeks there have been many casualties, including key members of the four most powerful families and corporations in the Human Confederation.”
He glowered at the screen. “That wasn’t my fault. Don’t you think they might possibly have other enemies from before I showed up?”
Cassius hadn’t granted any interviews since he had taken over as Chancellor, and didn’t mean to. His desire was to keep as low a profile as a high-profile position would allow. He’d told his staff that he simply wasn’t interested in publicity; but the main reason, which he hadn’t shared with anyone, was that he feared for the safety of his daughters.
He had adopted Peyton, daughter of his late Elbanian friend Craig as his own, along with his own biological child, Sienna.
The two girls were close, which Cassius was thankful for. He got along well with Peyton; better, in fact, than he did with Sienna.
It galled him no end that Sienna was turning out to be an entitled little princess. Lyla, he knew, would be appalled.
Saddened at the thought of his late wife, he gazed out of the car’s canopy at the poverty around him.
It was because of this, and the danger to them that his position as Chancellor could mean, that Cassius had sent both girls to a secure boarding school halfway around the planet where they would be safe from kidnapping attempts. The school was specially set up for influential politicians and other celebrities.
The fact that he could afford to do this had opened him up to charges of elitism, but he didn’t care. The girls’ safety and well-being was paramount. In the main, there are too many more pressing issues for the citizenry to deal with, so the girls’ schooling didn’t get much attraction.
As far as threats to himself were concerned, he was publicly contemptuous. He was consistent in saying from the outset that he refused to be intimidated by such things. He showed his disregard for them by ostensibly going out without a bodyguard unless he was making a public appearance.
Not being a fool, however, Cassius instructed his guards to keep their distance if there was a chance they might be noticed.
This morning, for example, his car was followed at a discreet distance by another whose passenger, a specialist in Cassius’s employ, was very well armed. The car bumped into another pothole, eliciting another curse from Cassius.
“Listen,” he said to the vehicle, “where the hell are we, anyway?”
To his surprise, the car made no reply.
This isn’t right, he said to himself. Glancing back, he saw that the car trailing him was still there.
He relaxed a little. He turned his attention to the road ahead and saw it had become little more than an alley—and, worse, it stopped at a stone wall.
Immediately, he reached into his pocket and placed his hand on his needler. He didn’t have to use the thing in many months, but he cleaned it regularly and kept up with his target practice.
His car came to a stop several yards from the wall. Cassius made no attempt to speak to it; instead, he disengaged the door lock and got out to the rain.
The guard’s car halted just close enough to tap his car. Fully alert now, Cassius walked over to it in time to see the man inside, a crag-faced fellow in his thirties named Tallman, draw his own weapon.
The car’s gull-wing door rose, and the guard stepped out—with the gun leveled at Cassius’s midriff.
“Drop the needler,” Tallman said.
Behind him, at the alley’s entrance, three men swiftly pushed a sturdy barricade across the opening. Cassius was trapped.
He let the needler fall to the ground.
Hacked into my car’s computer to divert it and bribed my bodyguard, he thought. So we know what the game is.
He slowly raised his hands as Tallman grinned.
“Sorry, boss,” Tallman said.
“Yeah, I bet you are, Paulie,” Cassius said, using the nickname Tallman hated.
Tallman scowled.
“Fuck you,” he said. “Now you just be a good boy and you might live to see your daughter again,”
The other men were hurrying toward them now, guns at the ready. None of them looked like needlers, which were expensive.
So just regular bullets. I wonder if these morons are good shots, any of them? He thought as he observed the goons.
“What the hell?” Cassius said, gesturing toward the newcomers with his chin.
Tallman made a fatal mistake: he glanced at his comrades.
That moment was enough. He moved fast, thrusting his hand into his jacket and took out his second needler. Before Tallman swivelled his gaze back to Cassius, he’d been shot with two rounds of tiny drug-laden darts. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Cassius flung himself to one side as the other goons opened fire on him. As he suspected, they weren’t very good shots. He dispatched two of them within the first five seconds. The other two sought cover among the boxes and barrels lining the seedy alley way, but Cassius noted their positions and simply fired into the debris.
Moments later, he found himself alone in the rain. After taking a few moments to make sure his would-be kidnappers were dead, Cassius walked back to his car and retrieved his briefcase.
He went to the opening of the alley, clambered over the barricade they’d shoved into place there, and stepped down onto the sidewalk.
He didn’t see anyone around. This wasn’t a neighborhood for pedestrians.
The rain, he knew, would ruin his suit. He heaved a deep sigh, and set out to look for a cab.
forfordfbdfcabcab.
Chapter 28
Thomas
“Well, son, you look remarkably chipper for a man who survived an assassination attempt just two days ago,” Governor Thomas Alver said as he shook Cassius’s hand.
Cassius made a wry face as he motioned Thomas to a seat into which the old man sank gratefully. His back pain was bothering him, as it tended to do in rainy weather, and it had been raining since the day before yesterday.
“I was lucky,” Cassius said. He took up a cut glass decanter from the side of his desk and raised it in Thomas’ direction.
The governor declined the liquor with a smile. “You’re the sort of man who makes his own luck, from what I’ve seen,” he said. “I’ll take a glass of water if you have any.”
A faint smile crossed Cassius’s face. “I think we can score some up.”
He picked up his comm and asked Isaac for some water. While he was talking, Thomas gazed narrowly at him. Cassius looked tired, careworn. It was no surprise.
Heavy hangs the head of state, as the old saying goes, Thomas said to himself. He’s being ground down. But not fast enough, I fear.
Cassius was the sort of leader who inspired either blind loyalty or equally blind hatred. Thomas had come to realize where he himself fell on that spectrum.
Cassius’ authoritarian turn as Chancellor had certainly done some good. He’d allocated funds for infrastructure improvement—and had increased the amount by one point seven billion after nearly being killed in a litter-strewn alley.
But thanks to Ketra Wolakken and the evidence she had turned up in her investigation of Cassius’ clandestine dealings, Thomas also knew that some of the corrupt officials from the last administration who still held their posts had not relinquished control of their activities as they had sworn to do.
It galled Thomas and had led him, reluctantly, to a decision.
“So what brings you to see me?” Cassius said easily. “Though I’m always glad to make time for you, Thomas.”
“And I appreciate it, son, I truly do.”
He pursed his lips. He thought of Cassius as his friend, which made what he had come to do more difficult. Still, the future of Centralia was at stake here. Cassius was at bottom a strong man, and that wasn’t what Centralia needed.
The data he had received from the reporter made that clear to him. Ketra told Thomas that she could no longer trust the free press to broadcast her findings.
“I can’t say one damn thing about him without his approval,” she had said in the privacy of Thomas’s office, which, he felt reasonably sure, was not bugged.
“You have a good reputation, Governor,” Ketra went on. “That’s why I’m coming to you. I don’t know what to do with what I’ve learned. In the old days, I would’ve had it broadcasted as breaking news—but these days that’s a great way to get the Pak News shut down and all of us thrown into jail.”
She shook her head and continued. “Sir, believe me, I’m trying as much as possible to let people know what they need to know, but I also need to take care of my team. Although they’re more than willing to do everything they can for Pak News…most of them have families.”
Thomas stared at the young woman for a long moment. “And so you come to me, an old man, out of power now…and you think they’ll deal better with me?”
He scoffed.
“Sir, you’ve forgotten more about anti-corruption advocacy than I’ll ever learn. All I’m doing is giving you what I’ve uncovered.” She pushed a datastick across the polished desktop. “It’s all here. Do what you can, or will, with it—is all I ask.”
After she left, Thomas sat for a long time staring down at the harmless-looking little device before sliding it into his tablet.
Reviewing the documents took him the rest of the day and into the evening.
As a man no longer in the mainstream of the world’s political flow, Thomas knew he wouldn’t be interrupted. He only came into the office every day because his late wife, Grace, had forbidden him to bring any work home.
Even now, he acquiesced to her wishes. When he was done reading what Ketra had given him, Thomas poured himself a stiff shot of bourbon, which was much against the advice he had received from his doctor, and downed it in a gulp. He reached for the bottle again, but knowing what a second glass was likely to do to him, he refrained.
Then he went home to his quiet little apartment. To his surprise, he was able to fall asleep without any trouble.
Upon waking up the next morning, he knew what he had to do.
He had his usual breakfast—toast and coffee, with orange juice—and dressed in his usual conservatively cut suit.
He paused on his way out the door, and picked up a small framed photograph of Grace from the end table. It was a good picture of her. He missed her. The pain of her death from cancer seven years previously had receded, but was never completely gone. His memories of her before the swift onset of the sickness that took her from him remained a comfort.
Thomas liked to think he’d see her again. With that thought in mind, he put the photo in his pocket along with a plastic needler. No scanner would notice it, and in any case, he knew that Cassius trusted him and wouldn’t subject him to a search.
Soon, he sat in a comfortable chair in front of Cassius’ desk. To his surprise, he wasn’t afraid now that he was on the point of dying. In fact, he realized, he felt an eagerness to get on with it.
Grace was waiting. He believed that. The belief made it easier for him to carry on. He savored the passing moments. He’d shoot Cassius and then turn the gun on himself. And then all this worldly care would be gone, and he’d be with his beloved once more.
He barely heard what Cassius was saying, but he just smiled and nodded repeatedly. The old words came back to him, and he understood them now more clearly than he ever had;
I am not afraid.
Fear kills the mind, clouds the thoughts.
Fear is nothing but a doorway.
I will face my fear.
I will open that door and pass through it.
And when I have gone through, I will know what is beyond.
I will remain, without the fear.
Cassius had stopped speaking. “What are you smiling about?” he asked Thomas.
“I was just thinking about fear,” Thomas replied. He slid his hand into his pocket. “Are you ever afraid, Cassius?”
Cassius’ eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, Thomas?”
“I’m not afraid, that’s all,” Thomas said. He took out the gun and aimed it at his former ally’s chest.
Cassius’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t move.
“You don’t want to do this, Thomas,” he said in a quiet, almost mournful, voice.
“You’re right—I don’t. But I have to. You see, Cassius, you’re becoming a worse monster than the ones who came before.”
Cassius shook his head. “I’m doing what’s necessary to bring Centralia back from the brink of self-destruction,” he said. “You must see that.”
“I—you know, Cassius, we’re not going to have a debate about your intentions. I’m weary. I’ve spent my career talking and debating, and now that I’m an old man, I know I no longer have the strength for it. I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t want to do this, it’s true...but I have no choice.”
He held the gun steady, and felt proud that he could.
“You’re an old man, yes. But I’m young. And I’m strong. Thomas, stronger than you know. I’m not going to let you shoot me. For one thing, if you were to do that, you’d never make it out of this building alive.”
Thomas laughed softly. “I never intended to.”
“Do you know what the headlines will say tomorrow?” Cassius asked. “They’ll say, ‘The hero of the people bravely fought off his assassin and turned the gun on him.’”
Thomas shrugged. “Young you may be, but you can’t get out from that desk quickly enough to stop me before I fire,” he said.
Cassius sighed and walked towards him slowly. Thomas knew it was the perfect moment to shoot Cassius, but somehow, his hands started to shake.
C’mon, do it! Do it! He thought to himself.
Then, he found himself standing face-to-face with Cassius. They stood like that for a minute, before Cassius kicked the needler out of his hand in one motion.
Thomas looked at his shaking hands in shock, while Cassius dove right away for the needler.
He aimed the gun at Thomas’s chest. “I’m sorry, Thomas, I really am. We were friends.”
“It’ll be quick, won’t it?” Thomas said, eyeing the weapon. It filled his vision until it became the world.
“Very quick indeed,” Cassius said. “You’ll make a splendid scapegoat, Thomas, in case anyone else tries to investigate me. I assure you, this is for the greater good of Centralia.”
It happened quick.
As Thomas fell down to the floor, he was smiling.
Forget Centralia, he thought into the gathering mist. Grace…
Chapter 29
A Message from the Office of the Chancellor of the Human Confederation
Cassius took his seat in front of the cameras and straightened his tie. He was in fine spirits. This was an interview he had been looking forward to for some time. It had been over a year since he gave his last one, to the same journalist he’d be speaking with tonight.
Ketra Wolakkan stepped up onto the small stage, awash in bright light for the cameras, and sat across the table from Cassius.
“Good evening,” Ketra said to him. The cameras weren’t live yet. “I’m a little surprised you agreed to talk with me tonight, Chancellor. How long has it been?”
“Long enough,” he said easily. “I see you’re growing your hair out on that side.”
She patted the side of her head. “I felt it was time for a change.”
“Oh, I agree. It certainly is.”
He couldn’t keep all of the satisfaction out of his tone. The woman was perceptive, and shot him a look.
“Ten seconds,” the director said, looking at his tablet. “And 3, 2, 1...”
He pointed at Ketra as the camera lights blinked red.
“Good evening, I’m Ketra Wolakkan, and here with me is the Chancellor of the Human Confederation, Cassius Ojun.”
On the monitors, Cassius saw a close up of his smiling face, and he nodded pleasantly.
“Good evening, Ketra. It’s nice to see you again.”
The view cut to a shot of the two of them, facing one another across the table.
“Thank you, Chancellor. First of all, let me congratulate you on your amazing first year in office. You’ve united the Human Confederation, something that no one thought possible.”
He inclined his head graciously. “Thank you. The Terran Union has wronged the Confederation a number of times. We felt it was necessary to promote a unified voice for the Confederation.”
She nodded. “And you have certainly done that. Yet your efforts seem to have come at the expense of living conditions here on Centralia. The latest polls—”
He chuckled and made a dismissive gesture.
“Oh, the polls! You know, I don’t pay any attention to them, they’re non-factual information that only serves to confuse people.”
“But sir, your own daughters, Peyton and Sienna, are being schooled far away from here, ostensibly for their safety. Your critics say that’s because the standard of living in Mansionland—in all of Fairdale—has declined.”
He frowned. “That’s simply not true. There’s plenty of poverty and unhappiness everywhere in the Terran Union. What about the Tyreesians? And all the misery they’ve caused?”
“Are you trying to deflect the argument, sir? With all due respect, the Tyreesians aren’t the issue,” Ketra said, frowning. “There’s no moral equivalency between them and what’s happening in your administration.”
“All that’s happening in my administration is that we’re preparing for conflicts,” Cassius said. “We don’t mean to stop with unifying the Confederation, either. There are tyrants all over the galaxy, many of them operating under the guise of humanitarianism. We want to start the process of destabilizing and ultimately toppling the repressive governments in other star systems.”
He watched Ketra shift in her seat, taking pleasure in her discomfort.
“So you think that tampering with the politics of other worlds is ultimately a positive thing?”
“Of course. The people of these worlds all think alike; it’s their corrupt leaders that have repressed them time and again.”
“I see. Can you give specific examples of this repression, sir?”
“You see, this is the problem with you people in the media,” Cassius said, shaking his head. “You feel free to inject your opinions into every discussion. This makes for a lot of noise, a lot of non-factual information that people have to sift through. I’m trying to eliminate that.”
He made a gesture to someone outside of camera range.
Several of Cassius’s bodyguards, their weapons prominently displayed, pushed the camera operators aside while being careful to leave the vidcams focused on the small stage where spotlights pinned Ketra and Cassius to their chairs.
Cassius watched the monitors with satisfaction. They showed the guards approaching Ketra and securing her.
She struggled in their grip. “What are you do—Chancellor Ojun! What’s this all about?”
“Peace, Ms. Wolakkan. Peace. I’m afraid that I’m going to have to establish martial law here in Centralia. There have been too many terrorist attacks of late, and we’re very concerned that your news feed, here, has been used to send coded messages to certain factions.”
“That’s not true! Why would we do that?”
“To destabilize the government, of course.”
“That’s what you said you meant to do!” The guards forced her to stand, but she remained visible in the monitors.
“But not here on Centralia. I’m sorry, Ms. Wolakken, but we’re forced to detain you for questioning.”
“You won’t get away with this, Ojun,” she yelled as she was dragged out of the camera view.
He remained seated and sighed. He turned to the camera and smiled benevolently. Moments later, his smiling face was replaced by a screen reading PLEASE STAND BY.
Won’t get away with it? He thought as he looked around the petrified production crew.
I rather think I will.
I rather think I will.
The Mariner
See where it all started. Read The Mariner, A Pax Aeterna Prequel, for free, exclusively at this link: https://claims.instafreebie.com/free/yaoQE
First Contact
Call of Command Book 1
A Pax Aeterna Novel
Copyright © 2017 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Part I
Book I
Jeryl
The vastness of space was always disquieting. It was beautiful, but in the back of Jeryl’s mind they were simply hurtling through empty space in a microcarbon tetrapolymer tube. One small deviation from some pretty tight specs and their ass was grass—lungs bursting as they depressurize.
No matter the stellar phenomena that they charted, no matter the beauty that they saw—in the end, space was unforgiving, cold, and empty. It didn’t care who was good or evil. It didn’t care about political factions. Or whether the Captain of the TUS Seeker hooked up with his first officer on shore leave.
Space killed with impunity.
Jeryl sat in CNC on the Terran Union Starship called The Seeker. He used to hate that name when he first took command. But now, he loved it. Two years of commanding an Armada frigate patrolling the border with the Outer Colonies would do that to anyone. He knew each of his crew personally. Hell, he had hand-selected almost all of them at some point or another as people left and needed replacing.
“We’re approaching the last known coordinates of TUS Mariner, Captain,” the navigator, Henry Docherty, called out from his station.
“Cut FTL drive and return to normal space,” Jeryl ordered, leaning back on his chair. He could feel the hum of the ship change as the FTL drives disengaged. The ship materialized into normal space, out from the folded space it was travelling in.
“Visual,” Jeryl ordered. The view screen lit up in front of him. It dominated the far wall of CNC and gave him the visual sensors to see what was happening outside of The Seeker. Double-plated transparent microcarbon glass panels line the sides of CNC, but Jeryl had no idea what the designers of the frigate assumed they would do—they were as big as portholes on an ancient seafaring craft. He couldn’t hop on tip-toed and look out to get a view of the outside, and more importantly, he couldn’t make command decisions.
But Jeryl guessed it was done to bolster morale, to prevent people from becoming claustrophobic. To not have them dwell on the fact that they were in a box travelling several times the speed of light through the cold unknown.
“Mr. Lannigan,” he said to his Science Officer. “Coordinate with Ms. Gavin and scan the area for The Mariner.”
The science officer nodded and made room at his station as Ashley Gavin—the shapely First Officer of The Seeker—walked over to join him. Not for the first time had Jeryl sighed at the sight of his First Officer.
He had done everything that a Captain could do in this situation. He had delegated tasks to his crew and now all he could do was sit back and wait for the next piece of information on this godforsaken mission.
He knew he didn’t sound too happy, but that was only because he wasn’t.
They were out here in the far fringes of the Terran Union. The closest station—Edoris Station—was 20 light years away. That was roughly 20 days that they’d been travelling. No colonies. Just empty space and giant balls of gas and dust.
“If it’s something involving the Outer Colonies trying to come through our back door,” Admiral Flynn had said to him, “there’s no other person I want investigating it than you.”
The Admiral had been insistent that The Seeker had to go see this out. The only problem Jeryl had with the Admiral’s insistence was that the Outer Colonies were all the way on the other side of the Terran Union. Even if they had ships as powerful as the Union’s, he doubted they could get all the way around it without attracting some sort of attention.
Besides, the distance to traverse through empty space would be prohibitive. Which meant, the more that Jeryl thought about it, that whatever caused The Mariner to stop responding to the Edoris Station wasn’t related at all to the Outer Colonies.
And Jeryl would know; he had had experience on the border. Most of his time in the Armada had been rotating on and off ships that patrol the border. There were brush fires, isolated incursions; more to harry and provoke The Union than anything else.
There hadn’t been a war from as long as he could remember. Hell, since as long as anyone could remember. From what he knew, the last sustained conflict was during The Schism, about fifty years ago, back in 2147. The only reason everyone knew about it was because it was taught through History classes; no one who lived through The Schism was serving in The Armada now.
So all they had to go by was what they learned in school—how Earth had sent out her children into the stars. And how those children had grown older and began to help their ailing parents from the ravages of its nuclear war. How rebuilding Earth was deemed to be impossible—after the nuclear wars that rocked the planet, scientists of the mid-21st Century said it would take at least a thousand years of rebuilding for the planet to go back to pre-World War III conditions.
But they hadn’t factored in space travel, or colonies. They hadn’t factored in humanity’s drive to survive when backed against the wall. From the ashes of post-atomic horror, Earth came together and did away with the old institutions, and implemented a unified voice. Earth looked to its children to go into the stars and send back the resources to rebuild.
And rebuild they did—to the exclusion of all else. Large percentages of colony budgets were earmarked for rebuilding efforts for Earth, and for the first generation or two, it was done with pride. People were contributing toward the rebirth of the cradle of humanity.
But fast-forward to another generation, and one would see the grudging acceptance of the sacrifices that had to be made so that a world, one that very few had ever seen, could prosper. Hostility festered in future generations, hostility aimed at sacrificing all their hard work for a world hundreds of light years away.
And the farthest of Earth’s children—those in the outermost colonies—said one day that they’ve had enough. They threw off the yoke, as they believed it to be. And once again, humanity went to war.
But that was fifty years ago. The Terran Armada then was nothing compared to what it was today. Rebuilding was the focus. There was very little need for defensive or offensive technology. Humanity hadn’t encountered any alien lift and it still hadn’t. The few frigates and cruisers that were in service were used to ensure hostilities didn’t get too bad. And in addition, to ensure that the proper material flowed back to the Homeworld.
Eventually, with the Colonies being granted their independence—all 57 of them—tensions cooled and the long vigil across a border began. That was the last conflict anyone had ever fought.
All the research and all the exploration hadn’t uncovered any trace of alien life. They found moss growing on a rock on New Chrysalis; some vegetation here and there—a sign that the universe wasn’t asleep while the humans destroyed themselves, but still no sentient life. For as much as they all believed, humanity was alone in the universe, left to explore on its own; left to fight amongst each other as they colonized the stars.
So then if it wasn’t the Outer Colonies, and if there was no such thing as non-human life, Jeryl was left to wonder what could be preventing The Mariner from responding to them
Solving that problem, he thought. That’s the only mystery that makes this mission worth a damn.
The Mariner was a deep space exploration vessel, with a small crew complement. A part of Jeryl betted that those egghead scientists were just lost in their own little bubble, exploring some stellar phenomena of the month. Not realizing that The Seeker had to be pulled off their course to go rescue some scientists with their heads in the clouds.
We’ll probably find them and they’ll realize they somehow turned off their communications grid, Jeryl thought. Or maybe they took it offline so that nothing would bother them with their research. I’ve seen it happen before. It wouldn’t be the first time.
He was thinking about the scientists when Ashley walked toward him.
Jeryl could tell she was coming up to him even though he was looking down at his pad. He could smell the slight perfume that she indulged in every morning; the smell that he remembered before he went to sleep at night; the smell that he had breathed in when they were on shore leave in New Sydney, when they found themselves accidentally at the same resort. They had drinks and dinner. A bottle of New Sydney wine in his suite. Then, a night of sex.
And the next morning, they replaced all of that with professionalism to cover up the awkwardness—to make sure they didn’t have to talk about what they had done together the night before.
Jeryl felt the hair behind his neck rise as Ashley came closer. Something was definitely up.
She leaned closer and whispered in his ear.
“Captain,” she said softly so that no one could hear. “There’s something you should probably see. In private.”
Ashley
“In private?” Jeryl whispered cocking one eyebrow as he looked at her. Ashley stood straight, and pursed her lips. She felt the palm of her hands grow sleek with sweat.
A poor choice of words, she thought.
After the New Sydney incident, she had struggled to push her way past the ensuing awkwardness. She did her best to act as professionally as possible, but sometimes her defenses faltered. She couldn’t help it; every time she closed her eyes, and remembered those warm days back in New Sydney, Captain Jeryl just turned into…Jeryl.
The Armada frowned upon their officers falling into personal relationships, but everyone knew it was inevitable; no one could confine people in a vessel for too long a time and expect nothing to happen. Anyone could be sane enough to keep things professional while they were in outer space, Ashley had always thought, but the moment they feel gravity’s pull, things change.
There was the atmosphere to adjust to, and the slight variations in weight. Trading up the Armada uniform for some expensive dress smuggled from the Outer Colonies wasn’t off the table as well, especially for Ashley—at some point, all the formalities drop.
That was what happened in New Sydney.
It was just a short break between deployments, but there was enough time for crass jokes, a bottle of wine, and a night between the sheets at The Oath, one of the landmarks of New Sydney. Jutting more than two thousand feet skyward right in the center of the metropolis, the expensive hotel provided the perfect setting for a weekend of drinking and forgotten boundaries.
The soft sheets of The Oath’s suite were on the far side of the universe, at least as far as she was concerned. She wore her uniform now, the First Officer badge clipped to her chest; she had a job to do.
“In private,” Ashley repeated with a nod, nervously running her tongue between her dry lips. She balled one hand into a fist, and tried to hold his gaze without allowing the First Officer mask to drop.
“Okay,” Jeryl breathed out, reading the serious expression on her face. There was no smile on her lips, putting all the awkwardness to bed. Finding The Mariner and reporting the situation back to the Armada should be a simple enough job, but now she was not so sure.
Ashley had been serving under Jeryl for a few years now, and she had learned to develop that quick intuition the Armada tried to impart on its officers. She had been in more border skirmishes than she could count on her fingers, and lived through so many false alarms that she had already forgotten half of them. But this was different.
This wasn’t a pirate raid in one of the mining colonies, nor just another one of those border confrontations. As far as Ashley knew, no ship tried to encircle The Seeker and none of the ship alarms had gone off for months now. They were alone in the vastness of space, and still she felt there was something wrong about the whole situation.
She felt as if she stood on a shore, her feet buried in the sand, watching as the ocean slowly receded, back into its depths—and then the whole ocean would rise up to swallow her. The readings she had just seen…There was no way for her to be sure, but somehow she felt that a tidal wave was looming above them.
Turning on his heels, Jeryl marched across the CNC. Ashley trailed after him, that tight anxiety taking over her chest. Jeryl stopped for a second, allowing the biometric sensors to recognize him. The door to the Captain’s private office slid to the side and into its metallic partition.
Spartan and rigorous, Jeryl’s office was a reflection of the discipline that allowed him to climb through the ranks all those years. His desk was tidy and uncluttered, the chair behind it is so carefully placed that the whole office looked more like a set than an actual working space.
If she didn’t know all about the ungodly amount of hours the Captain spent in here, Ashley would have assumed Jeryl earned his Captain rank by being an effective pencil pusher. The Armada was full of these types nowadays—the memories of war were distant and faded, and there were few men she trusted to lead the way if shit hit the fan.
But Jeryl…Jeryl she could trust.
Surrounded by bureaucrats from all sides, he somehow managed to retain a certain ruggedness that Ashley found reminiscent of all those war stories about The Schism. If that tidal wave ended up being more real than she wanted it to be, she was glad to have Captain Jeryl at the helm.
“What’s going on, Ashley?” he asked her as the door closed behind them. His lips were a thin line, his voice was clipped and terse.
She looked back at him for a moment, the hard edge in his eyes a reminder that in that moment, she was his First Officer, and not the woman who had slept next to him in a high-rise suite in New Sydney.
“Take a look at this,” she started, walking toward the metallic workstation that took over Jeryl’s entire office. The workstation was a round platform with a sleek surface. Barely noticeable holographic projectors were mounted all around its curved edges. The workstation was smaller than the central console they had back in the CNC, but it was still imposing enough to have a few officers around it.
Ashley opened her palm over the workstation and the whole surface lit up. The holographic projectors heated up, and the main control dashboard appeared in front of her, a see-through projection she could use even if she had her eyes closed. As complex as the dashboard might seem, the Academy drilled their officers hard in matters of bureaucracy and logistics.
Eventually, the entire thing became second nature to a fast learner like Ashley. She pulled up the readings the Science Officer alerted her to, moving her fingers in the air as if she was weaving a fine, invisible web.
After the radar alerted them to the presence of debris in the area, Ashley had sent a small probe out for visual confirmation; she thought she had simply found a small asteroid field, nothing remarkable at all. The visual readings, however, quickly dispelled the naïve thought.
“What am I looking at, Ashley?” Jeryl asked her placing his hands on the edge of the workstation. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the images Ashley just projected. In the projection, a few shards of contorted metal seemed to float freely in the vastness of space, tiny crumbles of glittering debris in a dark canvas.
Instead of replying, Ashley spread her fingers wide once more and zoomed in on the debris. A dark shadow took over Jeryl’s narrowed eyes, Ashley knew the Captain was trying to escape the inevitable answer. The Seeker had set out on a simple reconnaissance mission, its purpose to retrieve a small crew of overexcited scientists who unwittingly entered uncharted territory—but all that was about to change.
A deep exploration vessel turned into scrap right in the middle of nowhere; if Jeryl was already fidgety about the whole situation, Ashley couldn’t even imagine what the Admiral’s reaction was going to be. She could already see this mission’s folder stamped with a large red S, all that information turning into a slew of “on a need to know basis” facts.
It just made no sense to Ashley. She doubted any of the Outer Colony fleets would be this deep into outer space, and even smugglers and pirates wouldn’t be venturing this far. What the hell had happened here?
“Are you sure, Ashley?” Jeryl asked her again, looking up from the projected images and staring right at her, the lines in his face turning into deep trails of concern. “We have to be sure.”
“I’m positive,” Ashley nodded, taking a deep breath as she felt the words claw up her throat. “We’ve identified the debris as The Mariner—and it was destroyed.”
Jeryl
After staring at the expanded view, taking in the data readouts cascading down the side of the screen, Jeryl looked back at Ashley’s face. Her lips were compressed into a thin line and her brows furrowed. Jeryl cleared his throat.
“The energy signatures from that wreckage...”
Ashley nodded.
“No radioactivity. No CP beams. Something—”
“Unknown,” Jeryl finished.
Unknown, he thought.
Alien.
“But there’s no trace of any activity in this sector,” Jeryl said. It was needless to say that there had never been a trace of activity in any of the sectors. It was a matter of historical fact; there was no intelligent life anywhere in the volume of space controlled by the Union.
“What are we dealing with here?”
Ashley allowed a small smile to soften her tight lips.
“As you say, it’s unknown.”
Several thoughts raced inside Jeryl’s mind.
Is this it? First Contact?
No, he couldn’t buy that. The Outer Colonies, despite his ruling out their interference, could have upped their game with weapons research, and come up with an advanced tech they had come a long way to test. Or had a new player entered the game? But still…Jeryl wondered how any of those reasons could explain why anyone would destroy an unarmed vessel like the The Mariner.
He drew a breath.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s look at the facts. The Mariner is destroyed. We are ruling out something internal—sabotage, some experiment gone awry. Right?”
He shot Ashley a glance and she nodded once. “So we assume an outside force. And yet—,” Jeryl deliberately tapped the top of his desk. “—there aren’t any. As far as we know,” he added quickly, seeing that Ashley had opened her mouth to reply. “It’s a big galaxy, but still.”
There were only a few billion humans scattered across a couple of hundred worlds—plenty of room for strange things to lurk in unexplored places, even in systems they had colonized.
“We have already agreed that it’s an unknown,” said Ashley. “Alien? Human agency? Or perhaps some sort of natural phenomenon.”
“Natural?”
Jeryl thought about that for a moment. “Well, they were out here on an exploratory mission. Our records show they were to investigate the Anderson Nebula.”
“That’s right,” Ashley said.
The Anderson was a small planetary nebula. It was young, less than two thousand years old. It was far enough from Earth, only detected by one of the more distant Union worlds. The Mariner was sent to investigate the neutron star spinning at the nebula’s center. It would be the closest neutron star to Union territory, which had made the place worth a visit.
Jeryl cast another glance at the readouts.
“Well,” he said, “if you’re suggesting they tangled with the Anderson’s neutron star, Ashley—mmm, I don’t think it parses. Given the position of the wreckage, it’s clear they never got close enough to the nebula to be affected by its collapse. Sensors give no indication of anything else in the vicinity like, I don’t know, a mini black hole...which in any case wouldn’t have torn the ship apart. Nor would the neutron star. Either one would have sucked the ship in.”
Jeryl shrugged. “Gravity being what it is. There’d be nothing at all here.”
Ashley sighed. “I know. But whatever it was, it was more powerful than anything in our records.”
Jeryl had trouble concentrating on the conversation. He kept thinking back to the time they spent at the Oath, when they—
No, he thought., Best not go there. He shook his head to dispel the memory.
“There’s no use denying it,” she said sharply, misinterpreting Jeryl’s gesture. “As you’ve said, it’s a big galaxy. Shit happens, sir. Did you take a really close look at Lannigan’s report on the wreckage?”
Without answering, Jeryl did as she suggested, and spent a few minutes going over the abstract that Taft Lannigan, The Seeker’s Science Officer, had prepared. As ship’s captain, he didn’t have the time or the inclination to wade through screen after screen of technical data when all he wanted was a summary. Dr. Lannigan knew that, and knew better than to waste his time. He was a good officer. But now, what Jeryl found in Dr. Lannigan’s report made him frown.
Unknown energy signatures, they already knew that. But the traces they left behind indicated levels so powerful that they were not only unknown to Terran science, but also stronger than anything else they had encountered before.
When Outer Colonies split off, they had taken some of Earth’s finest—and most malcontented—minds with them. Jeryl wondered about them again.
“It’s not the Outers. It can’t be them,” Ashley said as if she were reading his mind.
Jeryl stared at her.
“I think you’re right,” he said after weighing the possibility. “I think they’re too busy trying to stay alive.”
“In which case,” she said, “what about someone else?”
Jeryl scoffed. “Who?”
“One of the corporate fleets.”
While it was true that the corpers—that was what they called them—bragged about having more advanced hardware and AIs than the Union ships, all those things had been fairy tales they had let them believe. A commercial enterprise anywhere in history that has a leg up over the military was non-existent. Jeryl supposed there were isolated examples, but for the most part, more technical advances had come through military necessity than through corper blue-skying.
Except genetics, Jeryl thought. And even there, he knew for a fact that the Union had research facilities at least on par with the civilian facilities.
But the bottom line was the corpers simply weren’t anywhere near the fringes of known space. There was no money to be made in undeveloped areas. The corpers weren’t humanitarian outfits; they were motivated by financial gain, and not prone to much speculative exploration.
Once a promising world was located, some place thickly forested, abundant with foreign vegetation with potential to cure diseases or prolong life...Then the corporations would show up, glad-handing the colonies and dumping money into research for a cut of the gain. It was politics and business as usual.
“There’s just no reason to suspect any kind of corporate involvement here,” Jeryl said. “And what would they have to gain by destroying a Union starship?”
“Because they’ve stumbled on something lucrative? Like, something incredibly lucrative that it’d be worth killing for?”
Jeryl shook his head. “It just doesn’t make any sense, Ash.”
Ash—he had used her nickname, despite himself. Ashley, however, didn’t seem to notice the breach in professionalism.
“That would be, I don’t know, renegade behavior,” Jeryl continued. “No one could get away with that for long. And what could possibly be that lucrative?”
“All right then, what about someone completely new?”
Jeryl grinned. “How long did you say you’ve been an officer on a starship?”
Ashley flushed.
“There’s nothing. No one else,” said Jeryl. “Look, excuse me for being obvious, but in 150 years as a space-faring civilization, we’ve never found any other sentient life. Not even a trace. No ruins, fossils...zero. Zip. Not even radio signals.”
“What if they don’t use radio?” said Ashley.
Before he could object, Ashley waved her hand.
“I know, I know—you’re right. I mean, I understand perfectly well that neither the outers nor the corpers could develop whatever destroyed The Mariner. But something did.”
“Undeniably.”
“Have you ever heard of Sherlock Holmes?”
Jeryl blinked at the abrupt change of subject.
“No. What ship does he command?”
Ashley smiled. “He’s a fictional character, Jeryl. A detective, created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the Nineteenth Century.”
“Oh. Well, no, I’ve never heard of him.” Jeryl knew she read a lot, but he had no idea her tastes included pre-Union fiction until now.
I learn something new every day, he thought.
“Well, Holmes once said, when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. So, if we rule out involvement by corpers and outers, and other human agencies, and natural phenomena, we are left with...”
She raised her eyebrows at Jeryl. Jeryl, in turn, concealed his irritation.
“I don’t know,” he said in a clipped tone. He saw a telltale blink red on his desktop. “Look, I have to report to the admiral. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Of course, sir.” Ashley smiled. It was nice smile, a private one, like the ones she gave him at the Oath. Jeryl hoped to see more of it.
“Shall I talk to Dr. Lannigan? Have him bring some of the debris aboard for closer study?”
“Precisely what I was going to suggest,” said Jeryl. The telltale blinked again. Admiral Flynn really didn’t care to be kept waiting.
“See to it, please, Commander.”
Ashley snapped off a salute, and Jeryl returned it automatically. They both smiled, a private undertone shared between them. Jeryl wanted to say something else, something personal, but before he could sort out his thoughts, Ashley said, “I’ll be in CNC, sir.”
She turned and left his office. The telltale sign of an incoming transmission blinked and Jeryl, alone, tapped the comm link.
Time to face the music that was Armada Command.
Jeryl
“Dammit, Montgomery, I want answers. I need answers.”
“I understand, Admiral. I’m doing my best to—”
Admiral Flynn waved an impatient hand as if to wipe Jeryl’s words away from the air. Flynn was a choleric man in his mid-sixties, still craggy and in great shape, his brush-cut hair gone grey. Jeryl knew he was an enthusiastic amateur boxer, and personally, he wouldn’t want to step into the ring with him despite Flynn being shorter and lighter than he was. The Admiral had a fire for personal best.
Jeryl took no offense at the gesture. He explained to him that he was having some of the wreckage brought aboard for closer examination.
“Just give me a couple of hours to get a more complete report together, Admiral,” he said, remaining calm in the face of Flynn’s glare.
Jeryl had dealt with Flynn before and he knew that despite the Admiral’s bluster, Flynn was no martinet. And Jeryl knew that he was not stalling.
Flynn scrunched his face up.
“All right,” he growled. “You’ve got three hours. Fair?”
“Fair,” Jeryl said. He signed off and went down to the science section with the intention to build a fire under Dr. Lannigan.
Three hours later he was back on the slipstream with Admiral Flynn at Edoris Station, sharing his findings. Even though there had never been any proof that a slipstream broadcast could be hacked, it was customary to encode them on the off chance the Outers have made a breakthrough.
Flynn wasn’t happy with what he was told.
“All my science team can say is that whatever destroyed The Mariner was an energy weapon of some kind,” said Jeryl.
Flynn let out an impressive snort. “Well, it’s good to know that we haven’t got one of Horatio Hornblower’s ships of the line out here blasting away with a fusillade of cannon fire!”
Jeryl bit his lips to restrain a laugh despite his sarcasm.
“Send me the reports. I want to see ‘em.”
Jeryl subvocalized a few commands to the ship’s computer; it responded with a low compliant tone.
“On their way,” said Jeryl.
Even though Flynn was light years away at Edoris, the slipstream, quantum miracle that it was, dropped the documents into his computer almost at once. Jerly knew the documents would not make him any happier. Flynn called them up on a read-screen, his scowl deepening as he scanned through the files.
“Unknown energy signature...all remaining components give evidence of having been bathed in highly charged emissions. Super charged, in fact.”
He grunted.
“Whatever that is. No, no,” he added as Jeryl started to explain, “I know what it means. You’re saying that whatever hit The Mariner disintegrated some of its components, destroying enough of them that the ship’s hull couldn’t maintain integrity. The Mariner exploded. The wreckage is brittle, some of it, like old bread.”
Admiral Flynn looked up from Flynn’s report.
“They were on their way to investigate a neutron star in that damned nebula.”
Again, the Admiral scrunched his face. “Could they have been caught in a GRB?”
GRB, Jeryl thought. Gamma ray burst?
He took a few seconds to ponder the idea. High-energy physics was not his field, but like all ship captains, Jeryl knew his astronomy. He supposed a concentrated burst of gamma rays could do the sort of damage they found, but, from what he knew, GRBs were rare; maybe half a dozen per galaxy per million years.
GRBs were associated with the collapse of a dying sun into a high-density neutron star, but The Mariner’s target had been sitting in its nebula for centuries, at most.
The biggest strike against implicating a GRB was that there had never been one in their galaxy; all observed GRBs originated from outside the Milky Way. An event of that size would have lit up radio telescopes dozens of worlds. A GRB in the Milky Way, if it happened to be pointing at Earth, could trigger a mass extinction event, potentially sterilizing the planet, and turning it into a lifeless cinder.
Jeryl explained his reasoning to Flynn, and the Admiral nodded as if he had already figured it out. Jeryl thought he probably already has.
“Well then, this last bit,” Flynn said, flicking a paragraph up onto the screen so that Jeryl could see it, too.
“Lannigan is saying that he suspects a concentrated, highly charged beam of photons. Mixed in with a population of some unknown particle.”
“Yeah, um...” Jeryl hoped his face remained passive; he hadn’t noticed that particular datum in the findings.
Unknown?
Jeryl cursed silently. Not that it was a surprise to him—everything about this situation smacked of the unknown, only he should have caught that detail. Jeryl nodded sagely.
Fortunately, Flynn took it as an agreement with his assessment rather than Jeryl’s attempt to cover his mistake.
“So we’re left with a particle beam of a previously undiscovered nature that can cause molecular breakdown,” said Jeryl, summing up for himself as much as for the Admiral.
Flynn nodded.
Jeryl scanned the rest of the report as quickly and unobtrusively as he could.
“Lannigan says that only something focused could do this, not something dispersed, and the focusing device, platform, agency, whatever we call it, has to be something relatively small. Not the size of a star. Not the size of a planet, even.”
“Something the size of a ship, you mean,” Flynn said with a low voice.
The two men locked eyes through the slipstream viewer.
“All right, listen to me, Montgomery,” Flynn said after a few moments. “This is strictly need-to-know, and I think that at this point you need to know. The Armada has been developing a gamma ray weapon for a number of years now.”
Jeryl blinked. “I didn’t know that.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he says. “It’s an Intelligence issue. I’m in the loop because some of my technical team members are involved. They’ve been testing the thing on Tau Ceti 2.”
Tau Ceti 2, Jeryl knew, was an airless chunk of planetary real estate about the size of Mercury, orbiting its primary at about as far as Venus was from Sol. It was lifeless—therefore an ultimately good place for weapons research.
“I see,” Jeryl told him.
“It’s still being tested. They’re having problems with shielding the—well, never mind. That’s information you don’t need to know. The short version is, it’s not ready for official deployment yet. I’m told they’re still at least three years away from that.”
“But if we’re working on something like that, then the Outers could be also,” said Jeryl.
“That’s right, Captain. Yet Armada Intelligence has not reported any sort of activity that would suggest the Outer Colonies have something even close to this kind of capability.”
It was Jeryl’s turn to scrunch up his face. The standard service joke was that Armada Intelligence was an oxymoron.
The official intelligence services did their best, and sometimes they were good at it. But it had long been an open secret that they relied too much on informers and embedded operatives whose reports were often unverifiable.
“The Armada could be off the mark,” said Jeryl.
Flynn shrugged.
“We have a new president,” he said. “We have a new council. They are a bunch of mid-level bureaucrats who only care about the damn bottom line.”
Not everyone shared this view, but Jeryl did. The new administration had been cutting funding in favor of channeling more money to the renovation of Earth’s environment. The widespread collapse of mankind’s interlocking social and technological edifice during the 21st century had severely devastated the planet; overpopulation, a stressed environment, and World War III were the overlying factors of Earth’s collapse.
Analysts predicted after the end of the World War III, it would take roughly 500 to 1,000 years for the planet to recuperate, for humanity to be able to live again on the planet sustainably. But over the last one hundred and fifty years, the predicted numbers had dropped dramatically, to the point where most areas were now habitable and full renovation was something they should be able to see in the next ten years. Most of the planet had been rehabilitated, and for Jeryl, no one could argue that it was not money well spent.
You couldn’t tour some of the places in Africa and Europe—and North America—and not come away with tears in your eyes and a determination to clean that mess up.
Well, we cleaned it up, alright, thought Jeryl. But what else did we ignore?
The money to be able to do all those things did have to come from somewhere, and one of those places was the Armada Intelligence. The perception of the administration was that the Outers were a bunch of ham-fisted goons who could barely make their starships work.
This view, however, Jeryl did not share. From someone tasked to patrol the stellar borders, Jeryl knew what the administration thought was not reality-based. The Outers lacked some resources, but they weren’t fools.
The damn Administration, Jeryl thought. Far from the field, what did they knew about…anything?
To some extent, Jeryl had always felt it left people like him hung out to dry. If they got in a jam they could yell for help and it would come, but for the most part they were expected to solve their own problems. Jeryl was generally good with that; he was not a big fan of relying on other people.
Jeryl knew Flynn was thinking that at this point, he may have to concede. But Jeryl was not ready to give, not just yet. Flynn wanted his officers to be as autonomous and self-reliant as possible. It was why they had such carefully chosen and well-trained crews.
“This is what we get for electing a bean counter,” said Jeryl, and Flynn barked out a laugh.
“I know you want more information, son. I do, too—but I don’t want this to blow up in our faces.”
“I won’t take any unnecessary chances,” replied Jeryl.
“Very well. Proceed with caution, report regularly.”
“Sir.”
With the call to Flynn terminated, Jeryl put in a call to Dr. Lannigan.
“I want you to work with Docherty in Navigation,” he told Taft. “Have him plot The Mariner’s course and follow it back.”
Lannigan raised an eyebrow.
“Somewhere along the line, they ran into something,” Jeryl explained. “Something that bit them. If we trace their course, maybe we can run into it too.”
Ashley
One of her jobs as First Officer was to keep track of the ship’s full complement. That included the three computer-based artificial intelligences as well as the fifty humans who were aboard. The AIs in engineering and navigation were sequestered to the ship.
They were created to serve in the absence of crewmembers or in the event that crewmembers became incapacitated. They walked, talked, and operated in a way to mimic humans; this had been done deliberately to prevent awkward interactions with them.
Early generation AI had been non-autonomous until the Armada Security received complaints that the AI units gave crews “the creeps." They did not have names, either, other than EngPrime and NavPrime, or usually just Eng and Nav. For Ashley, neither one had much in the way of personality.
(That was a joke she had tried on Jeryl once, but the Captain just gave her a blank look.)
For some reason, Ashley couldn’t figure out, AI in the armory was different. It was a later model than the others, its cognitive net more capable with faster connections. It wore clothes. Someone with a strange sense of humor had programmed a personality into it, something based on an old-time gunnery sergeant. It called itself Gunny. Gunny’s user interface was rough spoken, often obscene, and inclined to pomposity.
Ashley found Gunney amusing herself, but she knew Jeryl was annoyed with him. He tended to avoid the AI as much as possible; Gunny was not impressed by anyone’s rank or social standing.
Ashley had served on several other Armada frigates, and they all had a greater complement of AIs than The Seeker. She knew that having AIs on board was strictly at the captain’s discretion. A few frigates, however, had no AIs, for one reason or another—usually down to the captain’s discretion.
Human prejudice against AIs ran strong in certain quarters and among certain demographic groups. Ashley had never spoken to Jeryl about the relative scarcity of AIs among the ship’s crew—but plainly put, she believed it was none of her business. If Captain Montgomery had a problem with AIs, she never heard him mention it, and it was not her place to ask.
It would stand to reason that the AI’s presence was due to the recent victory of the Union’s new president in passing legislation for AIs to serve in the armed forces. This new president’s family had been involved in robotics and cybernetic development all rooting back for centuries.
They had been using computers since the 20th century, Ashley was aware; the computers weren’t anything new to the military. But it seemed like the new laws were as no more than a payback to the powerful Cybernetic Science lobby that helped the new president to come into power.
There were a lot of very conservative people in the military, which, for Ashley, was not a bad thing; she considered herself a conservative person, as well. Her father and his father before him were military men, and she was proud to carry on the tradition. She had ancestors rooting back from World War II, fighting aboard destroyers. They were a family of peacekeepers and law enforcement officers.
Many of her fellow officers, including several aboard The Seeker, never liked AIs much, but they obeyed the letter of the law. For Ashley, she had nothing against the AIs, though she had known few as interesting and personable as Gunny. Most people thought of AIs as appliances having opinions, and never regarded them as being truly alive.
Her feeling was that there were bigger issues to worry about in life. But she did know that ships with fewer AIs tended to have a happier crew. This led her to think that Jeryl was trying to have it both ways: he was obeying Armada custom by having several AIs on a given vessel, but he had limited their numbers—a shrewd attempt on his part to boost morale by having fewer synthetics on the ship.
All these thoughts slipped through Ashley’s mind as she sat at her station in CNC, going over status reports. She could do those with half of her attention—maybe even less. This was why she had been daydreaming about the AIs.
But as she had thought before, it wasn’t her business. If she and Jeryl grew closer, perhaps she could ask him.
But of course, that was an entirely different affair.
She found herself thinking again about that night. She really did not want to—it was distracting. She had duties to attend to. Supplies, nominal. Recyclers, fine...though number 45, outside the third-level lay, would only give out soap, no matter what’s asked of it. Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with once they docked.
She had been trying, although unsuccessfully, not to think about it for weeks now. She was certain that they ended up at that resort together on New Sydney by sheer accident. They had been delayed on the ship by some administrative tasks, so she missed the main shuttle that took the body of the crew down to the planet for some well-deserved shore leave.
New Sydney was something of a vacation spot, so there were resorts scattered all across its face. With barely any axial tilt, the planet enjoyed what was basically a yearlong early summer.
With so many resorts to choose from, she found Jeryl at the same spot as hers. She was surprised; Jeryl was having a drink in the lounge as she walked in to register and he was dressed in an open shirt, shorts, and sandals. Jeryl was a good-looking guy, no one could deny that, but Ashley had never seen him in such casual garb.
He didn’t see her, but after she signed in Ashley went over to his table. Jeryl looked up at her, surprised.
“Ashley! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Well, here I am,” said Ashley, taking a seat. “What’s that you’re drinking?”
“Oh, a really old liquor called tequila.”
“I’ll have one, too.”
Well, she had one, two, three, and the next thing she knew...
She had never expected it. He said he never expected it. But for an unexpected liaison, it was amazing. She didn’t get to her room until the next morning. Jeryl’s was large, clean, and airy...with perfumed breezes from the flower forest nearby drifting in. They smelled like cool and sweet, like gardenias, her favorite.
It was impossible—it was heaven. She was not inclined to be particularly submissive, but he took command and four orgasms later, he finally let her fall asleep. She didn’t even get to reciprocate until just past dawn, after she woke to use the bathroom and then went back to repay her debt. The next three days were a repeat of the first, with time-off for tours of the forest, incredible meals—and a lot of sex. They were consenting adults after all.
Since then, it was all business between them, and Ashley was fine with that. Not so much as a caress or a kiss had passed between them since New Sydney—but perhaps a meaningful glance or two. But they knew the truth of their positions: Jeryl was her captain, Ashley his first officer, and they had a job to do.
What happened was a dalliance—a very pleasant one at that. It wasn’t headed towards anything, and Ashley was perfectly okay with that. In fact, she preferred it. She had a career and she was not about to settle down just yet. She didn’t even know if she wanted children.
Frankly, they never appealed to her. She might not be good mother material, either. Ashley never spent time thinking about that...it wasn’t at all high on her list of priorities. In fact, last time she looked, it wasn’t on the list at all.
She wasn’t looking for that to change. These were things they hadn’t talked about. In fact, they may never even get to talk about them at all, and that was okay…but she wouldn’t rule out another fling like the one with Jeryl, though.
A security alert buzzed from her station, startling Ashley. A quick look at the code told her it was nothing internal, but when she glanced at the exterior monitors, her jaw dropped.
It was a spaceship. But it was not one of theirs: nothing Earth ever built looked like the one she was seeing.
She slapped the comm link and waited an endless three seconds until Jeryl responded.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” His voice was all business.
“Unknown craft sighted fifteen units away, northwest quadrant,” Ashley said as crisply as she could, linking him into the feed. “On an intercept course.”
Fifteen units, she thought as she spoke. How the hell did they get that close without us spotting them sooner?
Jeryl was silent. He was reading the data, looking at the video feed. A completely black triangular craft about half a kilometer long was on the side on to theirs, with a faint glow of ionization from its tail section—
A drive plume? Ashley wondered.
It had circular lights in a single row along its side.
Portholes. This was an alien vessel. A question raced into Ashley’s mind; who or what was looking out of those ports?
Jeryl
Jeryl had been in his quarters, relaxing with a novel on his tablet, when Ashley’s ALERT window popped open over the text. Jeryl was so stunned by what he was seeing on the screen that he couldn’t speak; he was caught completely off guard.
It took him a good thirty seconds to fully absorb the fact that he was looking at what could only be an alien vessel. His brain creaked into motion at last. They were nowhere near a planetary system; this had to be an interstellar craft.
Length estimated at a hair under a hundred meters, and that was big. That was bigger than a seagoing battleship, way bigger than The Seeker. Assuming whatever life form was aboard, was about human size, Jeryl figured the crew of that beast could easily be ten times the size of theirs.
Even as numbers cascaded through his thoughts, a realization overrode each of them: this was the bastard that destroyed The Mariner. This was not what he expected for First Contact with an alien species. He tossed the tablet to one side and strode all the way to CNC as fast as I could.
Back in the Academy days, there was only one course that ever discussed First Contact, and that, oddly enough was a class in Humanities. The instructor, Professor Guss, devoted exactly one day to it.
The whole discussion had been purely hypothetical, of course, because by that time they had been exploring the volume of space around Sol system, and although they had found worlds where various forms of vegetation flourished, they never found any kind of animal that could be considered even marginally intelligent. In fact, their scientists had never discovered anything much bigger than a large cockroach.
There was no intelligent life anywhere in the stars—at least, not any of their stars. Their ships could achieve a top speed of about one light-year per day, which seemed impressive until you realize that the Milky Way galaxy was estimated to be a hundred thousand light-years in diameter. Divide 100,000 by 365 and you get a shade over 273.972. That was how long it would take to cross the galaxy in years, at that speed. Not days—years.
That was how their first class in First Contact began: with a discussion of how big space was. Being well grounded in astronomy, students in the Academy knew that already. But their teacher, Professor Guss, reviewed it anyway. Professor Guss was a tall man with a big nose and ears that stuck out. But from what Jeryl remembered, no one ever made fun of his appearance; the professor was generally liked. He was smart, and a good man on top of it.
“So we’ve found nothing in our own solar system except for some microbes under the ice at Enceladus and Europa,” he said in the first lecture. “Nothing on Mars, not even fossils. Nothing on Venus, of course. Nothing on Titan.”
He spread his hands. “Now, this is not to say that I believe that life on Earth is unique in the universe, or even the galaxy. We’ve just finished talking about how big space is. There could easily be a civilization elsewhere in the galaxy, but it could simply be too far away for us to ever discover it.”
“But the Drake Equation--,” someone started to say.
Guss waved a hand. “There are still too many variables in that for us to be able to make a reasonable guess,” he said.
“Everyone knows what the Drake Equation is, I take it?”
Jeryl glanced around the lecture hall. If there was someone who didn’t know, no one was admitting it.
Using a finger, he wrote the equation on the large screen floating beside him: N = R* x f(p) x n(e) x f(l) x f (i) x f(c) x L.
“Let’s take this apart,” he said. “N is equivalent to the number of civilizations in our galaxy whose electromagnetic emissions are detectable.”
He looked around at us. “Anyone?”
Jeryl raised his hand. “A given civilization might not be using electromagnetic means of communication.”
Guss nodded. “Right, and that’s the first thing wrong with the equation.”
He turned to the equation again.
“R asterisk stands for the rate of formation of stars suitable for the development of intelligent life. F modified by p is the fraction of those stars with planetary systems. Well, we know now that there are a huge number of planets out there. The lower case n with the e subscript stands for the number of planets per solar system with an environment suitable for life, and f (l) for the fraction of planets on which life actually appears.
“We have good numbers for all those parts of the equation, but from here on it really breaks down. The f (i) is the fraction of planets on which intelligent life emerges, and to date that number is exactly one: Earth. The next component is also equal to 1, because it stands for the fraction of civilizations that have developed a technology that releases detectable signs of their existence into space. The last component describes how long such a civilization will continue to do so.”
The professor shrugged. “The search for extraterrestrial life has been going on since before we became a spacefaring species. And yes, it was exciting to discover microbes, and later plants in other solar systems. That proved that life could and does arise on alien planets. But so far it seems as if we’re the only world on which intelligent life has developed.”
All of which led them to an enjoyable discussion of science fiction and possible life forms, but Guss cut it off before it went very far; it was all purely speculative. What he wanted to talk about was how humanity would react if another intelligent species were ever discovered.
The consensus was that they would wave hello, perhaps put out some trinkets on a blanket if they were aboriginals, or go the Carl Sagan route with simple diagrams and so forth if they had developed a higher civilization.
And that was it. Jeryl knew that the Union had a number of contingency plans for contact with an advanced species, but most assumed that the aliens would be friendly. There were a few who assumed our new neighbors might be unfriendly, or very unfriendly. No one wanted to talk much about the latter two instances, in part because they weren’t considered to be realistic. An advanced spacefaring species, the reasoning went, would had gone past the aggressive stage.
Jeryl was skeptical about that, however. All they had to do to trash that idea was to look at their own internecine disputes with the Outer Colonies. For Jeryl, humanity as a species hadn’t taken the lessons of their ruined planet very well to heart.
The necessity of repairing its damaged environment after World War III led to the creation of a sort of benevolent “world state” envisioned by many. It had come about more or less out of necessity, but the Union wasn’t a government as much as it was a coordinated rescue operation.
Now that the restoration of Old Earth was almost complete, thanks to the resources sent home from the rest of the Union, the old plague of nationalism was making a resurgence. That was what the Union spent most of its time and resources combatting.
Because that—from what Jeryl had learned in the Academy—was what led them to the pissing matches with the Outers that ballooned into the Schism. The Outers were the biggest threat to the Union’s stability, or at least that what the Union thought. For Jeryl, he wasn’t so sure, but they handed out the paychecks. He was happy to be on their side. He loved his job: it was as simple as that.
But he never expected to be the man on whose shoulders the burden of First Contact would rest.
As he hurried into CNC and dropped into his command chair, he saw a view of the alien ship on the main screen. There was a lot more detail visible. The craft wasn’t smooth-skinned. It seemed instead to be covered with a myriad small square plates or segments, almost like scales. There was a buzz of excited conversation around him as his officers conversed among themselves.
“Okay,” he said, lifting a hand. “Belay the chatter, people. We have work to do. Stay on point.”
The talk died away. He knew what they thought—it was the same thing he thought of, that this ship destroyed The Mariner. But they didn’t know that, and until they did, he was going to play this by the book.
“Dr. Lannigan,” Jeryl started.
He was not in CNC, but Jeryl knew he was following the drama from the lab.
“Sir,” Lannigan responded at once.
“Prepare sensor scan and telemetry reports and send them via emergency broadcast to Edoris Station. I want them on Admiral Flynn’s desk before I breathe ten more times.”
Jeryl squinted at the bogey on the main screen. It remained unmoving. It showed no sign of knowing they were here, but Jeryl was certain it was all but oblivious.
“Helm,” said Jeryl.
“Sir?”
“Take us in closer. Dead slow.”
All right, he thought. Let’s see what you’ve got.
Ashley
Jeryl didn’t look at her when he entered CNC, but Ashley didn’t really expect him to. The situation was far too fraught for any sort of personal interaction. All of them were entirely focused.
It was a moment like no other in human history. Ashley knew they were all aware of this, but no one ever said it aloud and no one needed to.
Ashley stood at the Communications station, where the communications officer, Mary Taylor, was working her console as dexterously as a concert pianist. Ashley liked Mary Taylor. She had an affinity with her from the moment Mary reported for duty on this ship, three voyages and two years ago.
The previous comms officer, P'yŏng Kwangjo, had come with the ship, as the saying goes. And although he was a good comms man, he didn’t interact much with the rest of the crew. There was nothing surly or sullen about Kwang; he merely kept to himself when he was off duty, for the most part, being a dedicated amateur musician on a traditional Korean instrument, the gayageum.
He wasn’t reclusive about it, and would occasionally play as part of “talent night” get-togethers, sitting on the floor with crossed legs, the head of the instrument resting on his right knee and the tail resting on the floor. For those performances, he always wore traditional Korean garb.
When Kwang’s commission was up he didn’t reenlist, as many had expected him to do, and so they were forced to apply to the Armada for a new officer. In Kwang’s place, they got Mary. Kwang was a small, dapper man. Ashley thought that somehow they were all expecting someone physically similar.
When the lift doors opened and Mary strode out, all expectations were immediately readjusted. She was a tall woman of African descent, but with the light skin—and red hair—of what was still sometimes called a “high yellow” black. Beautiful she wasn’t—striking, however, she was. Ashley didn’t think there was a man aboard (and more than one or two women) who had not wanted to bed her at some point.
Mary wasn’t against a bit of fun, for sure, but her primary focus was on being a comms officer, and she was a damn good one. The most interesting aspect of this for Ashley was that she was extremely hard of hearing, and had an implant to augment them. She could crank her earbuds, but in everyday speech she sometimes could not make out what anyone said unless she could see their lips.
From where he sat, Jeryl snapped order about the sensor scans, acknowledged by Lannigan. Ashley scanned the electromagnetic spectrum for any hint of a signal from the alien ship.
“Anything?” asked Ashley in a low voice.
“Not so much as a peep,” Mary replied. “I’m giving them the full treatment,” she adds, pointing her chin at her instrument panel. “Given that the illumination visible through those portholes is very close to what our sun puts out, we can deduce that they have eyes like ours. I’m taking that a step further and assuming that their audio capabilities are like ours, too.”
Ashley nodded, thinking it over. “Okay, I’m with you on that.”
“Which means, obviously, that if they’re using anything on the spectrum I should be able to pick it up. Unless they’re shielded.”
Mary sighed. “And I think they are, because like I said—not a peep.”
Ashley was so intent on what Mary said that she almost jumped when she noticed Jeryl standing beside her. He had risen from his command chair and had come up to them without Ashley knowing.
“Carry on,” he murmured when Ashley turned to him. “I want a closer look at Taylor's readings.”
The alien ship hadn’t moved since it appeared on their scanners. They were closing with it at about 25 kilometers per hour. Ashley glimpsed a patch notice pop up on Mary's main window; the reports from Lannigan were ready to be sent to Admiral Flynn. It took Lannigan longer than 10 breaths to get the reports ready, but not a lot longer. Mary sent them on their way without being told.
“Still no response on standard frequencies, Captain,” Mary said calmly despite the drop of sweat that trickled down the back of her neck.
Then she gasped, and Ashley knew why. Her fists clenched when she saw the alien move away from them at exactly the same speed: 25 knots.
“Guess we’ve invaded their personal space,” she muttered.
Jeryl grunted softly.
“Okay,” he said. He looked over at Pedro Ferriero, their helmsman.
“Mr. Ferriero,” he said, “ahead 50 knots.”
“Aye,” Pedro said, never taking his eyes off the main screen. He didn’t need to; Ashley was fully aware he knew them by heart. He could fly the ship blindfolded—and he had, Ashley had seen him do it.
And as they moved ahead at the increased speed, their triangular acquaintance upped his speed of retreat by exactly the same amount.
Jeryl muttered something Ashley couldn’t hear.
“Seventy-five,” he said, in such a way that he expected the alien to match it.
And it did. It annoyed Jeryl even more.
“I don’t like games,” he said with a hint of a snarl in his voice.
“They are communicating with us, Sir,” Mary said.
“What do you mean?” The snarl was a little more obvious. “All they’re doing is—”
“They’re saying not to come too close.”
He thought about that. “They, they, they...how do we know there’s a ‘they’ in there, Lieutenant? The thing might be automated.”
Ashley knew he didn’t really believe that. He didn’t think anyone aboard the Seeker believed that. Someone was inside that ship.
Tension in CNC grew. The book said to do what he was doing: stand off, try all hailing frequencies, observe. Union protocol said they had to do all they could to not appear threatening. And that was all well and good, but if this ship was responsible for the destruction of the Mariner, the ship had some serious firepower—one that could be turned against them at any moment, if they made the wrong move.
Or maybe even if they didn’t make a wrong move.
Ashley was dead certain that everyone in CNC was thinking about the Mariner’s wreckage at that moment. She knew Jeryl wanted to do something, anything, besides from merely observing—and so did Ashley. If it were up to her, she would suit up and jet over there and knock on their airlock.
But it wasn’t up to her, and so she stood there at Taylor’s station, feeling her own sweat meander down her back beneath her tunic.
“The likelihood is that she’s an enemy vessel,” Jeryl said.
“Correct,” said Ashley. “It’s just too much of a coincidence for this ship to show up here, so near to where the Mariner was destroyed by an energy weapon with an unknown signature.”
He said nothing, taking a deep breath.
“This could be a trap,” he said. “Their sensors may be as advanced as their weaponry. They could have seen us coming, and are lying doggo here while we come in too close to get away when she makes her move.”
Ashley thought back to that night in New Sydney. After they finished making love for the second time they took a break. They lay there in each other's arms, talking about themselves and their goals in a way they had never done aboard the Seeker. That was how she learned of Jeryl’s disappointment at not being on the front lines where he could face the Outers. Ashley already knew he was driven to succeed; he would never have won the commission to the Seeker otherwise. The military was full of overachievers, and he was one of the most aggressive.
But despite his drive, Ashley knew Jeryl never took himself too seriously—most of the time. Now here he was, confronted with an utterly unique experience in human history, and he was toeing the Union’s line.
Don’t piss off the natives. Ashley felt his frustration.
Jeryl ordered Pedro to cut back to twenty-five knots. As soon as Pedro did, the alien ship dropped its speed, too.
“Ahhh, you fucker,” Jeryl said, too quietly for anyone except Ashley to hear.
It went on like that for another ten minutes: they sped up, and the alien would speed up. They slowed—then she slowed, always maintaining the same distance apart. They shifted course to come at her from a new direction, but she angled herself so that she always kept her profile to them. Back and forth, back and forth.
“Well, this is a waste of time,” Jeryl said at last.
Addressing the CNC at large, he said, “We have to think of something else. All executive officers, meet in my office in five minutes. Let’s take a break and see if we can brainstorm a new approach. Mr. Ferriero, all stop.”
“Sir,” said Pedro, bringing the Seeker to a halt relative the alien, which immediately stopped, too.
Ashley turned with Jeryl to leave the CNC, but then Mary spoke in a tense voice, “Captain? Y-you might want to take a look at this.”
Jeryl
“So,” said Professor Guss, “let’s take the problem of how many technical civilizations may live in the galaxy and put that aside for now, and look at a more complicated issue. How will we recognize intelligence when we see it?”
The students looked at one another. Trick question? Jeryl wondered. At last, one of the other cadets raised his hand.
“They’ll have machines,” he said. “You know—instrumentality.”
The professor nodded. “Extensions of their natural capabilities,” he said. “But be careful, here. We humans have built ourselves a complicated technical infrastructure to support us, almost like an exoskeleton supports an insect. He can’t live without. At this point, neither can we.”
Again, the students looked at one another.
“That’s not to say that others can’t,” Professor Guss said. “As a species, we’re somewhat blinded by our accomplishments. Granted, it’s no small thing to land on the Moon, abolish diseases, harness electricity, or disseminate ideas via printing or electromagnetic waves. As a result of our cleverness, we’ve come to judge the intelligence of our fellow earth species by how closely it resembles our own.”
Blank looks were all around, but for Jeryl, he was beginning to see where Guss was headed.
“We have studied the sound patterns of whales. Their ‘songs’ are recognized as being a method of communication. We still don’t know what they’re saying, but on some level, they’re exchanging information and ideas. That’s very close to intelligence.”
“Ants do that,” a dark-haired female cadet said. “And bees. I know ants use pheromones to lay down trails to food for their fellows, but that’s still information exchange. And bees communicate the location of flowers to other bees in their hive by a dance.”
“But those are both evolved behaviors,” said Guss. “You’re not claiming that ants and bees are intelligent, are you?”
“Well, no; but they do both build complicated structures to house themselves.”
“Termites, too,” someone else put in.
Guss nodded. “Good, and we’ll have to be careful not to mistake behaviors like that for true intelligence, if and when we run into extraterrestrials. Coral animals build huge structures as well—vast reefs. But no one would argue they are intelligent in any way.”
Another cadet raised his hand.
“Ants and bees won’t be building spaceships,” he said, and laughter rippled across the lecture hall.
Professor Guss smiled as well.
“True enough,” he said. “But we know of other tool-using animals on Earth. Crows and chimpanzees, for example, are widely regarded by scientists as being capable of rudimentary tool use. Other studies have shown that the extinct elephants had amazingly complex societies. They mourned their dead, for example. And once we get up to the level of primates, we start to see even more complicated social organizations.
Guss looked around the lecture hall.
“But—those animals—and let’s lump dolphins in there—are they intelligent?” The dark-haired girl, whose name was Ashley Gavin, said, “I believe we have to say that they are. But without hands, they would never be able to give concrete form to their ideas or to conduct experiments that would prove or disprove any hypothesis they develop.”
She spoke slowly, articulating her ideas very carefully.
“Clearly we evolved from primate stock...if we were to disappear, the apes might develop intelligence again.”
She paused, but Guss motioned for her to continue.
Speaking with more confidence now, she said, “The problem faced by, um, super-intelligent dolphins, for example, in a world where Man doesn’t exist, is that they live in the ocean, and have no fire.
“They would not be able to smelt metals that they could use to build machines, like say an airplane; and they lack the hands to do the building anyway. So I think, therefore...I think that their intelligence will always be limited by their own physical incapabilities and their environment.”
She heaved a deep sigh and sat down.
“That’s very good,” Guss said, “but you’re still using your own humanness, if you will, to judge other species. I can imagine a race of intelligent dolphin-like creatures in the ocean of Europa, for example, even though we don’t think there’s anything like that down there, who have become symbiotic with a creature like an octopus. There are your hands.
“Perhaps the octopus creature began as a parasite, stealing nutrients from the dolphin’s blood. But it used its arms to secure food that the dolphin would devour over time, a symbiosis develops.”
He waved a hand. “And we may well find something like that somewhere in space. Taken separately, neither species could do what they can do together.”
The general air of the lecture hall relaxed and became casual. None of the students, including Jeryl, took the silly gut course very seriously; there was no way to fail it, because it was purely speculative.
But he was starting to understand that the professor’s purpose was to get them to examine their biases and prejudices. They couldn’t go out into space believing that any aliens they met would look or act like them. Yes, it was possible—if the underlying assumption of the Drake Equation held, intelligence was more likely to arise on worlds like Earth, with liquid water, and a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, and a relatively clement environment. There would be enough food available to allow for the existence of a cooperative social order.
This would, in turn, allow for the development of beings that were fully capable of analyzing its resources so that it could be exploited for its betterment. Which was where they had gone with on Earth, before the overpopulation, warfare, hatred, and oppression.
And so Jeryl had to wonder; how could any species, anywhere, get past those barriers?
He had been thinking of the upcoming meeting in his office, and had thought back to that lecture by Professor Guss about intelligence. In this case, Jeryl bloody well knew that that black, triangular starship housed some sort of intelligence, so that wasn’t the question.
The ship could be full of liquid in which floated something like Guss’s octopus/dolphin pair. But it didn’t matter. What they needed to know was, if they posed a danger to The Seeker. Were these the people who had destroyed The Mariner,?
And if so, why? Why would an otherwise intelligent species take such a destructive step without bothering to learn the nature of those aboard our research vessel?
Then, just as he was at the door of the CNC, Mary broke into his thoughts.
“Captain? Y-you might want to take a look at this.”
He caught the uncertainty and doubt in her voice.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” He asked, turning back to her station.
“I decided to test for scanning wavelengths that are less common,” she said. “Because we don’t know what their instruments are capable of, and I was wondering what could cause the energy signature we saw in The Mariner’s debris. I remembered something from one of my classes in neutron tomography, which is the basis for the long-range scanners we use aboard The Seeker.”
Jeryl nodded. He knew this. A good captain knew his ship’s capabilities, even if he wasn’t entirely capable of explaining them. He didn’t know exactly how radio worked, but he knew you could talk to people on the moon with it.
Taylor said, “Neutron tomography sometimes has an unfortunate side-effect, depending on how strong the scanning beam is. Imaged samples can end up being radioactive if they contain appreciable levels of particular elements.”
That was an easy implication to catch.
“You’re saying that a neutron beam of some kind destroyed The Mariner?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but it’s possible. Or neutrinos, which have even more penetrating power.”
“We don’t have neutrino-based scanners,” said Jeryl.
“No. We don’t. But they may; and a neutrino scanning beam could easily be modulated to become a weapon.”
She pointed at one of the smaller screens on her console. “See this? There’s a flutter in this wavelength. I think it’s the main wavelength in a carrier wave, and this flutter indicates...I’m not sure what.”
“Do you think that’s our neutrino wave?”
She shrugged and shook her head. She didn’t know.
“Fair enough,” Jeryl said. “So why wasn’t this discovered sooner?”
Taylor went on the defensive. “Well, I wouldn’t have found it now if I hadn’t thought to scan on a finer scale than we usually do. Sir. And it just popped up now.”
“At ease, Lieutenant,” said Jeryl, with a smile. “I'm not accusing you of anything. I simply want to know what’s happening here.”
“The Mariner might not have had enough time to make a fine-spectrum scan before she was destroyed,” Taylor said. “They’re a research ship, and they don’t have scanners as sophisticated as ours. They might have inadvertently made a gesture that was interpreted as hostile by the alien. Hell, Sir, excuse me, but they might never have even seen the alien.”
“And so now here we are, nosing around, and maybe they’re realizing they made a big mistake,” he said, rubbing his chin.
Would the aliens apologize, or compound their error by attacking them? And if they did attack, could their shields stand up to a beam as powerful as the one that destroyed The Mariner?
“The wave is modulated,” Taylor said again. “That’s the flutter we see. It could be that they’re trying to talk to us.”
Jeryl remembered Professor Guss’s course. Just because they used radio, there was no reason to assume that other forms of intelligent life did.
“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Run it through the computer, see if you can decipher it. Get the AIs online if you need ’em. Not Gunny. The other two.”
Taylor nodded. “It may take a couple of hours to figure it out.”
“Fine. Keep me apprised.”
Jeryl looked around the CNC.
“Let’s cancel that meeting,” he said to his crew. “I want to see what we come up with as far as communication from that ship.”
He left CNC and headed toward mess hall.
Their coffee is crap, he thought, but I want a cup. Badly.
Ashley
Ashley left CNC a short time later and followed after Jeryl to the mess hall. It was one of her favorite places in the ship. There were windows there, not video screens, so she could get the full experience of looking out into space. This didn’t work so well when the ship was in hyperspace, though, much to Ashley’s dismay, because there was nothing at all visible outside.
How inevitably disappointing, Ashley always thought, for anyone who grew up watching old movies—or even new ones. All they would have to do was think for a moment; faster-than-light means faster than light; as in, nothing was visible at all because light couldn’t bring it to your eyes. The force bubble surrounding the ship and shielding it from the stress and energy fluxes of FTL travel rendered the outside universe invisible.
All navigation was done by computer. In the early days of FTL travel, a lot of ships had gone missing before the energy levels required to go a given distance were properly measured. Most of them still hadn’t been found.
She found Jeryl sitting with a cup of coffee off to one side, tapping at his tablet. He didn’t look up when she entered. Ashley went to the resequencer and ordered a coffee for herself with a comm badge scan and tapped the BLACK 1 CREAM NO SUGAR combo.
Cadets were invariably surprised when they find out they had to pay for food and drink aboard a starship. Ashley was, too, the first time. But when she had thought about it, it made sense. A starship was a closed system. While it was in space, nothing comes out and nothing comes in. This meant that any food and drink that they needed was either carried, or else synthesized along the way.
Ashley knew that even back then, early space explorers brought everything with them in terms of food, but even back then, they recycled their urine for water. These days, however, with advanced 3D resequencer technology, a wider range of food and drinks were available, as well as other items.
Some of them required chemical compounds that must be carried in the ship’s supply stores. It was not unreasonable for Ashley to be charged for more for a latte than it was for a simple drink of water. But it wasn’t cheap, so she didn’t often splurge on lattes.
The plain-vanilla coffee, so to speak, was nothing to write home about, but it was better than no coffee at all—marginally.
Ashley just wished it wouldn’t take so damn long for the resequencer to work its magic. Smart folks put their orders into a queue while they were still in their quarters, but people on duty had to catch theirs on the fly, like Ashley was. And it could take up to five minutes.
While she was waiting for the thing to gather its molecules, she thought back to how she was here now. So far, so fast. It was crazy because she joined the Armada when all she wanted was the Armada to pay for school. She had every intention of becoming an astrophysicist, but before she could, she had to put in three years of mandatory space service. She forgot about astrophysics after a couple of months.
The thrill of actually being aboard a Union starship washed all of that away. Ashley ended up becoming a career officer and joining the Academy, rising in the ranks. She never regretted it. She’d seen things and been to places that a career in the sciences would never have given her.
Finally, the machine was done. It beeped at her and Ashley withdrew her cup from the slot. Jeryl was still tapping at his tablet, so she went over and sat down at his table.
“So what do you think?” she asked.
He grunted: I don’t know.
“I’m getting sick of playing chicken with these people, though, I can tell you that.”
“Do you think they’re going to...you know. Hit us with what they used on The Mariner?”
Another grunt. “I just sent a notice to Engineering to keep EngPrime ready for emergency thrust,” he said.
“At the first hint of them powering up that ship of theirs, he’ll kick us into FTL. I don’t care if it removes us from the scene, we’ll be safe in the drive bubble. Not even a particle beam can get through that.”
He swirled his coffee in its cup, and frowned down into it.
“Ashley,” he said after a moment. “This is a game-changer, you know.”
“You mean, the aliens?”
“Yeah. So now we know for a fact we’re not the only intelligent life in the universe.”
“It’s historic,” said Ashley. She couldn’t help but feel a little thrill at her own words. “This is it, Jeryl. People will remember our names. Like Neil Armstrong.”
He growled. “You know whose names they ought to remember? The crew of The Mariner, that’s who. They’ve already had First Contact.”
He scowled into his coffee. “And we know how well that went.”
“You’re right, of course,” Ashley said. “I’m just glad we were able to get those reports sent back to Edoris Station.”
“So am I, but I’m not sure what’ll ever become of them.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
He let out an ironic chuckle. “Flynn’s a good guy, but if he takes those reports up to Armada Command on Earth, and they think it looks embarrassing, they’ll bury it.”
All Ashley could do was look at him for a moment. She didn’t think she had ever heard him say anything so cynical. “Is that really true?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “We’ve been out in space for what, a hundred and fifty years? Forty-five billion human beings spread out over 198 colony words. Another 4 billion human beings in the Outer Colonies. How is it we’ve never found another trace of anything like this?”
He inclined his head toward the screen, and the image of the alien vessel. “That’s a sophisticated ship.”
“I don’t know,” Ashley said. “Maybe they don’t like Earth-type worlds. Suppose they’re from a place like Titan, hellishly cold with a methane atmosphere. Not all star systems have worlds like that...they would have no reason to visit a system with Earth-like planets but none of their preferred type.”
He tapped two fingers on the tabletop, repeatedly, still frowning. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Or, I dunno—how about this? The Union has been so focused on restoring Earth to environmental health that we simply didn’t pay close enough attention. We might have missed something. We’ve been completely occupied with looking for suitable ores and so on...and the scientists have been kept busy enough with the vegetable life we’ve found, and microbes. We couldn’t spend the money and time digging down into each planet looking for fossils or artifacts.”
“I had a professor at the Academy,” he said. “He had this course in First Contact.”
Ashley nodded.
“Professor Guss, I never took the course; it was an elective and it seemed like a waste of time to me. But I’ve heard of him.”
She kept to herself what most people thought of Guss—eccentric, Ashley thought, to put it kindly.
“His whole point was that we might not recognize intelligence if we found it. We judge other species by our own standards, and we think that there are only two states of being: asleep or awake, alive or dead, conscious or unconscious, intellectual or material. But what if it’s a spectrum, like autism? There might be degrees, and we might miss something simply because we’re not capable of recognizing it.”
Ashley could only shrug. “Well, that ship out there is a pretty plain indication that whoever is inside it is intelligent.”
“Agreed; but we’ll know that only because we have the evidence of the ship itself.” He shook his head. “All I’m saying is, we have to be very careful not to judge them by our standards.”
Ashley looked at him for a moment, and felt a surge of—something she would rather not call love. Jeryl was a thoughtful man, and she found that attractive. She frowned, banishing away the thoughts.
“Are you afraid?” he asked her.
Ashley lifted her eyebrows.
“No,” she said honestly. “Excited, yes; apprehensive, and nervous, yes. But afraid? No.”
“Good. Because I need you, Commander.”
He stared deep into her eyes and what she read there made her a little uneasy. There was a spark.
Dammit, she told herself. This is not professional behavior, you knot head. He needs you to be the First Officer of this ship.
Ashley opened her mouth to say something inane, but fortunately Jeryl’s communicator beeped just at that moment and he tapped it.
It was Mary Taylor at Comms. “The computer has deciphered the frequency.”
“All right,” he said. “My office, three minutes.”
“Sir.”
He looked at her, and that spark was gone, erased by determination and dignity.
“All right, Commander,” he told her. He drained the last of his coffee and stood up.
“Let’s go see what they’re saying to us.”
Jeryl
Within a few minutes, all Jeryl’s officers were seated around the table in the conference room adjoining the CNC. Present, besides Commander Ashley Gavin and himself, were Taft Lannigan, their Science Officer; Mary Taylor from Communications, Lieutenant Eiléan Docherty, head of Navigation, and Dr. Mahesh Rigsang, Chief Medical Officer. He had given Ferriero the helm. The engineering, navigation and armory AIs were present via commlink.
Jeryl turned the meeting over to Mary Taylor, who summarized her efforts to decode the transmissions from the alien.
“It took some time to figure out what they were doing,” she said.
“It’s not straightforward, as you might expect. There were numbers, but not anything simple like 2 plus 2, to establish a mathematical baseline. Instead, it was a series of primes, running from 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19 on up through 100,000, all indicated by a series of fluctuations in the carrier wavelength. So I responded with the series through five hundred thousand.”
“That sounds like a pretty firm basis for communication,” said Eiléan, a trim, dark-haired woman in her late fifties.
“Well, you would think,” said Mary. “We batted primes back and forth for a while, so rapidly that I figure they must have a computer on their end as well. Then, they started in on factoring pi.”
“Are they using base 10?”
“No, it’s tridecimal, base 13,” Taggert replied. “It’s easy to work conversions for it. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to do it in my head.”
She glanced at Eiléan Docherty, who could do that sort of thing in her head. Eiléan was a math prodigy who was studying trig at the age of eight and matriculated from MIT with a dual master’s degrees in math and computer science at nineteen.
“From there the transmission got more complex. The fluctuations became multi-phasic, superimposed on one another. They were sending schematics of molecules—but with missing covalent bonds.”
“They’re trying to judge how advanced we are,” says Dr. Lannigan. “Sending us fill-in-the-blank puzzles.”
Mary nods.
“I think so. They know we’re capable of interstellar travel, but for all they know we could have been doing that for hundreds of thousands of years. And that, I think, is why the last question or puzzle they sent was an engineering question regarding the equations for the FTL drive.”
“What?” Jeryl barked, startled.
“It is so, Captain,” said EngPrime, the Engineering AI, speaking for the first time. “Analysis indicates that their propulsion systems must be very similar to our own, given the specificity of the question. The query aims at the containment system that allows us to warp space around The Seeker, which leads to the further conclusion that there is only one way to travel faster than light. They could not possibly have known what to ask, otherwise. The universe doubtless will not allow for more than that one path to violate Einstein’s law.”
“The old boy must be spinning,” Dr. Lannigan said with a chuckle.
“I think,” Ashley said, “the first thing they wanted to establish was that they could talk to us at all. You know, how much have we got in common?”
“I agree,” said Mary. “Now they know we can talk to each other. These puzzle questions were probably designed to tweeze out how much physical science we know.”
Jeryl lifted a finger. “Clever of them, if a bit obvious. But it leads me to wonder...”
“Sir?”
“Is that the way a hostile species would act?” he asked.
Everyone glanced at one another. Jeryl knew he was on to something.
If these people attacked The Mariner, he thought, would they subsequently go to all this trouble just to establish a basis for communication with us?
“I can think of two reasons why they might,” Ashley said. She was quick. That was one of the things Jeryl liked about her. Quick, and funny, and she could—
“For one thing, The Seeker is a good deal bigger than The Mariner. Not as big as their ship, of course, but even so we look like we might have teeth. We show up and they think ‘Uh-oh, it’s Mariner’s big brother come for revenge. We better play nice, pretend to be innocent explorers, trying to communicate. In so doing, they’ll learn how advanced we are, like Moira suggested. Then they’ll decide if they can kick our tail or not.”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement around the table.
“And just showing up wouldn’t be a coincidence,” Eiléan said. “They can deduce that we’re either able to communicate over interstellar distances, or else we’re an immediate follow-up force such as might normally be sent.”
“Possible, possible,” Jeryl said, stroking his chin. “And your other reason, Commander Gavin?”
She shrugged. “They’re exactly what they seem to be.”
“Wait, what are you saying? That this ship isn’t responsible for blasting The Mariner?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, now, wait a minute,” Dr. Lannigan put in. “Just wait. You’re saying that there’s another intelligent species in the area?”
“I don’t know,” Ashley said. “I know it sounds silly...”
“Boy, does it ever,” said Dr. Rigsang, who hadn’t said one word thus far. “Do you have any idea what the odds against that are?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,” she said. “It’s a crazy universe out there, Doctor.”
“I think I get your reasoning,” Jeryl said. “The aliens seem to have deliberately made it hard to decipher their communications, burying them in a carrier wave. I have a hunch that they’re not much more advanced than us, if they’re using that methodology. I mean to say, we’re not dealing with godlike powers.”
“Right,” Ashley said. “They haven’t teleported over here, or sent a software avatar or something...they’re barely past the dot-and-dash stage, like us.”
She shrugged again. “Figuratively speaking.”
“We’re more or less equals,” Jeryl replied, thinking about it. “In terms of cultural and technological development.”
“That’s how I read it,” she told him. “And they could be terrified. Let’s assume for a moment that they didn’t destroy The Mariner. We could well be looking for any excuse to blow them to atoms—how are they to know?”
“This is damn confusing,” The Captain said, unable to keep an edge out of his voice. “Wait, though; what if they put The Mariner through this same examination? This series of puzzles?”
Ashley shook her head slowly.
“If they did, they were probably wasting their time,” she said. “She isn’t carrying the kind of equipment we are...She isn’t more than a scout ship, really, with no room for more than one AI and not much in the way of weapons. Gunny?”
“Ma’am?”
“What were The Mariner’s offensive and defensive capabilities?”
“Standard CP beams and lasers, nothing that could stand up to a ship that size,” said the armory AI.
“Standard screens.” There was a blip of static that signified a shrug.
“They could have smashed her flatter than piss on a plate, excuse my French.”
Ashley turned to the Captain. “So there you go, sir. The Mariner probably never got past the signal buried in the carrier wave. All she would have seen was the carrier wave itself, which doesn’t carry any information. Sure, she’d have known that she was facing an intelligent alien...but she probably wouldn’t have been able to talk to it. And you heard Gunny. If the alien took offense, or got nervous...”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Goodbye, Charlie.”
Jeryl heaved a sigh and sat silently for so long that some of the others start to fidget. He couldn’t help it; his wheels turned slowly when faced with a serious problem.
And this is possibly the most serious problem the human race has ever faced, he thought. If the aliens are smart enough to somehow trace us back to Sol System who’s to say that they won’t send their own armada?
He sat quietly, turning all this over in his head. At last he spoke, quietly:
“Lieutenant Taylor.”
“Sir?”
“You can reply to them, can’t you?”
“I can.”
“Good. Then here’s what we’re going to do. I want you to craft a response that’s neutral in tone...we’re not angry or confrontational; we’re not jumping for joy at finding other intelligent life forms. This is a purely mundane exercise for us. Savvy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. How long will it take you to do that?”
She licked her lips. “I can uh, I can do it now, if you’ll give me fifteen minutes. I’ll run it by you of course, before I send it.”
“Perfect. Do it.”
Jeryl pushed back from the table. “The rest of you, to CNC right now. I want everyone in on this.”
No one spoke a word, but they all followed him out of the conference room and into CNC.
He didn’t believe he was the only person who was sweating.
I hope to hell I know what I’m doing, Captain Jeryl thought.
Ashley
Once they were all at their stations in CNC, Ashley saw Mary pick up her earbuds prior to composing the message as directed by Jeryl.
“Belay my previous order, Lieutenant,” said Jeryl at that very moment.
Mary paused, her hands poised over her entry tablet. “Sir?”
“I’m not feeling very neutral right now. So here’s what I want you to say: ‘I am Jeryl Montgomery, captain of this vessel. We’re investigating the disappearance of our scout ship. We found its wreckage. If you know anything about how our people met their demise, I request information. If you caused the deaths of our people, I demand to know why.”
No one in CNC said anything, but Ashley could feel a general air of approval. It could be risky, and it was her place to speak up if she thought he was being reckless—but taking a firm stance seemed warranted. It all depended on what the alien’s response was.
“Don’t dawdle, Lieutenant. Send it along.”
Taylor replied, “They...won’t understand your name or rank, sir.”
It was clear to Ashley that Mary didn’t want to send that message; it was too aggressive.
“I realize that,” said the Captain, a little testily, “but they should be smart enough to figure out what I mean. The salient points will be clear enough, I imagine.”
Ashley walked around the room’s circumference to her station, and leaned over so that only Mary could hear her.
“Just send it, please.”
Mary had a stubborn look on her face, but Ashley was certain she would carry out the order. Her fingers moved slowly over the tablet.
Dr. Lannigan voiced out Mary's concern. “Your message may be perceived as a threat.”
His long, lugubrious face appeared even sadder than ever as he spoke.
Jeryl gave him a hard look.
“Doctor,” he said briskly, “they’re free to read it as one if they’re responsible for the loss of The Mariner.”
Jeryl lifted his chin.
“Helm,” he said.
“Sir,” Pedro Ferriero said.
“Battle alert. Shields at fifty percent.”
Ashley felt as if she had to speak up at this point.
“Sir, this is a first contact situation. Is it wise to be at battle stations?”
Jeryl opened his mouth—Ashley figured he was about to tell her to keep her opinions to herself—then he did one of the things that made him worthy of respect to her respect; he listened to what she had said, and considered it.
Many captains, including every other one Ashley had served under, would had followed Jeryl’s first impulse and told her that he’d ask for her opinion when he wanted it. But Jeryl had made it clear to every crewmember aboard The Seeker that he had an open-door policy. She wasn’t questioning his order, exactly; she was reminding him of what was at stake.
He flashed her a smile so brief that she wasn’t completely certain that he had given one at all.
“Mr. Ferreiro, take it down to Attention instead of Battle Alert.”
“Sir,” said Pedro, and touched the PA controls. A triple beep filled the air, and repeated five times. The lighting dimmed and took on a reddish hue. Everyone on board as now at the ready. They would jump into action if the actual alert sounds.
Ashley was erect at her station, staring at her instruments. The electromagnetic shields weren’t yet raised, but could be at a touch. Aside from drills, this was the first time The Seeker had been on Attention Status since they left Earth.
She wondered if the aliens could sense the flux of energy flowing through their power grid. If so, she wondered what they made of it.
They waited for a response to the captain’s message. Minutes ticked by. The only sounds in the CNC were small noises from the monitors as they scanned the alien’s frequencies, and an occasional cough or throat clearing from one of the crew. They were variously excited, afraid, or nervous.
Ashley herself was nervous. Her palms were sweating. No one aboard had experienced combat. Their disputes with the Outers hadn’t yet boiled over into an open fighting. There had been no major space battles fought in fifty years, since 2147.
In fact, the last recorded skirmish this year was minor; there were no lives lost and the ships involved suffered no more than a few laser singes. Not even any hulls were breached. It later turned out that the weapons officer on one of the ships fired out of sheer anxiety. This had happened in a pirate's den in the Alluria Sector.
There had been plenty of talk of possible war with the Outer Colonies, but war against an entirely unknown species? That was a different breed of bad.
Ashley wiped perspiration off her forehead.
She realized someone was standing beside her. It was the ship’s doctor, Mahesh Rigsang. He was slight, dark-skinned, with thick black hair and warm black eyes. His lilting accent pointed out his ethnicity; he was from the city of Dehra Dun in the northern India state of Uttarakhand.
“Apprehensive,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Ashley nodded and he smiled.
“It’s the unknown. Fear of the unknown. Can I tell you a little story?”
Ashley knew from past experience that there was nothing Mahesh loved more than to tell his little stories. In fact, she had told him many times that he ought to get married and have kids; he’d be a wonderful father. He only shook his head and said, “I am not ready for that responsibility.”
Mahesh was a man who had saved lives during his time. During World War III, Delhi, which was only about 200 kilometers from Dehra Dun, was wiped out by a 500 kiloton nuke. By the time Mahesh was born, the incidence of cancer in the region had increased by more than two thousand percent. Two of his uncles died from radiation-induced bone cancer. His early childhood was marked by death and environmental degradation.
Personally, Ashley thought the reason Mahesh didn’t want kids was that he feared fathering a mutant. It happened often. Nowadays, they were able to try and provide somewhat of a better life for mutant infants, but in a fair number of times…there was nothing left to be done.
Now, in response to his offer, Ashley spoke with a mouth so dry she can barely croak out the words.
“Sure...go ahead.”
Mahesh patted her arm and began, in a quiet voice so as not to attract the attention of anyone else in CNC.
“A monk who found himself depressed and fearful over the looming threat of war between his land and a stronger, more aggressive neighbor, decided to meditate alone, away from his monastery. He took his boat out to the middle of the lake, moored it there, closed his eyes and began his meditation.”
Ashley listened, but her eyes were on her instruments. The alien had not made any response to Jeryl’s communiqué.
“After a few hours of undisturbed silence,” Mahesh said, “he suddenly felt the bump of another boat colliding with his own. With his eyes still closed, he sensed his fear rising, and by the time he opened his eyes, he is ready to scream his surrender to the enemy boatman who had disturbed his meditation.
“But when he opened his eyes, he saw that the craft that had struck his was an empty boat that probably got untethered and floated to the middle of the lake.”
Mahesh shrugged and grinned at her.
“At that moment,” he continued, grasping her arm, “the monk realized that the fear was within him; it merely needed a bump to provoke it out of him. From then on, whenever he came across someone who frightened him, or if he found himself in a risky situation that threatened him with harm, he reminded himself, ‘It is merely an empty boat. The fear is within me.’”
She turned and looked down at him. He was the shortest man in the ship, but unlike many small men, he was completely unconcerned about his height As a result, he had been quite popular among the unattached female crewmembers.
Including Ashley. This was something she had never told Jeryl, and felt no need to, as Jeryl and she weren’t at all together. In fact, she had never told anyone. She figured her business was hers alone.
“Thanks, Mahesh,” she said; she realized she did feel better. Someone said, in the context of looming war, something about fear being the only thing there was to fear. Once you knew what was there in the darkness, it was a lot less scary.
She really did want to know what was inside that damn ship. She frowned down at her instruments for a moment, and when she looked around to speak to Mahesh again, he was gone. In fact, he had left the CNC.
She promised herself that as soon as she could, she was going to buy him a drink in the lounge.
Jeryl cleared his throat. “What the devil are they doing over there, chipping their reply in stone?”
Moments later, Mary spoke in a tight voice.
“We’re receiving a visual transmission from the alien.”
Jeryl grunted.
“Put it on the main screen.”
Jeryl
Jeryl didn’t know what anyone else expected, but the image on the screen was no surprise. His first feeling, in fact, was a sense of relief and even vindication. He had always believed—though he had never shared this belief with anyone, not even Ashley or even his siblings—that if they ever found intelligent life elsewhere in the galaxy, it would resemble humans in general form.
Think about it, he once told himself. We evolved from tree-dwellers who learned to walk upright. We were taller than many other animals, and we had our hands—with their opposable thumbs—free to grasp sticks or rocks both large and small. Our bodies had their primary sensory organs—ears, eyes, nose, tongue—at the top, a head that could easily swivel around to keep watch for enemies or food. We also keep our brains up there.
Our shape is a good size for intelligence, too. We’re adaptable and can move quickly when we need to. In our bodies we carry a huge number of reproductive cells and information therein. We’ve also got fat to see us through times when food is scarce. For evolutionary success, it would be tough to come up with a better design.
Apparently, the Captain now mused, these standards were broadly applicable elsewhere in the universe as well. Now, Jeryl saw on the view screen a face, somewhat similar to his own: humanoid, with two eyes in the front of its head, a nose, and a mouth. It had no ears; just slits. It was bald, with a large cranium.
The eyes had no pupils, and were a deep blue in color. Its skin was blue as well. The being cocked its head when it saw him and furrowed its brow. Its mouth drew down, like a frown. The captain knew he should be wary of ascribing human emotions to an alien creature, but this fellow looked at all the world as if he were examining Jeryl and finding him wanting.
There were murmurs of surprise and wonder from the CNC personnel at their stations around the captain. For a long time, no one spoke.
A text message flitted across one of his screens. It was from Ashley, at her station: What are you going to say to him?
Without taking his eyes off the alien’s image, he tapped for a virtual keyboard, and on it he replied: How do you know it’s a him?
You know what I mean, Ashley responded.
Of course. But I’m not going to say anything. Let “him” speak first.
No “One small step for a man” stuff?
I hadn’t thought to prepare any remarks. He hoped she could catch his sarcasm.
The blue figure on the screen spoke—a weird click-pop noise, pure garble. The captain had heard something like this before...he ransacked his memory and came up with a name: the!Kung. They were a semi-nomadic African tribe who lived in the portions of the Kalahari Desert.
The “!” in their name represents a sort of cork-out-of-a-bottle popping noise. The !Kung were driven to extinction in the years following the World War III, along with many other native and aboriginal people around the world. These disappearances were one of the worst results of the war.
After absorbing the surprise of their language, he watched the alien closely. When it spoke, it showed no teeth in his mouth, just a solid-looking ridge of bone. Jeryl couldn’t tell anything from its expression. They didn’t have a philologist on board, but the computers ought to be able to analyze his speech and give them a good translation, figured Jeryl.
The alien was long-winded, but after a couple of minutes it stopped and sat, staring at him.
Jeryl typed a message to Lannigan: Are you getting a translation?
Not yet, he replies at once. The written symbols were one thing. This click-pop talk is something else and I need some time. Engage him in conversation if you can...I need more information.
He sighed. He knew they weren’t expecting a First Contact encounter, but even so, they should have had some sort of translation protocol ready to bring on line. He made a mental note to take this up with Admiral Flynn—If they managed to survive.
All right, he typed to Lannigan. He looked over at Mary Taylor at Comms. She shrugged at him, as clueless as he was.
He pasted on a smile on, and addressed the blue-skinned alien. Placing his hand on his chest.
“My name is Jeryl Montgomery, Captain of the Terran Union Starship The Seeker. We have exchanged information via electromagnetic waves. What’s your name?”
The blue captain—Jeryl assumed the being was the captain, anyway—looked at someone or something off-screen. Jeryl heard his words being repeated in a rather watery electronic tone. Close enough for government work, he thought. At least they got all my inflections right.
Suddenly a thought popped into his head and he almost smiled.
“Lieutenant,” he said to Mary Taylor, “I want you to analyze that transmission. They buried information in their earlier communications. In the carrier wave. Comb through this video signal, see if there is anything sub- or super-sonic, maybe. I don’t know. Work with Dr. Lannigan, will you? And Doctor, are you having any luck getting me a translation?”
“I’m still analyzing,” he replied.
The verbal exchange interested the alien, who leaned forward a little as if to catch their words. He still couldn’t see anyone else, so Jeryl decided to rectify that and see how the sight of other human beings affects him.
“Comms,” he said to Mary, “give him full access to our camera feeds. I want to see what he makes of it.”
The alien’s head moved back and forth as the additional images come through to him. He must have had multiple screens on his console, as Jery’s crew did. Now, he was seeing the full complement of CNC officers. Jeryl wondered if he could tell the difference between the males and the females, or the different races.
“Now, we want to see yours,” he heard Pedro Ferriero mutter at the helmsman’s station. Jeryl almost smiled at that, but he knew Pedro had a point—they had shown their new acquaintance that there was more than one person manning their craft. He would like to get an idea of how many crewmembers were housed in his behemoth of a ship.
But the alien didn’t take the hint. He simply sat, staring at Jeryl through his inscrutable blue eyes. Jeryl was starting to get fidgety. This meeting was going nowhere.
“I’ve got it,” Dr. Lannigan said, through Jeryl’s earbuds. “There are two coded frequencies in that video transmission, Jeryl. One inside the other, so that you can’t get to the second one without decoding the first one. If we were only looking at the video we’d never see it. Good catch.”
“It’s purely out of my ass, Taft. It just hit me that they may do this two-level thing all the time. What I need to know is, can you decipher it?”
“I think so—give me a few minutes.”
“As quick as you can, Taft, please.”
“Aye.”
Jeryl watched the data stream on his screens as Taft ran the alien transmission through the computers. Jeryl felt himself sweat. After what seemed to be hours, Lannigan spoke again:
“Got it. The information is all sonic, and seems to be keys to intonation. Their language is similar to Asian tongues, in that the inflection you put on a word determines its meaning. Without computers, we’d never be able to understand what—”
“Okay, I get it, just tell me what this guy is saying.”
“I have to integrate the key with their stream; it’ll take a little time.”
“Quick as you can,” he said again. Lannigan didn’t take offense; he knew they were walking into the unknown here.
While he was chewing on the new code data, Jeryl thought about what he should say to the alien once they could fully understand each other.
Greetings from the people of Earth, he thought. Or, This is a moment that will be remembered throughout history, both yours and ours.
Jeryl shook his head. He had never been good at extemporaneous speaking; he liked having prepared remarks, maybe a few jokes. But what sort of joke would these blue people understand?
These two aliens walk into a bar...or the one about the blonde and the traffic cop? What was that one about the guy who cuts off his dog’s nose? Someone asks him, how does he smell? And the guy says—
“I have it,” Lannigan said.
“Good.”
The alien was speaking again. This time Jeryl heard a gravelly voice tumbling out of the speakers. In clear English, the alien said: “If you’re not able to understand me, perhaps you’re not worth my time at this point.”
Ashley
All of them in CNC were so taken aback by the alien’s rude behavior that no one spoke a word. Jeryl stepped right into the breach, however. Without blinking, he said, with great dignity, “I understand you perfectly well.”
A look of what Ashley took to be surprise flickered over the alien’s face. Note to self, she thinks: they do seem to have a similar emotional spectrum.
“I’ll repeat my original greeting to you. I am Captain Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Union Starship Seeker. If I may be so bold as to ask, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
The blue alien’s face was impassive as it listened to the popping and clicking garble their machines had made of Jeryl’s speech. It waited for a few moments, and then spewed a few moments of clicking babble. On our end, the translation was:
“Good, it appears you have solved the knowledge mazes needed to be able to converse with us.”
Are these people going to be totally insufferable? Or is this captain of theirs just a dick? I wonder if Jeryl is going to hand him his head, she thought.
But no, he was silent. All he did was stare at the alien with a perfectly level gaze.
She almost grinned. He’s going to wait the son of a bitch out.
The alien didn’t know that Jeryl Montgomery was famous throughout the Armada for being a top-notch poker player. No one could out-bluff him. He could have made a career as a gambler, had he been so inclined. Ashley had seen him bluff a table of crusty old poker players, including an admiral and a two-star general, into folding against a 2,000-credit pot when all he had was a queen in the hole. And this was against one player with a full boat. He was good.
After nearly two minutes of silence, the blue one spoke again.
Is it my imagination, or is he getting pissed off?
“We send a standard hailing frequency to all ships and races we encounter—” and for a moment, she heard nothing more. Jeryl’s tactics worked. He had gained a precious pearl of information out of the alien, a genuine game-changer: They now knew that there were other intelligent races in the galaxy, and that more than one of them developed the capability to travel in interstellar space.
And Jeryl himself had given nothing away.
Ashley pushed her astonishment away and paid attention to what the alien was saying. He introduced himself as Command Legate Ghosal, of the Sonali race.
As unobtrusively as possible, she asked their computer for a definition of “legate,” because although she had heard of the word, she couldn’t recall what it meant. The computer came back with the definition: an ecclesiastic delegated by the Pope as his representative.
A what, now? She thought. This alien is a religious official? Captaining a starship?
Unless there was something seriously wrong with the translation—a possibility she was willing to entertain—what they had just learned was that God was a concept not limited to the human race.
Don’t get ahead of yourself here, she thought to herself.
Religion was still practiced on Earth and among the Outer Colonies, but it lacked the prevalence it once had. It had been reduced to the level of a hobbyist’s pursuit; organized religion perished in the aftermath of World War III. Too many bad things happened to too many good people for religion to sustain among the survivors in the ruins of the cities across the globe—people who had resorted to drinking filthy rainwater and catching rats and cockroaches for food hadn’t had the time to listen to sermons.
Do unto others was a splendid idea before, for people who had a warm place to sleep. But when they had no more than rags to wear, and were either too cold or too hot or too sick to feed their children, the basic human drive for survival took over. Rather than love thy neighbor, they were more inclined to clout him—or her—over the head and take the rat that they caught for dinner…and the neighbor himself may end up as dinner.
It happened over and over after the war. The race came closer to extinction than it ever had before. Two-fifths of humanity died. Maybe more. God hadn’t saved anyone. Nor did Mohammed, or any of the others who’d been held in high esteem for so long.
Yet, here they were confronted with Ghosal, an individual who was apparently the representative of a theocracy.
Talk about unexpected, thought Ashley.
Ghosal continued. “We were on a routine surveying mission when we picked up the signals from your ship, and came in for a closer look.”
Jeryl was as cool as a chilled wine glass. “So you have no knowledge of our fellows aboard their ship?”
“I regret to say that we do not,” said Ghosal. “This is a region of space that is only a few lightyears from the border of Sonali territory.”
“You say you were on a routine surveying mission,” Jeryl said.
“That is correct, Captain Montgomery. We noticed the wreckage of your Mariner and are saddened to hear of the loss of life of those aboard.”
“Thank you.”
“I would like to offer our help. We will help you search for whoever or whatever is responsible for the tragedy.”
“That’s very kind of you, Command Legate Ghosal,” said Jeryl. “It’s an unusual coincidence to find you here so near The Mariner.”
“I am not sure I understand what you mean.”
“If I may be perfectly frank with you, Command Legate, this is the first time an individual of our race has encountered another intelligent species. For us, this is an historical moment.”
“How pleased I am, then, to be able to share it. I am deeply honored.”
Oh, you smooth SOB, Ashley thought. This was not the way she had ever imagined a First Contact would go. Ghosal spoke more like a politician than a ship’s captain.
She caught a telltale blinking on her console. It was Dr. Lannigan.
“Yes?” she said quietly.
“Something’s not right,” said the Science Officer. “Judging by what I see here, both our race and the Sonali seem to be more or less on an equal footing when it comes to technology. Their ship dwarfs ours, but if they are on a routine scouting mission...”
“Yes,” she said, getting the drift of his reasoning.
“I find it interesting that you have dispatched such a large vessel in a routine mission,” Jeryl was saying to Ghosal.
Great minds, she thought, smell the same rat.
“It seems like a big expenditure of resources.”
Interstellar travel was expensive; at least, it as for humankind. It was one reason why ships were relatively small, and why they ended up recycling the hell out of everything.
It’s why we have to pay for our own damn coffee.
If the Sonali were indeed approximately as developed as they were, then this little “routine scouting mission” of theirs was costing them deep in the purse. A ship as big as theirs wasn’t fit for a simply scouting mission. What they had was a full-scale research vessel, and probably one that was fully armed.
In fact, Ashley thought, I’d wager my lower left wisdom tooth that these guys are loaded for bear.
Something here was definitely not right.
Ghosal wasn’t taking Jeryl’s implication very well. “I am not sure I understand what you are saying, Captain Montgomery.”
The translation didn’t put an edge to his voice, but Ashley thought she’d bet her other lower wisdom tooth that there was one in his original clocks and pops.
“Oh, well, you know,” said Jeryl, being rather elaborately casual. “It’s simply that I wish my people could afford to build such an impressive vehicle simply for scouting purposes.”
“Captain,” said Ghosal, “I believe that the best course for you at this time would be to take the information we have gathered form our study of your lost ship’s wreckage, and return to your home world with it.”
“Yes, I appreciate your position, Command Legate Ghosal, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. We’re sticking around here until we determine exactly what happened to our people.”
His voice grew very hard. “And we mean to collect their remains, if at all possible. They have families and loved ones back on Earth who will want to know what happened. I will do my best to tell them.”
There was silence from Ghosal’s end of the conversation. Then the alien said, “If I may suggest, you would do better to understand that this is Sonali space, and you are here only on our forbearance.”
“Thank you, Command Legate, I will take that under advisement.”
And with that, Jeryl reached out and tapped on the controls.
The communications link with Ghosal’s ship was severed.
“Well,” said Jeryl, sitting back and smiling at them. “That was an interesting little chat. What do you suppose they’ll do now?”
Jeryl
Admiral Flynn wasn’t so sanguine about the encounter when Jeryl reported it to him, which he did shortly after he broke the link between The Seeker and Command Legate Ghosal’s ship.
Jeryl made the call via slipstream in his office, because he had a feeling he wasn’t going to approve of his actions. And at first, he didn’t.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Flynn said, smoothing back his hair with both hands. “Montgomery, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Yes,” the captain said, as calmly as he could. In the face of his outrage, he was having second thoughts. Had he screwed up humanity’s first contact with an alien species?
No, he decided, I won’t allow myself to think this.
“I’ve faced down an authoritarian by adopting an even more authoritarian stance.”
Flynn glanced to one side as though appealing to an off-camera observer for help.
“Listen, Captain...I know you have a reputation for thinking outside or above the parameters of a given problem. You were showing flashes of tactical brilliance as far back as your first year in the Academy.”
He leaned closer to the camera.
“But all the problems you faced in your schooling were hypotheticals...against human antagonists, whose responses you could rely on as being on a spectrum calibrated to human emotions. You could, in other words, use hunches and guesses to determine how an antagonist might respond.”
He shook his head. “You’ve tried to finesse your confrontation with Ghosal in human terms! You can’t be certain that he’ll react as a human being would.”
“I was willing to take that risk,” Jeryl replied.
That wasn’t the right thing to say. Flynn slammed his fist down on his console, and the picture wavered for an instant.
“You took that risk on the part of your entire crew!”
A commanding officer must take the welfare of his people into account. He could not put them in harm’s way.
It’s possible that I didn’t have that fact in the forefront of my mind when I cut off communication with Ghosal, Jeryl admitted to himself.
But when he looked around at his CNC officers, he saw no scowls or looks of fear. They glanced at him with approval on their faces, and he took heart from that. They trusted him.
“They trust me,” he said to Flynn then, with confidence. He glowered at Jeryl, but then a grin broke through.
“I know they do, son, I know they do.”
Thank the stars, he’ settling down, thought Jeryl. He’d never call him “son” if he wasn’t; Admiral Howard Flynn didn’t rise to his level of authority by being easy-going, but Jeryl always had the ability to “read” him, and vice versa. They understood each other.
The Admiral once told him, after a couple of drinks at some diplomatic get-together, that Jeryl reminded him of himself when he was young. The captain took that both as a compliment, and as a confidence. He had never shared it with anyone.
Since then they had shared a... well, Jeryl would hesitate to call it a bond, but he would go so far as to say that he believed they understood each other.
“Jeryl, I won’t sugar-coat it; your situation is being monitored at the highest levels.”
He nodded. This was the one time when he could make up his mind if he was glad that they had instantaneous communications capability via slipstream, or whether he regretted it.
On the one hand, it was good to know that someone had his back. If he missed a regularly scheduled report, Flynn would be on the case immediately. But on the other hand, what he was dealing with was essentially a committee that wanted to second-guess him.
Flynn knew this, and he also knew that it was in his interest to let Jeryl have full discretion. He knew the admiral was shielding him from a dozen officials who outranked him, and even from Flynn himself. Those of them in the field had to be allowed to make command decisions on the fly without interference from above.
“Let me ask you this, Captain,” Flynn said. “Do you have any assessment of their military capabilities?”
Jeryl had to shake his head.
“All I know is what I see, sir,” he replied. “It’s a big ship—bigger than anything we have. It could be fully automated, I suppose; even this Ghosal could be a hologram or a synth puppet run by their vessel’s AI. But what would be the point of that? Why would they bother? No, I think he’s got himself a flying city, more or less.”
Flynn considered this. “To what end?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s as he claims; they’re a research vessel. There’s no guarantee that an alien race would use small scout ships and research vessels like we do. But I think there’s something else going on.”
Bluntly, he asked, “Do you think they destroyed The Mariner?”
Now it was the captain’s turn to digest his words. “I...don’t think I do.”
“Why not?”
“Because, if he’s telling the truth about being in contact with other alien races, they would have learned by now that appearances can fool you. Sure, he’d be careful approaching The Mariner even though it’s like an elephant approaching a flea. But even if he sent off that puzzle transmission of his, he wouldn’t fire on them simply because they didn’t respond. He’s got to have enough experience to have tried something else.”
Flynn nodded slowly. “Yes, that makes sense...to our way of thinking. But as you pointed out there’s no reason to suppose that they think like we do.”
“I believe they do, more or less,” Jeryl answered. “Ghosal has an attitude, and I understand that. He seems pretty human to me in terms of his emotional colors. We solved his puzzles. He’s no fool—arrogant, yes—but no fool. His ship could swat us out of space, but at this point I’m not liking him for the culprit.”
The Admiral drew a deep breath but simply nodded at him.
“That said, sir,” Jeryl said, “What do you want me to do?”
“The main thing is to make sure this blue-faced so-and-so either is, or is not responsible for what happened to The Mariner. If not, we’re good, and history proceeds. If he did it, well, we’re in a pretty pile, and I don’t mind saying so. It’ll be a mess, son, a big steaming mess.”
“I know.”
“Very well,” said Flynn. “Stay safe, but don’t back down.”
He smiled. “I suppose I don’t really need to say that to you, do I?”
He smiled back. “No sir, you do not.”
“I thought not. Flynn out.” And he cut the slipstream link.
After he did, the captain sat back, looking around his office. It was comfortable, but not what anyone would call luxurious. He had an art screen that was usually tuned to Impressionist painters, his bunk, a closet, and a desk with a chair—which was where he’s sitting, looking at the blank slipstream monitor.
He didn’t want to go back into CNC, but he didn’t want to be alone, either. He put in a call to Ashley.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “I want to see you.”
“Sir,” she replied crisply. Within a minute, the door announced her arrival.
“You were talking to Flynn,” she said
“Was I that obvious?”
“You have that look on your face, that ‘I just had a chat with my boss’ look.”
“I didn’t know I had one of those.”
“Well, you do. What did he say?”
He gave her a précis of the conversation. She listened, nodding.
“He’s being pretty reasonable,” she said.
“Yeah, considering that he could fry my ass if he wanted.”
She scoffed. “I don’t think he would ever do that, even if you screwed up royally. Which you are not about to do.”
“Not deliberately, anyway.”
She turned serious. “That encounter with Ghosal or whatever his name is...what do you think he’ll do?”
“I really don’t know. I think, I hope, that he’ll reply as an equal, and not send a torpedo into our guts.”
“Can we deflect one if he does?”
“No idea.”
“An action like that would make the Sonali into the biggest and nastiest bad guys we’ve ever met,” she said. “I mean Mankind, not us.”
“That’s completely correct.”
She let out a small chuckle. “I suppose there’s one good thing to be said about it.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Humans won’t be hating AIs anymore. We’ll all be on the same side. Every xenophobe in the Union will have a new target.”
“Yeah, no, that’s some cold comfort, there, Ashley.”
She smiled ruefully at him. “It’s all I have for you right now, Jeryl.”
At that moment, his screen lit up and he saw Mary Taylor's face. She looked frightened.
“There’s a new transmission from the alien.”
“We’ll be right there,” he told her. Ashley and the captain headed out the door on the double.
Jeryl
When Ashley and Jeryl entered CNC, they immediately sensed the tension. Jeryl sped to Mary's station. Her face was damp with perspiration. He lay what he hoped was a calming hand on her shoulder.
“What’s going on, Lieutenant?”
“We’re being hailed by the Sonali craft,” she said.
“I’ll take it at my station,” he told her. “Put it on the main screen as well.”
The grim blue visage of command Legate Ghosal swam into view on the small viewer before him, while giving the air around the big screen at the front of the chamber a sickly beryl tinge.
Without preamble, Ghosal said, “I have been in touch with my superiors.”
A thought clicked into place at the back of the Captain’s mind. Ghosal had inadvertently revealed that he, like them, had the capability to communicate FTL. This fellow isn’t as smart as he thinks he is, thought Jeryl.
Ghosal clicked and popped at them.
“Captain Montgomery,” he said in translation. “You were given clear instructions to leave this place. Why, then, are you still here?”
Once more, Jeryl’s mind flashed back to one of Professor Guss’s lectures.
“Let’s look at some hypothetical situations,” Professor Guss said, pacing back and forth at the front of the room. The hall had stadium seating, so it was easy for Jeryl to see him. Plus, less than a quarter of the seats were filled. The class was an elective, and it was obvious that most students didn’t consider it to be worth their while. But Professor Guss never seemed to mind.
“You’ve landed on a planet that you know has intelligent life. You have seen cities from orbit, and individual structures. But these people are pre-spaceflight. They’ve lofted no satellites, and haven’t visited any of the other worlds in their star system. With all the best intentions, you set down on their planet in some out-of-the-way spot near one of their urban centers so that you can observe them before deciding whether to contact them or not.”
Alyce Teodosio’s hand shot up. She was a small, intense Latina who rarely smiled.
“We shouldn’t contact them at all,” she said. “Ideally, we wouldn’t interfere with the course of their natural advancement.”
He pointed at her.
“And there are studies that back you up, Miss Teodosio. They claim that any contact with a pre-spaceflight people could result in a deleterious effect on their confidence in their own efforts. They could stop trying, in other words,” he said.
Jeryl raised his hand, and the professor nodded at him.
“I don’t necessarily agree,” he said. “Instead of being intimidated, they could just as easily be spurred on to develop their technology, because they would have proof that it could be done.”
“It might depend on how advanced they were,” said a young man with a blonde buzz cut. “If they were on the level of Cro-Magnons, say, they might run and hide, whereas if they were as advanced as Persia around the time of Jesus, they might ride out to investigate, with weapons ready but not intending to attack.”
“Or if they were like Nazi Germany, they might just start shooting in the hope of capturing that shiny starship.” Alyce said, turning to look at him.
“Any one of these possibilities could be true,” Professor Guss said. “Which is why you would, one hopes, as captain of that Union ship, spend a good amount of time observing them clandestinely. We currently have no laws covering First Contact, even though we have been exploring nearby star systems for many years. There have been efforts to create such laws, but the idea of intelligent extraterrestrial life simply isn’t taken seriously at the higher echelons of our government. One day that will change, but by then it may be too late.”
“But let’s move on to other scenarios,” he said. “We won’t consider the possibility of contacting a benevolent species, because that’s a happy-ending sort of thing. Peace and love, blah blah blah.”
He smiled at the ripple of laughter in the hall.
“Let’s assume that you are the captain of an exploratory vessel that has entered a system that’s home to a technologically advanced civilization. As you approach the target planet you see that it’s ringed with myriad satellites, hundreds, maybe thousands. Perhaps there are bases on the outlying planets. You’ve taken care to avoid contact with them, and once you arrive at the home world, you’re glad you did. Scans tell you that many of the orbital stations are carrying nuclear as well as conventional weapons. The planet’s surface is environmentally degraded by mining for elements used in making weapons, and by insufficiently shielded nuclear plants. You may be surprised that they haven’t yet blown themselves to atoms or poisoned themselves to death.”
Laughter rippled across the hall again, but this time it was a little muted. After all, something like this almost happened to their own planet.
“Miss Teodosio?” He lifted his eyebrows at her.
“I’d definitely want to lay off at a distance and observe them,” said Alyce.
“So would I,” he said, “but for the sake of the discussion, let’s say they detect you and start shooting.”
She blinked. “I wouldn’t return fire.”
“Why not? They have proven their aggressive nature. It’s clear that if they manage to get out of their system, they could spread that aggression and perhaps prove to be a danger to us. Why wouldn’t you at least knock the attacking satellites out of space?”
Jeryl raised his hand again. “I’d sequester them,” he said. “Make sure they couldn’t be a threat to anyone else. Maybe incapacitate their weapons satellites and put up our own, to keep an eye on them.”
“But doing that would be the same as interfering with their natural advancement, as Miss Teodosio suggested a while ago.”
He bit his lips. “In the strict sense, yes; but if their ‘natural advancement’ would imperil us or other species, it would be justified—in my opinion.”
“And if this sequestration or segregation results in extreme hardship for them? When we could have assisted them to mature past their ‘primitive’ behavior?”
The students casted uneasy glances at each other.
“They’d have every reason to fear and hate us, if we shot down their satellites,” Alyce said. “I’d say do nothing, but establish an observation post to keep an eye on them. If they get out of hand, I don’t know...some sort of escalation would be necessary.”
“Possibly, possibly,” said Professor Guss. “And we can leave it at that point.”
“But what’s the answer, sir?” Jeryl asked. “How can we know what to do?”
Professor Guss smiled at me. “That will be for you or one of your colleagues to tell us,” he said. “And I wish you luck. Because there really is no answer.”
Now, Jeryl was in a situation close to the one posited by his old professor. And he had no idea what to do. He was winging it, but he won’t tell anyone else that that’s the case. He glanced over at Ashley in her station, and he saw her looking him.
Jeryl was sure she suspected. He gave her a smile that was as calm as he could make it.
“I apologize if I’m causing any stress, Command Legate,” he said, “but my orders are to determine what happened to our ship. I regret to say that we can’t leave until we accomplish that task.”
“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear,” Ghosal said, a distinct edge to the translated voice. Their computers weren’t as sophisticated as ground-based machines, but even so, they were running neural networks with strong learning capabilities. They were very good at analyzing subtext from both tone and body language, and it was obvious that they had been able to educate themselves about the Sonalian emotional spectrum. Professor Guss would be happy.
“You’re trespassing in our territory,” Ghosal went on, “but we’ve no wish to be punitive. I offer you a choice: come as an ambassador to the Home Planet, or leave.”
And for the first time, the Captain saw Ghosal smile. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.
“Or you can die.”
“You’re threatening me?” he asked, surprised despite himself.
Professor, I wish you were here with me now. I could benefit from some calm insight!
And Jeryl heard him reply, Don’t react to his words. Think: What is he truly upset about? His civilization is familiar with others. There’s something different here for him, and he’s being reactionary. That doesn’t jibe with the idea of a cosmopolitan space-faring species. Perhaps there’s a personal for him in your interactions.
Personal? the Captain replied. How can that be? I don’t know him. I have no idea what his background could be. I don’t know what his cultural imperatives are.
Then you’d better think about them, Guss said, and his shade evaporated.
I haven’t got time to ponder abstract concepts like cultural imperatives—why has my mind even thrown that idea into my consciousness? Jeryl thought.
Ghosal said, “These are not threats, Captain. They are statements of fact. You must choose which path you will pursue.”
The screen blanked out.
Jeryl
Jeryl stared at a blank screen, with everyone in CNC waiting to see what he would say or do. He was waiting to find out, as well.
What he did was stand, lifted his chin, and said, “I’ll be in my office.”
Without another word, he left CNC.
He needed to think about what Professor Guss had to say about cultural imperatives because there was something there—he was sure of it.
But there was another little detail he wanted to check on as well, and as soon as he was alone he did. He signaled Gunny, the Armory AI, and had a brief discussion with him. After he was done, he was sure that The Seeker stood no chance of winning a firefight with Ghosal’s ship. Analysis of the behemoth’s systems showed that they were not only outgunned, they would also most likely be chased down and swatted out of space with little effort on the part of the Sonali.
They weren’t a great deal more advanced than The Seeker was, but the gap was wide enough to give the Sonalis an edge. Jeryl’s crew could probably improve their navigation and propulsion systems to match them; he knew for a fact that they had ships on the drawing board that would be able to put up a stiff defense against Ghosal. But there had been no need for the Union to put any crash programs into development. The Outers weren’t any more advanced than the Union, so the improvement in their military capabilities hadn’t been a priority. Until now.
But what Jeryl really wanted to think about was what Professor Guss had said about possible differences between intelligent species. Because there was a hint there, he believed, if he could find it quickly enough.
“So let’s talk about the day after First Contact,” Professor Guss said at the beginning of another lecture.
“You can talk to each other, and relations are being established. This is a good time to reflect on adaptation. Both sides are going to have to make changes in their worldviews if the relationship is to be successful. So you need to be aware of three levels of interaction: cultural exclusives, cultural electives, and cultural imperatives.”
He paused, and there was silence in the hall. No one had a clue what he was talking about.
“You’re thinking that you’ve wandered into a sociology class,” he said, smiling. “In a way, you have. But sociology is at the bottom of all the things I’m trying to teach you. Without some understanding of how the other guy’s social relationships and interactions work, you’ll never get beyond the ‘C-A-T spells cat’ and ‘1 plus 1 equals 2’ stage of communication. What I am saying here is that the problems only begin when you first meet.”
He snapped his fingers and a virtual data board appeared. On it were written three things: cultural exclusives, cultural electives, and cultural imperatives.
“So, what’s a cultural exclusive?” he said. “These are local customs. Earth is one planet, but it’s broken up into countries and nations, and those are broken up into states or territories, which are further broken into regions.
“Cultural exclusives pertain to regional people. To give a broad example, if you were a Christian, you wouldn’t go to a Muslim country and try to act like a Muslim. That would be deeply insulting. By the same token, you can joke about your own family, but if an outsider makes fun of them, you’ll be furious. That’s a cultural exclusive.”
He looked around. “Are we clear on that?”
There are murmurs of agreement from the audience, including Jeryl.
“Good. Now let’s move up the ladder to cultural electives. Those are customs also, but you needn’t conform to them. For example, in the Czech Republic, it used to be customary for alcohol to be offered at the start of a business meeting, even if it was eight o’clock in the morning. If you wished to be considered polite, you’d take a sip. It needn’t be more than that. Muslims would offer coffee to signal friendship. And so on.”
More murmurs of agreement and understanding, much nodding of heads.
“And at the top of the list are cultural imperatives,” said the professor. “Now, these are customs that you simply must adhere to if you want to be successful and show genuine respect. This becomes slippery. To be successful in a post-first-contact world, you will have to build a relationship with the other side.”
He paused.
“I see many puzzled looks. As if to say, ‘Well, that’s obvious, Professor Guss.’ It should be, I agree; but it really isn’t. Upon meeting the representative of an alien civilization, you have to understand that you will not be communicating with the civilization—you will be communicating with a person, even if he doesn’t look like any person you ever heard of.
“And if you don’t build a relationship with him—or her, or it, whatever—you are doomed to fail because at the bottom, communication is between people, not companies or religions. Can anyone tell me why this is?”
Jeryl thought as hard as he ever have in my life; he was sure he understood his professor’s line of reasoning. He raised his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Montgomery,” he said, nodding at him.
Jeryl took a breath. “You have to build trust.”
He grinned. “That is exactly right. Trust will make or break a deal. Is there another example of a cultural imperative?”
A Japanese girl raised her hand.
“In my culture,” she said, “you can’t act in such a way as to lose face or to cause someone else to lose face.”
“Excellent,” the professor said. “There are other examples, of course. In Japan prolonged eye contact is considered offensive.”
The Japanese girl nodded.
“However,” said Professor Guss, “In Arab and Latin American regions, strong eye contact is necessary or else, you’ll be regarded as evasive and unreliable. So you have to have an awareness of the culture with which you are communicating.”
“But that’s not going to be possible with extraterrestrials,” Jeryl said. “We will be in a cultural vacuum.”
“And that,” said Professor Guss, “is precisely my point. You may well find yourself in a position where you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”
“Well, what do we do then?”
“You will have to weigh the possibilities as best you can, and take the course that results in the least amount of burning.”
It was terribly frustrating. Guss’ class, which cadets had taken almost as a lark, had become the most thought-provoking one of all. Whereas they could study navigational problems all week long and arrive at exact methodologies, they could discuss cultural imperatives for a year and never solve the problem.
What I have to do is to look at the situation from Ghosal’s point of view, much as it pains me to do so, Jeryl admits to himself.
From his viewpoint, they were interlopers, and trespassers; no matter how valid their reasons were to themselves. It could well be that the only way to approach the problem was to request permission to investigate the region of space. As far as Ghosal was concerned, they had barged in without so much as a by-your-leave.
The fact that they hadn’t had a clue that Ghosal’s ship was there or that the nebula was considered private property didn’t matter in the least.
Ignorance of the law, as the old saying goes, is no excuse.
Jeryl tapped his fingers on his console. He was going to have to do something he didn’t want to do. Admiral Flynn wasn’t going to like it. His crew wasn’t going to like it. Hell, he didn’t like it.
Knowing that he was going to leave himself open to all sorts of criticism from every level of command, he closed his eyes.
Hellfire, Professor, he thought, when you said there would be times when I’d be damned if I did and damned if I didn’t, you didn’t know the half of it.
Jeryl brushed off his uniform—a delaying tactic. He didn’t want to go back out into the CNC and tell them what he had to tell them.
He was wrong; there wasn’t a clue to be had in his memory of the professor’s discussion on cultural imperatives. Not as far as problem solving, anyway.
The captain thought, the subtext is clear: this is a test of me, of Jeryl Montgomery.
Jeryl had to do the right thing. Which meant he couldn’t stand up to these Sonali bastards and dare them to shoot his ass off, because they would—along with the collective ass of his crew.
He was now pretty fucking sure that those blue skinned bastards destroyed The Mariner.
But the universe doesn’t care. And we can’t get any vengeance now.
Jeryl Montgomery could risk his crew to stay and bring justice to these people—but he dared not risk that.
And so, with as much dignity and gravitas as he can muster, he re-entered the CNC and said, “Mr. Ferriero, lay in a course for home.” There is dead silence as The Seeker’s FTL engines engage, flinging us into interstellar space.
Captain Jeryl wasn’t happy.
Part II
Book II
Jeryl
“Another Davosian ale please,” Jeryl asked the waiter as the man came by. He glanced at Ashley who was sitting next to him at the table, and then to Dr. Mahesh who was sitting on the other side.
It had been three months since Jeryl had turned The Seeker around and ten days since war had been declared, and right now the trio watched the news briefings with deeper and deeper gloom in the crowded New Washington bar.
Jeryl looked out the window from his seat. They were up on the 135th floor of the Cartright Building in New Washington’s Commerce District.
The Commerce District took up most of the equatorial continent that the planet-city dwellers had named ‘Bartomine’, and from where he was sitting, Jeryl had a view of the bustling skyline that was the economic hub in the vast expanse of Terran Union space.
It had to happen eventually, Jeryl thought to himself. Earth was so far away. So long had it been recovering from the near extinction that the humans of prior generations had wrought upon it that as it was slowly growing back to its former glory, a colony world ideally suited across several different shipping lanes would blossom and grow.
This is more than just a colony world.
Earth may still be the political, social, and economic leader within the Terran Union, but a competing axis of influence was spreading away from the inner worlds of the Terran Union. New Washington was populated by humans who had never set foot on Earth, by people whose parents had never set foot on Earth. They didn’t feel like they owed any allegiance to the world aside from the fact that it was held in reverence for being the cradle of humanity.
It was the seat of power, sure, but it could have just as easily been anywhere else that was far removed.
In fact, the presence of Armada Command installations across this planet spoke to how the Terran Armada had recognized this fact and began to build on it.
“Earth to Captain Montgomery,” Ashley called out in her lilting voice and Jeryl was snapped out of his reverie. He realized he’d been zoning out, thinking about the state of humanity—and then Ashley had called him back down to Earth.
There it was again. The cultural significance of the homeworld. Where humanity had sprung from. Where Jeryl’s father had been born before securing passage on a freighter and making a life for himself on Mars.
Earth would never lose its significance or cease to be a central world in the scope of human affairs. It may recede in importance as newer worlds were developed and took the stage, but it would always be the home for humanity.
“You seem rather distant, Captain,” Mahesh said. “The war?”
Jeryl shrugged, coming back to the conversation. It had been ten days and The Seeker was still in New Washington Spacedock, waiting for orders. In that time, several engagements had already been fought—one in the nebula itself.
Thirteen ships had gone into the nebula, led by the TUS Celestia. They had encountered a Sonali dreadnought. This time, the Sonali had backed up their demands that the humans leave with actions, and had opened fire.
Out of the thirteen ships that went in, only the Celestia had survived.
That day, the President of the Terran Union, Joshua Harmon, had gone on slipstream to the entire known galaxy from the Terran Council chambers in Geneva.
And he had declared war on the Sonali.
What followed was swift and savage.
News reports carried scenes of carnage, almost as if the Sonali were waiting for a reason to strike at these humans whom they had just met four months ago. The reaction from the Terran Union was no less savage, although it was often in vain.
Sonali ships swept past human fleets—their ships dwarfing anything that the Terran Armada could field against them.
“Are you worried, Captain?” Ashley asked.
Jeryl frowned. “We’re on leave, Ashley,” he said. “I don’t mind if you call me Jeryl.”
He knew that it wasn’t encouraged to be informal with one’s officers, but Jeryl wasn’t looking at Ashley as his first officer at that moment.
He was looking at her as a woman. The same one he had spent his entire weekend of shore leave entwined with on New Sydney.
Her legs. Her chest. Her entire body screamed sex. No matter what she was doing, Jeryl couldn’t help but be turned on.
“Well, Captain, I can’t,” Ashley said as Jeryl looked at her. She maintained a stony expression for a while before breaking out into a wicked grin that made his stomach do somersaults. “It would be…inappropriate.”
Dr. Mahesh watched the interplay between the captain and his first officer and smiled. When Jeryl turned to his friend, Mahesh shrugged.
“Listen, Captain,” he said with an air of nonchalance as he pointed to the massive viewer spouting news on the wall of the bar. “When you see this happening nowadays, I say to hell with Armada regulations. Do what brings you satisfaction in the here and now.”
Jeryl smiled and nodded. But then his attention turned to the screen that Mahesh had pointed to and he sighed.
The scene from the recent skirmish along the border was troubling.
News footage from an unmanned drone showed the debris of several Terran Union vessels. The commentator was discussing the logistics of the war with a retired Admiral.
“They say that it was five battleships that met three Sonali dreadnoughts on the border,” Ashley said, her tone grim. “They dropped fighters but the Sonali weapons cut them down before they even managed to land any blows on the ships. They made pretty short work of the battleships too. Took them out one by one. The Samira was the only one that had a chance to get away, but the Reynolds and the Minerva weren’t so lucky.”
“How many people on a battleship?” Mahesh asked.
“About four hundred,” Jeryl said, his eyes never leaving the screen. “They never even had a chance. What were the Sonali hitting?”
“It seems like they were probably going for the slipstream array that the Armada had in the system, Captai—Jeryl,” Ashley said, taking a sip of her ale. “Cut down communications in the area.”
“Which means that they’re coming after one of those border colony worlds next,” Jeryl said. “Which weren’t even border worlds a few months ago.”
“We didn’t even know the Sonali existed back then.”
Jeryl nodded, darkness overtaking his thoughts once more. “It’s almost as if we went from First Contact to war before anyone could stop and realize what was going on,” he said to no one in particular. “Why didn’t we see that we were overmatched?”
Mahesh and Ashley didn’t say anything, though they knew what Jeryl was alluding to. The Terran Union was hopelessly inferior in both ships and war fighting abilities to the Sonali Combine. Their battleships—long the pride of the Terran Armada—were half the size of Sonali dreadnoughts. Their frigates could be compared to flies.
The Sonali had made this point over the last week as they launched coordinated strikes against key worlds.
“Any word about when The Seeker is being sent back to Davos II?” Ashley asked as the camera began to repeat footage of the area of space where the battle had occurred. Flaming debris from destroyed Terran Armada vessel floated along benignly.
“We’re supposed to wait for orders here,” Jeryl said curtly. He immediately regretted his choice of words. Ashley was simply curious. In a less harsh tone he looked at her and said, “If the Admiralty wants us near Davos II, I’m sure they won’t be shy.”
Ashley shrugged. Her face frowned as she thought about what Jeryl said. It didn’t make any sense to him either. Why assign a ship to patrol and be a part of a task force designed to protect a colony of 10 million people when the lead starship was over 100 light years away and the captain was drinking Davosian Ale with his subordinates?
It was at that time that Jeryl’s comms went off and he checked who it was.
“Admiral Flynn,” Jeryl said to Ashley and Mahesh as he read the message and realized the implications.
“He says...” Jeryl paused for a moment as he considered the message over. He wanted to be out there. No matter how long it took to retrofit the ships, he wanted to avoid the fate of the Celestia.
But it was unfair He had to tell them.
Now.
“The Seeker is being ordered for combat duty,” he said. “She’s going to war.”
Ashley
“Helm,” Jeryl commanded from his seat on CNC. “Signal the fleet to hold formation as we come out of FTL space and into the battle zone. We need to stay tight and hit the Sonali dreadnought in the center of their fleet. We only get one chance.”
Ashley studied the readouts from her station. It had been three days since The Seeker was given orders that removed it from its berth at New Washington Spacedock.
Armada Command was sending Jeryl to the Calendra system, along what was now being established as the border between the Terran Union and the Sonali Combine. Leading a flotilla of 22 ships, The Seeker was tasked to intercept a Sonali battle fleet that was heading to the colony world of Calendra II.
“We’re apparently not going in to drive them back,” Jeryl told her in confidence in his office as the ship had cruised through space at FTL 5. “We don’t have the ability to take on the approximately 20 ships the Sonali are using. And we’ve already lost a fleet of seven ships along the way.”
Ashley was surprised when she heard him say that. It wasn’t like the Terran Armada to prepare for defeat in the face of a battle. She told him so.
“We’re not planning for defeat here, Commander,” Jeryl replied. Was it just her or was she starting to associate him more as Jeryl and less as Captain Montgomery, she wondered. Maybe it was New Sydney. Maybe it was the brief shore leave they had enjoyed right as war had broken out. But whatever it was, their bond seemed closer now than it had been for awhile.
“What are the parameters for mission success then, if it’s not to drive out the Sonali invasion of the Calendra system?” Ashley asked at that point.
Jeryl sighed to himself and then passed along the mission briefing packet to the First Officer.
“We need to ensure that Calendra II is given the time to evacuate as many colonists as possible before the Sonali arrive. If necessary, we are to engage the Sonali and make a stand to buy time for the citizens to evacuate,” Jeryl stated. “If needed, our lives are expendable to ensure that as many colonists get out as possible.”
Ashley simply nodded. It wasn’t the time to point out that a large number of Terran Union bureaucratic functions for the Edoris Sector. That this plan to slow down the Sonali but not actually defeat them was giving up before the first shot had been fired. That out of the million colonists on Calendra II, only a small number were probably being evacuated.
“What happens to the people who won’t be able to evacuate?” Ashley asked.
Jeryl looked pained as he replied to her. “The automated defense platforms and the colony defenses will try to hold off the Sonali as long as possible.”
Ashley looked at him and couldn’t help herself from retorting, “Jeryl, you know that there are about three hundred thousand odd bureaucrats on Calendra II. I’m sure that we’ll give our last to get them all the time they need to FTL out of here. But what about the rest of the people?”
“Ash, we have a job to do and Armada Command believes that we need to ensure that critical segments of the population are given time to re-establish operations elsewhere,” was all Jeryl could bring himself to say.
“No wonder we’re getting our asses handed to us,” Ashley sneered. “It’s not even a month in and we’ve given up after a few engagements. Now we’re throwing some people to the wolves while the ones who got us in this mess are fleeing for safety.”
There was nothing that Jeryl could say to that. They both knew that their orders were clear; to engage and harry the enemy and draw them out as long as possible.
“So that the greatest number of people can continue the fight,” Jeryl said before dismissing Ashley.
“Disengaging FTL drives and coming into normal space, Captain,” the helmsman alerted Jeryl.
Ashley looked over to the viewscreen. She noticed Jeryl tense up.
“Put me through to the fleet,” Jeryl instructed Communications and waited until he was given the signal before delivering his message.
“Attention, flotilla. This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery. We’re going in to stop the Sonali dreadnought and her support craft from getting into the Caldera system. Crazy Horse, Chuckchansi, George Washington, Yorktown, Hirohito, and San Francisco, as discussed, you will engage the peripheral Sonali vessels as the remainder of the fleet while The Seeker goes after the dreadnought head on. Keep this channel open for secure intraship communications. Montgomery out.”
The channel was muted and an otherworldly red glare lit the CNC as The Seeker went to battle alert.
Moments later, the flotilla dropped out of FTL and into the outskirts of the Caldera system.
And into chaos.
“Sensors detect twenty small crafts strafing the lead Sonali frigates, Captain,” Ashley called out from her station. A moment later she looked at the viewscreen to see a motley collection of Terran fighters launching torpedoes against a Sonali craft that dwarfed the fighters by a magnitude of five.
“That’s got to be the colonial defenses,” Jeryl said, more to himself than anyone, before directing his next command to the tactical officer. “Let’s begin our run. Weapons ready, defensive shields at maximum, full speed.”
Ashley could sense the palpable tension in the air. This was the most dangerous mission that many of the crew of The Seeker had ever engaged in. Fighting border skirmishes with the Human Confederation, otherwise known as the Outer Colonies was one thing.
Tackling an alien life form that was apparently much more advanced than humanity and had only been discovered less than six months ago?
Completely different.
She could see it in the way people tried to do their jobs without letting the fear get to them. How they answered the Captain that they were launching torpedoes on the dreadnought.
She could hear the collective gasp through the CNC as the viewscreen showed, in unmerciful detail, the two lead Sonali frigates veer away from the main fleet and concentrate their weapons on the Crazy Horse.
Ashley turned to her sensors and watched as particle beams from the Sonali ships lanced out towards the Crazy Horse. The ship attempted to follow normal Armada protocol and launched torpedoes to blunt the intensity of the particle beams, but the Sonali ships were able to sustain their fire at top speeds and they began to batter the defensive shielding on Crazy Horse.
“Crazy Horse shields are buckling, Captain,” Ashley found herself announcing. “They won’t last much longer under a barrage like that.”
As if to vindicate her assessment, the viewscreen dimmed itself to compensate for the intense bright explosion as the antimatter drive of the Crazy Horse exploded, ripping the entire ship apart with all hands lost. Ashley watched as the helmsmen covered their eyes from the brightness of the blast instinctively.
They weren’t in the battle more than ten minutes and had already lost a top of the line Terran Armada vessel.
“Concentrate our fire on the dreadnought weapons systems, come in at bearing five, three, zero, one, from their aft side,” Jeryl instructed, not giving himself a chance to get distracted by the loss of a fellow ship.
The crew complied and The Seeker raced through a fusillade of enemy fire to launch several torpedoes that struck the Sonali dreadnought’s aft weapons.
Ashley watched her sensors keenly as she saw the weapons striking. She looked at the damage report with dismay as Tactical reported, “Minimal damage to their shielding, Captain.”
Unwilling to be deterred, Captain Montgomery ordered another run.
“The Calendra fighters are regrouping on the far side of the eighth planet,” Tactical reported.
“How many of them are left?” Jeryl asked.
“Five, sir,” Tactical reported stoically.
Ashley shook her head. There were twenty when they had jumped out of FTL.
Another explosion lit up the viewscreen and Ashley looked through her mountains of data when the Tactical officer called out, “Chuckchansi has been destroyed, sir.”
“Maintain firing solutions on the dreadnought,” Jeryl commanded. “We need to punch through their fucking shields!”
Chatter began to come through the open line between the ships.
“This is Yorktown,” Ashley heard the Captain of that ship call out. “We’re taking heavy fire from Sonali fighters and are pinned down. Retreating from our position towards Calendra II.”
“Maintain your position, Yorktown,” Jeryl instructed. “We have to hold the line. Here.”
There was no acknowledgment and Ashley wondered whether the ship would listen to Jeryl.
It turned out that they did.
“Hirohito, can you provide cover for Yorktown?” Jeryl called through the open channel.
There was only static through the line..
A moment later, the answer came from Tactical. “Hirohito is crippled sir. She’s listing in space. Her weapons and shielding are offline and life support is sporadic. She’s taken heavy damage.”
The minutes went by faster than Ashley could count. The flotilla went through various combinations to attempt to harass and pick off the Sonali ships.
Space lit up again as Yorktown had her hull breached in multiple areas from Sonali fire and exploded.
“Status of Sonali fleet?” Captain Montgomery called out from his chair.
After a brief minute, the report came back for everyone in CNC to hear.
“All Sonali ships seem to be functional, sir.”
There it was. So many lives extinguished from the human side. And not a single Sonali ship had fallen.
“Signal the Calendra II colony,” Jeryl said to Communications. “Tell them we need to pull back to the planet. Maybe we can use the orbital platforms to help us.”
“Sir, I’m not able to get a signal to Calendra II,” Communications called out. “The Sonali seem to be jamming our hails. The last thing I was able to glean was that widespread riots were breaking out across the colony as people were trying to board the limited ships available to take them off planet. There seems to be a breakdown in the colonial government.”
Jeryl sighed and Ashley could understand why.
With most of the fighters from the colony destroyed and nearly half the Terran flotilla destroyed or incapacitated, the end of this battle was drawing closer. Humanity was losing. As if the end of an era of space exploration were at hand. And an age of extinction were imminent.
“Take us around for another pass, Lieutenant,” Jeryl instructed from his chair. “Target anything you can and give them everything you got.”
As the ship began another pass into the maelstrom, two Sonali frigates and the dreadnought began to concentrate their fire on The Seeker.
“Evasive actions, Helm!” Jeryl yelled and the ship swerved hard to port, evading two crisscrossing particle beams from two different ships.
But a third one rocked the vessel and Ashley had to hold on to her station to keep from being thrown off.
“Status?” Jeryl yelled in one breath as he gave another order. “Maintain firing!”
“Hull breaches being sealed on Deck 5 and 6, shielding down to 50%,” Tactical reported back.
“Sir, another few hits like that and there won’t be a ship left,” Ashley said out loud to the Captain. Jeryl nodded. He knew that their death was at hand.
Jeryl
“Fuck,” Jeryl muttered, his eyes trained on the viewscreen. He saw as the hulking Sonali dreadnought seemed to grow larger and larger, and his fingers grew white as he gripped tight the armrest of the Captain’s chair.
Was this the way he’d go? Crushed, alongside his whole crew, in the first real battle The Seeker faced? No, he wouldn’t allow that to happen. He didn’t care about his own life, but he’d be damned if his whole crew would suffer because he wasn’t up to the task. No. Whatever the cost, he’d ensure they’d all live to see another day.
“Sir, their weapons are locked on us. They’re powering them up again!” Someone shouted, and Jeryl gritted his teeth so hard his jaw felt as if it was about to shatter.
“Evasive maneuvers!” He shouted, getting up from his chair and looking straight at the viewscreen. The cannons in the dreadnought were lighting up at a steady rhythm, eager to unleash hellfire upon them.
“We don’t have enough power to—”
“Shut the shield down and redirect all power to our thrusters,” Jeryl commanded, his heart beating so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if it simply exploded. Shutting down The Seeker’s shield during a battle was pure insanity, but it was either that or suffer an immediate death. The ship would never survive another blast from the dreadnought.
“But, sir, that’s—”
“Do it!” Jeryl bellowed, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hands.
“Yes, sir!” He heard the Ensign reply. A warning took over the viewscreen, letting everyone in CNC know that shields were down.
“Take us out of here, Helm,” Jeryl commanded, and a second later he heard the thrumming of the thrusters as they received a surge of power. He gripped the handrail in front of him tight as The Seeker swerved starboard, doing it so fast the gravitation stabilizers barely had the time to compensate for the change of direction.
The moment The Seeker moved, a particle beam flew from the dreadnought and right into the space previously occupied by the Terran Union ship. If Jeryl had hesitated a simple second, the beam would’ve hit them right in the hull.
“We’re receiving a message straight from the Armada Command,” Mary Taylor, the comms officer, said. She looked back over her shoulder at Jeryl, an expression of fear and desperation coloring her eyes. Even though her skin was dark, Jeryl almost swore she had grown pale in the last few seconds.
“Go on.”
“They’re telling us that most ships have evacuated, and our orders are to retreat immediately,” Mary Taylor told him, and Jeryl raised his eyes and looked back into the viewscreen. He watched as the dreadnought followed after them, the two Sonali frigates still flanking it.
“Prepare to engage FTL drive,” Jeryl commanded, even though he knew he was turning his back to the millions of innocent men and women that inhabited the Caldera system. But what could he do? Condemn everyone aboard The Seeker to an early death just because he didn’t have the necessary grit for war? No. If a heavy conscience was the price to save his crew and continue the war effort, that was what he was going to do. “Tell the rest of the fleet we’re heading back. We’ll stay behind until everyone jumps into FTL, and we’ll follow after them.”
“Yes, sir,” Mary replied, her fingers flying over the screen in front of her as she talked into her headset. “All remaining ships are engaging FTL drives.”
“Good, let’s do the same,” Jeryl nodded.
“Engaging FTL drive!” One of the ensigns shouted as Jeryl sank back into his seat. The dreadnought was closing in on them, and he was starting to get worried. One lucky shot before they jumped into FTL and it’d be all over.
“We won’t make it out in time, Captain,” Ashley told him, her face so pale Jeryl could swear all blood had left her body. “In a few seconds they’ll have the drop on us, and then...”
“Captain, I’m receiving a transmission from the Hirohito,” Mary Taylor cut Ashley short, her voice brimming with panic. “Their FTL drive has been damaged beyond repair. They won’t be able to make the jump.”
Abandoning a colony was one thing. But abandoning someone in a fleet he was commanding? He knew it was what he needed to do, but somehow Jeryl just couldn’t say it out loud. He simply stared at the viewscreen for two long seconds, watching as every remaining ship from the fleet jumped into FTL and vanished. Only The Seeker and Hirohito remained.
“We need to go, and we need to go now,” Ashley whispered, leaning into him. Jeryl barely listened to her. He just watched as the dreadnought’s cannons powered up again, and for a moment he felt as if time had stopped. He felt the blood grow cold inside his veins, and both his heart and lungs seemed to stop working.
“Take us out of here, Helm,” Jeryl finally commanded.
“It’s too late, sir, they’ve locked on to our coordinates!” One of the youngest ensigns cried out, panicking. It was true—ten more seconds and The Seeker’s hull would be pierced by the destructive particle beams, and there was little Jeryl could do to stop that.
“What the…?” He heard Ashley mutter behind him, and he looked back at her over his shoulder. Her eyes were focused on the sensors in her workstation, where blinking dots signaled the position of every starship in the sector. The moment Ashley noticed that Jeryl was looking at her, she patched her workstation to the view screen. A fraction of a second later and the sensors were superimposed on the screen.
“Is that…?” Jeryl started, but Ashley didn’t even let him finish.
“The Hirohito,” she nodded, watching as a blinking dot moved fast, closing in on the dreadnought. It was doing it so fast that there was simply no way they’d be able to avoid a collision.
“They’re going to sacrifice themselves so that we can leave,” Ashley muttered, her tone a somber one. Not a second after and Jeryl saw Hirohito on the viewscreen, its large shape moving toward the dreadnought at blinding speed. It happened fast; one hull hit the other, metal twisting fast, and then both the dreadnought and Hirohito seemed to implode.
The dreadnought was about to fire when the collision happened, and its particle beam cannon blew up from the inside out, a blinding white light taking over the view screen.
“Take us out of here. Now!” Jeryl shouted, jumping up from his seat. The crew of the Hirohito had sacrificed themselves so that everyone aboard Jeryl’s ship could live one more day. He wouldn’t allow that sacrifice to go to waste.
“Yes, sir!”
And then they were out of the Calendra system.
“Dead. All of them,” Ashley said as Jeryl simply looked down at the glass of whiskey in his hands, the amber liquid swirling around the glass. Even though they still hadn’t received any official confirmation, there was no doubt in Jeryl’s mind about what happened once they left the Calendra system. The Sonali unleashed their weapons and laid waste to each settlement on the planet, killing every single soul that wasn’t lucky enough to evacuate.
“I know,” he simply whispered back at her, slowly raising his eyes and looking into hers.
“We should’ve done more…” She whispered, and Jeryl noticed that her hands were trembling. Her hair was disheveled, and her lips were a thin line. Even though he trusted Ashley more than anyone else in The Seeker, he knew she was having trouble dealing with the consequences of everything that had happened.
“There was nothing we could’ve done,” Jeryl told her, setting the whiskey aside and going up to his feet. He walked around his desk and walked toward Ashley, stopping just a few feet away from her. Without even thinking of what he was doing, he raised one hand and tucked a stray lock of hair over her ear. “It’ll be alright. We survived. We’ll keep on fighting.”
“Promise me, Jeryl,” she whispered, her eyes never leaving his. “Promise me it’ll be alright.”
“I promise you, Ash. I promise you,” he told her. He shouldn’t be doing it, promising her the world like this, but he simply couldn’t help himself. If Ashley wanted him to promise, he’d do it, and he’d crush the whole Sonali Combine because of this promise. He wasn’t sure of much nowadays, but he always took his promises seriously.
Ashley didn’t reply. She just nodded, and then managed a weak smile, her lips slowly curling and revealing a hint of her pearly white teeth. Jeryl noticed the slight dimples in her cheeks, and for a moment he forgot all about war and death. For a second, he shut the whole galaxy out.
It was only him and her, the two of them alone in his quarters.
Before he knew it, their lips were locked.
Their kiss was all consuming. Thoughts of the brutal war raging around them took a back seat. All that existed for Jeryl was Ashley. The curve of her ass. The swell of her breasts against him. The feel of her skin on his.
He wanted her.
And looking into her eyes, she wanted him.
“Make me yours,” Ashley told him as Jeryl kissed her again.
This time he was the one obeying her commands.
Jeryl
When he woke up, Ashley’s naked body was against his, her head resting on his chest. He ran one hand through her hair and then pulled her close, breathing in deeply and allowing the memories of the night to flood his mind.
Just like when they were together in New Sydney, her body still felt like perfection. Closing his eyes, he ran his fingers down the side of her body, feeling her curves and the warmth of her skin.
“Ash,” he called her softly, and then he rested his lips against his forehead.
“I fell asleep,” she whispered, slowly rolling to her back as her eyes fluttered open.
“I know,” he replied, his lips shaping up into a lazy smile. It felt weird to be smiling. Just a few hours ago, millions of humans perished under the Sonali. An entire colony was glassed, and Jeryl’s fleet was beaten into a pulp. And still...just holding Ashley against him was enough to make him happy.
Maybe, Jeryl thought, it’s in the bleakest of times that you learn where to truly find joy.
“What time is it?” Ashley asked him, rubbing her eyes. She sat up on the bed, clutching the soft sheets against her naked breasts, and stifled a yawn.
“We’re not needed in the CNC for another hour,” he merely responded, secretly wishing for that hour to stretch endlessly. All he wanted was to stay here, in his bed, with Ashley by his side. In a sense, it was as if the horrors of war couldn’t get to him if he kept her in his arms. It was nothing more than an illusion, he knew, but he didn’t mind.
“Good,” she whispered, and then she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He draped one arm over her shoulders and pulled her close.
He had never seen himself as the kind of man who would fall in love. It was an almost alien concept to him, but now he saw himself rethinking his position. Whatever it was that he felt toward Ashley, it was more than just attraction. Sure, one look at her curves and he was ready to go, but it cut deeper than that. He wasn’t exactly sure what had changed between them, but he was certain something had definitely changed.
When the red glare of the emergency systems filled the CNC, when the whole ship seemed to rock, when death seemed to be knocking at their doors...all he could think about was Ashley. Sure, he thought of all the lives that depended on him, he thought of honor and duty, but Ashley was like the beacon that guided him home, a constant presence that guided every single one of his decisions.
“What are you thinking about, Jeryl?” She asked him, her voice soft and gentle. It reminded him of an easier time, a time where billions of lives didn’t hang in the balance. What he wouldn’t give to be back at The Oath in New Sidney, to be transported back in time and have all worry and torment banished from his mind.
“You,” he breathed out, that single word rolling out from between his lips before he could stop. “I’m thinkin’ of you, Ash,” he continued, turning his head around and looking straight into her eyes. She straightened up, her lips slightly parted, and blinked. He opened up into a smile and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. Leaning in, he closed his eyes and brushed his lips against hers.
She didn’t say a word. She simply returned his kiss, her lips eager to devour his. Soon enough their bodies became one, and passion and lust took over them. They possessed each other as if the world would end soon, their bodies and souls at each other’s mercy.
“I need you, Ash,” Jeryl breathed out, eyes locked on hers. “I need you by my side.”
“I’m right here,” she replied, a gentle moan falling from her parted lips as she said it. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”
He was still inside her when something took over him. It wasn’t passion, and it wasn’t lust. It was something much more powerful than all that, something over which he held no control.
It was love.
Jeryl lay silent for a long time.
“This isn’t how I pictured doing it,” he said to Ashley as she squinted her eyes. “Marry me,” he whispered against her lips, and then he held his breath as she looked back into his eyes. He never expected to say it like that, but the moment the words left his mouth he knew he was doing the right thing. He wanted Ashley by his side, and he’d hold her hand whatever happened.
“Yes,” she smiled, her voice so gentle that it made his heart ache. “I never expected something like this, but I’ve felt it since New Sydney. Yes, Jeryl, yes,” she repeated, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him against her, their bodies becoming one as they surrendered to the moment.
Through thick and thin, Jeryl thought to himself, I’ll always love you.
When Jeryl strolled into the CNC, all eyes were on him. Nodding back at his crew, he went straight to the captain’s chair and assumed his position, resting his elbows on the armrests.
“Go ahead,” he told Mary. She was the only one that kept standing, shifting her weight from one foot to the next.
“Sir,” she started, her voice fraught with tension. “We’ve received new orders from Armada Command. We’re needed at the Kalerian system. The Sonali have just attacked a farming colony, Kalera, and we need to protect one of the last convoys of refugees exiting the system. They’re two vessels and both of the transport ships have had their FTL drives damaged. We’re to escort them to the Nasser Station for repairs.”
“Understood,” he replied, leaning back against his seat. “What about the Sonali? Have they left the system?”
“No, sir. They’ve abandoned Kalera’s orbit, but they’ve been picking off all various targets in the system randomly. Most of the refugee ships have escaped, but this particular convoy is stranded. So far they’ve managed to avoid detection, but the Sonali will find them soon enough. They’re being pursued by a Sonali dreadnought.”
“Very well,” Jeryl nodded, ready to take charge. He wasn’t keen on taking his battered fleet against a Sonali dreadnought, but it wasn’t like he had a choice.
This was war, after all.
“Patch me to the rest of the fleet. We’ll coordinate and make the jump into the Kalerian system fast.”
“Sir,” Mary said, the nervousness in her voice growing with each passing second. “The orders we’ve received apply to The Seeker alone. The rest of the flotilla has been told to head straight to Davos Station.”
“That can’t be right,” Jeryl muttered, gripping the armrest tight. What was Command thinking? How was The Seeker alone supposed to stop a Sonali dreadnought?
“Command is expecting an assault on a nearby colony,” Mary replied, sounding as if she was trying to excuse the cadre of Admirals in charge of operations. It made sense; if Command was expecting a Sonali offensive, they couldn’t send a whole flotilla to protect two transport ships. Still, Jeryl didn’t like the idea of heading out by himself. But these were his orders.
“Very well,” he sighed, slowly going up to his feet. “Helm, plot course for the Kalerian system.”
“On it, Captain! One minute for us to enter FTL 5, and then 30 minutes for us to reach the Kalerian system. We already have the transport’s coordinates locked in.”
“This isn’t good,” Jeryl heard Ashley say from behind him. He turned around to look at her, and found himself smiling.
“It’ll be okay,” he told her, even though he wasn’t sure if anything would ever be okay. War had a way of destroying everything, and all he knew was that, with Ashley by his side, he was ready to take on the universe.
“It’ll be okay,” she repeated after him, her lips slowly curling into an hidden smile.
Half an hour later and they jumped out of FTL. The Seeker’s shadow projected onto the two large transport ships that floated in space as if they had been abandoned. In an attempt to deceive the Sonali and avoid their sensors, they had disabled all non-essential systems and allowed the ships to simply drift in space till help arrived.
“Sir, The Archimedes is trying to reach us,” Mary said over the loud chatter of the CNC personnel, referring to the biggest of the transports.
“Patch them through.”
A second later and a figure took over the viewscreen in the CNC. It was the figure of a man in his fifties, his grey hair disheveled, and the wrinkles in his forehead cutting so deep it almost seemed the man had been slashed by a butcher’s knife.
“My name is John Kaneta, and I’m the Archimedes’ Captain,” he said fast, sounding as if he was out of breath. “Thank you for coming, Seeker. We’ve been stuck here for hours.”
“I’m Captain Jeryl Montgomery,” Jeryl introduced himself, more than ready to do without all the peasantries and get down to business. “How many aboard The Archimedes?”
“Ten thousand, sir. And five thousand more aboard The Red Sun,” Captain Kaneta replied, his speech short and clipped. “We’ve managed to escape Kalera while the battle was taking place, but our sensors picked up a Sonali dreadnought in pursuit. We got a few hits while in orbit, and our FTL drives are ruined.”
“What about sub light drive?” Jeryl asked, his eyes trained on the sensors panel; although that was the last thing he wanted, he expected to see a Sonali ship there anytime soon.
“The engines can take sub light drive,” Kaneta replies, and the lines on his forehead deepened some more. “We just didn’t want to risk it with the dreadnought on our trail. We’d be easy pickings without an escort.”
“Very well. We’ll escort you out of the Kalerian system, and take you toward the Nasser Station for repairs. Two days, at the most, and we’ll get there.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Kaneta said, a tone of relief on his voice. “We’d be lost without—”
“Sir!” One of the Ensigns shouted, going up to his feet so fast that Jeryl could almost swear he heard the young man’s knees pop. “There are seven Sonali ships heading toward us!”
“Seven? Are you sure?” Jeryl asked, and then cut off the communication channel to The Archimedes as he saw Kaneta’s face grow pale, panic taking over the man’s eyes.
“Positive, Sir. The dreadnought and six frigates as support,” the Ensign replied, looking at his Captain with a panicked expression. He knew, just as Jeryl did, that there was no way The Seeker could stand a chance against those numbers, especially after all the damage suffered during their last face-off with the Sonali.
Looking back over his shoulder at Ashley, Jeryl saw the tension in her face. The Sonali had them backed against the wall, and that had been done on purpose. The only reason the Sonali hadn’t laid waste to both The Archimedes and The Red Sun was because they were setting a trap. They knew that the Armada would send a military vessel to escort the civilian ships out of the system, and that was exactly what they wanted. Now The Seeker was at the mercy of a dreadnought and six frigates.
“How long till they reach us?”
“Two minutes, Sir.”
Battle stations, everyone, Jeryl wanted to say, but the words died in his throat. That was suicide, plain and simple.
“Patch me in to The Archimedes and The Red Sun, Mary,” Jeryl commanded, the palm of his hands growing sleek with sweat. The moment Mary opened the comms channel, Jeryl didn’t wait for the two civilian captains to speak.
“There’s one Sonali dreadnought and six frigates heading toward us,” he started, each word feeling like a sharp knife cutting through his throat. “We’ve sustained heavy damage during our last conflict, and we don’t have the necessary firepower to stand against the Sonali.”
“You’re abandoning us,” Kaneta whispered, his unblinking eyes brimming with disbelief. “We’ll die...all of us!” He continued, his voice trembling as he realized the only decision Jeryl could take.
“Try and establish contact with the Sonali, negotiate a surrender,” Jeryl said, trying to speak over The Archimedes’ captain.
“The Sonali don’t negotiate,” the man said through gritted teeth, his eyes focused on Jeryl. Now, more than disbelief, there was anger in his tone. “We’re dead, and you know it.”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Jeryl whispered, and without another word he flicked a button on the panel on his chair, cutting off the comm channel.
“We can’t abandon them,” Ashley whispered behind him, and Jeryl lowered his head.
“We have to. If we don’t...it’s all over for us. Even if we had two more ships with us, and if we were operating in full, I doubt we could go against seven ships.”
Ashley’s only reply was silence. Even though she didn’t want to admit it, their only option was to run. Once more.
Is that the only thing we’re good at? Running for our lives? Jeryl thought to himself, and then he simply forced all these thoughts to a dark corner in his mind. He stood up and commanded Engineering to power up the FTL drive.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in a somber tone, looking at the two transport ships on the viewscreen. He was condemning more than fifteen thousand souls to their doom, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“It’ll be okay,” Ashley whispered, laying one hand on his shoulder and squeezing tight. “It’ll be okay.”
Nodding at Ashley, Jeryl then faced forward and sucked in a deep breath. “Take us out of here,” he commanded, and a few seconds later he felt the thrumming of the FTL drive deep in his bones.
That and the cries of fifteen thousand lives.
Jeryl
“Coming out of FTL now, sir,” the young ensign at the helm called out to Jeryl.
The mood was one of despair in CNC. The Seeker, one of the most cutting edge frigates of the Terran Armada was a defeated ship. For over three hours they had been cruising through Terran space away from the memory of abandoning countless thousands of refugees to die and Jeryl felt the morale of the entire crew sink to nothingness.
Technically, there was nothing that could have been done. Armada War Policy had been clear upon transmission of the orders. If pursued by the Sonali, make best course away from the site. Above all, do not engage the enemy. They had given Jeryl license to be a coward, and he had taken it.
“We should be coming in range of the Truman Colony once we get into the system,” Ashley called out from her station.
“Signal them as soon as we’re in range,” Jeryl replied. “Let them know that we need repairs and transmit the Armada codes so they know who to bill.”
Truman Colony was a sleepy backwater colony at the edge of the Edoris Sector. Until recently, it had largely been forgotten by the Terran Armada, and was only on the star charts of a few corporations that carried out mining operations on the planet.
But less than two months ago, the colony had been completely transformed. The population had exploded from a sleepy 30,000 people to one of at least 250,000 residents who worked in never ending shifts to provide assistance to Armada ships that came in for repairs. Several years ago, the colony had put up a working spacedock in the hopes of serving as a transport hub for the region. It was 50 light years from Edoris Station and the hope was that it would one day serve as an important trade depot. Similar to many of the ways that New Washington had developed.
That was when this sector of space was the frontier, Jeryl thought grimly to himself. Now the frontier had turned into a war zone, with a bloodthirsty enemy on the other side.
Jeryl had ordered the ship to make its way to Truman Colony. This was somewhat of an impromptu stop. A part of him didn’t feel comfortable until they were at least decently repaired and battle ready. Afterwards, they would head to Davos II and get assigned to the next hot spot.
Gotta keep those engines running so we can run away faster than everyone. Jeryl thought to himself. That’s what we’re good for anyways.
“I’m hailing the Truman Colony but not getting any response yet,” Ashley called out. Jeryl could tell that she was trying her best to keep busy. To keep her mind off of the events that had occurred the last few days.
It was a dangerous way to operate a starship during a time of war when the First Officer was running communications in an effort to keep her mind occupied from thinking.
“Keep trying,” Jeryl instructed. “Helm, take us to the planet. Maximum sub-light.”
Jeryl thought he could feel the ship moving faster through the system as he saw the various phenomena of the system pass him by.
“This is odd, Captain,” Jeryl heard from Tactical. “There is almost zero slipstream activity from Truman Colony. Nothing from the spacedock.”
Jeryl had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach upon hearing that.
It could only mean one thing.
Then, the planet began to appear on the viewscreen. His worst fears were confirmed.
Captain Jeryl Montgomery got up from his chair to view the carnage that was displayed out in front of him.
The Truman Colony spacedock, built with great ambitions, was destroyed. A broken, burning hulk of twisted metal and polymers. Drifting in a deteriorating orbit around the planet.
“Oh my god,” Jeryl heard Ashley say behind him as he focused on the planet. The atmosphere looked burnt as multiple fires blanketed the southern continent where the main settlements were.
“That’s why they haven’t been responding,” Jeryl muttered. “They’d been attacked.”
It saddened and frightened Jeryl to see the Sonali war machine strike so far into the sector. What would be next?
Edoris Station? Davos II? New Washington? New Sydney?
Earth?
How far would this war go? How bad had it truly gotten that Truman Colony was wiped off the galactic map and no one in Armada Command even knew about it at this point? Where were the rescue vessels? Where was the counterattack? There was almost zero communication to The Seeker at this point from Armada Command after the disastrous rescue attempt earlier.
How far had the Sonali struck?
Was this the end of humanity?
“Commander,” Jeryl croaked to Ashley. “Scan for survivors on the planet and on the station.”
Jeryl heard Ashley moving to her console. He couldn’t help himself as he gave the final order.
“And prepare a shuttle,” he said. “We’re going down.”
Jeryl looked at the twisted and charred landscape of what had been Truman Colony. While it was never a natural paradise like New Sydney or Elysium as it was a mining colony after all, any natural beauty that the place had was ruined. The ground was charred. The trees were burning. The water was acidified, if not vaporized.
A security detail came walking back from the charred remains of what used to be a town.
Jeryl and two security teams had taken a shuttle and landed right outside one of the largest settlements.
“No survivors that we could scan or see, sir,” the team leader said and Jeryl shook his head in dismay.
This war had gone on far too long. It had cost too many lives. Even if Truman Colony was a small and isolated outpost, the fact that they had been casually destroyed as such was jarring.
Jeryl bent to his knees and gathered a handful of dirt. What had once sustained life on this planet was now dust.
There was a line that had been crossed somehow. And it was time to strike back.
“This must end,” he said to his team. “We can’t go on like this.”
There was silence as everyone watched their captain.
“This will end. I swear it.”
After a while, Jeryl got up. The team walked to the shuttle and took off.
But the people who left the planet were now vastly different from the people who had landed.
Including the Captain.
Ashley
Thirty.
It was a number that stood for the number of months that the conflict, what was being called The Earth-Sonali War had gone on for. Countless worlds and colonies had been razed to the ground and glassed from the sky. Billions of people were killed. Many tens of billions more were displaced. All by a faceless, alien enemy that lacked any sort of compassion.
Two.
That was the number of Sonali dreadnoughts engaged by a fleet of Terran Armada frigates on the outskirts of the Goncalo Cluster towards the first year of the war. The Goncalo Cluster held two systems that held a total of three billion Terran Union citizens and represented the farthest into the Inner Core worlds of the Terran Union that isolated Sonali attacks had penetrated.
The Terran Armada, reeling from a year of defeat, realized that this was more than a far off war on the border at this point. By taking control of the Goncalo Cluster, the Sonali would be able to mount attacks against several Inner Core worlds and be within position to start to threaten Earth.
What added insult to injury for the Terran Union was the fact that the Sonali Combine had sent just two ships. Granted, these were massive super ships, double the size of a Sonali dreadnought. The Sonali ships, The Malai and the Gre’nai took the entire fleet of fifteen frigates and held them at bay for hours. Ten frigates were destroyed before the Sonali ships were dispatched but the losses negated the victory that the Terran Union claimed at the conclusion of the campaign. But for the first time, every single person in the Terran Armada, from the Commander-In-Chief to the newest class of Ensigns realized that this war was no longer about The Mariner.
It was now about the future of the human race.
Eight.
The number of conspirators among the senior staff of the TUS Terror who plotted mutiny and to overthrow the Captain of the ship. The Terror had engaged the Sonali at Azukene colony among other vessels. The Sonali were threatening the colony and preparing to eradicate the settlements on the main continent when the Terran fleet intercepted them.
The Sonali fleet, following prior engagements were able to neutralize the Terran ships with ease. To prevent the loss of the colony, and to slow the Sonali advance, the captain of Terror ordered for her ship to ram the Sonali dreadnought, in about the only tactic that the Terran Union had come up with that was able to destroy the massive Sonali vessels.
However in this instance, the crew, already demoralized and defeated from multiple engagements that resulted in retreats and falling back, were not prepared to sacrifice their lives when they felt that it would have no bearing on whether the colonists lived or died.
They rose up in a unanimous mutiny against the captain and dispatched their ships logs via slipstream to mimic the destruction of the ship. The Sonali went on to destroy all life on the Azukene Colony.
Thirty-two.
The percentage decrease in food that was sent to colonies that were not self-sufficient. While farming colonies continued to eat well, major urban centers that imported their food felt the pain. At heart of the problem was that there were a smaller number of worlds producing the food for people to eat. As food supply decreased, the energy requirements and thus the credit payment prices for matter sequensor-sourced food became higher. For the first time in over two hundred years, pockets of humanity across the Terran Union went hungry or starved.
Sixteen million.
The number of people who voluntarily joined the Terran Armada during the first year of the Earth-Sonali War. Most went into the ranks of enlisted while a small fraction joined the Academy. Many more deferred or came back from their retirement as well. Patriotic fervor swept through the Terran Union at first. But as time went on, patriotic fervor gave way to another emotion.
Fear.
Fear for the future of humanity. Fear for what the homefront was turning into. Fear for the future. In popular culture and in the collective fabric of the Terran Union, the struggle with the Sonali went from a disastrous first contact war to a battle for survival.
Fifty-five.
The number of admirals who had raced to the Mars Research and Development Laboratories operated by the Terran Armada once the TUS Shrike had brought back a damaged, but otherwise intact, Sonali frigate into the Terran Union. The recovery of the enemy ship gave the first real hope that the Terran Union would survive the destructive conflict that was engulfing much of its border.
Ten.
The number of ships that engaged the Sonali in the first month of the second year of the war. Unlike prior encounters with Sonali fleets, the Terran Armada was now equipped with prototype weapons that gave them an edge based on rapid reverse engineering of the Sonali systems from The Shrike’s find. The losses, while still significant, allowed the Terran Armada to drive away the Sonali fleet in the orbit of Gallica Prime, saving the 120,000 residents below.
For the first time during the course of the struggle, the Terran Union breathed a sigh of relief. The nonstop research and development as well as re-engineering of Sonali technology had finally began to bear fruit—and even if the Armada was not ready to carry the attack to the enemy, they were starting to get things aligned in order to repel them.
Seventeen.
The number of months following the start of the war that the Terran Armada launched its first real counteroffensive against the Sonali Combine. The goal was simple. Burst into Sonali space, engage the enemy as little as possible, destroy a major trade hub near the border of the Sonali Combine and Terran Union, and then retreat back to Terran space before reinforcements arrived.
The nature of the mission was to strike hard and fast and use the element of surprise. Terran Armada strategists, sitting in Vancouver, knew that no matter how many retrofits their ships went through, they were not ready for a full on slugfest with the enemy.
The attack was carried out with utmost secrecy and was successful. It resulted in the destruction of ten Sonali ships, a Sonali space station...and a civilian colony with approximately 300,000 lives.
Six.
The number of years that Armada Intelligence believed that the Terran Union would be able to continue the war with the Sonali Combine. The analysts in charge of making this prediction took into account every variable that they believed was realistic.
They accounted for the fact that Sonali technology would be reverse engineered and that the Terran Armada would begin to win victories against the Sonali. They accounted for the fact that both sides would evolve their warfare. They even accounted for the unconventional tactics that both sides would one day use—tactics that by the beginning of the third year of the war were beginning to be tested—from Sonali death drops to Terran use of FTL mines.
Armada Intelligence extrapolated a scenario where the combined cost of the war would lead to the gradual erosion of the Terran Armada to maintain law and order across the vast expanse of its space. As resources began to be drained, outside involvement by one of the newly discovered alien races or by the Outer Colonies (also known as the Human Confederation) would become more likely.
The population, long used to a constitutional republic that was free of any sort of state-sanctioned rationing would begin to become restive. And slow loss of oversight among the far flung colonies would eventually lead to another schism, whereby colonies would attempt to preserve their existence based on their self-interest.
Armada Intelligence believed that after six years of war, at the current levels, the Terran Union would become ungovernable. This lack of coordination on the homefront would lead to a situation where less materiel would be collected and allocated to fighting the alien threat. This would lead to further losses, and defeat would spur colonies to seriously consider going their own way. Major urban centers such as New Washington would find a rationale for negotiating a separate peace with the Sonali Combine. And this would lead to the gradual but eventual dissolution of the authority of the Terran Union.
Which would ultimately lead to defeat.
The study from Armada Intelligence did not suggest any recommendations. But it set off a flurry of activity in the highest levels of the Terran Union. The Terran Armada’s pleas for resources were given top priority. The rebuilding of Earth was placed on hold. Constitutional freedoms were curtailed. Corporations were given broad autonomy and endless streams of revenue to contribute in the war effort.
Within a month, it resulted in a shift in thinking. And a new offensive began to take shape among the Admiralty.
Jeryl
“Two minutes ‘til we reach orbit, Captain.”
Jeryl nodded at his helmsman and then pressed a button on his chair’s panel to talk to the entire ship. “All hands, this is Captain Montgomery. We’ll reach Oriane’s orbit in two minutes. Keep sharp—the Sonali will be waiting.”
With that, he cut off the comm’s channel and leaned back against his seat, his eyes trained on the viewscreen.
Even though he couldn’t help the deep seated anxiety that always took over him whenever they geared up for battle, this time he actually felt confident.
After three years of fighting the Sonali all over the galaxy, the enemy was no longer a mysterious force they had no idea how to deal with. They had shed tears and blood over the years, but the Terran Armada had managed to fight back. Through the use of sheer force and covert operations, they slowly lifted the veil that kept Sonali operations from view, and now they knew how to fight...and win.
More than that, The Seeker had been retrofitted into the perfect war machine. Combining the best engineering from both the Sonali and human side, billions of credits had been poured into upgrading the Terran Armada fleet. Despite The Seeker’s track record which includes a staggering amount of losses and retreats throughout the first years of the war, Jeryl’s command abilities had managed to convince the higher-ups in the Armada to make one of the first investments in The Seeker.
Jeryl smiled to himself as he felt the FTL drive slowly power down. In a few seconds, The Seeker would enter Oriane’s orbit, a small research colony on the Sonali-Terran border, and the Sonali would have to contend with a whole battalion hell-bent on grinding them into dust.
Oriane wasn’t exactly a high-priority target—it was nothing more than a colony used by the Sonali to conduct military research. But the Armada wanted to send a message. And so The Seeker had been tasked with destroying the fleet protecting the colony and glassing the whole planet.
Fear us, Jeryl thought to himself, fully knowing that the Sonali whispered his ship’s name with dread.
Sure, The Seeker suffered countless losses in the first few years of the war, but Jeryl made sure the Sonali paid for every shot fired against the hull of his ship. He couldn’t even remember how many dreadnoughts and frigates he had managed to destroy during the past few months—they were too many to count. And the colonies too. Under Jeryl’s command, more than a dozen colonies had been turned into an inhabitable hell hole. How many Sonali lives would Jeryl have to respond for in the afterlife? He didn’t know the answer for that, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he cared.
War was hell, and Jeryl had embraced his role as the Devil.
“Five seconds, Captain!” The helmsman announced, and Jeryl noticed his anxious tone. The red glare of the emergency lights was already covering every wall in the CNC, and even the viewscreen colors were more vibrant and urgent. Every officer around Jeryl looked tense and nervous, but they all seemed more ready to do their job. Years of war had carved them into ruthless operators, and Jeryl knew he could trust every single one of them to carry out his orders.
“Three, two, one!” The moment the helmsman’s countdown was finished, The Seeker rocked slightly and then the Sonali colony filled the viewscreen.
It was a small planet, roughly twice as big as Earth’s moon, and its atmosphere had it painted in pinkish tones. According to The Seeker’s sensors, eight dreadnoughts and 46 frigates orbited the colony. That was enough to protect it from an Armada small incursion, but definitely not a match for the upgraded The Seeker and its accompanying battalion of twelve warships and 50 terran frigates.
“They’re assuming battle formation,” one of the Ensigns shouted, and Jeryl nodded quietly. He didn’t even need to open a comm channel to the rest of his battalion—everyone had already been briefed about what they needed to do. It was now only a matter of going through the motions.
“Lock weapons on the closest dreadnought,” Jeryl commanded as The Seeker advanced through space steadily, closing the distance between her and the Sonali fleet.
“Weapons locked and ready,” Ashley announced as she exchanged a quick confident glance with Jeryl. Even though they tried their best to keep their relationship a secret, it was getting harder and harder to keep it on the downlow. In fact, Jeryl was sure that everyone in CNC knew they were an item—after all, the glances they traded all the time were a dead giveaway that there was something going on between the two of them.
And so what? Jeryl thought to himself. We’ll be married soon enough, anyway.
“As soon as they’re within range, fire away,” he commanded, trying to keep his mind on the issue at hand. It would do him no good to keep Ashley’s smile floating behind his eyes while he should be focused on bringing down the Sonali fleet orbiting Oriane.
A few seconds later and The Seeker’s particle beams cut through the empty space and found their resting place on the dreadnought’s hull. The hulking spaceship didn’t even move as The Seeker fired. Sonali intelligence probably wasn’t aware of The Seeker’s upgrade, and as such they weren’t ready for its superior firepower. The dreadnought’s shield lit up the space around it for a brief moment, but it didn’t help much. Jeryl could already see a gaping hole in the Sonali spaceship, and he saw as it started falling back in formation.
“Fire again,” he commanded, deciding not to allow the dreadnought to escape. Three Sonali frigates were already flanking the dreadnought, but one more clean hit and it’d go down.
“Their weapons are locked on us, Sir!” One of the Ensigns announced nervously, but Jeryl simply kept quiet.
A moment later and The Seeker was already firing away, three particle beams hitting the dreadnought on the side. The frigates that were flanking it floated away from it, and Jeryl took that as a good sign. They had probably hit their FTL engines bad, which meant that the dreadnought was nothing more than a bomb about to go off.
“They’ve lost their weapons—” Ashley started to say, but her sentence was cut short as raging blue flames devoured the dreadnought from the inside out, its hull collapsing like a sandcastle.
“One down,” Jeryl muttered to himself, and then he looked down at the sensor screen. Sonali fighters were already trying to swarm the Terran frigates, but the new evasive maneuvers that had been developed by the Terran Armada’s best strategists were already paying off. Instead of inflicting any damage, the Sonali fighters were being picked off one by one, swatted down like annoying flies. Jeryl’s battalion had already downed 12 Sonali frigates, and that without suffering any losses.
The next two minutes went by in the blink of an eye.
The Seeker fell back into formation and, assuming a wall formation with the other 12 warships, they kept advancing on the Sonali and firing away until Oriane’s orbit was cluttered with debris. Dead ships floated down onto the planet, their lights out, and Jeryl couldn’t hide his satisfaction. After being beaten down for so long, it felt good to be able to hand out some punishment in return.
“Thye’re engaging their FTL drives,” Ashley whispered. “We’ve won the day.” Her eyes were focused on Jeryl’s monitor as, one by one, the remaining Sonali ships pulled back from combat and jumped into FTL, their enormous shapes vanishing in the blink of an eye.
“What’s our status?” Jeryl asked her.
“Aside from minor damages, all warships remain ready and operational. The Seeker has received no hits. We only lost two frigates to the Sonali,” she announced, reading the information on her own monitor.
“Very well,” Jeryl barked, going up to his feet. He was feeling happy about the victory, but he didn’t want to sound to gleeful—after all, they’d lost two frigate crews to the Sonali. Even if they had scored a victory and inflicted major losses, losing two frigates meant that a lot of families across the galaxy would be receiving folded Terran flags.
“Send orders for the rest of the fleet to align,” he continued, now turning to the comms officer, Mary Taylor. “We’re going to end the job and then get the hell out of here before they send reinforcements.”
“Already done, Sir,” Mary replied briskly.
“Sir, there’s something you should know,” one of the Ensigns in charge of both the ship’s sensors and scanners said, jumping up from his seat and turning to face Jeryl.
“Go ahead.”
“Our scanners have detected more signs of life than Armada Intelligence led us to believe,” the young man replied nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stared at Jeryl.
“Go on.”
“We were to believe that the research facilities on Oriane housed no more than 50 thousand Sonali, but our scanners indicate that at least two million Sonali inhabit this colony.”
“Two million?” Jeryl whispered to himself. Maybe Oriane wasn’t that unimportant of a target after all. If a research colony had that many Sonali living in there, it meant they were probably pouring a lot of their resources into it.
“The battalion is aligned and ready to proceed, Sir,” Mary announced. Jeryl looked at the viewscreen in silence, watching as dozen of hulls aligned in Oriane’s orbit, The Seeker right in the middle of the line.
“Very well. Proceed,” he commanded, and then sank down into his seat as the plasma cannons started firing down onto Oriane, the beams lighting up the cold space as they slashed down the atmosphere and hit the stony ground thousands of kilometers below The Seeker.
Two million dead in just a few seconds.
No more running, he mused to himself as he saw the planet burning under him.
Jeryl
“One more for the road,” Jeryl whispered as he poured another shot of whiskey. He wasn’t the kind of man to drink during service, but he figured he needed a drink after cutting short the lives of more than two million Sonali.
Throwing his head back, he downed the whiskey fast and then slammed the glass on top of his Captain’s desk, the amber liquid burning down his throat. He looked at the bottle for a few seconds—just a cheap import from a hidden corner in Terran territory—and then closed his eyes.
He tried to peer down into the well of his own heart, but the darkness inside it stopped him from doing it. After glassing a whole planet, he knew he should be feeling...something. But all he felt was a corrosive numbness that stripped every emotion away from him. Two million, two billion...it was all the same to him. He’d follow his orders, kill and destroy everything in his path, and see this war through.
“Captain!” He heard a familiar voice blare through his comms. “We need you here”
“On my way,” he responded automatically, and then jumped up to his feet. He pushed the empty glass to a far side of his desk and then put the cork back on the bottle. Straightening his uniform jacket, he then marched out of his private office.
“What’s the situation?” He asked Ashley as he strolled into the CNC, his eyes going straight for the blinking light on the viewscreen. There was an unidentified ship travelling at sub light drive speed trying to escape Oriane’s orbit. “Sonali?”
“Yes,” Ashley responded, tapping a few buttons on her console. “No weapons systems, though. It looks like it’s a civilian transport. It was probably already in orbit when we glassed the colony, and it kept itself hidden until now.”
“We’ve got survivors, then,” Jeryl muttered, remembering his orders: No Sonali shall leave the planet. We can’t risk whatever information or technology they’ve been developing at the Oriane colony to find its way into Sonali command.
“We do. I don’t think they’re aware we’ve detected them. It looks like they’re trying to go for one of the moons. If they have any hidden emergency base there, they’ll probably try and wait us out there.”
“Let’s make ourselves known then,” he said, raising his voice so that everyone in CNC could hear him. Taking his place in the Captain’s chair, he looked at the sensors in his private console and delineated a plan. “Tell Burning Fist and Black Flag to intercept the Sonali vessel,” he told Mary Taylor, and the comms officer got to work immediately, repeating Jeryl’s orders into her headset.
Thirty seconds later and the two warships broke formation, engaged their sub light drive engines and set on an interception course with the Sonali transport.
“They’ve seen us,” Mary Taylor said. “And now they’re hailing us.”
“They want to talk? That’s a first,” Jeryl replied suppressing down a laugh. The Sonali were known for their constant refusal of any communication attempts, and it was almost ironic that some beaten down ship in the middle of nowhere would be the one to try and establish a dialogue. “Patch them in.”
“Yes, sir,” Mary responded, tapping a button on her console; images of the Sonali transport in the distance were replaced by the live feed of a Sonali wearing a civilian Sonali uniform. Jeryl was more used to their military garb, but he had dealt with enough civilian Sonali to recognize their specific uniforms.
“Greetings, Captain Jeryl Montgomery,” the Sonali said, The Seeker’s AI translating his speech in real time. “I am Legate Gorsak, and I am the one commanding The Urd,” he continued, referring to his transport ship.
Even this guy knows my name, Jeryl thought. It wasn’t that much of a surprise, if he was being honest. The Seeker had a reputation among the Sonali, and that reputation was impressive enough for the Sonali to know the name of its captain.
“How many aboard your vessel?” Jeryl asked the Sonali legate, not bothering with niceties.
“120 of us,” Gorsak replied in a heartbeat. “We’re nothing but maintenance engineers. We were doing routine maintenance on an orbiting station when you attacked the planet, and that’s why we survived. All we want is for you to let us through. We just want to survive.”
“Don’t we all?” Jeryl asked, a hard edge to his words. The Sonali could be telling the truth, but somehow Jeryl didn’t buy it; he had seen enough civilian Sonali ships, and the one trying to outrun the warships Jeryl had sent in pursuit was too sleek and fast for a ship doing transport runs between the planet and the stations orbiting it.
“Please, just let us through,” the Sonali legate insisted.
“Burning Fist, Black Flag,” Jeryl started, opening a separate comm channel. As he spoke, his eyes never left Gorsak’s. “Do you have the Sonali vessel within range?”
“Yes, sir,” the two captains of the Terran warships answered in unison. “I can disable their engines, and we can capture them easily,” the Black Flag’s captain answered. All the while, Jeryl kept his comm channel with Gorsak open, making sure that the Sonali legate was listening to each and every word.
“It’s pretty straightforward, Legate Gorsak,” Jeryl said, turning his attention to the Sonali, “Surrender and prepare yourself to be boarded.”
“All we want is to leave the system!” Gorsak protested, and Jeryl noticed how nervous he was. Even though the Sonali weren’t as expressive as humans, he felt confident enough in his appraisal of their emotions—Legate Gorsak was hiding something.
“And that won’t happen,” Jeryl continued. He was about to tell Gorsak to surrender again when the Sonali cut down the comm channel and the viewscreen went dark.
“Do I have clearance to engage?” The Black Flag’s captain asked Jeryl. “We can have them captured in thirty minutes. All we need to do is—”
“No,” Jeryl said, cutting the other man short. “Light them up.”
“Sir?”
“Their sub light drive engines are revving up. They’re going to try and escape. I don’t want to risk it. Destroy them,” Jeryl commanded, his voice terse. His words didn’t even sound true to his own ears—he knew they could capture the Sonali transport easily, so why was he so quick in his decision to destroy them?
Because that’s what I've become, he thought to himself. I’ve become a cold-blooded killer.
“You have your orders,” Jeryl said for the last time, and then he shut down his comms. Sitting on the captain’s chair, he just stared at the viewscreen and watched as the two Terran warships closed the distance between them and the Sonali vessel. As soon as the transport ship was in range, both the Black Flag and the Burning Fist fired; their particle beams lit up the darkness of space for a moment, and Jeryl held his breath as he watched the Sonali ship be cut in half, huge chunks of twisted metal separating from the ship’s hull and floating aimlessly.
“We could’ve captured them,” Ashley said. She was standing by his side, her vacant gaze locked on the viewscreen.
“We could’ve,” Jeryl replied, “but we didn’t.”
Jeryl
“Captain Handsome,” Ashley laughed, one hand on Jeryl’s shoulder as she looked at him with an appraising look. He was wearing his white ceremonial uniform, cap and all, and he was feeling as comfortable in it as a mouse trapped in a bucket full of boiling water.
“I hate it,” he sighed as he looked in the mirror once more. Although he loved the Armada and the life in the military, he never enjoyed the ceremonial aspect of it. More often than not, he saw it for what it really was—sugarcoating the brutality of war.
“Don’t look so gloomy. They’re all gathered here because of you,” Ashley replied, straightening his tie and patting his chest. “Besides, it feels good to be back on Earth, even if just for a couple of hours.”
That much was true; Jeryl didn’t remember the last time he had set foot on Earth. He just wished it was under a different set of circumstances. It couldn’t be helped, though—after what happened in Oriane’s orbit where he downed a Sonali transport ship, the Armada had awarded him a commendation. Despite Jeryl’s protests, they had insisted on a ceremony—it’d help morale, the politicians insisted.
Jeryl didn’t give a shit about morale. He had a war to worry about, and he doubted medals and parades would help him do that. Especially when they were being awarded based on nothing but pure luck.
Back then, Jeryl didn’t know it, but aboard the Sonali transport ship that his battalion destroyed was one of the most important Legates in the Sonali war effort. Apparently, he was there to follow-up on the latest weapons research being conducted at the colony; he was leaving right when The Seeker’s battalion entered orbit, and luck wasn’t on his side. The moment The Seeker’s sensors picked up the transport, he was done.
Still, it had been nothing more than a blind stroke of luck. Jeryl had no idea that there was someone important aboard the Sonali ship—at the time, all he wanted was to follow his orders and make sure no survivors left the colony alive. Even if that meant destroying an apparently harmless transport ship and killing everyone aboard.
“Just get it done, Jeryl,” Ashley told him, going on her tiptoes and brushing her velvety lips against his. He rested his hands on her hips and pulled her close, the warmth of her body stirring something deep inside him. If he could, he’d spend the time he had allotted for the ceremony doing something way more interesting than being paraded around like a horse.
“You’re right, Ash,” he whispered against her lips. “Let’s get this over with.” With that, he strolled out of his private quarters and made his way through the maze of corridors inside The Seeker. They had landed in one of the largest landing pads on Earth, one so large it could house a small town, and the whole place had been transformed into a ceremonial arena.
There were enough seats for a crowd of about two thousand people, and the VIP ones were reserved for the Terran Union President, a select cadre of Senators, and whoever Admirals were on Earth at the time.
The moment Jeryl emerged outside, the whole crowd jumped up to their feet and started clapping their hands, the sound of it thunderous and overwhelming. With his head held high, Jeryl marched out of The Seeker, his senior officers trailing behind him, and made his way toward the stage that faced the crowd. As he walked up the steps, he realized that his heartbeat was picking up the pace; suddenly, all he wished was to be sitting in his captain’s chair in The Seeker somewhere deep in some uncharted area of space.
That was where he belonged, not here.
Just follow the damn protocol, Jeryl thought. This whole bullshit will be over soon.
Obeying his own thoughts, he quickly climbed up the steps that led into the stage and took his position behind the raised stand. He took in the hundreds of people sitting in front of him, most of them much more important than a simple captain, and then he cleared his throat. He took a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and started reading through it, the words coming out of his mouth wooden and stilted.
No one cared.
Jeryl looked the part of the war hero—square jaw, confident stare—and that was all that mattered. He knew that some of the Senators were eager to show the populace how the war seemed to be turning, and they felt that parading Jeryl around and pinning a medal on his chest was the perfect way to go about something like that.
“Congratulations, Captain Montgomery,” the President said as soon as Jeryl finished his dry speech. He stood there, on top the platform from which he had delivered his speech, and waited patiently as the Union President pinned a medal on his chest.
“Thank you for everything you’ve been doing out there, Captain,” the President said, addressing Jeryl directly. “We all sleep better at night knowing you’re out there.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jeryl replied. He knew the President was just doing his old politician routine. For politicians, words and appearances were their pillars...but Jeryl knew better. Out there in space, only one thing mattered—guts.
“You know we’re screwed, right?” Admiral Flynn whispered into Jeryl’s ear the moment he assumed his position next to The Seeker’s captain, right before the President as the man addressed the crowd.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jeryl asked between gritted teeth, even though he already had an idea what the answer would be.
“They’re not going to sit still after this,” Admiral Flynn continued. “The Legate you killed had a lot of political clout, and now that he’s dead...well, there are a lot of Sonali asking for swift revenge.”
“Why don’t they come and take it then?” As he said it, Jeryl dug his fingernails into the palm of his hands. Lately, he was always itching for a fight—all he wanted was to keep running through Sonali fleets like a hot knife through butter.
“Do you think they’ll just come after you, Jeryl? They will, sure...but they’ll also take their frustration out on all the defenseless colonies we have spread around the galaxy. A lot of lives will be lost because you made a call. Not that I’m judging you, son,” the Admiral added quickly. “I would have done the same.”
“Will it ever stop?” Jeryl asked, his lips barely moving.
“Unless there’s a miracle, it’s going to be either us or them,” the white-haired admiral responded, his tone soft but firm at the same time.
This time, Jeryl just nodded. Flynn was right—it was either them or the Sonali, and Jeryl would do everything in his power to make sure that humanity had a shot at victory.
Jeryl
“Want to buy me a drink?” a voice called out from behind Jeryl and he looked over.
“Admiral Flynn!” Jeryl stood up at attention. Howard Flynn smiled with genuine affection.
“No more need for formalities, son,” he said as he sidled up to the barstool on Starbase Alpha, overlooking Earth. “No one gives a rat’s ass right now who’s a fucking Admiral and who the Captain is. Besides, you’re the hero of the hour.”
The bartender came by with a glass of scotch. It was obvious Howard Flynn was a regular.
“Hero of the hour,” Jeryl said, taking a sip of his beer as he gave a sardonic chuckle at the title. “The things we give out medals for these days.”
Jeryl and Howard were sitting at the bar in the Officers Lounge of Starbase Alpha. The lounge was lavishly appointed, with deep leather chairs and recessed tables for solitude or quiet conversations. A series of screens lined one corner of the lounge with updates from around the Terran Union. The outer wall, towards the hull plating was transparent aluminum, and thus offered floor to ceiling windows overlooking the planet Earth.
She was currently orbiting, with Asia and Australia currently on view.
Admiral Flynn caught Jeryl looking through the windows towards the planet, as it glistened like a jewel.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” he asked Jeryl.
“You know, sir,” Jeryl said after a moment, lost in thought. “It never gets old with that view.”
“It never does, son,” Flynn agreed. “It never gets tiresome to look at. And when shit really hits the fan, it really puts everything in perspective.”
Jeryl looked over to the older man as Flynn continued.
“All of that bullshit—the commendations, the bureaucracy, the politics—all of that flies out the window when you see your home,” Flynn said. “The birthplace of humanity. The cradle from where we came from.”
“We’ve moved on to hundreds of different worlds,” Jeryl said as he nodded in agreement. “But this one is special.”
“It is indeed,” Flynn said quietly. “We already tried to destroy it a few times in our misguided past. But we’ve spent the better part of the last two centuries trying to do right by her. And now we’re trying to save her from people who want to take her away from us.”
The mood became somber.
“We won’t let them, sir,” Jeryl said. “I was feeling pretty exhausted, but I swear that sitting here, seeing what we’re fighting for, it makes it all worthwhile.”
Admiral Flynn chuckled.
“Let’s hope the Sonali sees your resolve and decide to put down their weapons,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “God knows they’ve gotten their asses handed to them by you recently.”
Jeryl let himself laugh. The last few months had been rough. He had difficulty looking at himself in the mirror recently. But he knew now that what he was doing was for a greater good.
Or at least that’s what he said to himself so he could look at himself as he shaved in the mornings.
As the two men turned to their drinks, they noticed a group of people gathered at one of the video screens on the far side of the room. Suddenly, the room was filled with hushed talk and nervousness.
Jeryl felt a prickle on the back of his neck and he looked over to the bartender.
“Can you pipe the signal over here?” he asked but the bartender, his face white, was already patching the feed into all the screens.
The levity of the moment vanished in an instant.
Jeryl saw Davos II station. Surrounding it were dozens of Sonali craft. Large and small, and they were firing at the station.
“Armada Command, we’re patching you in through a flybot to get these images out on a broad-based slipstream, requesting reinforcements immediately,” the voice on the other end of the feed pleaded. Jeryl didn’t know who it was. Maybe a technician on the night shift. Maybe the ranking admiral.
God, we were supposed to be there right now, Jeryl thought to himself as he sat, transfixed in horror.
“Armada Command, we count approximately 49 Sonali ships, with 5 dreadnoughts, bearing for the planet.”
“There’s gotta be at least 3 million people down there,” Admiral Flynn croaked. He got on his comms.
“This is Flynn, what’s the status of our forces in Edoris Sector?” he asked his adjutant through his comms.
“3 battleships, 12 frigates,” was the quick reply. Jeryl’s heart sank at that. Despite all the investment the Armada had done to upgrade the fleet, there was no way in hell they’d be able to stand their ground against the Sonali with numbers like those.
“Fuck,” Jeryl muttered, his eyes never leaving the screen. Even if every single ship in the sector rallied to protect the Davos II station, the Sonali had the upper hand. Jeryl balled his hands into fists, his fingernails digging deep into his skin; he would’ve been there if it wasn’t for the stupid commendation.
Stunned, he watched as the Sonali fleet kept on firing against the station, a storm of particle beings tearing it apart. It didn’t take the Sonali more than one minute to turn one of the key Terran stations into a pile of rubble.
“Without the station—”
“The colony is defenseless,” Jeryl completed Admiral Flynn’s sentence, his blood freezing in his veins as he saw the Sonali fleet moving away from the destroyed Davos II station. Just like The Seeker’s battalion had done in the Oriane colony, the Sonali fleet lined up along Davos II’s orbit, their plasma cannons powering up as they prepared to glass the planet.
“These fucking animals,” Flynn grunted through his gritted teeth. Judging from the expression on the Admiral’s face, Jeryl wouldn’t be surprised if the man simply stood up and ripped one of the screens off the wall; his rage was so palpable that it was almost enough to boil the whiskey in Jeryl’s glass.
“No,” Jeryl muttered as the Sonali fired upon the planet, a never ending stream of particle beams cutting through the atmosphere of the colony. It took them over five minutes to destroy the major settlements on the planet, and everyone in the Officers Lounge simply watched in stunned silence as the Sonali silenced more than three million people.
Human life has never been this been extinguished this easily before, Jeryl thought, his heart so tight he no longer felt it beating inside his chest. Not even during the Third World War did so many people die.
“This can’t go on for much longer,” Flynn finally said, his gruff voice cutting through the silence that had settled around them. “We can’t take one more year of this.”
“No, we can’t,” Jeryl agreed, never taking his eyes off the screen. Davos II’s atmosphere had acquired a red hue, and Jeryl couldn’t help but imagine how terrible it must have been for the people on the ground, knowing that death had come knocking at their door and that there’d be no rescue.
“We got to put a stop to the madness,” Flynn continued, and Jeryl was no longer sure if the old Admiral was talking to him or simply trying to rearrange his own thoughts. Either way, Jeryl agreed with every word—they had to put a stop to the madness, one way or another. “Whatever it takes, son...we’ll do whatever it takes to stop them.”
“Whatever it takes,” Jeryl repeated slowly, the certainty of his own voice scaring him. He knew that, if necessary, he’d kill every single Sonali with his bare hands if that meant the end of the conflict.
And that scared him.
They had been at war for four years, and Jeryl was already a different man than the one that went out searching for The Mariner.
He was scared what four more years would do to him.
Part III
Book III
Jeryl
Five years.
Five years of war.
Five years of blood.
Four billion humans dead.
Jeryl hadn’t shaved in two days. He used to be clean-shaven every day; it was part of the Armada regulations. But somewhere along the line, he stopped. Maybe it was during one of the many of the battles over the last two years after Davos II where The Seeker kept diverting power from non-essential things like lights in crew quarters. Or when they were sneaking along in radio silence, and people were so jumpy that trying to shave would have resulted in a cut neck.
In fact, the nagging thought in the back of his head had returned again.
If he could go back in time to when they first discovered the ruins of The Mariner… well, then he would tell Admiral Flynn nothing. He wouldn’t even mention that damn ship.
And then he would tell himself to turn the ship around and make the best possible speed back to Edoris station.
Because it’s not like a lot of things went wrong. It was just one thing:
Him.
Jeryl wondered briefly why he was thinking back to that that moment. After so many battles, so many engagements, why go back to that one moment in time?
He sat in one of the briefing rooms of Edoris station, surrounded by three other ship captains. There was a briefing that Admiral Flynn would be doing shortly. They would be going over their part of a new campaign that was being called the Wolf offensive; The Seeker had been tapped for a crucial role.
No one knew what the Wolf Offensive entailed just yet, but hopefully, it was something that was going to bring the war to a close.
Endless combat did more to Jeryl than not shaving. It made him dark. Edgy. Jeryl found himself thinking the most random things in the universe. Sometimes he wondered if there was something he could’ve done to prevent the war. He knew that the part of him that answered back with answers that he didn’t want to hear was the part that told him it wasn’t just something he could’ve done.
It was everything he could’ve done.
He could’ve turned the ship around. He could’ve not brought up the fact that The Mariner was destroyed when he talked to the Sonali. He could’ve filed a different report with Armada Command. He could’ve spoken up when Armada Command began to question whether it was the Sonali that destroyed The Mariner.
From the very beginning, Armada Command believed that the Sonali were responsible and it colored everything that they did. So there was never any diplomatic interchange. There were never any cultural awareness expeditions. Instead, immediately after first contact, they were sent away from their territory into a border dispute prompted by what happened to The Mariner.
The battle cry, “Remember The Mariner,” resonated throughout the Earth, throughout the Union, even throughout the Outers.
Jeryl remembered the first engagement where he saw a colony bombarded orbitally from above—killing millions on the surface. It was so long ago, but he remembered it as if it were yesterday. He remembered having to strand fifteen thousand refugees as a dreadnought approached.
He remembered Terran offensives. Lately, colony attacks were met with Armada retaliatory strikes. It took a while, but eventually, human savagery shone through. Something somewhere had snapped. Now Armada captains glassed Sonali planets—killing their civilians with something near glee.
They’d gone mad as a race. Losing billions of people will do that to anyone.
“What are we doing here, you think?” one of the Captains, a Gonçalo Richard asked.
“I heard we’re going to lead a full-frontal assault during Wolf Offensive,” another captain responded.
Jeryl’s ears perked up and he leaned forward. It was a rather optimistic tone from someone who’d been in a sector that had seen the heights of the war that no other area of the Terran Union has experienced.
There’d been a lot of fighting. Entire worlds have been laid to waste, more than anything that ever happened to Earth during the Third World War.
Jeryl realized that he had lost himself once again in thoughts about the war and he shook himself awake.
4 billion people…dead.
It was almost too large of a number to comprehend. Add the countless Sonali dead and the last five years had been brutal. Entire colony worlds that had been around for generations, some with populations that numbered in the hundreds of millions—glassed.
The Sonali had begun the process in bombarding planets initially. But oh, how quickly the Terrans had caught on. Both sides didn’t even bother to invade or send any sort of ground forces after a while. They came, they bombarded, they destroyed all life on the surface, and then they retreated.
Unconventional warfare also reared its head. Terran Armada Intelligence began to play a greater role in the war.
They used pirates to smuggle thermonuclear packages into their worlds. They sent suicide runs of ships who took out entire worlds. They had attacked their star bases, their planets, and their shipping lines.
After the destruction of Davos II, The Seeker was assigned to the Edoris Station Battle Group to patrol the Edoris Sector. They had started with 240 starships. There were 78 left from the original fleet. They’d had replacement ships and crews – but one by one, ships fell. People died.
Jeryl knew Admiral Flynn had a hell of a lot to deal with. He’d seen so many captains reporting to him that ere no longer around. He was probably never going to live down the death of the billions of people whose blood he had on his hands.
But even with those theoretical weapons they’d developed, they were at best fighting to a stalemate. It used to take several Armada ships to bring down a Sonali. Now, it only took two Armada vessels to be destroyed to bring down one Sonali cruiser.
Do I sound bitter? Well, that’s because I fucking am, he thought to himself.
It had gotten to the point where failure was not an option. Failure meant death. There was no other way to put it except this. It has become the defining conflict of their lives.
That part of Jeryl’s brain that he didn’t want giving him any ideas, the one asking him questions—it was what made him laugh. He was thinking back to the people who served on The Seeker.
No man, including him, had ever fought in a war this large and this devastating. But entire classes in the Academy today were graduating having only known war. The Sonali were relentless. They came and attacked with a ferocity that no one would ever expect.
Sadly, it took no time for humanity to match that ferocity. The one thing that had come out of this, thought Jeryl--a fucked up silver lining—was that the technology advancements that they had gotten through the war had really expedited the rebuilding of Earth.
Not that that really mattered if the Sonali came into orbit of New Washington or Earth and began bombardment on those cities—that would make World War III look like a walk in the park.
Jeryl worried about Earth every day. His crew felt it.
They all thought about their home planets. He could see it in their faces as well. Every time a colony world fell, they got word that a settlement had been attacked; he saw it in their faces. Did they know anyone there? Did they have any family there? Did they have any friends? Could it happen to their home planet?
It kept them up at night and never let them sleep. But sometimes, that was a good thing, because sleeping tended to turn those thoughts into nightmares.
Surprisingly, the morale had been pretty good within the Armada the last year or so. Command had seen fit to reorganize along much better lines of command than anything they had ever had before. They got a new president of the Union who actually seemed to want to prosecute this war and preserve humanity. He campaigned during the second year of the war on a platform that was both morbid and funny—‘Preserve Humanity’.
Of course, that meant more corporate involvement. Jeryl wondered what new corporate shingle would be hanging outside the briefing room on the Edoris Station Promenade when he went out.
Maybe another Trinidec Pleasure Palace? Or a billboard from the Astra Corporation?
Would it even matter if the Sonali came out of nowhere and vaporized this station in a coordinated assault? Before they break through the lines and go destroy humanity?
Sounds kind of melodramatic, doesn’t it? Jeryl asked himself, shaking his head.
In truth, that was what a lot of people were worried about. That these were the last days of the human race.
By now, Jeryl had counted at least 100 engagements with the enemy. He’d seen ships destroyed in front of his eyes.
Sure, there had been technological advancements. They’d encountered other alien races as they jumpstarted their exploration through the sector. Multiple contacts with multiple species as a result of war.
Thank God we didn’t get into more conflicts with them, the captain told himself.
And perhaps one of the biggest things ever—the Terran Union and the Armada finally looking outward rather than just inward. Of course, they’d their backs to the wall. Today, they were fighting for survival. But there was a chance that maybe, they could get out of this alive and not go extinct as a species.
Admiral Flynn walked in, disrupting Jeryl’s ruminating. The sliding doors closed and he took the dais.
“Thank you for being here, gentlemen,” he said as he looked into each of the three faces. “We are here today to discuss your role in the Wolf Offensive. A campaign we hope that will turn the tide and end this war.”
Admiral Flynn continued. “Within several days’ time, a fleet of over 400 starships from the Armada will be amassing at this station. We will be striking at the heart of the Sonali defenses in this sector. You will not be a part of it.”
Jeryl’s eyes opened wide and leaned forward. If they weren’t going to be part of one of the greatest offenses in the history of human warfare, then he wanted to know what they were going to be doing.
He knew that Admiral Flynn would tell them in time. He also knew that he was going to keep as much information, as he wasn’t allowed to share it himself. But he knew this as well—that Admiral Flynn wanted this war to be over. He was right there with Jeryl when the Captain thought about how it started.
Not with the demands back-and-forth to re-compensate them for the destruction of The Mariner. Not the speeches by the politicians who tried to whip the crowd into a frenzy for war. Not even from the decision within Armada Command to make the first strike. That first strike was not the start of this conflict.
The first salvo in this conflict, the first conversation about a potential war, all that occurred over one coded slipstream frequency when he reported back on the state of The Mariner debris to Admiral Flynn.
Earlier, Jeryl remembered thinking there were a lot of things he could’ve done. Well, he bet that Admiral Flynn thought that there were a lot of things he could’ve done, as well. In fact, the Captain thought the Admiral went over his actions five years ago with a fine tooth comb.
A half-dozen orders just within the few hours of discovering the wreckage would’ve altered today and the state that they were in. He knew that Flynn was thinking none of these would’ve happened if he had given those orders. And not just Jeryl. Other people were probably thinking something similar as well.
It looked like all of them would pay for any mistakes he’d made. After watching humans die and forced to kill Sonali, he didn’t really know if he had the ability to care anymore.
It’s like you go numb inside after the first billion deaths, he thought. It’s like with every death that I see or cause, another part of my soul is on its one-way trip to hell.
“Your target…” the Admiral continued, and Jeryl raised his eyes to shake himself awake and pay attention.
“…is none other than the central planet of all Sonali religion,” he finished.
Well, this should be interesting.
Ashley
“The best I can do is 26 hours,” the Edoris station engineer said to Ashley.
“26 hours is too long. That’s just way too long to repair the deflector screens,” she answered back to the engineer. His gray eyes bore into her, as if he was trying to look into her soul.
“Look, Commander Gaines,” he said. “You’re not the first person who’s come up to tell me that my repairs take too long. You’re not even the highest ranking person who’s come up to me telling me my repairs take too long. Let me ask you this. You want me to put together a half ass job so that when you go out there and fight the blue skins you end up falling apart faster and having to limp back and I got do this job all over again?”
Ashley was silent.
“Or do you want me to do a good job, get your good deflector screen upgrades, so that when you fight those fuckers and kick their ass, you don’t have to come crawling back to the station—if it’s even around—to get an upgrade?” he finished.
A part of Ashley had to be absolutely honest: the engineer made a very good point. But the key statement in that entire diatribe that stuck out to her was whether the station was still going to be around the next time they come back.
It had been a long war. The destruction over the last five years had been unprecedented—even to The Seeker. They were doing with an upgraded battle cruiser using the name nowadays. An encounter at New Sydney six months after the fall of Davos II had led to the destruction of the old frigate. She couldn’t say that she didn’t like the new ship, but a part of her sometimes missed the old one. It had become home after a lot of years.
“16 hours is fine,” the commander finally said. “There’s a problem with the inertial dampers too. Think you could take a look at that while you’re under the hood?”
“You got it,” he said to Ashley and started inputting orders into his tablet.
“How many ships are in the queue?” Ashley asked. He looked at her and gave her a rueful smile.
“You don’t even want to know,” he said with a chuckle. “Fix up one, another three get in line. But I guess it’s better for them to come back damaged than not come back at all.”
The engineer had a point. At the very beginning of the war, the number of Terran Union ships that it took to bring down one Sonali vessel was staggering. It seemed like every ship that they had was ill-equipped to fight the graceful and superior design of the Sonali. There were encounters where it took five ships to bring down one Sonali vessel.
But that wasn’t to say that the scientists and the corporations didn’t do their damnedest to try to even those odds. Three years ago, during one of their largest offensives, humankind finally began to hold their lines. And not just hold their lines, but turn the tide.
But the cost of resources? The cost of manpower? All those people for 2 ½ years who died just to halt an invasion?
That could never be recovered.
It had been a long war, and not just for their crew. For the first time ever, the rebuilding of the planet Earth was put on hold to ensure the survival of humanity.
Not that there hadn’t been some good that had come out of it. For the first time, the Outer Colonies, seeing Earth at the losing end of a war and facing extinction, finally began moving towards a path and towards meaningful diplomatic contact.
For Ashley, it was surprising to hear; she was someone who had only known the Outer Colonies as belligerent isolationist, and uninterested in anything to do with the Terran Union. But for the first time, emissaries were arriving on Earth to begin the process of opening a dialogue.
Where the dialogue was going, Ashley didn’t know. That was beyond her pay grade. But what she did know was that if there was some meaningful progress on that front, then maybe there was hope for them as a species in surviving this.
“I’ll start working with the dock master to get the ship detailed and ready to go in the next two days with all the things we talked about,” the engineer said to her.
Ashley nodded. Her mission while the crew was docked at the station was to make sure that the battle damage The Seeker suffered got repaired to the best of this station’s abilities.
She knew that not everything was going to get fixed. The inertial dampers, like she said, were shot. The molecular resequensor only worked at limited capacity. The captain had diverted all nonessential energy toward weapons and critical ships functions. The last firefight that they were in ravaged the sick bay but they had to make do. In order to repair it, they needed a full crew to detail out the sick bay and that would shelve them for at least two weeks.
They didn’t have two weeks.
They needed to be out there, in space, fighting the Sonali, defending the innocent—before they ravaged humankind more.
Ashley was about to end her impromptu meeting with the stations engineer when she spied Jeryl walking toward her. His face was careworn, as if the weight of the galaxy was hanging on his shoulders. It sounded like an exaggeration but it really did seem like that, she thought.
The war had been particularly hard on him. He was the captain that carried out the first contact with an alien race, the one who’s actions led directly to five years of brutal war. It couldn’t be easy.
Ashley tried to talk to him about it several times but he never opened up.
Jeryl walked up to her, and the engineer saluted. She realized that she had gotten so used to being his wife that she often forgot all the considerations when they were out amongst others.
But then again, this was an impromptu meeting. She saw the engineer walking, and she side-lined him, dragging him toward the bay windows overlooking deep space. That was where she had started hounding him and harassing him about when they would get the repairs done.
It was a good thing she did, or else they’d be here for three or four days getting critical repairs done…Or, like some ships she knew, it would be sent back out without being able to get anything fixed.
“How’d it go?” she asked as Jeryl looked at her.
“We have new orders,” he said to her.
“Anything fun?” Ashley asked, trying to put a mischievous smile on her face.
She needed to try to lighten his mood; there was too much gloom and doom going around.
No surprise there with several billion dead staring down at you, she thought.
Although, Ashley had to admit that a part of her was a little bit happy. Why? Because for the first time in a long time, the Armada was looking outwards. It was upgrading.
Only the strong amongst them survived.
For the longest time, no one in the Armada knew what real conflict was like. Sure, little border skirmishes with the Outers, helping some corporations chase down some pirates.
But a real war?
This is going to stay with us for life, Ashley thought. And yes, that’s a bad thing. But somehow, it’s also a good thing as it teaches us to treasure the time that we have.
But what does that do internally? she couldn’t help but wonder. What damage did that do to the democratic institutions and the things that the Terran Union has enshrined in its society?
Their president was elected every six years. Three years ago, they had a new one who was elected at the height of defeat. Three years from now and it would be time for him to step down as well if he lost re-election. But if by then, this war was still going on, would he? Will there be a peaceful transition of power at the highest halls of the Terran Union?
Sighing, Ashley let her gaze fall down to her hands, and then to the golden band on her finger. It caught the bright lights of the hangar, and Ashley saw her distorted reflection in there, as if her soul were trapped inside.
It had been a long war. But at least we’re together.
There was no more of the awkwardness about what happened back in New Sydney, she realized.
But how will this war test our marriage? And what will I do if Jeryl dies?
“Depends on what you think is fun, Ashley,” Jeryl said, bringing her back from her reverie.
“The Seeker’s gonna be leading a group of starships as part of a new offensive,” Jeryl said. “We’re going to be making a major one. This is the Wolf Offensive the people have been waiting for—and our ship’s gonna play a critical role.”
She could see the engineer and his ears perked up. The last couple of weeks all anyone could talk about had been the Wolf Offensive. Designed by Mortimer Wolf of Armada Intelligence, this offensive was supposed to be something big. No one knew what it was, but they did know that it was supposed to be a game changer.
“I need you to be battle ready in 24 hours, and I’ll debrief you then,” Jeryl told her, maintaining formality in front of the engineer. “At the temporary quarters on the station.”
“I’ll actually have the deflector screens repaired, a new complement of torpedoes ready for you, and the inertial dampers stabilized so that they don’t give you any trouble anymore in 12 hours,” the engineer said both to Jeryl and Ashley. “When your ship goes out in the battle, she’ll be ready.”
Ashley nodded, smiling at the sudden importance The Seeker had taken on in the engineer’s queue for repairs.
“Great,” Jeryl said with a sigh. But before Ashley could say anything back, he turned around and walked to the elevator.
“He’s a legend,” the engineer breathed, almost to himself.
She nodded. After discovering the Sonali, dealing with them, and leading many of the campaigns of this war, Jeryl Montgomery very well might be a living legend.
But she knew him better to know what he really was: the first casualty of the Earth-Sonali War.
Admiral Flynn
Flynn had always known that war was never pretty.
After almost destroying themselves, it was almost ironic to think that the demise of the human race might happen at the hands of an alien race. Flynn wanted nothing more than to serve his final years as an Armada Admiral and perhaps enjoy a comfortable retirement back on Earth. Or maybe New Sydney. OR Elysium. There had to be at least a dozen worlds with good climates he could go to and relax his last years on.
The money he had saved (and never had the time to spend) would be enough for him to spend the rest of his days drinking imported liquor from the Atuar colony while nodding off at one of these pink-colored beaches.
The Sonali respected nothing, though—and that included his retirement plans.
Standing in his office, directly adjacent to the center of operations of the Edoris Station, he placed his hands behind his back and looked out the curved window. Outside, the vastness of space seemed to call to him—it whispered the name of four billion dead, a legion of souls lost in a conflict no one saw coming.
The entire office was rugged in a deep blue, stern and uninviting. Hanging behind the desk was the giant emblem of the Terran Armada, a red eagle with fierce beaded eyes encircled by stars. The massive window looking out into deeper space was behind Flynn’s sprawling desk that served more of a work station. On the other end of his office, opposite from his desk was the entrance; past that door was a small anteroom where his secretary was stationed.
To the right was a couch arrangement and a small central table. A few years ago, seated on those couches were diplomats and politicians—nowadays it was always high-brass military men. When the politicians wanted in on those meetings, Flynn would use the conference room one deck below.
To the left was another door that led directly into the Station Control Center (SCC). That was where everything about the ship was run. And in the case of an emergency, the SCC was where the commands to fire or evade would be given.
A shelf by the right wall displayed all his laurels and awards. Trinkets, the way Flynn saw it. A man’s worth wasn’t measured in badges, but at least they proved that he was no a desk jockey who rose through the ranks in the Armada by pushing papers.
Flynn was battle tested. Battle hardened.
When Captains and Commanders came in, they knew they weren’t dealing with a bureaucrat. Flynn was every bit the man the Armada pandered about, even if he never cared about all that bolstering. He was not a wash out, not a flunkie, unlike some other admirals, whose positions were political rather than strategic or tactical.
Sinking down onto his chair, he let his gaze fall on the stack of reports sitting there, most of them belonging to Captain Montgomery.
Jeryl was almost like a son to Flynn. An interesting fact, considering that he never had a son to call his own. But Jeryl was someone he saw himself in. His impulses, his reasoning, his ability to function under pressure. He had never seen such cunning and talent in any other fleet captain since he became captain. It wasn’t that they never had great captains; they did.
But Flynn was yet to see anyone who combined a host of excellent qualities in the pursuit of their duties as officers in the Terran Armada. He had never told him all this, of course, but the trust Flynn had in Jeryl had always been a factor in his decision process.
They had seen shared horror together. Flynn still remembered the months after the fall of Davos II. Jeryl had proven competent and strong.
“Admiral, you have a slipstream call from Admiral Walker,” the communications officer said over Flynn’s comm link.
“Right. Patch him in,” he said, stowing away the papers.
Admiral Walker materialized right in the middle of his office. It was a live size three-dimensional rendering of the Admiral. Walker was dressed smartly in the overall of a five-star Armada admiral, his hands folded behind him. He had a white moustache and despite the deep carved lines in his face, he possessed the vitality of a man in his prime. With more than ten years on Flynn, Walker still looked fierce enough to chew off a Sonali battalion all by himself.
“Admiral Walker, sir,” Flynn said with a firm nod by way of greeting.
“Flynn,” he nodded curtly.
“The Wolf Initiative has begun,” Flynn told Walker, doing his best to read the expression on his face. Like always, it was a completely blank page. Flynn doubted the man knew the meaning behind the word emotion.
“Captain Jeryl has been briefed about it, and given command of the other Captains in his section of the fleet.”
“Captain Jeryl,” Walker whispered, his unblinking eyes never leaving Flynn’s. “You think he’s the man for the job?”
“I do,” Flynn replied, letting the mere tone of his voice do the job.
Walker didn’t need an explanation. He was more than aware of everything Jeryl had done during the war. Captain Jeryl Montgomery made his name as the Captain that discovered alien life, but he didn’t stop there. Instead of resting on his laurels, he was instrumental to the war effort. Commanding a retrofitted version of The Seeker, he had been through the thick of it all.
Children all across the galaxy had heard his name, thought Flynn. Who hasn’t? The months after Davos II were rough, but they were unprecedented in their manifestation of human rage. After the battle for the Chartly star system Jeryl became a household name. Commanding The Seeker, he outmaneuvered a Sonali Dreadnaught responsible for downing more than ten of their ships.
The Spartan, as the young recruits liked to call it, was a Sonali ship responsible for the destruction of too many ships in their fleet. Up until it clashed with The Seeker, The Spartan had a track record of all kills.
Every battle it fought in, it won.
Every ship it met with, it destroyed.
Then it met The Seeker and its Captain.
Six months after that, and Jeryl made the headlines again with his capture of the Sonali Main Forward Base, just outside the Edoris Star System.
Flynn didn’t know what the Sonali called it. But what he did know was that they planned most of their attacks through it. They re-supplied their ships operating in enemy space through it. Ground invasions that occurred were staged in the systems on this planet.
Three months stalemate between the Sonali and their forces had gradually enveloped both powers. Many ships had been destroyed. Billions of lives on both sides…too many lives had been lost. The Sonali were winning, albeit in trickles.
Then came the upgrades.
Their counter-offensives.
Armed with a combination of trickery, skill, and sheer brute force power, and spearheaded by Jeryl Montgomery, they were able to crack up the Sonali tight defense, which gave the remaining fleet the opportunity to mount a potent offensive that obliterated the Sonali trying to make a run into the Edoris Sector after the devastation that haunted the Davos Sector.
“Sir, Captain Montgomery has been doing a good job,” Flynn continued, filling the silence in the room. “I want to put in a recommendation for him to be promoted to a Vice Admiral in charge of Edoris Theatre of Operations.”
Walker seemed to agree. He nodded his head, his eyes still on Flynn’s.
“Noted. Do send in an official recommendation. I will take it up with the board and consider it.”
“There’s something else I have been thinking about,” said Flynn. He let his gaze wander out into the coldness of space.
“This war has opened up a lot of avenues for us to grow in military strength and power. Many people who have joined the Academy, and we now have soldiers with nothing but military experience. Don’t you think this will cause the other vital aspects of our community to atrophy? Aspects like science, exploration…?”
Sighing, Flynn clasped his hands behind his back and returned his gaze back at Walker. “We’re more than just warriors.”
“War doesn’t always go well for humans,” Walker replied. “Or for anyone. Do we like it? No. Can we help it? No. So what do we do?”
“We focus on what we can do, which is winning the war,” replied Flynn. “Because the sooner we win this war, the earlier we can all go home or pursue the areas that we came out into space to do.”
“This final offensive needs to be so effective that the Sonali will have to come to the negotiating table. We want them to negotiate a truce, or at least an armistice. We can’t keep this war going for much longer. We don’t have a conscription policy in the Terran Union, and frankly I know many planets will rebel and break away if there were,” Walker said.
“How bad is it right now?” Flynn asked.
“Bad,” was all Admiral Walker said.
“If we don’t start making some material gain from this conflict, which you and I know is a rare possibility…and if we don’t gain some momentum, then we’ve just delayed the inevitable. We’re exhausted, Flynn, and we estimate that we will be defeated in under a year. That damned Armada Intelligence report – I know you’ve seen it – was spot fucking on. I don’t have to remind you, then, how important this planned final offensive is. The continued survival and freedom of the Terran Union depends entirely on this operation.”
Flynn felt the blood drain from his face as he was drawn to the reality of their present predicament.
We can’t go on fighting this war, he thought. But can we afford not to?
He had always been a solitary man, unmarried and without kids. But now, he felt that to be a blessing. The end to which the Terran Union and the Armada were headed wasn’t an end he would want his family to exist in.
Jeryl
A few hours later, he and Ashley went over the Wolf Offensive in his private office off CNC. It was smaller than his old office aboard the original The Seeker, even though the electronics were superior. There was more computing power in this one chamber than there were in the entirety of the old ship, but it wasn’t as comfortable.
“Details of the plan,” Jeryl told her, sending the file to her tablet. “There are 395 ships in the fleet. According to Flynn we’re going to be leading a smaller flotilla of twenty-two ships ranging in size from dreadnoughts to small cruisers and one-man fighters.”
“Are all the flotillas going to be broken up like that?”
“Depending on how many of equal size can be put together from the complement of ships, yes,” said Jeryl. “Some will have more or less of a given weight class, of course. No more than one dreadnought, ever, but anywhere from seven to twelve fighters. Ours has eight, for example.”
Ashley wrinkled up her nose. Jeryl almost smiled but he caught himself; he had always found that expression adorable, but he knew better than to say it. This wasn’t the time or place for him to do such a thing.
“Eight isn’t very many,” she said.
“That’s true, but figure that out of the 396 in the entire fleet, you’ll have well over a hundred. And it’s my understanding that this isn’t the only fleet.”
She nodded, staring at the data on her tablet.
“How are the repairs going?” asked Jeryl.
“Well enough,” she said with a small smile. “That engineer I was talking to told me it would be ready on his timeline. Then you came over and destroyed all the resistance!”
Jeryl grinned. “What can I say? Straight from the top.”
“Nothing like cutting through bureaucracy,” said Ashley. “Anyway, everything’s on schedule, and none of the crew will mind getting extra sleep period or a little more shore leave.”
She shrugged. “As long as those damned inertial dampers are fixed, I don’t care.”
“And the resequencer,” Jeryl said. “The coffee on this tub is bad enough without it tasting like soapy water like it does now.”
He clicked his tongue.
“Anyway, so look.” He sent the attack plan to the room’s main screen. “The main thrust of the Wolf plan will be toward Beta Hydrae, which Terran Command believes is the nexus of Sonali control within this Sector.”
She made an interested noise as Jeryl continue.
“Now, you can see here that Beta Hyrdae is a double-star system. The larger component is a blue star about two and a half times the size of our sun.”
“Hot,” she said.
“Very. And it’s also a variable, α2 CVn variable. Lots of metals on its surface layers, uneven temperature distribution across the photosphere, that sort of thing.”
“A place to avoid,” she acknowledged. “The Sonali can’t be from there, can they? I mean, a variable, it’ll flood that system with all sorts of radiation at intervals.” She looks at her tablet.
“They’ve established a series of underground and shielded shelters for a sizable population,” Jeryl said.
He expanded the view.
“There are five planets, as you can see here. The third one out from the primary is the one we’re interested in, Beta Hydrae III. No one’s given it a proper name yet. Intelligence says that the place has some sort of religious significance for the Sonali.”
Her look was blank. “Like what?”
“No one knows for sure. Something like how the Star of Bethlehem was for Christians.”
She nodded in understanding.
Jeryl continued, “Anyway, some mythological nonsense. The Union believe if they can wipe it out, it’ll ruin Sonali morale.”
The nose-wrinkling again. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe.”
“Well, Command thinks it’s worth committing a hell of a lot of resources to do.”
“We’ve been fighting those bastards for a while now,” she said. “Do we have a clear idea yet of the exact volume of space the Sonali control?”
“Intelligence says their territory is roughly half the size of Union space. Our colonies are far-flung, but the Sonali’s are closer together and more developed than ours.”
“What exactly is the point of this mission, Jeryl?” she asked as she read the specifics on her tablet.
Jeryl took a pause.
“The main assault will come from the main force,” said Jeryl in measured tones. “We expect heavy Sonali resistance. Our job is to take a small contingent of ships through a more circuitous approach. Come at them from another direction while they’re busy holding off our main fleet. And then bombard their infrastructure on the planet and destroy their ability to use their infrastructure on conducting war in the future.”
There was a pause.
She studied her tablet.
“I don’t know,” she said again after a few moments. “I know we’re anxious to strike a decisive blow, but this...capturing or destroying Beta Hydrae III? The Sonali are fanatics, Jeryl. Half the deal with this war is that they see us as heathens, unbelievers. If we crap in their manger, they could really get pissed off. It could be like stepping on a nest of fire ants.”
“I agree; but look, Ash—this could be our last chance. You know as well as I do what the scuttlebutt is; we’re sucking wind in this war. It isn’t going well. This attack is probably the only thing humanity can do.”
“What’s the population according to our estimates?” she asked.
This part rankles me, thought Jeryl, but I know I need to let her in on it.
“We estimate up to 1 billion Sonali are living in shielded subterranean caves or domed and shielded structures,” he said.
Silence.
“We’ll be bombarding the planet to the point to make it tectonically unstable. No ground troops,” he said. “Intelligence estimates that we can accomplish this through sustained bombardment with ten ships. We have twenty in our flotilla in case some get scrapped along the way.”
“Genocide,” she whispered.
“It’s been done to us by them,” Jeryl said evenly. He had prepared for this. “We’ve done it too. This isn’t the first time.”
“A billion people,” she countered.
“Things are bad out there, Ash.” .
“I don’t want to think they’re that bad that we have to do this,” she said.
“Who the hell does? For the past three years, all Sonali attacks on our territories have come through this route. They’ve all followed this path. It’s as if they make a sort of, I don’t know, a parade pass of Beta Hydrae III on their way to fight. Like they think they’re receiving a blessing or something. Here, look.”
Jeryl called up some more data files, things she hadn’t yet seen. “These are scans from hyper-speed robot probes we’ve sent through that system.”
“What?" she frowned. “Hyper speed what, now?”
“Robot probes. One of our ships drops out of FTL out past the cometary cloud and spits out a probe, then heads out on full drive again, so fast the Sonali don’t know it’s been there. The probe drops sunward at three times light speed. The hyper-drive fries its instruments, of course, because it’s too small for adequate shielding; but before that happens it whips past III so fast it can’t be detected unless you know exactly where to look. And as it passes, it images the bejesus out of the planet. Then it plunges into the star. Poof! Gone, like it never existed.”
“Well, that’s pretty frictionless,” she said in admiration.
“It is that. So, from those little probes, we know the Sonali have major defenses around III.”
“Fine, but we’re not going to be able to get in like that,” she said. “Looks to me that we’ll have to come in through this nebula, here; the radiation output from its central star will mask our drive signature.”
“That’s exactly right,” Jeryl said. A peculiar look crossed Ashley’s face.
“Jeryl...”
“What?”
“Well, look at the location of that nebula.”
“What about it?”
“Do you not recognize those coordinates?”
He scowled at his tablet, and glanced up at the main screen as if the larger numbers would jog his memory. And then he saw it
“Aw, hell,” he said. “That’s The Mariner Nebula. Goddammit, that’s where we had First Contact with the Sonali.”
“Yes,” she said in a grim tone. She didn’t need to say anything more. It was where the Sonali said they claimed this space and that they didn’t destroy The Mariner.
It was where the war started.
Well, fuck me.
“If we had filed a different report, then 4 billion people might still be alive and we wouldn’t be at war,” said Ashley.
“I’m not going to argue that,” he muttered. She was right. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about that report a thousand times or more over the past few years. When he walked away from the confrontation, it was like Chamberlain appeasing Hitler. He basically gave those blue-skinned bastards carte blanche to make bolder incursions into their space, because they knew they were there, and that they couldn’t outfight them.
The whole thing is my fault.
“Everyone will be annihilated when we destroy that planet, Jeryl,” Ashley said again.
“So what? It’s not as if they haven’t killed enough of us over the past five years.”
“Violence begets violence,” she said.
All he could do was stare at her. Where has this come from? Had he been that preoccupied that he never noticed his wife change before his eyes?
Then Jeryl thought about it. He had changed, too, and he knew it. He was a hell of a lot more cynical than he used to be.
“Look, if you can’t do your job,” he said, trying to cover his confusion.
“I understand my job!” she barked. “And I’ll do it to the best of my ability...but I don’t have to be thrilled that it’s being made worse by more killing.”
Jeryl struggled to find something to say, but before he could, Ashley spoke, “The ship will be battle-ready within the next 10 hours, sir. I’ll see to it.”
Then she turned and left the room.
Marriage and command, he thought. The two don’t mix well.
Jeryl
One thing that took a lot of getting used to in the new fleet—for Jeryl, anyway—was the transformation of the ships and stations into what were essentially space-going cities. This, Jeryl knew, had come about because they wanted to be seen by the Sonali as being every bit as capable as they were at lofting huge starships.
So now, their battle cruisers were almost as big as theirs. Jeryl personally found it rather wasteful of resources but he couldn’t deny that the results were impressive as hell.
Their stations were now impressive fortresses with guns pointing outward. And filled with opportunities to separate you from your money the moment you walk in.
The Union had contracted with a number of corporations to provide services aboard our stations, which were now so big that they dwarfed anything that would ever be conceived five years ago.
Jeryl stood on Edoris Station looking at the Promenade. There were 5,000 people on the station. They were bigger than some of the global cities at the end of World War III, Jeryl noted. Flashy logos and enticing odors met his eyes as he walked along the station’s central promenade. The corporations had dialed back the level of interaction so that the 3D holos were a lot less “in your face” than their civilian versions, but even so none of those things really belonged aboard a space station, as far as Jeryl was concerned.
But he was older than most of the new blood that had entered the service. They were a different generation, and were used to different things. The military was catering to them, in his opinion, and he found it irksome. Was there really a need for a brothel on board this station? He had passed by one, owned and operated by Trinidec. The girls were pneumatic and hospitable; some of them were even human, as opposed to sexbots. Jeryl didn’t think they belonged there, but it wasn’t his call.
Jeryl had a bit of downtime, when he didn’t have to be in a meeting or reporting to the admiral or overseeing a battle plan. The battle plans were done. Tomorrow they would engage the Sonali. Again. But he couldn’t think about it anymore. He was restless, dissatisfied.
He left his little cramped office and went for a walk through the huge central atrium of the station, which would once had been called a utility core but had been expanded and reshaped into a vast promenade.
It seemed more like a marketplace than a military establishment. Sure, the rank and file of the Armada was happy with the changes that had come down, and it was good to keep them motivated in the face of this war, but even so, Jeryl questioned the wisdom of it all.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, but he had done a lot of thinking. He took a seat next to a babbling fountain in a small pocket park off the main drag. Given Earth’s recent history, he supposed it wasn’t surprising how they ended up as they were.
The corporations were the repositories of vast amounts of money, and during the reconstruction of the planet their surviving officers bought their way via venture capital into seats at the governing table. All the rules were rewritten to allow it, over the strenuous objection of the “old guard.”
So what they had now was a corporate republic, something new under the sun. Five pillars held up the society. The first pillar was the President. The second, the legislative body and the senate. The third pillar was the Armada. Fourth, the institutions: The Diplomatic service, the courts, the universities, the government offices, and the science establishment. And the final pillar of society was upheld by the corporations, each with its own representative to a “Corporate Council” that advised the government. The corporate media was part of this, as well, monitoring the entire system.
As anyone could expect, with that much money and power floating around, several of the corporations had their own standing fleets of mercenaries and “career” soldiers, in essence, private armies that do their masters’ bidding. The corpers had at times been reluctant to put these assets into play during the war with the Sonali. This resulted to some recent talk of nationalizing those private fleets, absorbing them into the actual military, if the corpers didn’t contribute regularly to the war effort. In an effort to pour some oil on that troubled water, the corpers cut a lot of deals with the fleet to install supply outlets and what-not into Armada installations at a far lower rate.
They lost some money up front, as Jeryl understood it, but that was why they now had brand-name fast foods aboard their vessels, and outfits like Trinidec doing hospitality on their station. And Jery hadn’t forgotten about Pooz, the hologram giant, providing holodeck gaming services next to the subdued multi-denominational house of worship.
There was another side of this as well. He pulled out his tablet and tapped into his e-mail program. There was a communication there from MacroCode Stargazers LLC, an offer in fact. How they could possibly know that his current hitch was about up was beyond him, but they must—because the e-mail contains an offer to hire him at a salary that was far greater than what he got as an officer in the Union military.
They wanted to hire “the Avenger,” which was what they called him—the Avenger of The Mariner—to helm their corporate space fleet. These would be state-of-the-art vessels, and he would have total control over battle plans, supply contractors, everything down to the choice of bands at company dances.
All he had to do was resign his commission.
And, may the great spirit of the galaxy help me, he thought.
He was considering it.
That was the third time some corporation had tried to pry him away from the Union. He was under no illusions about it; he was something of a celebrity, and the corpers traded off that sort of thing. There was no doubt that if he were to take the offer, Ashley and he could have a far better quality of life than they currently did. The new The Seeker was a hell of a ship, but it was not really military/exploration any longer. It was all geared toward war.
Like we said ‘fuck you’ to exploring.
He looked around the commercial playground. He knew it had been done to keep the troops happy during the grinding war, but it didn’t seem right to him. He knew from what he had seen of the corper fleets that they were leaner and meaner in some ways than theirs was.
He had seen so many ships destroyed and so many people dying. He had done so much killing himself. Tomorrow, he would see more of it, no doubt. He had had his fill of fighting and death. He saw the statistics, and watched the numbers of dead tick up.
He had become inured to it all. He had to—otherwise he wouldn’t be able to do his job. But after years of it...if the casualties go from 9 to 10 digits of dead people, at what point did it even matter? He felt that he had lost his determination in the face of the endless struggle.
He had accomplished much in the name of the Union. If he could spend his sunset years aboard some sleek corper ship maintaining order in a mining colony or keeping shipping lanes secure, then who would think the less of him?
I would.
Jeryl trashed the offer.
He got up from the bench and joined the flow of people, walking with no destination in mind. He never used to question his place in all of this, this interlocking structure of our culture. He had his assignment, and he carried it out as best as he could.
He took pride in it. He had Ashley, and her love.
But when did he ever have peace? When did he ever have a family?
If he were honest to himself, he would think he never wanted one; and neither did she. But now he was older, and he couldn’t’ help but wonder what it would be like to be a father. It felt as if his life had split into pieces, and he was left wondering how to put them back together.
What am I, who am I, without this war?
Did he love Ashley, or did he simply want comfort from her? Without the war to shape them, to give their lives purpose, what would they be? Would they still even be married?
So much had changed...it had jarred loose unpleasant thoughts and doubts that now spun around inside his head.
His aimless wandering brought him to the corridor where they had their temporary quarters. Jeryl frowned at the doorway. He didn’t mean to come here. He wanted to lose himself in the press of people, not hide away. He heaved a sigh and entered.
Inside, Ashley was seated at the small table in their miniscule sitting room, having coffee. (Okay, Jeryl admitted; it was good coffee. One benefit the corpers had brought them.)
Ashley was beautiful. She looked at Jeryl and all his doubts dropped away, replaced by sheer lust. He couldn’t get enough of her, he went to her, he put his hands on his shoulders and ran them down the sides of her breasts.
“Coffee?” He murmured into her hair.
“Sir, yes sir,” she murmured back.
Tomorrow, they would go into battle yet again. All their angst and frustration, though, was on hold now as she stood and pressed herself against him. He slid his hands down her back and gripped her ass. They kissed, and walked themselves, still kissing, into the sleeping chamber. They tore their uniforms off and lost themselves in each other.
I have found the solace I seek, Jeryl thought. Nothing else matters.
Ashley
Nowadays, it was difficult to find peace and solace. The war had ravaged so many worlds. Hundreds of millions had died.
Not millions, Ashley corrected herself.
Billions. The number the government acknowledged was 4 billion.
Who knew if that was indeed the real number? Most of the damage was here, in the Edoris Sector. But it was all across the border with the Sonali. The border they only learned about through five years of attacks. They had all come through the Edoris Sector.
But even if it was 4 billion out of the 44 billion people that lived in the Terran Union, for Ashley, it was still a lot. Real people. Real people with beating hearts, living hopes, and now dead dreams. Sometimes she could almost see them in her dreams. Entire family lines had been wiped away.
Yet, they all kept fighting. They kept moving. They had to; they were compelled by the unprecedented losses they had endured to fight on, for if they did not fight on…then those loses would had been in vain.
Ashley had to adapt. Five years of war between the humans and the Sonali—she had to grow. She had watched the Terran Armada turn her into an instrument of deadly force. She had developed a military mind, one that had become far too comfortable with some of the atrocities of war.
Nevertheless, she had somehow managed to retain her humanity. She couldn’t say this for the rest of the crew of The Seeker. Not because she had witnessed any flagrant misdemeanor, but simply because…she didn’t know. War changed people in ways that were beyond recognition. In the heat of the moment, people just might surprise themselves at the things they could do.
She wasn’t the same First Officer Commander Ashley Gavin that served aboard The Seeker, five years back when they made First Contact (well… Second Contact) with the Sonali. Now, she was Captain Jeryl’s First Officer in The Seeker, now a Battle Cruiser.
She was also his wife; a good thing that came off their time serving together aboard the frigate.
They were docked at Edoris Station, but they were getting ready to move out. Final system checks were being run by the engineering department in conjunction with some of the station’s technical crew and engineers. The repairs had been tested and flexed as much as they could be while on the station.
She trusted the crew to conduct the tests and final checks without her breathing down their necks. By now they had already been briefed about where they were headed next and what was expected of them. They knew what was at stake.
This was humanity’s last stand. If they lost it here, it would only be a matter of time until humans became a footnote in the universe’s history. If they win here, though, humanity would finally have a hope at survival. The stakes were high and everyone knew it. Everyone was doing their best. Ashley just hoped that would be enough.
“This is good, being here with you,” Ashley whispered, looking at Jeryl a smile dawning on her lips. They were still in their temporary quarters, and she was locked in his arms, enjoying his hot breath in her hair and feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the memories of happiness that they had known through constant sadness flood her.
The fun.
The love making.
The many nights she spent in his arms looking at the stars.
Then, she focused in on last night. Jeryl was rough, but she liked it. Most times he was delicate. She supposed it had something to do with the war. Ashley could tell he was frustrated and angry and nervous. She would be too, if she were Captain.
Yes, she was First Officer, but the way she felt about the mission was nowhere compared to how he did. The weight of over three hundred personnel upon the ship wasn’t upon her shoulders but his. If she did something wrong, she could easily report to him. She had no one to report to save himself, especially during the heat of battle. She tried to always be there for him, whenever he needed her…but the burden of command was a solitary one.
“Do you sometimes feel that we don’t get enough time together?” Jeryl whispered to her.
Ashley wasn’t sure why, but his cool, lucid voice aroused her.
“All the time,” she replied, her voice nothing but a faint whisper. “It’s never enough. Even if we had every night for ourselves, it wouldn’t be enough.”
She heard him chuckle, and that made her smile. At least she still could still bring some semblance of happiness to the man who was known across the Terran Union as the Avenger of The Mariner.
The previous night had left her a little sore in so many places, and that was a good thing. She probably wouldn’t be seeing her husband until the end of this mission. From now on, he would just be the Captain. At least now she had something to think about for the duration of this final mission.
She tried one last joke. “You know, Captain, for someone who’s taking his crew to war it should’ve been your responsibility to ensure that I can walk this morning.”
Jeryl cracked up, his chuckle turning into generous laughter, and he grabbed her body tighter in his arm. Ashley felt a resurgence of last night’s desire, and she struggled to keep it together. One thing was sure: if she started kissing Jeryl, they wouldn’t leave this station's quarters for another thirty minutes…and they were scheduled to depart in ten.
“I love you,” he muttered to her, then lay his lips on her forehead.
Ashley retracted herself from his embrace and looked him in the eyes. He was smiling at her with a kindness he had never displayed towards anybody before, at least not in her presence.
And I’m always present, she thought, being his wife and First Officer.
Ashley was smiling too, but deep down she felt a shadow inside of her: they might not make it out of this alive. As she remembered that, her mind’s clouded with a strong sense of pain and anguish.
Tears came to her eyes and she didn’t know what to say. She saw Jeryl’s eyes grow darker, a sadness taking over him, and Ashley realized how deeply he cared for me.
Despite all the tension, the anguish, and the fights…this man loves me. Truly loves me.
“Captain Montgomery and First Officer Gavin to the CNC!” said a voice over the intercom.
They both looked up for the moment the intercom was active.
Without saying anything, Ashley stood up and got dressed, the First Officer uniform becoming her second skin. As she headed for the door, Jeryl caught her before she commanded it open.
“I swear this to you, Ashley, I will do everything within my power to…make sure we come back. Because we will make it out of this. Whatever it takes.”
A smile slipped helplessly onto face. “I’ve always known that, Captain.”
They walked out of the quarters and through the station and boarded the fast shuttle to The Seeker and made their way to the CNC. Every step she took toward the CNC was a step out of the fantasy world she built around her marriage with Jeryl, a safe place away from the cold indifference of an unforgiving universe.
“Captain on deck!” yelled a bulky man standing by the entrance into the CNC. He wielded a rifle and sported the blue and black uniform of ship security. This was one of the several changes that had occurred in the fleet that Ashley had never felt comfortable with. She took her stand by her station, wondering about the frailty of the Terran Armada personnel.
When a ship had to have special security staff to prevent mutinies, the fabric of the military was tearing. This put too much power in the hands of security, even though they reported directly to the Captain. It bred an unsavory and poisonous air of uncertainty and dread.
There were about three dedicated security soldiers in the CNC, all of which were assigned to Jeryl. They were his personal protection detail and this was another point of contention between Ashley and the higher-ups.
Why protect a Captain from his crew? What kind of message did that send? If anything, it was divisive; not exactly what was needed at this pivotal moment in the history of humanity.
They became standard issue on all starships after the encounter at Azukene Colony in which the crew went through a mutiny on the TUS Terror—unheard of at that point on any Armada vessel. The Captain had given orders for ramming speed. The crew didn’t think that the frigate they were in was going to do a damn thing against the Sonali dreadnaught. They refused to throw away their lives. Ashley knew they were unaccustomed to war—it had been the first year.
They murdered the Captain but by then, Sonali fighters had targeted them and taken out their FTL drives. Sonali ships swarmed around them and destroyed them along with the colony. But the automated last log that the ship sent out through slipstream captured those final moments on the CNC of that vessel.
And the Armada began to post security officers to protect their Captains.
Thankfully, Jeryl agreed with her, and he had refused to succumb to the paranoia that took over the entire Armada. Despite that, The Seeker’s security personnel had about twenty highly trained, highly skilled, and terribly equipped men and women who didn’t give a damn.
Ashley tried as much as possible to stay out of their way. They didn’t contribute anything to the culture and operations on The Seeker, so she just tried and let them be. She couldn’t fight Armada regulations, but she sure as hell could do her best to ignore them.
Jeryl took his seat and beamed at his CNC crew with pride. They didn’t notice it because everyone was frantic over their controls checking off last minute details and conducting final scans and ensuring readiness.
Ashley smiled at this and read through some of the reports waiting for her, her eyes going over the information cascading down her tablet screen. She was critical about logistics, because it was her duty to ensure the ship ran smoothly so the Captain could focus on the more important decisions.
After what felt like three seconds (but really was three minutes), the Captain said, “Clear all docking.”
“Aye, captain,” replied Henry Docherty, the navigator. The ship thrummed for a moment and there was a soft jerk as they were released from the station. Gently, they began to put some distance between them and the last safe place they would see for quite some time. Ashley didn’t notice a roar in the engines. The inertia dampers were working well. Too well, she noted.
“First Officer Gavin. Take the ship to high alert,” the Captain said.
“High alert, sir,” Ashley reported right after tapping her fingers across the command panel holographic dashboard. The lights in the CNC and all over the ship took on a slight reddish tint. Defensive screens took over the main view screen with reports of every critical system - weapons, FTL drive, life support…it was all there.
“Set course to Anderson Nebula,” Jeryl said at last, his voice somber. Still, there was a deep solemnity to his words. The kind of solemnity that told her what he was thinking about—and it was not pretty.
She felt a sharp jerk the moment the FTL drive kicked in and flung them into interstellar space.
“How long to The Mariner Nebula?” the Captain asked.
“Three days, Captain,” Docherty replied.
“It should give us enough time to complete whatever repairs are lagging,” the Captain said.
“Aye, Captain,” she replied.
This is it, thought Ashley. No turning back now.
Admiral Flynn
The live slipstream feed projected a full holographic image of Admiral Walker into the center of Flynn’s office. The image was blotchy in some areas and a lot of times it frazzled. The sound, however, was good and crisp.
“Walker,” Flynn said by way of greeting. Even though he was spearheading the war effort, they had dropped the formalities between each other long ago.
Walker nodded. He was seated on a chair in his office, and that was where the slipstream captured him. The background wasn’t part of the holographic image, and Flynn knew that it was the same for him; Walker was only able to see him standing by his desk, and not his entire office.
“Flynn,” Admiral said in response. “What’s your status?”
Flynn heaved a sigh. He had been thinking about the mission he just sent over four hundred ships on.
What’s my status? Not a good one, that’s for sure.
He had been posing that question over and over again since the captains departed.
If they succeed and wiped out a billion innocent Sonali in one swipe, would that make him one of the greatest mass murderers in the history of the universe?
Flynn came up with a no. Nature or the cosmos was the universe’s deadliest and cruelest mass murderer.
From dust we came, to dust we shall return.
He smiled in spite of himself. How true that statement was. Did the universe even care about consequences? Or were they—humans and Sonali—playing the consciousness game while the cold universe treated them with the same insignificance it would to a speck of dust?
No, he wasn’t the universe’s greatest mass murderer. That prize went to the cosmos. But he knew that when this was all over, he would come in second. He wasn’t sure if that was how he wanted to be remembered, but he supposed that when it came to war no one got to choose their own legacy.
Snapping out of it, he looked up at the life-sized image of Admiral Walker.
“The captains departed two days ago, sir. The last of them will arrive at The Mariner nebula by tomorrow. No problems so far. The mission is still on course.”
Admiral Walker cleared his throat and folded his hands before him. He saw his hands float in the air, but he knew he had them on his table, which the slipstream didn’t project. He began to pace in front of his desk. He tethered on the verge of telling Admiral Walker his fears.
Despite their seniority, they had a lot in common. Walker was his senior back at the academy, and he had served under his command twice. Once as a First Officer, and another time as a Captain within his jurisdiction. Now, at this crucial moment in the galaxy’s history, he was serving with him. Not for him.
He had never thought to have the opportunity to determine the course of the universe. Now, he found himself saddled with that responsibility—and who else to help him carry it but Walker himself?
The Admiral must have had noticed Flynn’s discomfort,
“You know how important this mission is, Flynn. Do I need to remind you of that?”
There was some sort of unspoken tradition in the fleet—when a CO asked such a question anyone should reply with a firm negative, even though Flynn sure needed reminding.
But Flynn didn’t.
Not because he needed reminding, but because he wasn’t so sure this was the best course of action. It was ruthless, vicious. It was…inhumane.
After pacing for a while, Flynn paused in front of the Admiral Walker. Looking up at him, he pursed his lips and mustered the necessary courage to continue.
“Do you know Armada Intelligence reports that this planet we’re going to hit, this Sonali planet in the Beta Hydra III quadrant, is one of the most populated and densest planets belonging to the Sonali people in this sector?”
Admiral Walker looked at him as if he couldn’t understand what he was saying. But Flynn knew he did.
“Those ships will hit that planet, Flynn. This final attack will happen.”
He stressed his voice and cocked an eyebrow when he said ‘will’.
“There are a billion people on that planet and Intelligence believes it holds a mythic status for most of the Sonali. Like if someone came and destroyed Earth,” said Flynn to him.
Walker stared at him, and Flynn felt like a child in a class
“Did you know?” pressed Flynn. “Did you get the report?”
Of course, he knew. Walker read the report long before Armada Intelligence sent his way. Flynn wondered why they sent it.
To guilt trip me? To what end?
Or maybe someone there felt guilty, and tried their possible best to stave off genocide. Maybe they believed that there was still someone in the Armada’s upper echelon with a heart. Someone whose conscience hadn’t been seared by the hot iron of war.
Admiral Walker sighed and closed his eyes.
“Yes, Flynn. I read the report. I read it five months ago. In fact, that’s the report that shaped this offensive. Why?”
He opened his eyes and Flynn saw his weary look. Walker expected his protest, so he just went ahead and gave it to him.
“I have my misgivings, Walker,” said Flynn, matter-of-factly. “A lot of people have been talking. A lot of our admirals, too.”
“They can talk all they want,” Admiral Walker replied. “They can debate all they want. This attack will happen. We are far down the line to begin to second guess our decisions.”
“I know, I know, but don’t you empathize with their misgivings?” he asked. “It doesn’t matter if these guys are humans or not. There are laws in war. There are certain things that are just inhumane and shouldn’t be tolerated during war.”
“These laws are the reason why four billion people are dead!” Admiral Walker snapped and right then and there Flynn heard the voice and anguish of all the death the war had caused. Walker was standing now and bristling with unbridled rage.
Flynn was rooted in the ground; he didn’t even dare move or speak—not while Walker was this riled up. Still, Flynn stared him down and refused to back down.
There’s enough white in my hair to give me that right.
Still maintaining his scowl and hardline voice, he spoke:
“Four billion people are dead because of laws, Flynn! Do you think a bureaucrat in New Washington or Earth knows how to win a war? They tell us what to do, and what not to do. Meanwhile, people are dying.”
With that, the Admiral ran one hand through his thinning hair and looked at him with a tired expression.
“I don’t need my point Admiral having second thoughts, going soft on me, and giving himself to the prejudices of what is right and proper.”
Admiral Walker sighed and sat back down.
Flynn continued to pace, his heart beating faster.
He was angry now. Angry at Admiral Walker. Angry at the Wolf Offensive. Angry at himself for committing and supporting such an act. And yet, he was also angry at himself for having second thoughts.
He heard Walker’s exhalation before he heard his voice:
“Well, Flynn, it really doesn’t matter what misgivings you or any other person within the Armada or the Union think. We’re at the point of no return…You are at the point of no return. You’re under obligation to see this mission through, after which I can take point if you wish. Just let me know.”
That did it for Flynn. He stopped pacing and stood at attention before the Admiral.
“How can you even say that, sir?” asked Flynn. “The Armada is my life. How can I trade up my life?” Flynn continued. “I have no problem with my current orders. I’ll carry them out to the letter.”
“Good. For a moment there you had me worried. Look,” Admiral Walker replied. “There are many who can sit in a room and begin to pick our decisions apart. I find that these office types are the ones who end up costing us more in war. When they’re exposed to the horrors of war, when they’ve lost captains, friends, confidants, family…that’s when they realize that, when it comes to protecting all that you love and care for, boundaries must be crossed.”
Flynn found that he had been holding his breath. He let it out slowly.
“So, you agree we’re crossing a boundary?”
He made a face.
“Are you serious, Flynn? What do you think I am, a mindless beast? Of course. But make no mistake. This isn’t just a war for territory or dominance. This is a war for survival. We’re fighting for more than just the Union…we’re fighting for the human race. And I’ll be damned if I don’t cross every single line in the sand to see to it that we survive.”
“Get your mind and heart right, Flynn,” Walker continued. “Your captains don’t need you giving voice to all that tension.”
“Yes, sir.”
He gave Flynn a final nod.
“Walker out,” he muttered, more to himself than to Flynn, and then vanished from his office.
Admiral Flynn exhaled aloud.
He had his orders, and they had to be carried out. And that was the end of it.
And still…
Jeryl
Jeryl was in the Captain’s Office, looking at the ceiling. He felt the steady hum of the FTL drive, a constant presence whenever it was engaged.
Most of the repairs on the ship had been done. All systems were nominal. All weapons were ready. All officers were ready to engage. This was as ready as they would ever be. Hell, he didn’t think he would ever be this ready for a battle, even counting those five years of war.
Yet, the closer they got to The Mariner Nebula, the closer they got to annihilating the Sonali planet…and the more restless Jeryl felt.
I better get it together, he thought. We have barely a day left.
Jeryl hadn’t spoken about it to anybody. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; he had once gone to the sick bay to see his chief medical officer, Dr. Mahesh Rigsang. He suspected he was having a heart problem of some sort. Perhaps he had ruptured a vein or something.
After a thorough check, the CMO cleared him and told him he was perfectly healthy. He gave him some sleeping pills and told him to rest.
He was just stressed, the CMO said. Jeryl thought he was putting it lightly.
He took the pills, but still no respite.
This went way beyond stress; he was just afraid to admit it.
A little crack. This was what the enemy needed to win the war. Just a tiny little crack. He couldn’t allow for any cracks. He couldn’t second-guess himself. He couldn’t give in to doubt, even though it might wrap itself around his heart, squeezing it tight.
I can’t give in.
I won’t give in
He shut his eyes for a moment, allowing the darkness to swallow him whole.
There were a lot of people on this ship (not to mention all the others joining them at The Mariner Nebula), and they were all depending on him.
Shouldn’t that be the exact reason to allow doubt in? A small voice in the back of his head whispered.
He grit his teeth and, before he knew what he was doing, he had balled both hands into fists.
As a captain, he couldn’t stand the thought of making a mistake that would cost the lives of his crew. And it was that same thought that weighed him down—what if I made a mistake that didn’t cost him his crew, but cost the lives of…billions?
Maybe he could have prevented all this.
But then, he asked himself—would any other Captain handled things differently? If The Seeker hadn’t been the one assigned to that mission, would things have gone the way they did? Sometimes, he thought it all would’ve happened anyway, regardless of the mission assignment. But for others…
He had survived this long because of Ashley. She was the anchor that held him down; she was what kept him down. She was the reason he kept fighting. She was the light in the darkness. Whenever these doubts weighed him down, she was the one he turned to.
But he couldn’t stop his mind from spinning endlessly. Never. And he had tried.
What if he had been better prepared when he met the Sonali for the first time? He was ill prepared for it; he had always disregarded the possibility of alien life in the universe.
How about now? He asked himself. Now you are racing towards the Sonali to deal out a fatal blow to their species. Now you know ahead of time. There’s no excuse.
Realization hit him. Whatever actions he took, whatever happened here on out, he was fully responsible. There would be no excuses. History would judge him brutally. And with this realization came a tidal wave of fear crashing down on him.
Captain Jeryl leaped out of his chair. He needed to talk to someone. There was only one person he could think of and she was off duty.
“Contact Commander Gavin,” he said, activating the ship’s AI.
“Ashley here,” her voice filled his office, and he found himself sighing with relief. For a moment, the darkness of fear receded.
“Ash, where are you?” he asked her.
There was a pause. He never called her Ash except when they were alone. He did it now because he wanted her to know that he wasn’t looking for the First Officer. He was looking for his wife.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Do you want an honest answer?”
“Yeah.”
“No, everything’s not alright,” said Jeryl.
“I’m in our quarters.”
“I’ll be there in two.”
He cut the line and headed out of his quarters. He ordered his security detail to remain on the CNC, and even though they didn’t seem happy about it, they had no other choice but to do it. Jeryl was fully aware he was flagrantly disobeying Armada regulations, but so what? He wanted a moment of privacy with Ashley.
When he arrived to their quarters, he found her lying down on the bed. She sat up as he walked in.
He motioned for her to remain in bed, locking the door behind him. He slipped into the bed beside her, and she instinctively rested her head on his chest. It felt electric, being this close to her.
“Lights off,” he said, plunging the quarters into the state it had been when he walked in.
“What’s wrong?” she asked him after a moment of silence. Her soft voice woke him up as he realized he must have fallen asleep.
He checked for the struggle in his heart. It was still there, but now it seemed almost…insignificant. The fire blazing inside him for Ashley simply overpowered everything else. She had never been able to describe what he felt for her. He wasn’t a man of words, after all. But every cell in his being knew the truth: he loved her.
He really did.
“Remember how you’ve been having doubts about our commands?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said, her voice setting off a vibration in his chest. During all their officer’s meetings, Ashley never ceased to vocalize her misgivings about the current path that the Terran Union was following. Nevertheless, she was always quick to ensure that the mission was a success—her commitment never required a question mark.
“I think you may be right.”
He felt Ashley rolled over until she had her arms folded on his chest, her head facing Jeryl’s. He couldn’t see her, but he felt her looking at him.
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked.
“No. This mission doesn’t sit well with me,” he said. “I’m telling you this not as your captain now… but as your husband. This doesn’t feel right.”
She sighed and reverted back to her previous position, her head on his chest. Telling her he was afraid relieved some of the tension in his heart.
“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about our mission,” she said.
“The Wolf Offensive. Before the war, people can say all sorts of things about the morality of what we do or don’t do. But right after the war, none of that seems to matter. Only the results. Say we win this. Nobody is going to realize that we may have contributed to wiping out an entire intelligent space faring species. All they will think about is that we won, and that we’re free. What is this war turning us into, Jeryl?”
He remained silent. He knew it wasn’t a rhetorical question, but that wasn’t why he was hesitating. He didn’t answer because he didn’t know how to answer.
“To think that all this started because of the destruction of The Mariner,” he said.
“We have looked through the records. We have read the transcripts of their communication with Edoris Station. From all the evidence we’ve been able to compile, there’s nothing that suggests that the Sonali were responsible for their destruction. It seems that they were being sincere, though rudely, when they told us it was their sector and that they didn’t know what had happened to The Mariner.”
“You’re saying that this entire war was based on an assumption that may have been false?” she asks, incredulity filtering into her voice.
“I don’t know what I’m saying,” he replied to her. “I don’t know, Ash. No matter what the case is, one thing is certain. We’re fucked.”
In tandem, as though their hearts beat as one, they drew in a deep breath and let it out softly out into the air. He shoved all the thoughts into the back of his mind and let himself relax in the comfort of nearness to his wife.
We’re fucked, yes, thought Jeryl. But at least we’re not alone.
Ashley
It was 0800 hrs. Ashley met the tactical station on board The Seeker in CNC trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes. The fleet went toward its end goal today. And somehow, it seemed like a bad omen to go into combat without her morning cup of coffee.
Ashley scanned the readouts of the fleet that was forming in the system with the ships coming in and meeting at the rendezvous point roughly half a light year away from the station. She double and triple checked the readouts from engineering to make sure their FTL drives were fully aligned.
She checked the manifest in sick bay to ensure that everything the doctor requested had transferred over. She checked her weapons complement to see if the upgrades went through. They had.
She even checked the energy banks that power the molecular resequensor. Not because she thought that they were going to want to have a meal in the middle of combat, but just because she didn’t know what else to check.
She had checked everything. The flurry of activity over the last 12 hours had been frantic. Everyone knew this was the Wolf Offensive. The single most important engagement to date in this war. An offensive that she could not find herself agreeing with, but one that she knew was necessary if they were to have a fighting chance to survive as a species.
“Everything okay?”
A voice asked and Ashley turned to see Jeryl standing next to her. She didn’t even realize he came by her side until he said something. She must had been engrossed in her readouts more than she realized.
“I’m fine, Captain,” said Ashley. “All systems appear to be in working order, the upgrades have gone through, weapons are online, FTL drives are working, sick bay is fully stocked with anything that we could ever need, and if you want you can even go get a cup of coffee and not tax the energy banks.“
“Well, it’s nice to know that I can get a cup of joe and then go kill one billion Sonali,” the Captain said with an air of morbid resignation mixed with a humor that was born out of hopelessness.
“We don’t have to go kill one billion Sonali,” she said. “There are other ways around how we can go about achieving victory. We’ve been pushing back on Sonali lines the last two months. It’s not inconceivable that we could target some of their main command-and-control stations. Push them back into their planetary bases. Take out their shipping lines. Create a war of attrition.”
She looked to the captain and saw him staring at her. He knew what she was saying was correct and he knew that what she was proposing would be a much longer, much costlier, much more brutal war. He knew this plan would never pass muster.
The Terran Union was never prepared for conflict. They went into it full of bluster. They didn’t analyze the consequences of prolonged years of warfare on their population.
Their democratic institutions would begin to crumble if they didn’t end this war. They’d need strong leadership—much stronger than what they had now. He was talking autocratic leaders who consolidate all the power among a few people. They’d need to direct fleets, move massive groups of men and material, dictate that the individual—all 44 billion within the Terran Union—dedicated their lives to the state.
They had seen that before in history, Ashley was sure of it. Nazi Germany. Soviet Union. The caliphate of the Middle East that arose in the mid-21st century right before the Third World War. The Asian Bloc. The Empire of Oceania. The Outer Colonies. They could go down that route, but they would had lost the war much, much before then.
The Captain knew this. He knew, Ashley knew it. He knew that they were probably 3 to 6 months away from open rebellion in the core worlds of the Union. They both realized that they were perhaps a year away from a breakdown in government where Earth wouldn’t be able to maintain clear lines of control and communication with the Armada.
And they both know that if they kept facing defeat or even stalemate, the situation would eventually wear down on them until there would be a collapse from the inside. And they would leave the Sonali to mop them up as they progressed further and further toward the cradle of humanity.
“This is the only way, Ash,” Jeryl said. “We gonna have a problem carrying out your mission?”
“I know my mission,” said Ashley.” You will have no problems from me, sir.”
“Good,” he said.
She sighed. What happened to the man who expressed his doubts and his fears about this mission just a few hours ago? She knew he was most probably burying that side of him right now. He couldn’t let it show. Not for her, not for anyone. He needed to present the picture of a leader in charge—a commander of the Terran Armada.
Any doubts, any misgivings, any sort of second thoughts would be detrimental to the morale of the crew. Once they knew what they were about to do they needed to see a strong and confident leader who was willing to go in and make the hard decisions and carry out the final orders.
And a billion Sonali lives would be the price that needed to be paid because of that composure.
“There’s something you should know about the ship and its upgrades,” said Ashley, trying to change her mood. “Our weapons have been upgraded, but our shielding has been upgraded with the latest technology that the Armada is putting into new starships. We’re able to last in a firefight much longer and that may come in handy if we need to be the ones to start the orbital bombardment of the Beta Hydra III planet. Preliminary readouts tell me that our weapons damage effectiveness have been increased by nearly 75%. Our shielding has been increased by close to 150%.”
“That’s impressive,” he told him raising his eyebrows. “How did we get such numbers?”
“Apparently, we’ve been busier than I thought capturing downed Sonali starships,” she said with a smile. “War may be the mother of all invention but you can never beat good old-fashioned stealing.”
She tried to give him a smile to cut the overhanging tension in the air caused by the mission. If she could lighten the mood for just one moment, distract him from his thoughts for just a second, it could mean the difference between life and death when they go into battle.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you by the way,” he said as he turned to face CNC from his tactical consul.
“Can you get me all of the data and telemetry that we collected from the debris of The Mariner?” Jeryl asked.
“Sure,” said Ashley. “You can have that in the next few minutes.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I also need all of the data that we have on that nebula, any sort of data that was sent back by The Mariner, and all data from first contact as well as any active and passive scans that the ship was running at that time.”
She nodded and started to input the commands that would get all of the information to the captain. She knew that any Armada starship normally ran passive scans in the background of the surrounding space. This was standard operating procedure. It allowed some of the routine scanning that needed to be done in order for course corrections and any sort of star charting for the navigator to engage in to be done without having to go through any sort of CNC officer approving and keeping track of it. The scans themselves were very low energy and not an intense power drain on the ship's energy sources so they ran continuously—even while in space dock.
“With that kind of data it’ll take at least 20 minutes to get it all compiled,” Ashley said. “You want it routed to your tablet?”
“No,” he said. “Send it to my workstation in my office. I plan to do some reading about the circumstances that started this conflict. We have at least a few more hours until we get to the nebula. I might as well start going through that information.”
Ashley’s ears perked up and her sixth sense started tingling.
“Jeryl,” she said slowly keeping her voice low. “What’s going on?”
Jeryl shrugged and looked away. It was like he was thinking of what to say.
“I’m not sure yet,” he said his voice lowering even more so that no one in CNC could hear them.
“But it’s something that’s been at the back of my head and I need to go over it. Something I thought of last night. Somethings not right about this. Something wasn’t right from the very single day that we met the Sonali. And if we have this time I’m going to actually finally use it after all these years to try and see what it could be.”
Ashley smiled and nodded. “You’ll have it shortly.”
Jeryl nodded and thanked her before turning and walking into his office.
She knew he was waiting for that report.
She knew there was something in it that he thought could help.
She smiled, because now, finally, she recognized the man again from last night. The man she married.
Jeryl
The last update Jeryl received from the CNC told him they were a few hours away from the rendezvous in The Mariner Nebula. As the time approached, he felt more and more conflicted. He was haunted by the terror he was about to unleash upon a people whose only wrong may have been to meet them. He couldn’t help but wonder if this war was a huge mistake.
He knew that, as an officer, he had to ensure that all orders given were moral and appropriate based on the information he had at his disposal. But there was some level of fear that went with reviewing past orders, especially those that led to catastrophic ramifications.
Not to mention that this war had started because of him.
What if he was wrong? What would that mean for him? All the lives that had been lost, all the worlds that had been wiped out, they would all be on him. What would the Armada do to him? Would they court-martial him? Would they execute him?
If he found out the truth and sent a slipstream message back to Admiral Flynn, telling him that this war was nothing but a huge mistake and that the Sonali didn’t down The Mariner, what would Flynn think of him? What would the crew think of him?
Thankfully, most of the old crew remained with The Seeker. All the CNC crew were with him when it first happened. They had a lot more understanding of the context surrounding this war than most did. They would understand. At least, Jeryl thought so.
He exhaled softly. He had to decide on a course of action.
He began to consider the other side of the equation. Say the Sonali were innocent, that they didn’t destroy The Mariner…would they be innocent of all the lives that had been lost? But if they were innocent of the crimes the humans leveled against them, why did they respond with such an aggressive show of force?
For a time, during the beginning of the war, they were more interested in surviving than in winning. They were focused on living through to the next day and defending their planets than in destroying Sonali dreadnaughts. It took several ships, a miracle, sheer force of will, and stunning ingenuity to bring down a Sonali Cruiser. And then there were more.
Now, the odds had been leveled. They were no longer retreating and trying to survive; they were counterattacking. They were pushing the bastards back.
So, what the hell happens next if they weren’t the cause of the war? They sure as hell had sustained it. They could have retaliated and let it be. But no, they had to invade their systems. They had to wipe out their deep space stations. They had to destroy their planets, even those that weren’t defended. Jeryl himself might not be innocent, but the Sonali must share the blame.
He sat back on his chair and suddenly realized what sustained this war for so long: it really wasn’t The Mariner.
In fact, no one spoke about The Mariner any more. They spoke about the destruction of their bases. They spoke about the pillaging of their worlds. They spoke about the death and destruction the Sonali had left in their wake. They spoke of how close humanity came to be terminated.
We may have falsely started this war, thought Jeryl. But the Sonali are as much responsible for its prognosis as we are.
Now that he was facing possible genocide, he had a decision to make. The Sonali had never demonstrated the kind of restraint he was feeling. They had been careless in attacking defenseless planets. Once, they had leveled a planet with more than five hundred million inhabitants.
That planet was far removed from the front lines and didn’t have any defenses. This was two years ago. They had punched through their lines in the Eridan Sector. Came as close to the Core Worlds as they ever came before.
Jeryl knew he shouldn’t even be considering mercy with the Sonali, yet here he was.
Well, I guess I’m only human.
He smiled as he arrived at this stunning revelation. This was what differentiated them from the Sonali.
We’re merciful, they aren’t. We’re kind, they aren’t. We’re reasonable, they aren’t.
But it wasn’t as simple as that, was it? Were these descriptive terms universal or was he just trying to understand the Sonali, another intelligent species, through the lens of human experience? What would Professor Guss have said?
Having fought the Sonali, he decided that much of what his professor taught was bullshit philosophy. When push came to shove, the Sonali was just another human foe they had to defeat.
“Pull up file FC 001,” he said into the air.
“Access denied,” the computer said. “File is classified.”
“Override authorization code AGZ121,” he said,
“Checking,” came the computer reply. A moment later, “Access granted.”
Then, a holoscreen appeared over his table at a good distance from him. It was a voice recording of his experience with the Sonali ship five years ago. It was recorded at the Edoris Station, a meeting of the entire leadership of the Armada, immediately after his contact with the Sonali. The results of the meeting were classified, including all recordings and notes made, but he was one of the participants in that meeting, and he had access to it.
“Play,” he said and the recording starts. Closing his eyes and listening to himself five years ago, self-recounting the experience with the Sonali, he began to relish every moment.
The back and forth with the ship’s head. The messages buried beneath messages. The clicking and popping sound of the Sonali. The blue humanoid creature that sometimes tortured his sleep. The accusation he leveled against them for The Mariner. The aggressive response he got … and a request to come on a diplomatic mission to their home planet, veiled by a threat to use force on them.
They never admitted to destroying The Mariner. But why not? If they did it, why not admit it?
Jeryl remembered The Seeker’s original purpose: to find out what had happened to The Mariner. Why did he never accomplish that? It might not be enough to reverse all the damage this war had caused, but it might suffice to stop the Wolf Offensive and preserve what humanity they still had left in them.
He picked up his tablet from his table and call up his report from that day. He checked their current bearings to see if they could make a detour. He saw that they could.
He walked into the CNC, head held high.
“Captain on deck!” roared the security personnel.
“At ease,” he said, noticing as some of his officers become tense. Jeryl took his seat. He could feel Ashley’s eyes boring holes into the side of his right temple. He shared his deepest and darkest thoughts with her. She knew that he had been struggling with their orders. He just hope she didn’t feel like she had to oppose him when he decided on what to do next.
“Lieutenant Eilean,” he said, “give me an update.”
“We are approaching the rendezvous point, sir,” she replied.
“Okay,” he said. He felt the tension in the bones of his fingers as he tightened them around the edge of his seat. Whatever decision he made from there on out, he would need the full cooperation of his crew.
“Prepare to make a course correction, First Lieutenant.”
He watched her carefully as she scanned the readout on her workstation, before scanning the information on the view screen. He knew she was looking for reasons for a course correction. When she was certain there was no need for a correction, she looked at Jeryl.
“What correction, sir?”
He grabbed his tablet from his side and tapped a button.
“Sending you the coordinates.”
She returned her attention to her workstation as the coordinate slid into her view. She pulled up the map of the quadrant, placing the coordinate Jeryl had sent her, their present location, and where they ought to be. She put the information on the screen so that everyone could see it.
“Captain, that’s way off course,” she replied. Then she looked at him. “I don’t understand.”
That was when Ashley joined in. “Captain, why do you want us to go there?”
He raised his voice for two reasons: one, for everyone in the CNC to hear him. Two, he wanted them to understand this decision was not up for debate.
“Many of you know that this area is where it all began. This is where The Mariner went missing, and where it was destroyed. This is also where we, five years ago, made First Contact with another species. Well, the coordinate you see on the screen is where our trail five years ago ended, when we were intercepted by the first Sonali ship.”
Ashley was by her side now. She was looking at his tablet, so he twisted his wrist so she could get a better look.
“But why go there?” she asked him in a whisper.
Everyone’s attention was still focused on Jeryl, but he addressed his First Officer alone.
“Because everything we need to know about this damn war is right there. Let’s know for sure what happened to The Mariner before we commit a terrible mistake.”
Ashley
Ashley knew she should be happy and excited.
After all, throughout their flight to this quadrant, she had campaigned against the brutality of the Wolf Offensive. Right now, though, she was neither happy nor excited. If anything, she was exhausted.
She nodded her acquiescence to the Captain and returned to her station. She made it like she was okay with his decision, though she still felt a bit hurt; hurt because his decision came as a shock to her. He had told her how he felt about the Wolf Offensive, agreeing with her in the confines of our quarters. Now, he was going ahead to effect a change to their flight plan based on what? She wondered what made him change his mind so fast.
“We need to find out the truth,” he said out loud. “Not our truth. Not something we assumed to be true. We need to find out the truth.”
Oddly, everyone nodded their head in agreement. Some even muttered their agreement. Ashley snatched a glance at him to find that he was looking at her. She returned her gaze to her console and remained passive. She could feel him looking at her. In fact, she could almost hear him asking her what the problem was.
“Course plotted and ready to execute, sir,” the navigator officer said.
“Go ahead, Eilean. Take us there.”
There was a sharp whine as the Battle Cruise began to change course at FTL factor four. Before long, they were on course to the coordinates the captain had shared. Ashley began to wonder what awaited them out there.
She began to feel her unease subside—but not because she was finally going to know the truth. It subsided because another emotion rose in her mind.
Fear.
What were they going to find there? Most people were afraid of their past, and Ashley was no different. She was about to face it head-on, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. What if they found out that the Sonali hadn’t destroyed The Mariner?
What would they do then?
Her console notified her that a course correction had been completed, and that this had affected their mission profile. The system began to re-ration supplies, food, and fuel. There was a form that popped up and asked for her to input the new mission parameters so the system could complete its recalculation. She tapped emergency and then put in one hour as the duration of the new mission. Then she notified the system that after the mission, they would be retuning back on course. When she was done, it began recalculating rations.
“What’s the matter?” Ashley heard a voice say behind her. She almost jumped out of her skin, though the most she did was grab her console a little too tighter. Jeryl was close to her now, closer than what people would accept as appropriate. She knew she should enjoy it, but she as too tense for that. Rather, she felt a little irritated, especially after his rash decision. He could had just told her.
“Nothing,” she said, keeping her eyes focused on the rationing.
“I thought this is what you wanted?” he asked again.
Ashley looked around for a moment to see if they were being watched. No one was looking in their direction so she replied.
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you look happy?” he said.
“Did you do it for me?” she shot back, a little too sharp. She upbraided herself and told herself to remember that he was her captain now.
He didn’t seem to take offense. She doubted he noticed the acrimony in her voice.
“No. But this is what you’ve been pushing for.”
She heaved an impatient sigh and turned to look him in his eyes. She saw that he sincerely wanted to know what was wrong. This made her bite back on the sharp rebuke she was about to shoot his way. Overwhelmed with compassion, she couldn’t help closing her eyes. She didn’t want the crew to see her and the Captain have a moment. But even if they did, what did it matter anymore?
After everything they had done, what did anything matter anymore?
After all the blood on their hands…nothing should shock them anymore.
“It’s not because of what you and I have talked about,” she said in a tone so low that Jeryl craned his neck to hear. “It’s just…because I had to find out on the CNC. Like any other person.”
She saw his eyes widen. Then he frowned. His frown was only fleeting, and then it dissolved. Right now, she was seeing her husband, not her Captain.
“I’m sorry, Ash. If it’s any consolation, I only found out that this would be our course of action a few minutes ago.”
She nodded, but she was not satisfied. Noticing, he came even closer and put his hand on her waist. Shocked, she jerked away. She looked at him aghast.
He smiled.
“Captain, we’re getting multiple hails from the ships heading to the rendezvous point,” Mary Taylor called from her workstation. This broke the little impasse between her and Jeryl. He wore his Captain face before returning to his seat.
“What do they want?” Captain Jeryl Montgomery asked.
The husband was buried. The lover was gone.
The communications officer turned around in her swivel seat and looked at the captain’s direction. “They want to know why we’ve changed direction.”
“We need to be sure there’s still something in the coordinates before we tell them anything, sir,” Ashley said.
He agreed with her. He told the communications officer to stand by and then went over to Dr. Lannigan’s station.
He stood beside the man and said, “I want you to run a scan of the area we are headed to. I want you to see if you can still detect the debris from The Mariner. I know it has been five years…”
“Sir, that’s a significant amount of time,” the science officer replied. “It’s highly doubtful that we would detect—”
“Run multiple scans across all spectrums,” the captain persisted, cutting him short.
“Sir, even if we can detect it,” the science officer said, “there’s still the issue of motion.”
“Explain.”
The science officer gesticulated as he explained. “Sir, space isn’t static. It’s in a constant state of motion because of gravity. Now, this debris has been in motion due to the gravitational pull of the nearby star for five years. I can assure you that it’s not in the coordinates you’ve supplied. If we scanned the place, we are likely going to come up with false or misleading data.”
“Plus, there’s the problem of degradation. The debris would have undergone a massive amount of degradation over these five years. Even if we located the debris, and we won’t, at least not in the current coordinates, it may not offer the solution we seek.”
Ashley cringed internally at the officer’s effrontery. She was about to reprimand him before the captain did something worse like relieve him of duty, but he beat her to it.
“I understand all you’ve explained,” Jeryl said to the science officer. “Proceed with the scans.”
“Docherty, proceed along the current course,” the Captain vocalized above Dr. Lannigan’s protest. The Junior Science Officer looked at the navigator and then nodded his assent. “That’s where The Mariner once was. We’re going to follow it this time until the end. No Sonali ship will stop us.”
There was finality to his voice.
She wondered what had gotten into him. There was a whole new different vibe on him. He returned to his seat, where his tablet was, and picked up the device. He muttered to himself as he put in data into it.
He walked over to Docherty.
“Can we create a flight path that mimics the movement of The Mariner’s debris movement under the gravity in the area? Something that would show me where The Mariner would be at this time if it maintained its heading without interference? “
“Yes, sir,” he replied. “But it’s going to take some time.”
“Do it,” he said.
“Sir, we have one priority message from the senior captain on site at the rendezvous,” said the communications officer.
Jeryl returned to his seat.
“On screen.”
A section of the view screen metamorphosed into a view of a CNC roughly the same size as theirs. Standing in an empty captain seat was a bulky man in his mid-forties with a clean-shaven head and a mean expression.
“Captain Soduku,” Jeryl said, his voice tight and commanding.
“Sir, are you okay?” the man said, his tone completely devoid of any sympathy.
“We noticed a course deviation that takes you away from the rendezvous. Is your navigations AI acting up? Do you require assistance?”
“No, Captain,” Jeryl replied. “Everything’s fine. We are following up on a new lead. Please stand by.”
Then the visual feeds ended.
“They will ask questions,” Ashley said out loud. “It won’t be long before we start getting slipstream hails from Armada Command.”
“Let them call,” he replied, as much for the benefit of the CNC crew as it was for her. “We’re not going anywhere until The Seeker accomplishes its original mission. We’re going to find out what happened to The Mariner.”
She heard the unspoken words that only she could tell because he was her husband.
If we have to die trying, he was going to say.
Well, Ashley thought, I suppose today is as good a day as any.
Jeryl
I may sound calm and collected. I may look cool. Don’t be deceived, Jeryl told an imaginary audience in his head.
The difference between what I feel and what my face shows is like the difference between night and day. Sometimes I have to force myself to breathe because the tension shooting through my veins has me distracted from it. There’s fear, too—the kind of fear that might turn into terror.
But I have to remain strong and clear if we’re going to make it through.
Jeryl knew Ashley never agreed to this. But right now his wife’s opinion didn’t matter. The only person’s opinion he was willing to consider was his First Officer’s. He needed her speaking to him as a Commander in the Armada, and not as the wife of a Captain.
He looked around to see if he was being observed by any of the crewmates. No one was watching him except, of course, the three security officers on the CNC.
“Helm,” he said from his seat. “Show us the deviation in our course from that of the Fleet. Put it on visual.”
The image came up and Jeryl looked up at it. A transparent map of the sector superimposed the view of the energy shield around the ship. There were three headings represented by short dashes; one is their previous heading, which entered the nebula from the lower left and maintained a straight bearing to the upper left portion. Twenty-one dots represented the ship’s predetermined course and rendezvous location.
He saw another bearing veering off from a certain point along the original bearing to the right. It terminated in a single dot, which appeared to be in the right central portion of the map. Then he saw a proposed bearing from where they were along the second bearing. This proposed bearing veered a little back to the left, and terminated at the right corner of the map. It was in the total opposite direction of where the fleet was headed to for the mission.
Jeryl realized with a fresh onslaught of nerve-wracking terror that if he pursued the course he lay down for the ship, they were going to be travelling away from the fleet. If they ran into trouble, there would be no help or backup. And even if they were able to call for help, it would take the Armada too long a time to arrive, and by which time they would long be dead—killed by the same thing that decimated The Mariner.
“Sir, you do realize that the course will take us away from the fleet?” Ashley said from her console. “It will put is in the direct opposite direction of the fleet, plus out of its range should anything go wrong.”
“I realize that,” he said. He glanced at the navigator who, all the while, had been looking at him. “Set the course as amended and take us to that coordinate.”
Without giving a fuss, he nodded and returned his attention to his station. He issued the necessary commands to his system, and there was a sharp whine as the Battle Cruise began to change course. He got a call from engineering.
“Hi, Robert,” he said in his friendliest voice.
“What the hell is going on up there, Jeryl?” the chief engineer said. Aside from Ashley, he was the only one crazy enough to call him by his first name.
“Sorry, we have to make a course correction,” the Captain said, sympathetic.
“Well, when you boggarts decide to make a course change during FTL space, do remember to inform engineering. You just might destroy our FTL drive in the process and leave us a drifting mass in space.”
He allowed a strained smile on his face, even though this was only an audio communication. “Roger that, Robert.”
“Robert, out.”
“Status update,” he said, when he realizes the ship’s whine was over.
“Course adjusted, sir,” the navigator said. “We are en route to the estimated position of the debris of The Mariner based on the gravitation pull of the nearest star and the reduction in mass due to degradation.”
“Very good,” Jeryl replied. “Dr. Lannigan, keep your eyes on the sensors. I want you scanning that area with all you’ve got.” He knew the man was about to protest, so he continued, “I know you don’t agree with this course of action. Your disagreement has been noted and will be inputted in the logs for this mission. But damn it—just do as I say. Inform me if you see anything unusual.”
“Aye, Captain,” he replied.
“Captain?” said Henry, another CNC officer monitoring navigations.
“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” Jeryl said.
“I just wanted to let you know that Dr. Lannigan provided me with the equation to account for change in gravitational pull as a result of reduction in mass.”
“Oh?” he replied. “How is that significant?”
“Mass determine gravitation pull, sir,” the navigator replied. “The heavier an object, the more force gravity exerts on it. Also, the lighter an object it, the lesser the force gravity exerts on it. Now, The Mariner debris has experienced severe atrophy over the course of five years. With this, the gravitation pull has constantly reduced, and with this its velocity.”
“I see,” he replied. “Without accounting for mass degradation, you most likely would have ended up with a wrong coordinate?”
He nodded. “But I couldn’t have come up with it without Taft.”
“Good job, guys,” said Jeryl.
“Captain,” the communications officer called. “I’m receiving priority one slipstream alert from Armada Command. They have been informed that we’re proceeding and not deviating from our alternate course and that we have had a sudden change in course. They request to be advised of our situation.”
“Noted,” Jeryl said.
There was a tense silence.
“What reply should I send, Captain?”
“Ignore the message,” he said, to the collective shock of the entire CNC crew. He noticed that only the security personnel didn’t show any outward response to what he just said. He wondered if they’d shoot him if he revolted against the Terran Armada. He didn’t think there was a policy for that one just yet.
“Sir, I have some information for you,” the tactical officer pronounced. This got his attention.
Jeryl turned in his seat to face the officer. “Go ahead, lieutenant.”
“This current course is going to affect our battle readiness on all fronts, sir, based on my projection.”
“Uh-huh,” he muttered. “How so?”
“First, we are entering the nebula at this point. This means our communications capability will be severely hampered. Also, the radiation from the stars will affect our defensive screens. We will be losing some of our ability to defend ourselves in the case of an attack.”
“Noted, Lieutenant,” the Captain replied before turning to the navigator. “Is there any way we can amend our course to reduce some of these effects and still arrive at our destination?”
He shook his head. “Negative, sir. This is the best laid-out course that takes us to the position of The Mariner.”
“Okay. Proceed, then,” he said.
In his periphery, he saw Ashley walked toward him.
“Captain, can I have a word with you in private?” she asked, her words just a whisper.
“Alright,” he said. “My office.”
Without replying to him, she turned and left.
He made his way into his office, his heart beating like a war drum.
Ashley was already talking the moment Jeryl walked in.
“Sir, I get what you’re trying to do. But you need to step back and think for a moment. Is this really the right course of action? Look, I’m on your side. Never doubt that for a moment. All I’m trying to do is to keep you from making an even greater mistake.”
He wiped the sweat off his brow. “Look, I have no problem with the fleet planning to destroy an entire Sonali planet. I’m willing to do whatever needs to be done…but only after I know the truth about The Mariner. I can’t let it go. As captain of this ship it’s my responsibility to exhaust all the option before committing to a very terrible act. This is simply what I’m doing.”
“Are you?” she said, questioning his resolve. “Look, sometimes in war we have to do things…” she sighed, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but it’s true. We’re an unlucky generation.”
He approached her and held her shoulders in his hands.
“I’m fine, Ash. Don’t worry about me. I want to make sure I have a solid reason to go ahead with this. Think about this for a moment. We’ve been fighting these guys for five years and never during that period have they demonstrated a capability that equals what we deduced from The Mariner’s destruction. They are, to an extent, more powerful than Terran warships, but not to the point where they can create beams as destructive as whatever obliterated The Mariner.”
Ashley wasn’t convinced. “We may have to accept it’s the Sonali in the end. You may not find what you’re looking for.”
He heaved a breath out. “It has to be someone else.”
“The fleet won’t wait for you much longer,” Ashley noted.
My commlink beeped. It was Dr. Lannigan. “Go ahead, Taft.”
“Sir, I’m picking up something.”
He turned and headed out onto the CNC, Ashley in close tow.
“Captain on deck!” came the security personnel’s voice.
Still headed toward his seat, he said, “Put it on screen.”
The screen dissolved into the image of star glittering in space—and a ship the same shape as The Mariner.
It was nothing like any Sonali ship the Terran Armada had ever seen.
Ashley
“The Mariner,” said Ashley rather stupidly. There were no snide remarks in response. Jeryl, she saw, had halted dead in his tracks, staring at the image onscreen. What they were seeing simply couldn’t be real. The Mariner was reduced to floating rubble. She had seen it. Jeryl had seen it. One or two of the original crew of The Seeker who were also aboard this ship had seen it.
Jeryl shook off his astonishment and dropped into his command chair.
“What the hell is that?” he rapped out to no one and everyone. “Alert stations, everyone. Get ready to raise screens on my order. Lannigan, I want answers and I want them now.”
“Sir!” The CNC buzzed with action and muted conversation between stations as the crew start scanning the stranger with their instruments.
Jeryl sat rigid in his chair. Ashley had no part in the science section, either, but it was her job to make sure that their investigations proceeded smoothly so she was watching her instruments as the scans continued.
Preliminary data came in. What they were seeing was no ghost, of course; it was a real physical object.
But how? Where did it come from? Are the Sonali taunting us?
She scowled at the thought. No, she didn’t think so. They had been steadfast in their insistence that they had nothing to do with the original Mariner’s destruction, and she believed them.
This was someone else. And as the realization dawned on her, her skin broke out in goose bumps. Someone else had destroyed The Mariner. Someone else had been watching the humans and the Sonali slug it out over the past several years.
Who? Why?
Ashley thought they were about to find out. Data from the preliminary scans continued to come in. She was seeing an odd pattern on the atomic level that tickled her memory.
Suddenly, her station blinked a number of red lights.
“Damn,” she said. “They’re painting us with ranging lasers.”
Maybe they thought the scanning beams were hostile. But she didn’t think so. Why she didn’t think so, she couldn’t say yet.
“Screens up,” Jeryl ordered. “Helm, return the favor. Get their range.”
Without consciously thinking through her hunch, she opened a station to Jeryl’s station.
“Sir? I want to bounce a spectro laser off that thing,” she said.
“What? Don’t you think that might be construed as a hostile act? They didn’t like the scanners much.”
She ignored the sarcasm. “No. I don’t think so.”
He was silent for a moment. “What’s your game, Lieutenant?”
“Not my game, sir. Not mine at all. They aren’t going to do a thing. I’ll bet my life on it.”
“And everyone else’s aboard this ship!” He muttered something else under his breath. “All right. Go ahead.”
Her fingers rippled over her controls as she called up a micro-pulse laser shot at the bogey. This was one thing she loved about Jeryl; he listened to his officers. He didn’t argue. He trusted them. He trusted her.
It was not a marriage thing. It was a captain-and-crew thing.
Moments later, she had her answer. She blew out a lungful of air she hadn’t known she was holding. Tamping down her excitement, she called Jeryl back.
“Look at this,” she said, and then sent a section of the original scans they got from The Mariner debris years ago. “Look at the energy signature.”
“This is old news.”
He sounded disappointed. “We know that whatever weapon was used practically transmuted the wreckage into different elements. Its spectrogram changed completely.”
“Now look.”
She superimposed the data from her new spectro scans on top of the old one.
“I—” he began, and then fell silent. The laser had vaporized a miniscule portion of the stranger’s outer hull, and their instruments had examined the little cloud of gas, tasting and probing it for its constituents and their energy signatures.
This would almost certainly be taken as an attack, if the bogey were so inclined. But it didn’t return “fire.”
The spectrograms were almost identical.
There were increased bands in the silicon range, something one would never normally see in a Terran ship, but which showed up in the original wreckage. Completely nonsensical, an artifact of the massive energy beams that blasted The Mariner.
Unless it wasn’t. Unless it was something else.
“It’s a message,” she said. “This boggart is telling us something.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, it’s not a Sonali ship. It’s certainly not The Mariner, returned to life. It’s real, but it isn’t real. It’s altered matter, sir. We’re looking at an actual physical ghost you can touch, sort of like a solid hologram.”
“There’s no such thing!”
“It appears that there is. This is a technology we’ve never seen, something like our resequencers. An entire starship made of synthetic matter, constructed with the use of supercharged photons.”
Jeryl was silent. Then he opened a PA channel to the entire ship and described what she had discovered. “Get me confirmation," he said. “But no more lasers.”
She allowed herself a small smile. She didn’t think they had to worry about lasers. The bogey would have destroyed them already, had it wanted to.
Confirmation trickled in from other stations. The bogey represented a state of matter, a level of technology that they had never seen before. Whoever was responsible for it had some serious chops.
Jeryl came back online to Ashley. “Message all our ships,” he said. “Tell them we think we’ve found the party responsible for The Mariner’s destruction, and tell them to stand by while we proceed with our investigation.”
She did, and almost at once responses from the fleet came in. They all wanted to know what was happening. She answered as best she could, telling them to maintain alert while they collated information.
Minutes passed in the CNC as they attempted to figure out what they are dealing with. The bogey indeed seemed to be some sort of solid hologram. Did that mean it was masking something? Or was it a temporary construct, to be used and discarded once it fulfilled its purpose?
Jeryl had their screens raised, but they were not making any other overt acts. Their scanners had taken in as much data as they could, and the computers were chewing on it. While they did, the crew chewed on their fingernails. At least Ashley did...it was an old habit, one she thought she’d broken. Apparently not.
After half an hour or so, Jeryl had enough.
“Ashley,” he said to Ashley over a private channel, “this is getting us nowhere. Someone has to make the first move.”
“I know,” she said.
He switched to the ship-wide channel. “Comm, hail that ship.”
“Sir.”
She twined her fingers together. Her hands were sweaty.
“Response coming in, sir,” said Comm.
“On screen.”
An image swam into view on her monitor. It was... humanoid. It wasn’t Sonali. Ashley was looking at an enormous round head, with a fleshy snout fringed by short, thick finger-like things. Its skin was a deep purplish-pink in color, like a bad bruise. Above and beside the snout were two perfectly round yellow eyes with black pupils. Two pointed ears adorned the head at the same level as the being’s eyes. A bulging cranium above the snout was sprinkled with several warty bumps, beside which sat two long, jointed antennae hanging down over the face. The head sat, neckless, on a pair of broad shoulders.
A sort of green skullcap covered the head and was joined to a lighter green tunic like a uniform.
The being raised a limb, apparently in greeting. It was very long, with an elbow further along toward a forearm shorter than theirs. It had three fingers and a thumb.
Jeryl’s voice was perfectly level, and he sounded as though he met new species every day—maybe twice a day. Ho hum.
“I’m Captain Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Hegemony starship Seeker,” he said. Ashley’s mind flashed back to their initial encounter with the Sonali. He used almost identical words to hail them.
“We are here investigating the disappearance of one of our ships. I see that you have knowledge of that craft,” he concluded, with irony in his voice.
The new fellow blinked slowly. His lids slid in and out from the side, not the top and bottom, and Ashley head a tik-tik over the speakers. He said nothing, but regarded them with an otherwise unwavering and unreadable gaze.
“This position represents our lost ship’s last known coordinates,” Jeryl went on, keeping his sangfroid. “I’d be very interested to hear what you have to say about this matter.”
Jeryl
Relief.
That was what Jeryl was feeling right now. But not just that—there was also anger, and all of it was directed at the image on the screen. In there, the thing that killed everyone aboard The Mariner stared back at him.
Yes, he had been party to committing acts of war. He had been part of raids where the Union had sent ships to glass Sonali words.
Yes, the Sonali had done the same to them.
But this being in front of him, though they hadn’t said anything, were responsible for the billions of dead in the galaxy because of this pointless war.
They had managed to link their comms to the alien spaceship, but now the damn thing just stared back at him in complete silence. Jeryl thought back to the argument he had with the first Sonali captain he ever met, and he was not sure if that was going to happen in here again.
He doubted they would have that kind of time.
Everyone was probably hounding the communications officer for a piece of his time. They wanted to know exactly what it was that they found. They wanted to know whether to get over there to bombard another species. They wanted to know what to do next. Some were probably even contacting the Armada HQ to advise them on his current situation.
Despite all that, Jeryl never took his eyes off the humanoid creature on the screen. It didn’t seem to speak or engage him in any way—it just stared back at him.
He had played this game over and over again. First with the Outers during their border skirmishes before the war; then with some space pirates, who shamelessly operated even during the war (there were rumors that some pirates even sell to Sonali). Then, with the Sonali; the one he met in this region and the ones he met and destroyed following that.
I’m a seasoned poker player, he thought. I refuse to be bullied into nervousness by the power of silence. Even though time was running short, he positioned himself like he had all the time in the world. It was not like that thing knew that his time was limited.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said with a lot more force and vigor. “Are you responsible for the destruction of The Mariner, a Terran Armada starship that was investigating a scientific phenomenon in this quadrant five years ago?”
Right in front of their eyes, a second occupant of the vessel came into view, handing over some sort of device. It disappeared from view, allowing the crew to watch as the humanoid creature put the device over his neck like a neck brace.
The creature began to speak … in English.
“Yes. I was responsible for the destruction of the craft you speak of.”
At first, he was not sure about what he just heard. Was he admitting to understanding Jeryl’s question, or was he admitting to a crime that led them down a five-year path of blood and fire with an innocent race? He wondered if the device, which now appeared to be a translator, might be faulty.
“You look surprised?” the creature said, blinking several times in a minute.
“Did you just admit to destroying our ship?” he asked. He wasn’t about to start another war over some faulty translator.
“Yes, I destroyed the ship,” it said again.
Anger began to build inside Jeryl. “Do you understand the ramifications of that?”
“I understand. Very well,” it replied.
“State the reason or reasons for which you harmed an innocent starship,” he demanded, allowing his anger to modulate his voice. “And your reasons better be good.”
“Innocent?” the creature said. “You call them innocent? They were not innocent. They transgressed our laws and paid the ultimate price with their life.”
The creature then emitted a series of hacking laughter that carried the weight of an ominous tone.
“What laws?” he said, trying to catch up to his (if he was, in fact, a he) reasoning.
“The Terran Union or the Terran Armada wasn’t informed of any wrongdoing by either its ship or captain. Neither were we invited to any criminal proceeding that ended in a death penalty. As such, you had no right to execute them.”
Jeryl was having a hard time keeping his anger under control, and he knew it. But this had been a long time coming. All he wanted to do was send a barrage of torpedoes and lasers in the ship’s direction. He might not be able to destroy it, sure; but he could at least damage it, which would provide him with some level of satisfaction.
Before the alien replied, he glanced at the communications officer and muttered to her, “I hope this is being recorded?”
She gave him a slight nod and he returned his focus to the creature.
“We have no laws, but the laws we make for ourselves,” it said. “Your ship was found desecrating this nebula. For that crime, she was destroyed.”
A question quickly popped into his mind: How does one desecrate a nebula? He didn’t ask that question right away, though. He waited for a while, processing what the creature was telling him and deciding on his best course of action.
The Mariner was gone. Starting a war with these people wasn’t going to bring them back. Perhaps, the five-year war of attrition they waged against the Sonali had effectively bled them dry. They couldn’t afford another costly war with something as powerful as what he saw before him. He had to proceed with caution.
This wasn’t the time for torpedoes, but for diplomacy.
“We assure you, The Mariner wasn’t sent to this nebula to desecrate it. The Mariner possessed limited offensive capability, except the ones necessary to weather an asteroid belt or to destroy an obstacle in its path. The Mariner could never have posed a threat to you. I tell you, you’ve wrongfully executed judgment and killed innocent people.”
“You misunderstand me, Captain,” the creature replies. “They desecrated our nebula by trying to probe. You see, many, many millennia ago, our home world was destroyed by an alien race much more advanced than us. To survive, we migrated from that world to space.
“We moved from system to system in search of a suitable home until we came to this nebula. We have grown and thrived in the relative peace and silence of this nebula, and we have laid our claim to it. Your science vessel broke that silence by invading our territory. They were trying to learn about us. For this, they were destroyed.”
“So you destroyed our people because they were trying to learn about this nebula and about you?” he asked. He wanted to be sure they heard everything clearly and that nothing was morphed by anecdotes or emotion.
“Indeed,” the creature replied. “We wanted to protect our privacy. To guard against those who would see us destroyed again. This is my job as Viceroy, to ensure the continued survival of my species. The only way I can achieve this is by keeping our existence a secret. I could not let your ship leave this place with the knowledge of our existence. So I had to destroy it.”
Jeryl frowned. He was uncomfortable with the moral compass on this creature. How could they dole out wanton destruction on a harmless ship without scruples?
“If I heard you correctly, you said you migrated to space?” he said. “What did you mean by that? Did you build space stations?”
“No,” it replied. “We built big space ships.”
“So you live on these space ships?” he asked.
“Yes,” it said. “There are only five of these ships remaining. They are enough for us for now.”
“If you have ships, why couldn’t you people move to another nebula?” he probed further. “Why destroy our ship?”
“Because we have lived here for so long we are unwilling to move again,” it replied. “Sometimes we set up on asteroids and use our ships to keep the asteroids in place … this place. But ultimately we live in our ships and this is where our ships belong. This place is now our heritage.”
Jeryl was about to ask another question when it said, “And this brings me to what I really have to say. I will do whatever it takes to protect my people. I encountered a Captain Davan of The Mariner. I took the form of a Sonali using the same technology that allowed me to pose as your vessel. I spoke of peace and trade.
“And then I destroyed them. I hope you will understand the reason why I must destroy you also. You have found us. You know our secret. I cannot allow you to possess this knowledge and go away from you. It pains me, deeply, but I must destroy you as well. Your ship and your entire crew have to die.”
“You can’t…”
The creature vanished from the screen.
“Captain, the signal has been terminated.”
“Get him back!” he yelled, pounding his fist into my chair. His heart was racing.
I have just led my people into a death trap, he thought.
“Captain, they are not responding to our hails,” the communications officer said.
“Captain, I’m picking up a building surge of emerging in specific areas of the ship,” said the tactical officer. “This energy signature is akin to the one Dr. Lannigan defines as destructive and with the same exact electromagnetic signature found on The Mariner debris. Captain … I think they are charging their weapons.”
“Evasive maneuvers!” he yelled for the second time.
The navigator, whose hands were light on the control, threw The Seeker into a dangerous deep dive. The inertia dampers strained as it attempted to maintain gravity. Jeryl latched on to his seat. Many of the officers in the CNC were thrown away from their stations. The navigator and tactical officer, however, endured where they were, coordinating the ship’s response.
Jeryl watched as a flood of light leapt out of the alien vessel and lanced through space to where they previously occupied. Then, he felt a sharp jolt.
“We were hit, sir!” the tactical officer announced.
“Damage report,” he said.
“Minimal, sir,” Ashley replied. “Our shield surprisingly bore the brunt of the impact.”
“Sir, shields are down to seventy-five percent,” the tactical officer announced. “The ship is charging again!”
“Evade, lieutenant,” he said to the navigator. Then to the tactical officer, he said, “Get ready to fire at their stern. Photon torpedo.”
“Aye, captain,” the tactical officer said.
The next few shots missed them by a wide berth.
“Captain, I think we need to reconsider our action,” Ashley said. “These people are afraid. They are scared. They have had minimal contact with the known world, so all they know to do is destroy what comes their way.
“The Mariner didn’t have our defensive capabilities that was why it was fried. Now that we do, instead of destroying them, let’s try and reason with them. The war we have with the Sonali is one too many. Perhaps…they said they live on their ships. Who knows how many are on that ship. A billion. Two?”
It dawned on Jeryl the path they were going.
They were about to invade. Maybe they would die. Maybe they would get out in one piece. If they do, he would file a report with Armada Command, and then four hundred starships would be dispatched from Edoris Station—to take out the next enemy.
If they died, then the starship captains that were hailing them would report back.
More blood.
More war.
It had to stop somewhere. It had to stop here.
“You’re right, Commander,” he said, suddenly realizing he could just make a powerful new step for all of humanity. Even if they all die here, he couldn’t have that happen. Even if his legacy were a sham, at least he would go down knowing that he did the best he could.
“Tactical, belay last order. Switch primary weapons to particle beams and target their primary engine,” he said.
They were in the middle of a dive to port when he gave the order to fire. Bright blue bolts shot out from underneath them and hit their targets. The ship before them shuddered visibly and he saw a cascade of explosions underneath and behind the ship.
“Bring us around to face them,” he said to navigation.
“Captain, it appears your plan was unsuccessful,” Dr. Taft said. “The primary engine that feeds the propulsion and weapons is still operational. I’m detecting an incredible buildup of energy. They’re about to fire their most powerful weapon.”
Shit!
At that moment, the rest of the Armada’s fleet materialized all around their ship
“Great! The cavalry,” he said to the communications officer. “Send them a notification that the ship is armed, dangerous and aggressive. Tell them to shoot to damage not—“
At that moment, the navigator sent The Seeker into a forward spin to avoid a shot from the alien ship. His words hung in his mouth at the bold maneuver and almost sent the content of his stomach upwards.
“Sir, that blast just took out two of our ships!” said the tactical officer.
“What do you mean took out two of our ships?” he said. He looked at the view screen where he saw the two ships breaking apart in flames, bodies floating around—dead.
“Fire at will!” he yelled.
The screen lit up with blasts as The Seeker and the rest of the fleet opened up on the ship. The alien ship was able to get off another powerful blast that destroyed two more Armada ships before it was damaged.
“Give the order for the fleet to hold off their attack,” he said.
The fleet responded, holding fire. The alien ship, now incapacitated, floated adrift in the midst of the Terran Armada.
“Contact the ship,” he said to his communications officer. “Maybe now they’ll listen to what we have to say.”
The creature loomed into view. Jeryl saw fear in its eyes. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but the expression he saw was fear.
They must be thinking we’re going to destroy them, he thought to himself.
“If we continue at this rate,” he said to the creature. “You will be destroyed. And we don’t even know your name and the name of your people.”
This was it—war or words.
“My name is Commander Ullian of the Nakra,” it said.
“Look, Commander Ullian,” he began. “You’ve destroyed four of my ships. I’m obligated to destroy yours, but I’m not going to. I want to give us a chance at peace. I give you the assurance of the Terran Union, which is the government I represent, that we will not exploit your people, nor will we invade or colonize your ships or asteroids or wherever the Nakra people reside.”
“How do we know you tell the Nakra people the truth?” Commander Ullian said. “There are barely fifty thousand of us left in the universe.”
He flashed a side-glance to Ashley. So much for one billion.
“The Terran Union doesn’t do genocide,” he replied. “It’s our purpose to prevent war and stop killing—not perpetuate it.”
The Nakra Commander remained calm for a while. Jeryl watched his eyes blink more times than usual in a second, and he assumed the alien was considering his implicit proposal.
He continued. “A little over one hundred and fifty years ago, my people suffered a near extinction level event the same as yours did,” he said with a sigh.
He wiped his brows and chose his words carefully. “Only, we weren’t almost wiped out because of an alien species. We did that to ourselves.”
The Nakra Commander widened his eyes. It looked like that was the universal sign for amazement at another’s stupidity.
“We used weapons of mass destruction on our own population, and we killed two fifths of our own race,” Jeryl said and paused. “We murdered 3.2 billion of our own people on our own home world.”
“You did this to yourselves? Less than two hundred eclipses ago?” Ullian asked. “And you ask us to believe in your capacity for peace?”
Jeryl sighed. The man had a point.
“We came out to space to survive what we had done to ourselves and to rebuild,” Jery replied back. “And we promised ourselves that we would never again go down the path that we had nearly finished. We would never again commit genocide on ourselves. Or each other.”
Jeryl had patched in; he knew the other captains in the fleet could hear him.
“We’ve learned our lessons, Ullian,” he said. “Our exploration of space is my species’ rallying cry that we can do better. That we must do better. And each day is a reminder that we will never go down that path again.”
There was a long silence. Jeryl could feel the eyes of the CNC crew on him.
Sure, he might have had just gone in and psychoanalyzed the human race. But it made sense to him now. More than why the Wolf Offensive did. More than the war.
Humanity could do better. They had to do better.
“We accept your offer of peace,” the Commander said with a final tone. “Thank you.”
The creature vanished from the screen.
Well, that was easy, he thought to himself.
If the Sonali liked acting like politicians, these Nakra seemed to take things at face-value.
The Sonali, he realized. They needed stop a war before it took a dangerous turn.
“Contact all ships,” he told Taylor. “Tell them it’s over. Send over a recording of my dealings with the Nakra and let them know I’ve just brokered peace between us and them.”
Taylor nodded and set to work on that.
“How long for repairs to be effected and concluded? Just so we’re operational?” he asked Ashley.
“Forty-five minutes, max,” she replied, after consulting her console.
“Shoot for twenty,” he said. “We have a genocide to stop—and time is running out.”
Jeryl
Jeryl stood in his office, watching the view screen that was linked to the main one in the CNC. He drummed his fingertips against his thigh as he stared into the vastness of space, the hull of The Seeker the only thing cutting through the darkness.
They were racing against time. There was no other way to put it. If he didn’t make it in time, he would be responsible for the slaughter of a billion people—genocide.
He really didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even know if the fact that the Sonali weren’t responsible for the destruction of The Mariner would change the outcome of the war. The war was now being fueled by the burning desire of the Sonali to see mankind wiped out of the surface of the universe and by the human’s deep-seated hatred for the Sonali people. Like a lit bush that spread to engulf an entire forest, the conflict may had reached the point of no return.
Still, he had to try. If he didn’t, then the point of no return would be long behind them. But how did he stop this? How did he prevent the deaths of a billion of Sonali in one fell swoop?
How did he get two warring races, which had been so hell-bent on destroying each other, to consider the option of peace? That was why he was inside his office—he had taken time off the CNC to review his options.
Jeryl had been here for more time than he intended, and he still didn’t have a credible plan. And yet he knew he must stop the Wolf Offensive. If it pushed through, it would be the one blunder that history would never forgive humanity for.
They had learned that there were more intelligent species in the universe. They had already fought with two: the Sonali and the Nakra. There were many more: some were large regional powers that they discovered had borders intersecting humanity’s like the Drupadi Regime, the Children of Zorm, the Tyreesian Collective, the Reznak Empire. Others were non-aligned and much more provincial. They stayed out of their “little” war with the Sonali to probably judge their advancement as a species.
If they went ahead to commit this great atrocity…well, who knew what might happen? As far as Jeryl knew, if the Wolf Offensive happened, they could be opening up a Pandora’s Box that heralded an age of unmitigated warfare.
That’d be just great, wouldn’t it?
Welcome humanity to the galactic community of species—but unlike other races who entered peacefully, humanity would usher in an era of conflict. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He could feel a migraine brewing inside his skull.
Ashley was in CNC, managing the final repair efforts. Apparently, the forty-five minutes repair time she had given him right after they defeated the Nakra ship was to get the FTL drive working. After that, she had to begin repairs on the affected decks that were attacked by the blast. He looked up on his tablet and saw her report saying that the ship was up to 86% functionality. She estimated that full functionality would require another full day.
Nevertheless, they were hurtling towards the battle ground at a reduced FTL factor. This was the maximum the ship could take at its present level before it broke apart. They would all tumble into space, bodies among the wreckage.
“How do I get these people to hold back?” He asked himself out loud, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears. It sounded exhausted. When was the last time he slept?
And in addition, a migraine.
Fuck.
What if the Sonali refused to cooperate despite his revelation? What if they decided it was humanity’s assumption that led to this bloody war and that Earth’s children were to blame for all of it? What if they decided to fight on, or to call on to the scene some universal criminal court?
If there existed a unifying all-powerful body in Terran Union, one that ensured law and order in the worlds and colonies within the Union, then it stood to reason that the greater galaxy should have one. Jeryl realized, then, that it was his responsibility to ensure that everyone agreed to a cease-fire.
At this point, it was the best option for everybody.
Ashley walked into his office, Dr. Lannigan and Commander Taylor in tow.
“What’s your status?” he asked them.
“Repairs are proceeding slowly, sir,” Ashley said. She motioned towards the two people she came with and continued, “They have something to say about our proposed line of attack.”
Jeryl frowned.
“I wasn’t aware that we had a proposed line of attack?”
He realized that he should be discussing this issue with his senior officers. Recently, he had been making a lot of decisions on the fly without first consulting them. It went against Armada policy and culture, though it wasn’t exactly illegal—a captain was well able to conduct the business of the ship in whatever way he deemed fit. But he didn’t want to be that kind of captain.
“Sir, I have thought about our predicament,” Dr. Lannigan said. “We were merely wondering what you intend to do about it. We’re currently running an interception course. I hardly think that running into the middle of battle and yelling that the Sonali aren’t the cause of the war and that you’re not going to be firing on them is going to bring peace.”
He snapped back to attention and looked up at the doctor. Something about how he said it made Jeryl’s brain fire up.
“You’re not actually considering that, are you?” Ashley said with a cautionary tone.
“I meant it as a sarcastic joke, Captain,” Dr. Lannigan affirmed. But Jeryl wasn’t looking at them. He didn’t want to hear their doubt. There was only one thing he cared about right now.
He didn’t have a plan, and now he did…as bad of a plan as it might be.
Even though he was all for integrative decision-making, there were some decisions that were the captain’s prerogative. This was one of these decisions.
He looked at Ashley, then Lannigan and finally Taylor.
“You’re dismissed. Report to CNC and ask all CNC crew not present to report there immediately.”
He picked up his tablet and looked up the report from navigation. According to the navigator’s estimations, they were going to be materializing in the center of the battlefield, just few minutes before the Terran Armada arrived. He looked for their ETA and saw that they had less than twenty minutes before they arrived at their destination.
That was exactly how long he had to fine-tune his plans.
He returned to the CNC with only three minutes to spare. He sat in his command chair and took a look at his senior officers and other members of the CNC crew. He could see the strain in their bodies and the tiredness in their eyes. They had been working tirelessly for the past couple of weeks. A lot of these people were with Jeryl when the war started, and they were still with him now as it neared its completion.
He knew that even though his decisions could be reckless, he would always have their support. He knew that even though some might disagree with his orders, they would always carry them. He didn’t know if captains worried about mutiny happening in other ships, like the incident that caused the Armada to send out Captain’s Guards; he did know, however, that mutiny was an impossibility on his ship.
“Taylor, can you get me an open channel communication to both Sonali and Armada ship? Broadcast to all ships at once?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied. “It’s going to take a few minutes to reconfigure the communications arrays to broadcast at two frequencies at the same time.”
“You have one minute,” he said.
She nodded and went to work, her hands flying over the console.
He looked up at the view screen as the navigator announced, “We’re dropping out of FTL factor seven in ten seconds.”
He went ahead to count down and then they appeared at the edge of the star system containing the Sonali planet, a purple sphere glinting below them.
“Sir, I’m picking up a large number of Sonali and Armada ships headed to each other from opposite sides…and we’re right in the middle of them.”
Dr. Lannigan announced in a crisp voice.
“They will be upon us in less than two minutes,” the tactical officer said.
“Moira!” he said, “Now!”
“Channel open, sir, please proceed.”
“This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery of The Seeker,” he said out loud.
“I call for a ceasefire. I repeat, I call for a ceasefire between the Sonali and humans. This war shouldn’t have been fought in the first place. Ceasefire, I repeat, ceasefire!”
“Sir, we are getting an incoming transmission from Admiral Flynn,” Moira announced.
“Put him through and keep the line open,” he replied.
“Jeryl, what the fuck is going on?” The Admiral asked me. His eyes were wide and tired, dark bags under them.
“Sir, I have hard evidence that the Sonali weren’t responsible for the destruction of The Mariner. This whole war was predicated on a lie. This is an open channel and all Sonali vessel can hear me. I will no longer be firing upon Sonali vessels. They are innocent.”
Well… that should really make everyone sit up and take notice, thought the Captain.
Admiral Flynn
There were perks that came along with being named Area Admiral, and one of them was the view from Admiral Flynn’s sumptuous new office in Armada Command on New Washington. He oversaw operations on the Edoris, Malvelis, and Erdune Sectors.
Back on Earth, he had a hole in the wall, high rank or no high rank. Of course, in those days they didn’t have time to think about things like that. They were too busy fighting the blue-faces. Back then he wouldn’t have had the time to even glance out a window if he had one. But here they were, two years after the war’s end, and it was back to pondering things like, “Cherry or oak furniture?” and “Taupe or white walls?”
Admiral Flynn supposed that was good in a way. But he let his aide make those kinds of decisions, because honestly, he didn’t give a gonch’s ass what color the walls were. He was happy to have walls at all. He thought most people are.
They’d been rebuilding their infrastructure following the cessation of hostilities. He found it discomforting and aggravating to be working side by side, in some cases, with Sonali engineers on these reconstruction projects here on New Washington. On Earth, layers of bureaucracy would insulate him from contact with them. Now, here, he had to suck it up. He had to work with them, but he didn’t have to like them.
New Washington was one of the most Earthlike of the colony worlds, a real showcase of urban and agricultural planning. There used to be a city on Earth called Brasilia, the capital of the old South American nation Brazil. It was built in the jungle from the ground up and was supposed to be a shining example of modernity.
It almost worked. Brasilia ended up like most cities of the time: a combination of magnificent civic structures and poverty-stricken neighborhoods you wouldn’t want to walk in at night. As an observer commented at the time, “Nothing dates faster than people's fantasies about the future.”
But, Flynn must admit to himself, they’ve done a helluva job here on New Washington.
This star system was the hub of trade routes linking the Inner Core and the Farther Reaches, which were the regions beyond the Outer Colonies, the old limits of Terran-controlled space, to Sonali territory and the inhabited systems beyond. It was a genuine gateway world, an economic and political powerhouse in the fastest growing sectors of space in the Union, and so it needed to look like one.
Given its clement climate, New Washington was perfectly suited to be an interstellar showpiece, which it was; but it had paradoxically become the most industrialized of the colony worlds.
What he saw from his window on the 115th floor was an unbroken stretch of spires and towers. New Washington was the only city on the planet—mainly because the city took up most of the available land on the planet. The city built up as it was built out, and commerce and industrialism reigned no matter which way he turned. From space it looked like a glittering white jewel in a setting of green. There was nothing like it anywhere in the galaxy.
Flynn saw a Wesallian yacht pass majestically overhead. The Wesallians were but one of the 97 races of extraterrestrials they had met in the past eight years since First Contact with the Sonali. He couldn’t say they knew any of them as well as they knew the Sonali—a knowledge born of war, of course, so he was glad they hadn’t gotten to know the others that way.
Their scientists had lifetimes of information to parse and study. Advanced medical knowledge and improved FTL travel were only two of the areas that had seen enormous development. The corpers were delighted, too, because vast new markets had opened up for them, leading to untold wealth.
All in all, the Union was seeing peaceful days, for the most part. Oh, there were a few border skirmishes, the odd uprising here and there, and there were always pirates that needed to be dealt with, but overall, old dogs like him hadn’t got a lot to do these days.
Which was why he was here on New Washington, pushing papers and pressing the flesh as a diplomat. It was not a position he particularly enjoyed, but he supposed he would get used to it in time.
His door chimed and Flynn turned to see Admiral Jeryl Montgomery walking in.
“Hello, Admiral!” he said. They shook hands warmly. “Jeryl, it’s good to see you.”
“Thanks, Howard,” the old captain said. Flynn knew Jeryl was still a little bit uncomfortable using his given name, but he insisted. The older admiral still outranked him, but not by a lot. They were both at the upper levels of command, and they shared campaigns and heartbreak all throughout the war. They’d been through too much together to not use first names—in private, anyway.
“How's Ashley?” he asked, taking a couple of glasses and a bottle of genuine Kentucky bourbon out of his desk.
He asked this while he poured. Flynn knew the answer, because he made it his business to keep tabs on both of them. But he was drawing the new admiral out.
He took a healthy drink before replying. “She’s Captain Gavin now, serving aboard The Seeker,” he said, and then sighed. “It happens to be in orbit around New Washington right now, so we’ll have some time together before she has to ship out. We don’t see each other very often these days, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry to hear that, son.”
“Thanks. It’s put a strain on the marriage.”
“Do you ever think of having children?”
He laughed, and Flynn detected a rueful tinge to it.
“I don’t think that’s in the cards for us, unless we do it by surrogates, and then who’d be raising the kids?”
He shrugged. “Hired help. That’s not how we’d want to do it. Anyway, we’ve got time to think about it.”
Flynn made a noncommittal noise that hid the stab of pity he felt for Jeryl. He knew how hard it was to maintain a life dedicated for serving one’s race. Now, he was learning the bitterness that came with no longer being needed in that capacity. But he wouldn’t tell Jeryl about that. He would find that out for himself one day.
“So tell me about the negotiations,” he said. Flynn knew he had been working tirelessly this past year to create what was being called a Galactic Council. It would receive a formal name once it got out of orbit. These years after the war had seen such an increase in trade and contact with other races that a special body needs to be created to oversee it all, as well as the immigration of aliens into the Union. There were, after all, many worlds in Union-controlled space that were unsuitable for human colonization—too hot, too cold—but perfect for the needs of non-humans. The humans had no objection to them developing unused real estate, but they needed to keep an eye on what they were doing.
Jeryl’s nascent council was designed, in part, to fill that need. A great many people were excited about it.
For the first time, he smiled.
“I think they’re going well,” Jeryl said. “Quite well.”
Flynn poured some more bourbon, as they seemed to have finished the first round.
“I’m pleased to hear you say that.”
And he was; not so much for the council itself—though it will be a great help—but for him.
“Thank you,” he said. “The final papers should be ready for signing within a fortnight, standard time.”
He swirled the liquor in his glass. “You know, Howard, sometimes it seems to me as if it was only last week that we met the Sonali. And then discovered the Nakra. And all the others.”
Flynn nodded. “Our lives have changed, in ways we never could have imagined. Ten years ago, we were alone in the universe, as far as we knew.”
“We’ve learned a great deal since then,” he said. “I like to think that we have matured as a species.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps. I agree that both the Sonali and we recognized the errors of our ways. Neither side was entirely good or bad. I didn’t see that for a long time.”
“If we hadn’t unmasked what the Nakra had done, then Lord only knows what might have happened…that day.”
For their trouble, Nakra space had been cordoned off. They set robot stations to patrols its limits, warning off would-be intruders. No one wanted anything like that to happen again.
“Enough happened,” Jeryl said, biting off his words. The Admiral knew Jeryl felt personally responsible for much of what happened, though Flynn had assured him more than once that it wasn’t his fault.
If anything, Jeryl was a hero. The man who first met the Sonali, who led some of humanity’s greatest campaigns against them. The man who defended his people, who uncovered the secret of who destroyed The Mariner. And then, he was the man who ended the war.
Every time Flynn closed his eyes he still saw that day when Jeryl brought The Seeker in the middle of the Sonali and Terran fleets. Said that he would not fire on the Sonali planet. Shared his scans of the Nakra.
It took the Terran captains in Flynn’s fleet by surprise. They were ready to bring down The Seeker. But then everyone was surprised when the Sonali powered their weapons down. After all, the Nakra had admitted that they had guised themselves as Sonali.
Flynn remembered receiving the Planetary Legate from the Sonali side on his flagship. They had arranged a ceasefire right there.
Six months later, a formal declaration of cessation of hostilities ushered the way for peace. Two months later, he was promoted and stationed on New Washington.
To think, all of this could have been avoided.
If anyone was truly to blame, it was the Nakra, not Jeryl. But his guilt and frustration galvanized his determination to create this Galactic Council, where representatives from each species would be invited to air any grievances, raise issues, and try to solve their problems through words, not conflict. It was a worthy goal, an attempt to make something new in galactic history, as far as they could determine. It was the first step toward a unified galaxy, and Flynn was proud that humans were spearheading it.
Jeryl, in fact, had spent most of the last year on Sonali Prime, working directly with humankind’s old enemies, who were proving to be good friends after all. But he had transferred here now because of his work to make the council a reality.
Jeryl grinned now, and Flynn saw some of the tension come out of him. It made the old admiral want to put an arm around him, but he wouldn’t do that, of course. It would make both of them rather uncomfortable.
I have to show my affection in subtler ways, Flynn decided.
“I’m glad you’ll be around more often,” he said then. “I’ve found a couple of good fishing spots that I’d like to show you.”
“I’d love to go. I could use a break from all the people.”
“Eh?”
“It’s just that it’s a little odd for me to see so many humans around, after spending so much of my time on Sonali Prime.”
He grunted. “I see more aliens than humans, these days.”
“Times have changed!” He drained his glass. “Got to go, sir; I have yet another meeting. It’s been good to see you.”
They shook hands once more.
“Come by any time,” Flynn told him.
“Count on it.” He flashed that grin again, and then he was gone.
Two years ago, it would’ve been difficult for Flynn to imagine that one day, he’d be looking at his window, feeling a sense of peace.
But now I’m here, looking at this marvellous view, he thought. I can see the future.
It looks bright.
The Omarian Gambit
Call of Command Book 2
A Pax Aeterna Novel
Copyright © 2017 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Jeryl
I’m weary of New Washington. Simmering with discontent, I stalk along the elevated walkway over the main promenade, dodging aliens and hearing translations of their babble, courtesy of my Trask implant. I make the “delete feed” gesture so many times that I probably look like I’m trying to swat gnats. It’s almost enough to make me miss my days on Sonali Prime, when I had to use the translator unit all the time. Now I’d love to have the damn physically unobtrusive but mentally crazy-making in-ear implant removed, but there are occasions when I need it. Walking in public, however, is not one of them; but the device can’t be turned off; you can only cancel a conversation. Design flaw.
There are vendors up here, too, mostly those hawking fresh foods of various types. My nostrils catch various odors as I pass their stalls—some enticing, some revolting. I’m used to this. I stop to purchase a mug of hot, thick deftol from a green-furred, monkey-like native of Vozel. Deftol is a bitter-tasting infusion for which I have developed a liking. It contains compounds that act as a mild stimulant, helpful on days like this when my spirits are a bit low. Sipping my mug as I wend my way through the crowds, I feel a bit better as the deftol’s energizing effect lifts my mood.
I’m wearing a business suit, which is why my first reaction is outrage when a small form hurtles out of the crowd and slams into me, spilling my deftol all over my coat.
I hear someone shouting, “Stop, you thief!”
Without thinking, but not without cursing, I grab the little so-and-so who’s collided with me. It’s a young native of Irivani, a moon circling the planet Majriti, a jovian planet in the Upsilon Andromedae system. He (or so I assume; they have three sexes that I can’t tell apart, but the “males” are more aggressive) is grasping a haamed fruit in one of his four hands as he struggles in my grip, trying to free himself.
“Lemme go, you stupid Terran pig!” he spits.
I’m sure he doesn’t expect me to understand, but I’ve got this Trask implant.
I shake the kid, and say in Irivani, “Respect your elders, you little goniff.” The thief is so astonished that he stops struggling for a moment, giving the victim, a portly Irivani, probably a female (all Irivanian vendors are female), time to bustle up to me, panting. Irivanians are used to a thicker atmosphere, and exertion here on New Washington quickly gets the older ones out of breath. The little creep who’s stolen the fruit must’ve been born here, so he’s acclimated.
It’s a moment before she can voice her complaint. “Yngvi, you little louse! This is the second time this cycle I’ve caught you stealing my wares!” she cries, snatching him away from me and shaking him even harder than I did. “To the temple we go, where you can beg the forgiveness of Great Ved.”
And she marches him off, paying no heed to his whining. Just as they vanish into the crowd, she turns her head completely around on her shoulders and flings a word of thanks to me.
Well, it’s more than I expected. My mood, not to mention my coat, is ruined by this encounter despite the ameliorating effects of the deftol. I find the closest clothing shop, where I purchase a new outfit and duck into a fitting booth. I strip off my dripping clothing, toss it in a recycler, and emerge a few moments later to continue on my way to my meeting with Grand Admiral Howard Flynn.
My lofty ideals, so firmly in place when I began the process of trying to set up the Galactic Council two years ago, have taken a beating over time. My intervention with the thief Yngvi exemplifies this. The aliens squabble endlessly among themselves and with others about minuscule points of protocol, down to the color of their seat cushions. I’m convinced a lot of these considerations are purely passive-aggressive nonsense, but that doesn’t make them any less of real concerns. Someone has to deal with them. That someone would be me.
I am feeling even more discontented than before, and more pessimistic that the races will ever learn to get along with each other when they can’t even live harmoniously among themselves.
For two years I’ve worked my ass off to get the Galactic Council off the drawing board. I’ve been so busy that I have seen the Grand Admiral only a handful of times in the past year. Even before I collared the fruit thief I was feeling the need to vent a little, which is one reason why I asked Flynn to fit me into his busy morning for just a few minutes. Plus, I want to get rid of the guilt I’ve been feeling at not having spoken with him other than slipstream.
After all, The Council was partly his idea, though he is far too modest a man, for a general, to take any credit for it.
Of course, the flip side of that coin is that when things go wrong he doesn’t have to accept any of the blame. All that sticks to me like the gooey deftol.
It doesn’t generally bother me, because as someone else in authority used to say, “The buck stops here.” (A buck being an old-style unit of currency from the nation-state of the United States of America.) I wouldn’t have become a vice admiral without being able to accept responsibility. Truth be told, I enjoy problem solving. As a kid, I loved puzzles and games, and it gets better when things become more challenging.
I never dreamed of trying to organize representatives of alien civilizations. When I started this effort, the idea was to get ten races (we humans being one of them) together to form the hub of a functioning legislative body, something that could mediate disputes, oversee trade, and monitor political activities in a member’s native star system as well as interactions with other council members.
I swear this looked workable on paper.
We started out simply, or so I thought, with only oxygen-nitrogen breathers who could tolerate a more or less Earth-normal temperature and pressure range with minimal implants—like the Sonali, for example, along with the Irivanians, the Vozelians, and several others. We contacted the chlorine breathers and some other exotremes, and some of them agreed to send emissaries, but only virtual ones, the climate on New Washington being lethal to them. They are represented in gatherings through a holographic projector.
Of course, we had the example of the Sonali staring us right in the face: we fought a war with them because of misunderstandings.
Sharing a preferred atmosphere doesn’t mean sharing a viewpoint. The Irivanians are solely concerned with the bottom line—what’s in it for them. They are master traders and merchants, and impatient for the Council to get down to business (no pun intended) so that they can start making a profit.
At last, I arrive at Howard’s office and press a finger on the CALL pad. It analyzes my electrolytes, finds me in its database, and slides open. I’m in the outer office, where his secretary, another Vozellian, nods at me. “He’s expecting you, Admiral,” she says. “Go right in.”
“Thanks, Leekerchee. Looking good today, hon.”
She simpers at me as I pass through the inner door.
“Jeryl!” Howard exclaims, coming out from behind his desk to seize my hand. “Einstein on the beach! It’s good to see you.” He sniffs. “What’s that I smell? Is that deftol?”
With a sigh, I take a seat and relate my little adventure on the upper level. Howard laughs, but not too hard. He’s has his share of close encounters.
“It beats getting shot at by Sonali warships, though, eh?” he says, offering me a shot of bourbon.
“Early for me,” I say, waving it off.
“Me, too, but this place can drive a man to it,” Howard says. “I’m not fit to be a diplomat, Jeryl. A dipsomaniac, maybe, if we keep getting wrapped up in bureaucratic crap.”
I nod ruefully. The truth is that although the Earth-Sonali War has ended, its resolution has brought a series of other conflicts to light. Some of them may be about to burst into the open, ensnaring Earth in an interstellar web of technological, mercantile and political interests.
“Yeah,” I say, poker-faced. “Who knew that interspecies diplomacy would be so hard?”
He gives me a hard look, then laughs.
“I don’t see why we have to be the ones to try to resolve all this,” Howard says, turning to stare out his window. He’d got a much better view from his office than I have from mine.
I shrug. “Someone needs to do it,” I say. “No one else has stepped up. Besides, it’ll give us a greater voice in the galaxy. Think of the power and influence humanity will get—”
“Power and influence is for people who have forgotten how to value the small, important things in life,” Howard grumbles.
“Like a good view from an office window?” I say, grinning.
“Smartass,” he says, smiling before he gets serious. “The Terran Union made the mistake of reaching out to every civilization we’ve encountered. It isn’t our fault that many of them up until now have existed in a state of very little diplomatic contact with each other, like isolated kingdoms in the Dark Ages, or European or feudal societies.”
“Yeah, they don’t want to be helped, some of them,” I say.
“But you’re going to keep on trying.”
“I am.”
“Good man. We’ve got to get these first ten races on board, son. I don’t need to tell you how important it is that we humans become the unifying factor in the galaxy.”
He’s right, of course. Under Council auspices, the stability of the galaxy will increase dramatically.
We talk a bit longer, but I’ve got a full schedule and I know he does too.
“Keep me apprised of your progress,” he says, shaking my hand.
I take my leave, promising to stay in closer touch with him.
Jeryl
After leaving Admiral Flynn’s office suite, I take a drop-tube up to the roof. It’s been a long day and I’m looking forward to being home, and even more to seeing my wife. We’re not the most social people nowadays - she’s the Captain of The Seeker and away for stretches of time, so when we do find each other it’s usually just the two of us. Preferring each other’s company to the company of diplomats, politicians, or alien emissaries is the norm nowadays.
Our quarters, an official diplomatic residence in New Washington’s Administrative District, is comfortable and snug if not luxurious, and we’ve spent many nights there listening to music and playing chess or cards. Not exciting, not the sort of life envisioned by people who read too many political thrillers set among New Washington’s style makers and embassies, but always a welcome relief for us; a place where we can shuck our official roles and enjoy our time together as husband and wife over a glass or two of wine while resting up from the endless bureaucratic headaches we cope with every day.
These headaches are not getting less stressful, either. After years in the military I thought I’ve seen every type of pigheadedness, spite, and turf fighting a species could devise. Sure—maybe one species. But now I’m wrangling ten, trying to get them all to agree on the charter of the Galactic Council.
It would be easier to wrestle a dozen octopuses, I tell myself, enjoying the brief solitude of the drop-tube capsule. In the case of one race, the members of the Drupadi Regime, the comparison is apt because Drupadians, though air breathers, are descendants of an ancestor that looked a great deal like a Terran octopus.
When I get to the roof, there are no cabs in the taxi stand. I stand and wait for one to come, looking out over the city, reflecting on the task before me.
The Circle of Ten, as they’ve come to be called, aren’t the only alien species lurking in the corridors of the Promenade, down there. There are plenty of others, attracted here by commercial possibilities, or the chances of fleeing repressive governments and seeking educational opportunities. The Vozellian monkey-folk, like my favorite deftol vendor, is just one example.
Eventually we’ll get them all under the Council’s umbrella, but for now we’re trying to gather in the more influential races: The Sonali Combine, The Kurta Colonies, The Irivani Empire, The Tyreesian Collective, The Children of Zorm, The Drupadi Regime, The Vozelian Nation, The Terran Union, The Gadha peoples, and The Hastinapuran Hegemony. The Terrans, who would, one might think, be an easy sell, are anything but because of the factions. The Outer Colonies are oriented far more toward the bottom line than the politicos here on New Washington, and the Earth-based contingent has its own agenda.
Earth still thinks they’re the boss of us. Despite lip-service paid to it, they’ve never really accepted the fact that the center of human affairs is now located firmly on New Washington, and are always expecting concessions and tax advantages. Their ship has sailed, and they have yet to admit it. Sure, the Academy and Armada Command are on Earth. The President still has his offices there. But the galaxy is coming together, and the most interaction is happening here, in New Washington.
I see my ship is just arriving. A cab passes over the top of the building, comes around in a sweeping arc, and settles to a gentle landing on its service pad a hundred feet away. I’m halfway across the roof by the time its gullwing door swings up, allowing a pair of business-suited human females to exit. Their conversation doesn’t miss a beat and they don’t spare me as much as a glance as I pass by. They are speaking French, a language I don’t know, but my Trask implants translate their discussion and I grin as it translates their conversation; they’re debating the relative merits of Blue Stilton versus Roquefort cheese.
I’m still grinning as I climb into the waiting cab. I prefer cheddar, myself.
I give the machine my address, let it scan the invisible ID tattoo on my wrist, and settle back as the cab mutters mechanically to itself for a moment before lifting off into the clear sky.
Peace is a good thing. As I settle into the cab’s cushioned seat, I allow myself to reflect a bit on this. Perhaps it’s just the added perspective I have while I’m aloft here above the most important city in human history. Peace allows women to argue about cheese. Peace between the species we’ve contacted will lead to increased opportunities in education, technology, and even social evolution. Best of all, to my way of thinking, it’s a two-way street. We may not have a lot in common with the Drupadi when it comes to living space and preferred food, but we both value peace. I’ve come to understand that intelligent beings are more or less the same everywhere: people just want to be left alone to go about their lives. When you think about it, that’s not a lot to ask.
Sure, there are disenfranchised minorities on almost every planet. The great fallacy of human society has been an inability to visualize aliens as having civilizations as complex as ours. Earth—and human culture—isn’t a monolithic, homogenous mass like an ant colony. There are still a few hunter-gatherer cultures left on Earth as well as some nomadic people who resist the pressure to settle in cities. They have no use for the Galactic Council.
It’s the same on other worlds. There are downtrodden castes, unevolved cultures, or uncivilized backwater regions on every planet we have contacted. Sure, we’d like to bring them all into the current century; but the truth is, they don’t want to join the party, for whatever reason. And it isn’t our business to force them.
Like I said, it took us a long time to get to this point, and the realization has proven to be a fragile thing. There are still plenty of people who believe that they “know better” than others, and that their way of life is the only acceptable way.
The Terran Union conducted an informal census a few years ago, and the numbers show that there are roughly 2 million nonhuman Union members on a variety of worlds, with most of them concentrated here on New Washington and on planet Earth. Many of these individuals are government employees, of course, and they represent billions of their citizens. Keeping them all happy— or trying to keep them all happy, I should say—has been a full-time job.
My job.
Some days are better than others. This day, I see as the cab’s spiraling in for a landing on the roof of my building, isn’t over yet. I crane my neck to get a better look. There are hundreds of protestors down there, waving signs and shaking their fists at the blank glass façade.
I groan. I know who these people are. They are Terran Nationalists, protesting here outside the official residence of the human diplomatic corps.
Protesting to me—among others.
I settle back into the seat, resisting an impulse to tell the cab to take me back to Flynn’s office. I grip the hand rests. I won’t let these fools ruin my day. With that in mind, as well as an unbidden image of a plate of sliced cheddar and a cold bottle of white wine, I compose myself as best I can. I’m going to have to talk to them, try to get them to disperse.
The cab settles into the landing cradle, which accepts its weight without as much as a creak of protest. The Terran Nationalists are a relatively new group that’s gained strength over the past three years in response to the influx of aliens to human worlds. They insist that aliens are taking human jobs and that they’re sucking the economy dry of valuable resources while contributing nothing in terms of taxes. They say the alien cultures are destroying Terran values.
Whereas, like I said, most people just want to live their lives and adhere to what used to be called the Golden Rule, which translates to, “If you don’t stick your nose in my affairs, I will not stick my nose in your affairs.” You’d think that would be simple enough for anyone to understand, but there are those—and I’ve encountered many of them in my time—who really do believe that they know what you “ought to do.” And they’re sincere in that belief.
The Terran Nationalists fall into that category. Their outrage over the emigration of aliens towers above New Washington’s loftiest spires. This is the first time they’ve become so bold as to set up a protest outside my home (and not just mine, of course, but the home of many members of my staff and others in the diplomatic corps). But I’ve learned how to not let my anger or irritation show in tight situations, so when I climb out of the cab, I have an easy smile on my face. Mr. Friend-of-the-Media, that’s me. Because I can see the cameras pointed at me from within that crowd.
The Nationalists may be obnoxious, but they aren’t fools. If I say anything stupid or angry, it’ll flash on news screens on a dozen worlds.
This is not the homecoming I was hoping for.
Ashley
The Terran Union diplomatic headquarters and residences are a spectacular sight to behold. Designed by a consortium of artists, architects and engineers, this artistic beauty and engineering marvel stretches exactly two hundred and seventy four floors into the air.
The first floor starts at about ten yards above ground level. The building is surrounded by polished stone steps connecting the ground level to four main entrances on all fours faces of the building. Covering a base of about two blocks, this structure is the diplomatic powerhouse of the Terran Union. It houses more than a thousand staffs and caters to tens of thousands of delegates.
There are housing quarters for special delegates and series of massive conference rooms for the several meetings that take place within the building. There is a landing pad with cradle at the top of the building where air cars and away vehicles from the orbiting space station or orbiting ships can land to drop delegates or senators from other worlds.
The building also has a stadium sized general assembly area, which is located on a subterranean level. This hall is usually used for general assemblies between humans, Sonali and all other species. Plated with a mixture of colored glass, aluminum and stainless steel, the body of the building looks like a smooth, slick star ship. I almost feel like I can pilot the thing out to space.
I have heard rumors that the building does have an emergency evacuation protocol, especially in the case of an attack or emergency that threatens its destruction. It can be easily turned into a space vessel with its thrusters and launched into space, where it will merge with the orbiting space station that is FTL capable and escape to a military zone.
“Excuse me, Captain,” says a voice behind me, interrupting my train of thoughts.
I turn to see a security personnel looking at me with a warm smile. I smile back.
“Are you lost?”
“No,” I reply. “I’m just waiting for my husband. He’s supposed to meet me right here. Thanks for asking.”
The security man nods, turns, and walks away from me.
Returning to my fascination with this building, I crane my neck to get a good view of the top of the building. I have to squint and shade my eye with my hand because of the high angle of the blazing twin suns and spikes of reflected light that strikes at my eyes.
Jeryl tells me that sometimes the top of the building is hidden within the clouds, other times it’s not. This is one of the other times. I see that at the very top, the building curves inward, reducing the area to about a fourth of its base area.
Then I see a lightning rod (at least I think it is) that stretches higher and higher on. Because of the thickness of the lightning rod, I can’t tell if it’s ten yards tall or if it’s hundred yards tall.
I begin to think seriously about my theory that the building could be a spaceship. There is a control center at two hundred and seventy fourth level. This control center takes up the whole floor and it’s where the entire building is controlled.
It’s where the staff of over one thousand members are coordinated and directed.
Though owned by the government, it’s not a military building hence the staff are not military. However, the staff use a military hierarchical system, which ensures productivity and discipline.
I even heard that the senior managers in the building are former Terran Armada officers. Some left the Armada just after the Earth-Sonali war to join the team here in the headquarters.
I don’t blame them, neither do I hate them for leaving the Armada. But if they had left during the war, I may have hated them.
The pay here is good. Very good.
A junior staffer here could be earning more than twice what a First Officer in a Battle Cruiser may be earning. And senior staffers here earn way more than some top Admirals. I know that they earn more than my husband, Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery.
But then being in the Armada is more than getting paid. It has become my life. It is my passion—to explore the vast reaches of space and defend the Terran Union with all the firepower of the Terran Armada. I’d very quickly give up life than give up the opportunity to be the captain of The Seeker, which I now command.
I’d readily give up on life than give up on my dream of commanding the entire Armada fleet alongside my husband one day.
In fact, I’ll freely pay to be allowed to captain an Armada vessel as massive and extremely powerful as The Seeker. If the Armada thinks it’s wise to pay me in spite of my desire and proclivity, I don’t mind.
I am standing at the base of the flight of steps that lead up to the building. There is a moderate pedestrian traffic moving up and down the steps.
They are mostly humans. But every so often you see an alien face as well.
So much has changed so fast in New Washington. Some are happy, some aren’t. Many are still trying to catch their breath.
The grounds of the building are very large. Air cars whiz by, dropping and picking up people. Each air car that stops and descends to the ground in my proximity draws my attention. When I see it’s not my husband, I go back to marveling the building.
Building security is tight around, both inside and outside the building—men and women wielding laser guns set to stun. These people undergo the same training as the Armada security corps that has now become a common stay on all Armada vessel.
I once tried to get them off The Seeker, when my husband handed over command to me by the approval of the Armada board. Then I found out that it was more than a matter of policy. It was the law, and to issue such an order that would invalidate the work of the security personnel would be unlawful.
I begin to feel a slow buildup of anger and resentment. The one arm of the Terran Armada I don’t like so much is the Armada Intelligence.
“Those pompous overbred sons of bitches,” I mutter with acrimony before I catch myself and stop.
I force a smile as I exhale. I look around and take in a deep breath. The air is warm and filled with the wonderful smell of New Washington summer. The outer edges of the grounds are surrounded with gardens that are well tended and blooming.
“Here me all!” booms a loud voice.
I turn my head, a little alarmed, to see who is speaking. I notice an average height (the kind that borders on tall man) and a small gathering crowd. The man begins to address the people.
They are far enough to notice me in particular as I suspect from the man’s tone and words that his protest is against the Alien Integration Program and against the government and military that sponsor and support this program. Yet, I’m close enough to hear him speak and to realize that he is Lucien Parker.
Lucien Parker is a household name in almost every household on Terran World in 2205. His outspokenness against all aliens and our bid to integrate them and integrate with them has gone unnoticed by the government. Yet, he is so popular with the masses.
Everyone within the Armada thinks he is taking advantage of the war that led to the loss of countless lives to rise to popularity. I think so too, and I think it’s the lowest of the low.
The worst part?
Lucien used to be part of the Armada. He joined as an enlisted soldier in 2197. He left in 2202, once peace was declared.
“For five bloody years we fought these scumbags!” Lucien yells, the ever growing crowds roaring in response. “And now these blue skinned bastards are coming to our worlds, living in our worlds, and taking our goddamn jobs and money!”
The crowd yells its support, some cursing the government that facilitates this “evil”, while others insulting the Sonali, who are the “evil”.
“They are yet to pledge allegiance to the Terran Union, yet they keep taking money out of our economy! They are waging the same war, only using peace as their mechanisms!”
The crowd is starting to work into a frenzy. I take several steps away as the crowd grows by the second.
I see that a bunch of security personnel are holding a very loose circle around the crowd. Their stance is relaxed and unaggressive. However, I know that they can go from there to full on battle mode in the fraction of a second.
“Mothers, consider your children who have died in the war,” Lucien continues, his voice inflections conveying the gravity of the losses. I even begin to feel the pain and a little anger at the Alien Integration Program before I catch myself. You are playing right into his perfectly crafted motives, I tell myself.
“These same mothers now have to work alongside the same people who killed their sons!” Lucien says at the point of tears.
Lucien’s eyes are even glistening in the sun. I marvel at his professional display of theatric skills. I know he doesn’t really care for those mothers. He is an anarchist. And I’m just waiting for the injunction that will declare him an enemy of the state and a terrorist to the Union.
I will be the one to hunt him down and put him in a cell for desecrating the knowledge and efforts of the millions that died during the five-year-long war. However, Lucien has been incredibly smart. He is yet to break any laws, though he skirts them with the confidence of an experienced dancer.
And, the Union is supposedly dedicated to free speech. I’d be just as bad as him if I took it away.
Lucien points to a woman who has been standing beside him this whole time. That’s also when I start to actually notice her. She’s a woman in her mid-fifties. She’s been sobbing a while because her face is moist with tears.
“This is Martha,” he says. “Her son was killed when the TUS Cortez engaged with the Sonali at Edoris Station and was destroyed. Now this same woman finds herself working for a Sonali manager who has recently been hired by the Pan Solaris Corporation. Is that fair?”
“No!” the crowd booms in unison.
I even flinch at their unified voices. I notice some of the guards are becoming nervous.
“Is it just?”
“No!” Another boom.
This time, I take a few more steps backward. I see that the crowd has gotten aggressive and angry. The guards have switched to full on battle mode. I am not sure what triggered them. But I feel the tension rising to nuclear high.
There is about to be a showdown. Any misstep, any misfire, anything—and this whole protest will end in a disaster. I am almost compelled to radio my ship that’s currently orbiting the planet to send my security detail, which has been expanded to ten, thanks to my crazy paranoid husband.
Not so crazy paranoid now, I guess.
Jeryl
“Are you sure you want to head out there, sir?” asks one of the security personnel, when I point to my wife who’s standing several yards away from the protesters.
One look at the scenario and I know it’s not going to end well. The guards are too close to the protesters. Their guns are aimed at them. That’s never a good thing to do.
Whoever gave that order needs to be retrained.
You don’t point guns at peaceful protesters, no matter how aggressive they become. You don’t cast the first stone.
Because protests are protected by the law, law enforcers has to adopt a reactionary approach. They can only use full force once the protesters move from being aggressive to being destructive. Even then, applying force still has a limit.
I know Lucien Parker all too well. I read his files several month ago. Now that I’m a Vice Admiral and the Terran Union point person in the talks with the Sonali and other species in regards to the Galactic Council, I have full access to the resources and tool of Armada Intelligence.
Lucien Parker is an ingenious tactician. He is versed in all the laws and statues of the government and the military. He was untapped potential as an enlisted man. His record shows that even despite his rank, he was awarded multiple decorations for bravery in combat.
Armada Intelligence tried reaching out to him after the war. He resigned his commission by then, but he had already begun forming the Terran Nationalists.
One of the reports I read said he was possessed with the spirit of Adolf Hitler, the twentieth century mastermind behind World War II and the Holocaust.
This is why I know he couldn’t care less about our Alien Integration Program. He has an ulterior motive, and if he has to use hapless mothers and fathers and children to get it, he will more than gladly do it.
“Yes,” I say to the guard. “I won’t let these protestors cow me.”
“Yes, sir,” the soldier says and lets me through in between the crowd and my wife.
I am about to step into the melee when the soldier begins to speak again. “Sir, don’t you think its best that I call HQ security and bring her over to us? You’re the very face of what these guys are protesting against. If they see you unarmed and unguarded, they could hurt you.”
I smile at the soldier. Agent Rusher if I remember correctly. “Rusher, I’ve been fighting demons since even before the start of the war. I won’t be easily taken down by a con artist and his goon crew.”
I step out into the grounds of the diplomatic headquarters with my hand holding my briefcase tight. I march straight for my wife, whose grim expression brightens up as she spots me.
Ashley’s beauty still stuns me even after eight years of marriage. I hug and kiss her, my back still to the crowd. We look into each other’s eyes for a moment, and the background yells and Lucien’s maleficent words fall into a background din that I’m no longer paying attention to.
“God, I missed you,” I whisper to her.
She smiles sweetly and then plants another kiss on my lips. I feel a tingle run all over my body and then feel the pressure between my legs.
This is when I hear the distinctive sound of laser fire. Terror runs cold in my veins.
I swivel on my heels to see what happened.
Luckily, pandemonium has not broken loose yet. But I can see the chains that bind it chaffing away under the building tension and burning hatred in the eyes of the protesters.
Shit has gotten bad in a split second.
These things always do.
The guards had retreated several yards away from the protesters with their guns raised. It looks like a firing squad. I see that the main doors have been secured with another line of guards aiming down at the crowd.
My wife tugs at my suit. “Let’s get out of here,” she says. “This is about to get ugly.”
I shake my head, dismissing her request.
I have worked so hard to bring the Sonali and humans close. First from the First Contact then to the five year war, then to risking my life and my ship to discover the Nakra race, then to brokering a cease fire between our two people, then to an armistice and peace.
I have been living in jeopardy, putting my wife, her crew, and the crew of tens of other ships at risk to get to where I am now. There is finally the possibility of peace and prosperity for humans and Sonalis and the many other races in the known universe. I am not about to allow some hate-filled lowlife washout to destroy the blood washed, hard work that has brought us here.
I’ll be damned if I do.
“Stay here,” I say to my wife. “I’m going to see if I can stop this bloodshed.”
If Lucien succeeds in shedding the blood of his protesters here at the diplomatic headquarters—the foothold of the drive towards a coexistence between Sonali, humans and other species—it will be impossible for me and the Armada to make a headway with the Sonali.
Hell, the Council may be compelled by the voice of the people to expel all aliens from any Terran world and from our territory. Another war would be knocking on our doors next.
I march into the loose circle and stand to face the protesters. The moment they see and recognize me, they pause, unsure.
“It’s the Avenger of The Mariner,” someone says within the crowd.
“It’s Captain Jeryl of The Seeker,” another yells.
“I heard he singlehandedly defeated the Sonali,” a mutter wafts into the air.
“And what have we here!” a definite voice says. A path immediately appears between me and Lucien, who is several steps up.
“Vice Admiral Jeryl. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” he says in a cool menacing tone.
I’m silent as Lucien bows. “Have you come to silence the cry of the people?”
I see the astonishments of the people at seeing me begin to turn to confusion. I can hear them thinking, why would Jeryl side with the Sonalis?
When I reply, I don’t speak to Lucien. I speak to everyone.
“You have a right to protest. You have a right to demand of the government you elected. They are accountable to you. I would not dare tamper with those rights.”
Then I turn to the guards who are still pointing at the crowds. I count about fifteen of them I can see.
“Stand down!” I yell. And then I hear the chees of the crowd.
The guard hesitate and then stand down. I turn to look at the guards at the top of the steps. They, too, are standing down.
I say to the crowd and to the guards around. “There will be no blood shed today on these grounds.”
I walk away from them to many cheers and surprisingly some pats on the back.
“Lucien is looking at you with evil eyes,” Ashley remarks with a smile.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
Ashley leads me towards the building. Walking up the steps has her butt bouncing and her waist swinging, and the view from where I am is alluring.
I am captivated by my wife’s sexiness. I think back to the last time we fucked. It was insane and crazy—after an away mission she went on that lasted three weeks. But when was it? It seems so long ago. The fact that I can’t really remember attests to how little time we’ve spent together since I left The Seeker and she became its captain. I’ve been to a half-dozen alien worlds back and forth these last three years.
I begin to think of a way to spend more time with her.
We come into a scale-defying lobby and make a beeline past the full complement of armed-to-the-teeth security guards for the bank of elevators.
We enter a private elevator that takes us to the third floor. We start down a wide, deserted hallway that ends in a massive double door titled Conference Room 3A.
We can coordinate our shore leave so we can spend time together, I muse, still appreciating my wife’s backside. Maybe some slipstream sex over a secure channel?
I wonder what the Armada Command would think if they find out we’re using slipstream for phone sex.
“If you keep staring at my ass like that, your eyes might fall off,” Ashley says, then stops abruptly and turns to meet my gaze.
My eyes have to rise up to meet her, then I see her knowing smile.
I chuckle. “It’s good to see you.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I better be a damn prettier sight than the protesters under Lucien Parker outside.”
I don’t reply.
“Is everything ok?” she says.
I rub my eye for a moment, then say, “Everything is fine.” I’m actually looking forward to this round of negotiations to be wrapped up. If we can prevent this council from fighting each other, then it’s worth it.
Ashley heaves a deep sigh, then comes close to me.
Placing a hand on my shoulder, she looks me deep in the eye and says, “We both lived through the horrors of the Sonali war. We’ve both seen our civilizations tether on the brink of extinction. We’ve both seen the immense destruction we can do to each other during the war.”
And for a moment, Ashley’s words force me to relive some of those dark days, when all hope was lost and all I had was my crew. Those days when people died by the numbers every day. Those days when the Terran Union was about to fall.
“At least I get to fly around space, even if it’s sometimes shuttling you and the diplomats from planet to planet,” says Ashley.
Something about the enthusiasm in her voice breaks the mood and brings the smile to my face.
I sigh. “It’s time to go fight a bigger battle than what we’ve ever fought before.”
“What’s that?” Ashley asks, genuinely convinced.
I flash a half smile. “It’s time to meet the delegates.”
We walk to the doors and make our entrance.
Ashley
Jeryl and I walk into the conference room.
It’s a very spacious hall with a massive mahogany table that takes up a large portion of the room. The table is cylindrical in shape and stretches two thirds the length of the room.
The air condition is set to below room temperature. It’s not exactly cold, but it’s somewhat cool. The AC makes a small whizz sound that fills the air.
The conference room is one of the smallest room in the building. It’s just perfect for our purposes, since we are few at this point in the negotiation. It is sparsely decorated. There is a blank view screen hanging from off the wall on the opposite side of the double doors.
There are nine senior delegates, from nine different planets of nine different species, having nine different shapes and sizes. They’re all looking down at the protesters through the glass window when we step in.
The delegates don’t notice us until the double doors slide shut. They turn to see me and Jeryl standing by the doors.
I flash a smile, looking from one species to another. They all look at us. A silence stretches and it begins to get awkward.
“Admiral,” one of them speaks. “You assured us that this place was perfectly safe. What is going down there?”
I feel a tightness erupt around my neck. The protesters have gotten the attention of the delegates. This is my first time meeting with them or being involved in such a high level political and diplomatic meeting, so I really don’t know what to expect.
I am not an authority on alien morphology or emotional expression, but if I were to judge the looks of the delegates by their facial expressions, I would say they aren’t too happy to feel threatened.
I wonder what Jeryl will say. I begin to worry about him. I know how hard he has worked for this—just to get the Sonali and eight other powerful alien races in the same room for a diplomatic meeting is unprecedented.
Now, it seems as though it has started to unfurl at the fringes just because of some mad ideologist bastard, who can’t keep his mouth shut.
When Jeryl replies, he doesn’t just address the person who asked the question, but also the rest of the delegates.
“I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, this place is perfectly safe. You have nothing to worry about.” He puts on a charming smile that never fails to disarm.
I glance back at the delegates. I realize they don’t seem to be charmed.
“What exactly are they doing?” asks another one. This one is quite small and has to stand on a box to see what’s happening down at the ground level, in spite of the floor-to-ceiling window.
“It’s a protest, sir,” Jeryl replies.
“And what is a protest?” he shoots almost half a second after Jeryl finishes.
I reply this time. “A protest is when a group of people who don’t like what an authority is doing come together to make their notions known. They do it usually by vocally opposing the authority. This authority can be a corporation, a regulatory body or even the government. In this case, these protesters are opposing a joint partnership between the government and corporations.”
“People, this is Captain Ashley Gavin. She commands TUS The Seeker,” Jeryl says just after I’m finished.
“You mean to tell us that these people dare speak against your government?” asks one medium height species that has a small respirator attached to his face. The respirator provides this alien with more inert gas than the one present in the atmosphere of New Washington.
Apparently in their planet’s atmosphere, inert gases are at the same level as oxygen. Though humans can survive on their planet since we only need the right combination of oxygen and nitrogen, they can’t survive for long in our planet since they need the right mixture of oxygen and inert gases.
I’m about to explain myself when Jeryl kicks in. “Yes, sir, they dare. This is a right guaranteed by the constitution of our people.
“The laws say that if a group of people feel wronged, they have the right to speak up against this wrong doing even if it’s against the government or even the military. It’s a natural free expression of ideas that is accepted in Terran society as it is accepted in most of your societies as well.”
Well played, I think to myself. Make them know that what’s happening out there can happen in their societies too.
“If such a thing happened in my world,” says another of the delegates—a Reznak, “They would be captured, their tongues cut off, and incinerated. They would serve as a warning to any dissenter that opposition will not be tolerated.”
This one is already seated and has a voice that’s colder than the snow peaks of New Washington.
“Pardon me, Admiral,” Jeryl says to the calm and collected alien. “But such actions are strictly against our laws. We are not a dictatorship. We are a democracy. And every six years, power changes hands. Much of how we run our government has been sent to your respective powers in the past. I trust this was highlighted in the exhaustive reports we sent.
“Also, we received a similar manuscript from you. And Admiral, you failed to mention to our delegates here that because your species’ society operates like a hive, dissensions can breed destructive thoughts across your network of cities, ships, and citizens,” Jeryl says as the Reznak shifts uncomfortably.
There is silence as Jeryl continues, “This can lead to widespread panic and hysteria and then death on an unprecedented scale. Therefore, such a law is critical to the survival of your species.
“You also failed to mention that those who oppose whatever your democratic government is doing can express their displeasure in the Network Box, which effectively severe your connection to the hive for a brief session. This is where your laws are deliberated, much like a senate,” Jeryl pauses and gives the Reznak a chance to get a word in.
The alien shrugs and doesn’t say anything.
I marvel at my husband’s depth of knowledge of the Reznak Empire. I knew about the Reznak and their hive system of living. I just didn’t know this much about them.
I’ve been to the Reznak’s home world. It’s one of the most beautiful planets I have ever seen in my entire career. Earth’s beauty pales in comparison to the Reznak’s home world, Primrose, which in our language translates to Primal Beauty.
The Reznak are also one of the most powerful species known to us. They evolved through several centuries of spacefaring and internal civil wars. But today, they are peaceful and as Jeryl has told me in the past, are forming to be human’s most powerful ally.
“I am still not convinced,” says one of the delegates.
I don’t look at this delegate until after he has spoken, but I can tell who he is just by hearing his gritty voice. The Tyreesian.
“Those protesters, or whatever you call them, can become violent at any time. They can march in here and slaughter us all,” the Tyreesian voice speaks. “I have read reports from my people’s assessments. The entire human population is fond of the man speaking down there. He has the ears of your people. As long as he is alive, he poses a threat to our safety and this proposed union.”
I shift uncomfortably as the Tyreesian continues. “You say you want peace. Yet, your posture dictates another wish. If your government is interested in peace, why has it not dispatched of this stumbling block?”
“Are you suggesting we kill him?” I blurt out, then realize my mistake.
The Tyreesian looks at me for the first time, and I feel terror flow down my spine like a cold fluid.
He’s a male Tyreesian who stands at approximately six feet tall, towering over the rest of the delegates. He has an almost beautiful long slender neck that ends in an ovular head, with long braided black hair dangling all the way down to his breasts.
He has a thick and sturdy build, slits for eyes and ears, and a closed third eye on his forehead. Each of his two hands possesses four fingers.
Leader Greer. I remember reading his file on my way over. A fearsome warrior in his own right. And the thorn in Jeryl’s side from day one.
“No, madam,” he replies in an almost seductive voice.
I’m no longer sure of myself.
“I am merely suggesting your rulers demonstrate their interest in our safety, before we speak of the peace treaty.”
At that moment, someone walks into the room.
“Ah, Colonel you couldn’t have come at a better time.” Jeryl says, grabbing the man by the shoulder and bringing him to his side. “This is Colonel Bennett Masters. He’s from the Armada Security. He’s in charge of protecting delegations and their retinue when they enter Terran space.”
“Colonel, why don’t you explain to these people that they are perfectly safe within this building and that what’s happening outside is really nothing?”
“You have nothing to worry about the protest outside,” Colonel Masters cuts in seamlessly.
“I have security people all over the building. This floor is highly protected and the ground floor is full of armed and well-trained guards.
“Those protesters are not going to cause you any trouble. I promise you that while you are here or in any other place within the Terran space, no harm will come to you. What’s happening outside is a normal expression of speech. We have it under control.”
As Colonel Masters finishes his assurance speech, the leader of the Vozelian delegation, who is still by the window and looking down, calls out and says, “If everything is under control, then why are your security people drawing their weapons and pointing it?”
I feel my heart leap to the base of my throat. Again?
Jeryl
I put on my best poker face, exuding confidence as I join Colonel Masters at the window. Bracing myself, I look down at the crowd. The lines are clearly divided: protestors on one side and Colonel Master's security team on the other.
I've tried to sell this protest to the delegates as an excellent example of democratic free expression, but if things continue to worsen this will end up being a far cry from that ideal.
More like it’ll go from peaceful protest to an urban bloodbath.
Tensions are running high on both sides. It's evident in the facial expressions and postures. I feel like I'm watching the building of a wave feeding upon all the hostility, anger and fear only to then fall crushing us all.
And there is nothing I can do to stop it.
I put my palms on the windowsill and wonder if this can get any fucking worse.
Here I am, in a room full of delegates from other species, trying my damnedest to make things go smoothly while other members of my species are doing their damnedest to fuck it all up.
And the worst part is that it's not just a few bad apples. Right now there are about 500 protestors gathered below us. They’re also not just waving flags and banners. Now, they are waving weapons, too.
"Interesting how the anti-alien protestors all seem to be carrying non-Terran weapons," comments Col. Masters wryly. It's a valid point and one that gets me thinking.
It's no secret that during the first days of the Earth-Sonali war, the Sonali weapons were so superior that they pretty much handed us our asses in any battle.
Whether it was planetside or in space, we were outmatched and outgunned. Hell, that's why I had the Seeker flee combat situations in the first place when things started to look sour.
There might be some captains who never back down in a fight. These kind of leaders would likely look down on my flight as a cowardly move, essentially running away with my Terran dog tail between my legs. In my opinion, leaders like that care more about their ego than their crew. I'd rather look like a coward and save my crew, than to take on an alien threat (or any threat) where the outcome is guaranteed destruction.
And you know what? We lived to fight on. We persevered. Not in massive frontal charges— we were even outgunned, but we kept fighting until we had the chance to catch up.
After the first contact with the Sonali, the Terran Union began to push an advance in our weaponry; whether by fast tracking current projects stuck in R&D, or doing anything we could to reverse-engineer fallen Sonali weaponry.
And that effort to advance didn’t stop after the war. The Terran Union didn’t forget the 4 billion dead. Over the three years that passed, I can say our progress has been staggering. Now instead of pulse-charged projectile weapons, our military has switched entirely to targeted high frequency beam emitters. High-end versions of these weapons are even more sophisticated, allowing modulation of the beam intensity.
On The Seeker, I was in command, so I controlled our fire power (or lack the thereof) and decided our course of action during battle.
Today, I'm in a suit, seeking to build rather than to destroy. The only weapon I have is my words. I'm also not in charge of those who have the weapons. Colonel Masters is, and although I trust him, it's hard to be a bystander when I have so much on the line.
Colonel Masters opens a comm, speaking directly to the security chief on the ground, "Jensen, Report: current crowd situation. Is it under control?"
"Sir, the crowd is not getting any friendlier,” comes his terse reply. “They know all the delegates are inside the building now. Everyone has gotten so hostile down here that I feel like I'm surrounded by explosives, just waiting for someone to drop a match." The unease in the man's voice sets my teeth on edge.
"Your first priority is this delegation. They are too important and must be protected at all costs," says Colonel Masters.
"Yes sir, understood sir, we are—” Jensen is cut off. Just as he goes quiet, we hear a noise coming from below. Disruptor fire. Colonel Masters and I exchange worried looks at the implications.
He contacts Jensen again, "Jensen? Jensen, are you there? What the hell is going on?"
"We are being fired on. I repeat we are being fired on and returning defensive fire." Jensen sounds out of breath and overwhelmed.
"Jensen, listen to me, limit your counter attack. Allow civilians to leave without arrest. We need to exercise caution and de-escalate this as soon as possible. "
There was no answer than the sound of a second volley of disruptor fire.
I try to decide what I would do in Jensen's place. He has the tech and the team of security personnel needed to change the current situation, but the situation is getting worse by the minute.
At one point does he change his priorities to his crew's safety versus that of the protestors?
He's been asked to protect delegates he can't see while staring into the eyes of people who want to steamroll him and the men under his command to reach the delegates. I grimace; he's been handed a real shit sandwich.
Ashley comes to my side. I can tell she wants to comfort me; however, we both agreed a long time ago that in situations like this we would avoid public displays of affection. For one thing there's no telling what some of the alien delegates will think if they see us touch. They may see it as a weakness or simply be offended. With the shit storm happening below us, the last thing we need is to start ruffling feathers up here.
Together we watch the security team grapple with the crowd. I see the security chief dispatch an order. I can't hear his command. The security team members stand still, aim and fire into the crowd. I hear Ashley give a small almost inaudible gasp.
I think back to how I wondered earlier if things could get any worse...well, now I know.
Of course they fucking can.
After the shots are fired, the crowd panics, running in different directions like ants swarming on a mound.
Colonel Masters barks into his comm, "Jensen, fire ONLY on lowest settings! I repeat ONLY on LOWEST settings." There is no response.
I notice that many of the protestors are brandishing energy shields. I smirk at this additional irony; the shields are yet another non-Terran weapon - their design borrowed from the Children of Zorm. They are ideal counters to the weapons the security team are using. This is not good.
Regaining their lost confidence, the crowd shifts from flight to fight rushing full tilt into the security crew's line of defense.
Jensen's crew retailiate with another volley shot into the crowd. Colonel Masters is yelling into the comm, but it's no use. I doubt Jensen can even hear him and he certainly cannot spare a moment to reply.
My hand covers Ashley's and squeezes, screw the delegates. Her eyes widen a bit at me, but she doesn't move her hand.
In just three years we have slingshot our tech weaponry to match that of the Sonali. We are no longer playing catch up. We are a formidable power in the galaxy. We have so much more power and yet there is still so much fear.
Fear has always been a powerful catalyst for behavior.
A frightened wolf is more dangerous than a pack. A pack follows rules and exhibits expected behaviors. A wolf afraid for itself becomes aggressive, unpredictable and dangerous.
We advanced our weapons to match with the enemy and yet, despite this evolution we are still just as susceptible to fear.
Fear of the alien, fear of change, fear of being replaced, fear of losing...
Humans do not do well living under the weight of fear. We do not simply accept things, or hope that things improve or that they will change on their own.
Rarely is there a person who does not at least consider doing something to take away their fear.
Fear leads to helplessness and in that feeling a desire for control. Coupled with this need for control is the anger inspired by the fear. Who do we get angry at when we are scared? The person or people responsible, or often more, the closet target for us to attack.
I watch Lucien Parker shout at his followers inciting them into a frenzy. I have such hatred for the man, but also a grudging respect for his ability to use this cocktail of fear, anger and helplessness to work in his favor. In a way he has taken these lost and frightened souls with him and formed a "pack" of sorts with himself as the alpha. Desperate and emotional, the protestors listen to him as he directs them to take out their frustrations on the closest target; the security team. It is a match made in hell. It will not end well for either side, something I'm sure Lucien knows.
I rewind the exchange between the Tyreesian delegate and my wife in my head, focusing on his casual suggestion of the "dispatching of this stumbling block". Yes, to the Tyreesian our tolerance of a figure like Lucien Parker makes no sense.
What angers me is that a part of me wishes Lucien was out of the picture as well. Not "dispatched", but removed from the situation instead of getting a free pass to stroke the fires of anti-alien dissent while I struggle to keep the delegates calm.
I consider the irony of how much fighting can occur when one is seeking peace.
Ashley
Jeryl looks like a man watching the world come to an end. That may be more accurate than I'd like to admit. He's watching his world end. The world he's been building for the last three years.
I was onboard the Seeker the day we made first contact with the Sonali; he was the captain back then.
As captain, the consequences of the choices made that day rest heavily on his shoulders. He tries to hide it, but I know he wrestles with the guilt of being the reason the war began. Every life lost, every settlement destroyed cuts deep into his soul. I see the doubt and recrimination in his eyes.
I recall a dinner conversation we had months ago when he got back from an extended stay on Sonali Prime...
"Jeryl, you need to stop holding on to this guilt. You made the best decision in a situation with limited facts. I know no one on The Seeker who would feel differently," I told him as we sat in a New Washington restaurant, 275 stories above the ground, viewing the city at sunset.
I remember how his lips twisted even as he nodded agreeing with what I said. It's not pride messing with him. He just can't help wondering if things could have gone differently. Jeryl is not a glory hound or a warmonger. I doubt we'd still be married if he had either of those traits. He's just a guy trying to do the right thing—then and now.
"Jeryl," I took his hand across the table, trying to reassure him, "You're a good man. If you weren't you wouldn't care so much. Don't think about the lives lost in the war. Think about the lives you'll save by establishing the Galactic Council." I remember the glimmer of hope I saw in his eyes when I said that to him.
Today that hope has vanished—replaced by fear and horror at a situation that is destroying his dream of peaceful coexistence and replacing it with a nightmare.
He has been working so hard to change our relations with the most powerful of alien beings. It has been a tough road fraught with stumbling block after stumbling block. I can only imagine his frustration and sense of loss.
We have to find a way to salvage things.
We can’t let it end like this.
"We can't let this continue," I say keeping my voice low, "The media is covering everything." I don't need to explain further. Every bit of the violence happening below is being filmed and recorded by media bots. Every time someone in the crowd is wounded or worse, the bots capture that moment in time. Too much bad press and we can kiss this home stretch of negotiations goodbye.
As I consider what we can do about our public relations, Jensen's voice comes over the comm unit. He’s addressing the crowd:
“By order of Terran Union immediately cease and desist all actions and vacate the area. This is your final warning. By order of Terran Union—" he repeats.
Instead of calming the crowd, his words enrage them further. And if that wasn't bad enough the crowd has swelled in size. Instead of 500 there are closer to a 1,000 angry protestors surrounding the diplomatic building, refusing to quiet their protests or to leave.
The security crew stands head-to-head with the protestors. The few people on either side that have been felled by disruptor fire are lying in the crowd, twitching. None of the security forces have their wounded lying on the ground—they made sure to remove them from view.
I feel like I'm watching two cowboys squaring off in preparation for a duel. Duels end in death, sometimes for both combatants.
I worry that is the destiny of the two factions below us. I won't be able to cheer "our side" if we slice into the crowd. Sure, I'll be glad if Jensen can get things under control. Making the delegation feel safe and keeping them safe are of paramount importance. But if that cost the lives of innocent, albeit misguided civilians, then can we really call that a "win" for peace?
Suddenly the crowd charges the main entrance. The fighting swells becoming a maelstrom of noise and violence. Punches are thrown as are bricks, sticks and other debris. A security crew member is pulled down and kicked. He is quickly rescued by other security crew members who in turn start beating up the protestors responsible.
Just when it seems like things can't get much worse, I notice something that makes my blood run cold.
Horrified, I point out to Jeryl the contingent of Armada Marines that have just exited the entrance to the building. They have personal energy shields up and weapons at the ready. "They're locked and loaded," I whisper to Jeryl. He nods.
"What the hell is going on?" asks Jeryl, directing this question to Colonel Masters, "Why do we have Marines on the ground?"
"The only thing keeping that crowd out of this building is the Marine unit. They have the first floors of this building covered as well." He looks at Jeryl with grim resolve, "I've ordered them not to let the crowd through."
I know Jeryl is thinking the same thing I am; this whole situation is a bloodbath just waiting to happen. My husband is trapped in another no-win situation. If the protestors get inside, we lose, if the Marines shoot at the protestors, we still lose.
This is his project, his dream to change things for the better.
I also know that the successful creation of this delegation means something more to Jeryl, even if he hasn't said it.
This is his ticket to redemption.
And right now I'm worried that the chance for its success has already passed. The delegation does not seem to grasp how much of this is out of our hands or why they need to work with us. The irony is the conflict outside is exactly why a Galactic Council of this sort needs to exist.
“A place where races can talk out their grievances instead of going to war,” I remember Jeryl saying when he first began this mission.
I shake my head wondering if political self-interest is trait all sentient life forms share.
I find myself thinking: Jeryl was staring at my ass earlier and now he has a whole room full of asses staring at him. Thank God I'm not prone to giggles.
I can't help it, my response to tension is bad humor.
Hell, I think it's part of the glue that holds Jeryl's and my marriage together. Sometimes when the shit is hitting the fan you have to crack a joke, admit it's really wrong to say and then move on. I promise myself I'll share my joke with him later, when we can both freely laugh at it.
Suddenly I have a horrible thought—what if one of the delegates sees me laughing?
I quickly scan the delegates. The nine species here by our invitation show a range of responses to the current crisis. Some are visibly shaken, cowering, while others are infuriated. I can't say I blame them for either response. The Tyreesian delegate wears an expression I can't read. It seems akin to smugness, but in truth I should be careful thinking that I can successfully read any of the aliens.
We are just beginning to learn more about these species. I don't know if any of them possess telepathy. Out of all of them, the Sonali are probably the most versed in human emotions. Lucky for me the Sonali delegate seems focused on the situation paying little to no attention to me. If he does look my way it is only to cast sympathetic glances at Jeryl.
Jeryl and I watch as the crowd seems to be prepping for a second run at the entrance. Colonel Masters switches open the comm so we can hear the Marine Commander: "Switch weapons to hot. Settings free. If anyone attempts to get inside this building, then they are risking their own lives."
"You can't fire on those protestors!" exclaims Jeryl to Colonel Masters urgently.
"Captain Montgomery, with all due respect, there is nothing else we can do."
He pleads with Masters. "If we retaliate to the protestors at this delicate time we will lose three years of progress. Done. Kaput. We need to evacuate the delegates. And we need to do it now." I can see that while Masters is listening he is not pleased with this solution.
"You want us to run?" he asks. Jeryl nods. One of the things I love about him is his lack of ego when it comes to doing the right thing. Some men might want to look like badasses no matter what the situation. These fools would lead their people, men and women that trust them, to their deaths. There is no glory in saying goodbye forever to family, friends and life. Jeryl refuses to sacrifice anyone simply to save face.
"Colonel, if we choose to stand and fight in the present—we will lose the future."
"Prepare Terran shuttles for the delegates’ departure," says Masters over the comm.
"No, the delegates need their own shuttles,” Jeryl says. “They won't trust us to protect them. Not right now."
"Very well," says Masters, then he gets on the comm with the the Marine leader, "Please get the delegates private shuttles ready for departure ASAP."
I sense a fraction of the tension Jeryl’s feeling leave his body. Unfortunately, as we both turn back to the window staring at the situation below, I feel his stress ramp back up.
Again, things are about to get even uglier.
Jeryl
“We have to leave immediately,” I say to Colonel Masters, who isn’t at all pleased with my planned decision. We’re off to the corner with Ashley, where the delegation can’t hear our strained speech.
“If we run away,” Masters says, “we show these delegates that we are weak and that we have no control of what happens on our planets. And we give those pricks out there more reasons to attack us again and again. We have to make a stand here.”
Ashley looks in my direction. I can tell she’s tense. Her eyebrows are creased with worry. Sweat trickles down her cheek and she stands firm, ready to pounce.
“He’s right,” Ashley says. “We can’t show weakness. You taught me that.”
“Yes, but I also taught you to be wise,” I snap.
Ashley recoils. I can tell she’s shocked, but she barely shows it. And few seconds later I feel terrible for snapping at her. I can hear the yells and screams and disruptor fire outside. I’m on the verge of panic if I don’t get ahold of myself, and I know it.
“At this point, it is better to live to fight another day,” I say, “because history doesn’t remember who won the battles. It only remembers and reckons with who won the war.”
I pause to collect my thoughts.
“If we kill every one of those protesters, our negotiations for a Galactic Council doesn’t stand a chance,” I say. “If humans are seen killing each other in such an evil display of force, then how do we expect the Tyreesians to believe us when we say we want to peacefully coexist with them? And the Reznak, the Sonali?”
I can see Ashley look at me as if she’s considering, even though I’m talking to Colonel Masters. “The universe already has a bad opinion of us, especially after our destructive war with the Sonali. We don’t need to fuel that opinion with infighting.”
Ashely nods in agreement, but Colonel Masters is not convinced. I don’t expect him to be.
Armada Marines are trained to be brutish and to solve every problem with the application of force. They aren’t utilized for their expertise in strategic thinking. They are utilized for their deadly precision and incredible military power on the battle field.
Thankfully, I outrank Colonel Masters. He’ll have to take my orders.
“My mind is made up, Colonel,” I say, adding a little force to my words. “Call off those Marines. We’re transporting everyone here to their respective shuttles and make it such that everyone sees we’re leaving.”
Turning to address Ashley, I say, “Captain, inform everyone in The Seeker. Let them remain vigilant. Let them be on alert for any possible disruptions.”
Ashely nods and taps her comm, which broadcasts to the communications officer on the ship in orbit. She asks to be patched to her First Officer, to whom she issues a series of orders.
Colonel Masters is also on his comms, coordinating the evacuation plans.
I glance at the delegates. Most of them are looking down at the fire fight. I can see that they are scared beyond their wits.
The Child of Zorm is, however, not fazed by what’s going on. He’s sitting, cool, on his seat and looking at me. I wonder what he thinks of me.
I admire the Children of Zorm for their calmness in the face of adversity. They rarely show fear. They rarely demonstrate emotions, and they’re very logical and reasonable.
Oddly, they share a lot of things with us, including our physiology. They have a beating heart. They have reproductive organs for male and female that are similar to ours.
I hear Colonel Masters order that all shuttles be parked on the main landing pad on the top floor. This calls my attention back to him.
“No, Colonel,” I say. “Belay that order.”
He speaks into his comm and says, “Hold off on that last order, sergeant.” Then he turns to me for answers.
“These people may suspect we are evacuating,” I say. “We can’t be predictable. They may have brought in surface to air weapons. They want to kill off these delegates one way or another, so we have to be one step ahead of them.”
“We scan the grounds every three hours, sir,” Colonel Masters replies. “The last scan says there’s no mobile incendiary discharge device.”
“We both know there are a lot of ways to take down a shuttle.”
Colonel Masters, again, doesn’t look convinced by my line of thought. I begin to wonder what they teach these Marines at the Academy.
“Give the order to take all the delegates up together but to have them leave in small groups of staggered times,” I say in an authoritative tone. “We’ll head up to The Seeker.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies and gives the order.
Ashely returns to my side.
“The Seeker is ready for us, sir,” she says. “I want to go on ahead and prepare.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” I say, worry entering my heart.
I don’t want to be separated from her at this volatile point. For all I care, there may be sleeper agents in the building as we speak.
Lucian is a master strategist. He may have planted agents in the building who are going to open fire when they see the aliens or government officials who are working with the aliens. I sound paranoid. But I don’t want my wife wandering through the vast hallways and floors of this building without me being there to protect her.
“It’s sweet of you to worry about me,” she says. “But I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Honey, now isn’t the time to play the hero,” I say. “They could have infiltrated the building. You aren’t a soldier. You’re a sailor.”
Her smile disappears and I know I’ve hurt her. But I don’t care so much about how she feels right now. I do it for her safety.
“Take a detachment of Marines,” I say.
She’s about to protest, but I turn to speak to Colonel Masters.
“Colonel,” I say, “I want a detachment of Marines to ensure that Captain Ashley Gavin makes it safely to The Seeker!”
“Yes, sir,” he says and leads her outside.
A minute later he returns and says, “We are ready to move. A forward team has gone ahead to secure our path to the landing pad. We are using the one on the one hundred and twentieth floor.”
“Good,” I say.
I turn to the delegates and call their attention.
“We need to move out of here immediately,” I say. “Your shuttle pilots have been briefed and prepped. We have a compliment of Armada Marines outside those doors who are going to lead us to the floor where we will lift off to space. Please, in the case of a shootout, remain calm. The marines are a professional military outfit. They will get us safe to where we need to go to, and I assure you, no harm can come to you while within this building.”
I wait for any question.
When there is none, I order in the authoritative voice that seems to come back naturally, “Okay. Let’s proceed.”
Colonel Masters guides the delegates in rows of two, with me, Leader Greer and the Vozelian bring up the rear. Outside in the wide hallway, there are about twenty Marines, with guns pointing up and out. They form a protective shell around us.
When everyone is within the shell, Colonel Masters, who is leading the charge, gives the order and we begin to move. The control center already has five cars waiting for us. We break into four groups. Leader Greer and I end up in the same group with four marines standing between us and the door.
As the elevator begins its climb up more than a hundred floors, Leader Greer breaks his silence.
“For people who have a lot to say about peaceful coexistence and wanting to live in peace,” he starts, “You sure don’t know how to go about it. You talk big game, but when pushed and shoved you fall back.”
He turns his head in my direction.
“You may have the whole universe convinced about your true intentions,” he continues, “But you are yet to convince me. If peace is what you really want, then let us see it by your actions. Because with all I have seen of you people, the Terran Union does not want this deal to go through.”
His words pierce me right through my heart like a hot needle.
I turn to look at him, my heart brimming with hot words. I hold my tongue for a moment so I don’t say any undiplomatic word.
When I am sure I won’t, I say back to him, “I’ve seen too much war in my life. I’m guessing you’ve seen too much war in your life as well. My people and the Sonali have just finished a brutal war—brutal even by your standards. If there is anything that we can do to prevent something like this from ever happening again, then we owe it to our children, to our offspring, and our descendants to do it. We can’t spend the rest of eternity fighting amongst ourselves. This can’t be what humanity came into space to do.”
Leader Greer is silent all through my impassioned reply. He breathes in deeply.
Then he says, “The universe doesn’t care what humanity wants. The universe doesn’t care what the Tyreesians want. The universe will do as it pleases. You cannot cheat fate.”
And the elevator opens up to a wide landing pad.
The marines pour into the open space before motioning for us to exit. Leader Greer and I step off the elevator onto the landing pad. The other delegates are coming from different elevators onto the pad.
Shuttles come in twos and lift them away to safety. I stand by Greer’s side. Greer is mesmerized by the astonishing skyline of New Washington, which stretches to the horizon.
There are skyscrapers like the needles on a brush, connecting the ground to the sky and creating a marvelous vista. New Washington is a planet size city with every part of it industrialized and put to use. There are six billion people who call New Washington home.
“It’s peaceful from up here,” Leader Greer says after a moment of silence.
There are two shuttles waiting.
Colonel Masters walks to us.
He says, “We have to go now.”
Leader Greer is ushered into his own shuttle, while Colonel Masters and I climb aboard the shuttle headed for The Seeker.
We strap in and the pilot executes a ninety degree leap into the air. Now used to the incredible toll such a maneuver exerts on the body, I barely feel it.
“That Greer guy probably doesn’t get invited so much to parties,” Colonel Masters says as he struggles against the vertical takeoff.
“Vice Admiral,” says the pilot from the cockpit.
“Go ahead Lieutenant,” I say.
“The Docmaster has informed me that we and the shuttle carrying the Tyreesian delegate are the last two shuttles left to dock with The Seeker.”
“Roger that,” I say.
Finally. I can exhale. Everyone is safe. They’re heading to The Seeker. We’ll be safe.
Then there is a massive explosion near us that knocks us sideways. The blast spins the shuttle off careening towards the diplomatic building. Only the quick guidance of the pilot prevents us from colliding.
My straps hold me tight, but they dig into my skin sharply. I recover quickly and turn to look out the window. I don’t see anything on my side.
“What the fuck just happened, Lieutenant?”
“Still trying to find out, Vice Admiral,” the pilot replies, frantic.
It is Colonel Masters that gets answers first.
“Sir,” he says in a voice that indicates terror, “The Tyreesian shuttle has just exploded midflight.”
Not caring for safety regulations, I unbuckle my harness and look out the window, straining to see.
I see flaming debris tumbling towards the planet surface.
And for the first time, I panic.
Ashley
The CNC is bustling with activity as my First Officer is coordinating the inflow of delegates onto The Seeker and getting them all settled in and quieted. I am sitting in a seat I have watched Jeryl sit in for more than five years and I watch the view screen with every bit of accomplishment and pride that I can muster.
All my senior officers are present and in top condition, carrying out their assigned tasks as required. All systems are nominal.
We can go into battle right now if we wanted to.
A couple of minutes ago, I had contacted Jeryl’s shuttle and asked them to dock with The Seeker, along with the shuttle belonging to the Tyreesian delegation. It has been longer than usual and I am beginning to get worried.
I wonder if they have returned back to the diplomatic headquarters or if they have docked with another Union orbiting the gargantuan planet. I am about to ask the communications officer to contact Jeryl’s shuttle again, when I hear the gasp of shock coming from the navigator.
My eyes flash from the navigator to the view screen, looking for what may have shocked the young man. That’s when I notice a tiny flare of fire somewhere in the atmosphere of the planet beneath us.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” I ask the navigator, not sure of what I’m seeing.
“There’s an explosion on the surface, ma’am.”
My heart seems to stop as I process what he says. Explosion? How? I feel a rush of blood through my ears as it warms and prickles me. I find it difficult to breathe for a moment, fear fraying at every nerve ending within my body.
“Can you clarify what you mean by an explosion?” I say, picking my words one after the other and maintaining a flaccid tone so as not to let the storm of terror overwhelm me.
“Ma’am,” the communications officer replies, “it appears that one of the shuttles exploded midflight. We are yet to determine what the cause of the explosion was.”
I leap out of my sit, my heart pounding hard against my chest. Jeryl…He’s in one of those shuttles.
Oh my god.
My mind is suddenly surrounded with terrifying pictures of Jeryl lying in state at an official Armada burial ceremony and me wearing black and crying my heart and eyes out. I shook away the picture out of my mind, struggling to remain calm and reasonable; a feat that is incredible difficult to achieve.
“Confirm whose ship was destroyed,” I say, keeping my voice low.
In the corner of my eye, I can see my First Officer keeping a wary eye on me. He knows that my husband was in one of those shuttle headed for the ship. He’s probably wondering what must be going through my mind.
He’s probably also judging my capability to lead as captain and seeing if he should commandeer my vessel because I am no longer objectively commanding as per Armada regulations.
These are all just speculations, but I wouldn’t be surprised if some of it were true. My First Officer is a very ambitious man.
Sometimes it makes me glad that I have the Armada Security guards who are assigned just to the Captain.
During the war, after mutiny on a TUS, the guards became a standard issue. I strongly disagreed back then when I saw Armada Security personnel that reported straight to Jeryl stand guard in CNC.
Now I can understand how it’s almost comforting.
“I can’t confirm, ma’am,” the navigations officer says. “There’s too much interference for our scanners to determine what exactly has happened.”
I turn to my communications officer. “Patch me through to either of the shuttles.”
The communications officer’s hands fly over his work station before he gives me the go ahead to speak.
I tap the button on my chair before I speak.
“Captain Gavin of The Seeker to the Shuttle Freedom. Please respond.”
Static fills the CNC.
I swallow hard, biting back tears.
“Captain Gavin of The Seeker to the Shuttle Freedom. Please respond.” This time I can’t help it and a little of my frustration pours into my last statement.
Static fills the CNC again.
“Captain, there’s no signal,” the communications officer states the obvious for my benefit.
“Patch me through to the New Washington Space Dock,” I say.
I hope they will have more information for me. I am on the verge of losing it. I feel Commander Maddox, my First Officer, edging closer to me.
I am having a hard time controlling my breathing as it threatens to send me into hyperventilation.
The communications officer gives me the go ahead.
I say, “Captain Gavin of The Seeker to Space Dock, come in.”
There’s a little static before it vanishes and is replaced with another female voice.
“Captain Gavin, this is Commander Barney of Space Dock Control. How may we assist you? Over.”
My heart lets loose a bit as I hope for some information on what’s happening down there.
“It appears there has been some kind of midflight explosion down on the planet. We were expecting two shuttles to dock with us, but none of them have and they’re not responding to our hails. Please, advise.”
There is a little pause.
“Captain Gavin, I can confirm that one of the vessels did suffer an unknown problem that caused it to explode midflight. As for the second shuttle, we cannot confirm that it was affected by the first explosion or that it exploded itself. But we can inform you that there was another explosion on the ground in the Diplomatic HQ grounds. Over.”
The communications officer looks in my direction, drawing my attention.
He says, “We are being hailed my Armada Security.”
“Is there anything I can assist you with, ma’am,” I hear Commander Barney say.
“No, thanks,” I reply. “Captain Gavin out.”
I terminate the connection from my chair control, then say to the communications officer. “On screen.”
The screen splits into two.
A tall gangly man appears on the left side of the screen. He has a solid build, in spite of his height and is currently wearing a no nonsense look.
I recognize him immediately. He’s the head of security for the Terran Armada on New Washington. A man that has a brutish reputation.
“Commander Samson, please go ahead,” I say at once.
“Captain Gavin,” he starts. “Do you know anything about the Tyreesian shuttle that exploded midflight a few minutes ago?”
Sadly, I feel a little bit of relief. At least I know it isn’t Jeryl’s ship that exploded. But this doesn’t mean my husband is safe. Why isn’t he answering our hails?
“The shuttle was headed to us to dock,” I reply. “We are seeking information about its whereabouts and about the other shuttle it was in flight with when the explosion happened.”
“Well, commander, we can tell you that the Tyreesian shuttle has been destroyed,” the man replies. “However, we can’t tell you what happened to the second ship. We’re still gathering all the intel on what happened. We’re dispatching some shuttles to the area to find out what happened.”
“Keep me in the loop,” I say.
“Indeed,” he replies. “Samson out.” And the man vanished, the screen returning to full screen.
I say to the communications officer, “Keep trying to get a hold of Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery.”
The officer nods and returns his full attention to his console.
I glance at the operations officer.
“Prepare a shuttle for me, Lieutenant. I’m going to go and find out for myself what’s happening.”
“Ma’am, I must protest that decision,” Commander Maddox speaks out.
I shoot him a surly gaze. “Why is that?”
“Ma’am, I don’t think it is wise for you to go running around the surface of the planet. You can send one of the security personnel or wait for official reports from Armada security. You should be here in case this is a prelude to a much bigger incursion. We’ll need you here in the case of a crisis.”
I stop in front of my First Officer. I look him in the eye and keep a straight face when I reply to him.
“Commander Maddox. We are orbiting the largest colony of the Terran Union and we are surrounded by many, many Terran Union Starships. If this is the precursor to an invasion all the way here at the heart of Terran space, then one more captain being around will not make a difference because we’d already be fucked.”
The Commander takes a startled step back at my use of profanity. Unapologetically, I exit the bridge and take the elevator down to the shuttle bay deck.
There’s a pilot there waiting for me. I enter and the pilot lifts off.
We make a deep dive for the planet. Once we strike the atmosphere, the ship begins to rock from side to side and the stabilizers begin to give off a high pitched sound.
I tap the communications button that patches me through to The Seeker.
“Any word from Freedom or Vice Admiral Jeryl?” I ask.
“No, ma’am,” replies the communications officer.
I try again from the ship’s communications instrument. This time, instead of using standard hailing frequencies, I decided to try the short distance slipstream service that all shuttles are capable of.
When I have the configuration all figured out and inputted, I say, “Captain Gavin of The Seeker to the Shuttle Freedom. Please respond”
There’s a static, which only lasts for half the time before I hear a response.
“This is Vice Admiral Jeryl. Go ahead.”
As soon as I hear my husband’s voice, my heart deflates from its height of tension to a sense of relief.
“Are you alright?” I say as soon as I can talk without sounding overly emotional.
“Yes, I am,” he replies. “But not Leader Greer. Greer is dead along with his entire delegation.”
“Oh. My. God,” I whisper, trying to figure out how much of a diplomatic disaster this would turn out to be.
My husband does me the favor by giving me an idea.
He says, “This has probably turned into another disastrous day, much like the day we first met the Sonali.”
“I’m in a shuttle now,” I say. “We’ve just cleared the atmosphere and gotten permission to proceed. What do you want me to do?”
“Meet me at Armada Command,” he replies. “We’re just landing, so I’ll wait for you on the landing pad.”
I glance at the pilot who nods and inputs the coordinates.
“Okay. I’ll be there,” I say before the line goes dead.
I tap a button and a holographic projection appears on from my command chair.
The news channel is covering the live event that is going on in the diplomatic HQ, which is being broadcast across all throughout Terran space. I am greeted with terrifying images of protesters clashing with the security team and then Armada Marines.
I see as protesters are killed by the weapons of Marines, who were trained to protect humans.
I see as the screen splits into two. One shows the horrifying image of protestors falling to the blazing weapons of the Marines, while the other screen shows the Tyreesian ship exploding midflight and being engulfed with fire.
I see people crying on the grounds in front of the diplomatic building.
I see some writhing in pain, dead bodies strewn around like ragged dolls. Yet the fire fight proceeds, laser and disruptor fire crisscrossing the screen.
I listen for a moment as the reporter begins to speculate that this may be the final end for the ongoing negotiations to establish a galactic council. The reporter also broaches the subject of increased anti-alien sentiment.
Soon later, the shuttle touches down and I exit.
I see my husband standing alright and well, a series of high ranking officers including Colonel Masters standing with him. It appears they are all waiting for him, while he waits for me.
The moment I set foot on the paved ground, I make a dash for him, forgetting all decorum as I leap into his waiting arms.
Ashley
We sit in stunned silence in Admiral Flynn’s office in Armada Command and watch a multi-camera replay of the outbreak of violence that occurred on the grounds of the Diplomatic Headquarters.
I am sitting right next to my husband, while Admiral Flynn sits behind his desk. The hologram stands to the left of Flynn’s massive office and the sound is crisp and clear.
I can feel as the laser blasts cut down fleeing protesters. I watch as energy shield flare up and shatter upon heavy disruptor fire from the Marines. I watch as more and more of the protesters take final stands, refusing to retreat or surrender.
“This is just so bad,” Admiral Flynn mutters to himself.
For a moment, I cut my gaze from the horrifying replay and glance to look at my husband. I can see the extreme sadness and pain in his eyes and on his face.
My heart begins to bleed and clenching my fists is all I can do to keep myself from pulling him onto my breast and stroking his hair to make him feel better. I can’t fully imagine what he must be feeling right now.
I know that the terrible war that lasted for five years between us and the Sonali is what really motivates him to push all the red tapes and hindrances, to bring all known species into a peace agreement and to establish a galactic council. I know he’s especially motivated because he feels he was responsible for the war.
For four and a half billion human deaths. For five billion Sonali dead.
Now that his plans are all but destroyed by the increasing onslaught against everything he’s working on, I wonder what he must be thinking.
I wonder what he must be feeling.
I squeeze my hands together a bit because I want to say something sweet to him. I want to let him know that I love him and that I trust him. I want him to know that we can still salvage this, even though I don’t know if we really can.
But I can’t do that. Not right now.
I just want to do all I can to make him feel better. I want to expunge the sadness from his heart and blot out the pain from his being. I want all of these to go away and I am willing to do all that it takes.
Even if I wanted to, I’m interrupted—by the day.
There is a loud explosion from the replay.
“Damn!” Admiral Flynn notes.
My gaze shifts to Admiral Flynn.
Admiral Flynn sits on his huge swivel chair, a drape of the emblem of the Terran Armada taking up the background behind him. He is perfectly impassive as he observes the gory display captured on camera with clinical attention.
He doesn’t seem ruffled by the screams of pain and cries of help. He’s not even moved as protestors are mowed down by Marines, nor is he disturbed, at least not that I can see, by the repeated automatic laser fire and when there is a huge explosion in the grounds of the building, he doesn’t flinch.
I wonder if he’s actually watching the video or if he’s thinking of something else.
I return my gaze back to the viewscreen in time for the feed to cut to Lucien Parker. His face is smudged with smoke and blood. His dress is covered in blood, tears and burn marks.
Lucien is not holding any weapons, but his hands are darkened, supposing he had hefted a disruptor. A reporter stands beside him, a tall lady of Indian descent who asks him a question that I don’t hear clearly. Lucien obviously catches the question.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Sonali or the Tyreesian or the Nakra or whatever fucked up aliens there might be on this world,” he replies.
“What we are saying is that we want them to leave our planet. Our Union. Before they came, there was already difficulty in getting jobs. We were already overpopulated. How the heck is it right to bring these fuckers in? To bring Sonali merchants in who put human shops out of business? To bring Tyreesians to do security for corporations when humans can’t get jobs? On top of that, they go and take our houses and breathe our air. Especially when they haven’t even pledged any allegiance to the Union,” he spits out.
“We never agreed to this,” Lucien continues. “The officials never asked our opinion. This is dictatorship and it is strictly forbidden by our constitution. We are here to exercise our rights and say these aliens should go.”
In the background, a few surviving protesters carry alien weapons for the cameras and yell their support for their leader.
The reporter asks, “So, who exactly are you angry with? The aliens? The fact that they are taking the jobs and houses and materials? Or the government that didn’t consider your opinion?”
Lucien replies almost immediately.
“You see, Tracy, these are all different heads of the same problem, which is the occupation of our world by aliens. So our qualms are with the aliens that are not reasonable enough to realize we’re over populated and struggling to survive, knowing that there is still the ongoing project of sending relief materials to Earth.”
I dimly begin to realize just how savvy Lucien Parker is.
“Or has everyone forgotten that?” Lucien asks the camera. “That is our primary reason for being in space—not to make friends with other species who want to rip us off and suck us dry. I have doubts with the government that seems to have forgotten its fundamental responsibilities to protect us, ensure a just environment for us and to fairly seek our means of sustenance.”
“Before now, unemployment rate was at a two percent planetwide here in New Washington. Do you know what it is now?” Lucien asks.
Tracy, the reporter, does not reply.
Lucian answer, “Eight percent as of last night, and it’s only been a year since they fully moved in. At that rate, our economy will collapse and we’ll all be put out of our jobs.”
Lucian takes a deep breath and looks away from the reporter and into the camera and to billions of humans and aliens across the galaxy and continues his emotional speech.
“We will not stop until we are heard,” he vows. “We will not stop until justice prevails. We refuse to be cheated out of our heritage because of an insensitive government. We reserve the right to determine what happens to us as a species.”
The vitriol is there. Calm and contained, but just as dangerous. Lucien continues, “And now I speak to all aliens living in New Washington or any other Terran Union planet. You are not wanted. You are not safe. Did you see what happened to Leader Greer of the Tyreesian who were under the protection of Armada Command?”
Both Jeryl and Admiral Flynn lean closer as Lucien continues, “We are near you. We are watching you. We will strike if you do not return to your world. You have been warned. Leave us. For us, the only good alien is a dead alien.”
The feed is cut off.
I am a bit shocked when this happens because I have been gripped tight by Lucian’s passionate rendering. I am still buzzing with the panic that must be spreading through the species that have been approved for the Alien Integration Program.
I try to control my breathing, slowly turning my attention back to Admiral Flynn before us.
He observes me quietly then switches to observe Jeryl beside me.
After a moment’s scrutiny, he says, “This presents some problems on negotiations, no?”
“Only a few,” Jeryl says with a sarcastic chuckle.
But I know he’s only nervous. A huge, massive wrench has been thrown into his plans. I can imagine many aliens packing up and booking the next flight back to their home world.
When Admiral Flynn doesn’t respond to Jeryl’s feeble play at sarcasm, Jeryl sits up and clears his throat.
“I’m more worried about the delegates,” Jeryl says. “The accords we seek hinges on the delegates’ agreement, not some local terrorist’s speech, however exertion he seems to put into it.”
This is my cue, so I speak up.
“Well, they’re all on board The Seeker,” I begin. “There’s no safe place right now for them than there. No external threat can come to them. Also, any surface to space missile will be detected long before it gets within range for us to be incapable of doing anything about it.”
Jeryl looks at me and smiles weakly as I continue, “Perhaps, I can put my tactical officer and navigations officer on high alert. Plus, my security personnel have the delegates and are making sure they’re well-guarded. The only harm that can affect them is an internal one and as far as I am concerned, there is no anti-alien sentiment or sympathizer onboard my ship.”
Jeryl jumps in, nodding. He turns to Flynn, “Has Armada Intelligence discovered the cause of the explosion?” he asks.
Admiral Flynn doesn’t reply immediately. He blinks, flashes me an uncomfortable look, and looks away from both of us. My alarm bells go off. He’s about to lie to us.
“As far as forensic analysis shows and based on our little understanding of the Tyreesian collective technology, it was a malfunctioning of the takeoff thruster that caused a compound reaction and destroyed the shuttle.” Admiral Flynn says.
“That can’t be true, sir, and you know it,” Jeryl replies almost immediately. “Takeoff thrusters don’t usually kick in within the planet’s atmosphere. They only come in after the ion drives have brought the shuttle beyond the planet’s atmosphere.”
Admiral Flynn smiles. “You really have been to a lot of planets for you to understand how these things work.”
There is an uncomfortable silence.
“Sir, what are you not telling me?” Jeryl asks. “If there’s something funny going on here, I need to know.”
Admiral Flynn’s face goes dark as he remains silent. He’s not going to say anything more to Jeryl.
Jeryl tries one more time.
“Sir, it’s imperative that I remain in the loop. This negotiations and their future may very well be hanging on tenterhooks. I need to know if this were an accident or if it were a premeditated act of terrorism and violence that was committed to coincide with the non-human, anti-alien protests. Or, were these Terran nationalists?”
Admiral Flynn draws closer to us, leaning into his desk.
“I can’t say anything to you at this moment. But I wouldn’t rule out nationalists. Or, even the Terran Union.” Admiral Flynn says in a conspirator’s tone.
And I lean back.
The Terran Union?
Sometimes, I really hate this fucking job.
Ashley
After the disaster of a meeting and the ever-worsening day, Jeryl proclaims that we need a night out. I can’t argue about that. Kindred Spirit, a flip-band we both like, is playing downtown at a club called The Ledge, a place we’ve been to several times in the past. It’s not exactly a high-society kind of place, but the food’s good and I like the band, too. We dress down a little—I show him more skin than I can when I’m on duty, which I know he likes—and call for a cab.
At first he’s animated and happy—real Earth-imported whiskey will do that to anyone—stroking my thigh and making suggestive remarks (which he knows I like) but by the time we’re about halfway to our destination he’s fallen silent and is staring out the window at the light-filled city canyons as we wing through them. The skyways are full tonight, but the robot cab has no trouble avoiding other vehicles. It’s merely one of a flock of similar cabs. New Washington has the best traffic-control AIs in the Union. It has to.
I try to distract Jeryl but he just responds to me with grunts or nods. When we get to The Ledge, I’ve had enough of his lousy mood, because it’s put me in one.
I climb out of the cab and stalk to the edge of the landing stage while he pays our fare. We’re on the 51st floor, part of the building’s entertainment zone. Other nearby buildings have similar zones, each one geared toward a specific species. The different races have, it turns out, little tolerance for what others find amusing or diverting. The Ledge is entirely in human territory.
Cabs layered with provocative advertising images and private air cars enameled with family crests float past the landing, avoiding antennae and other appurtenances projecting from the rooftops. Their warning lights flash variously carmine, amber and acid green.
Normally I’d be enchanted by the sight of the Union’s most commercially powerful planet wearing its glittering evening finery, but unless Jeryl cheers up, this evening is going to be a failure.
I hear his footsteps behind me as I gaze out over the city. “Ready to go inside?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I snap without looking at him. I’m being bitchy and I know it, but I feel justified. “Are you going to be cranky all night?”
“Look, Ash, I’ve had a day. That asshole Terran Nationalist really pulled one over on all of us today. And I thought I could forget about it, but I can’t get the images of the fucking protestors out of my head, no matter how hard I try.”
I can tell by his tone that he isn’t willing to pick a fight with me; he’s simply overwhelmed. I drop the bitchiness. “It’s more than that, baby. I can tell. You’ve dealt with assholes from a lot of species. I know it grates on you, but you’re good at it. It’s why you have the position you have.”
He slides an arm around my waist. “Flynn isn’t telling us something,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“What? What do you mean?”
I feel his sigh, and press a little closer to him. Damn, the man feels good.
“I mean he isn’t telling us something,” he says. “He knows something, something big. I think he wants to share it but he can’t. I’d bet you a hundred creds that Armada Intelligence has lowered the boom on him.”
I scoff. “Flynn? Since when has he been afraid of Intelligence?”
“Yeah, well, that’s it, isn’t it?” He shakes his head. “If they can intimidate him, then it’s got to be big.”
“Do you think it’s something that could affect your negotiations for the Council?”
“I don’t know what else it could be,” Jeryl says. We turn away from the cityscape and head for the drop tube that will take us down to The Ledge.
“I don’t understand.” I say. He steps aside and lets me enter the tube first. I step off into space, hovering there. “You think the negotiations are at risk? But how could that be, when everyone’s safe aboard The Seeker?”
“But are they?”
I hear the thud-thud-thud of Kindred Spirit’s bass increase as we descend. I want to dance; I don’t want to be discussing work. But he needs to. “What do you mean?” I ask him.
“Well, look what happened to the Tyreesians. Their entire delegation—wiped out!”
“But that was an accident. Malfunctioning thrusters. No one could have foreseen it.”
I say the words, but I know inside how hollow they are. Jeryl was right when he said takeoff thrusters don’t kick in till a shuttle reaches the edge of a planet’s atmosphere. I know. I looked it up afterwards.
We’ve been trying to fool ourselves.
Because the alternative is something much, much worse.
We have arrived at The Ledge’s level. We come to a halt and the drop-field gently pushes us forward as the glass door slides open. We step odd onto solid flooring as Jeryl asks, “If the Tyreesians don’t agree to send replacements, if they pull out of the Accords, then what?”
“Do you think that could happen?” We are walking down the corridor toward the bar, and I have to raise my voice to be heard over the band.
He shrugs. “I don’t make Tyreesian policy,” he says. “Unfortunately. But if they do pull out, then the Irivani, the Reznak, and maybe even the Drupadi could possibly leave as well. And where would that leave the Galactic Council?”
“I never thought that was a good name,” I say. “I mean, it’s not as if it represents the entire galaxy, just a small chunk of it.” This is a pet peeve of mine, and he knows it, but before he can say anything I add, “So do you want to find out what Flynn knows, or what?”
He is saved from answering right away because we are entering the club. There are a few free tables, so we slide into its seats and order martinis from the cocktail waitress. She’s wearing a sheer one piece wraparound made of Vozelian silk. I eye Jeryl to see where his eyes land. Her nipples are sticking out and she’s obviously clad to get tips. But even she’s unable to move Jeryl out of his dour reverie.
Instead, we order as if she was fully clothed. I take vodka, but Jeryl is a gin man, with olives rather than my preferred twist. The waitress sashays away.
He is watching the couples dancing to Kindred Spirit, and this close to the band, a conversation isn’t possible until they break. I stand, take his hand. And pull him toward the floor. “A couple of tunes,” I say. “Then the drinks will be here.”
When he smiles I immediately feel better: he won’t be a drag on the night after all. We allow the music to take us away for a few minutes.
I love to dance, and although it isn’t his favorite activity, we go a couple of times a month because he is a good husband and likes to see me happy. It’s an endearing quality. After two more songs, the band announces a fifteen-minute break. We head back to our table where two autocold glasses wait for us, condensation beaded on their sides.
The Ledge makes a good martini; it’s one reason we come here. After a couple of sips he says, “After the war ended, the Armada has kept all the information about it classified.”
I shrug my acknowledgement. Everyone knows this.
“That’s everything; tactical info, strategic info, scientific and technological...all locked down in the name of Union security.”
I shrug again. Where’s he going with this?
He leans back in his seat. “Don’t you find that a little odd? It’s like a bunker mentality that you can’t really see unless you’ve lived outside of the Union.”
“Very few people live outside of Union space. Are you thinking that someone wants to derail the Accords, and the government is trying to keep anything that might lead to that under wraps? Trying to prevent leaks, in other words?”
“Plenty of people stand to lose if there’s a lasting peace in this section of the galaxy.” He leans closer to me, glancing around. I feel a sudden shiver: is he becoming paranoid?
“More than one race is going along with our plans to establish the Council because they expect to receive benefits. There’s no idealism there, nothing altruistic. They don’t care about the common good; they’re greedy and they want a place at the table.”
I think about it. I’m sure he’s right. Some races are looking for trade concessions. Some want transfers of technology, for whatever reason.
“Even the Terrans have something to lose,” he says. “We want to expand our territory. There are marginal planets we can transform through terraforming; we’re way ahead of most other races in this sector in that technology. Suppose some other race has its eye on a planet we want to terraform? They might be perfectly happy with it the way it is...and resentful of us for cutting them off from a turnkey situation.”
“Turnkey?”
“Sure...they might not have to do anything to that planet. The air pressure or the atmospheric constituents might be just right for them...whereas we’d be messing with its ecosphere for years before it’s human-ready.”
“Okay, I can see how that could piss someone off,” I say. “Particularly if they are facing population or resource pressure at home.”
“That’s my point,” he says, draining his martini. He taps the SUMMON button for the waitress.
“This isn’t something you’re going to be able to figure out on your own,” I tell him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got enough to do, and messing around in Armada Intelligence would only get you noticed.”
“Yeah, no shit.” He sighs. “So, I don’t know what to do.”
I stare down to my own drink, which is only half gone. “I might know someone,” I say at last.
He looks at me in surprise, but before he can say anything, the waitress returns with a fresh martini for him. I shake my head when she asks me if I want a refill.
“Who?” he asks me when she departs.
“I’d rather not say just yet. It’s sensitive. But maybe I can put you two in touch.”
“So this...person can get the information I’m looking for?”
“Maybe...if you’ll tell me what it is, I can ask. This is someone I knew from our time together at the Academy.”
I see Jeryl’s mind working. He knows that I have kept up with a number of classmates, but he can’t know which one and I’m not ready to tell him. But I’m positive my friend still carries many of the security access codes from his time in Armada Intelligence and has a lot of favors he can pull it.”
“Is this someone from Armada Intelligence?” Jeryl asks.
“Not technically,” I say. He’s retired, but he is still wired in to the day-to-day operations. He knows the back doors that were built in to give him access.”
“How does he know they kept those backdoors open?” Jeryl asks.
I smile. “Because he most likely built them himself,” I say. “When he wasn’t supposed to.”
Jeryl leans back and looks at me with a wry smile. I can see his mind fall into ease.
“So, when can you talk to him?” he asks.
“I’ll call him tomorrow,” I say with a sexy wink. “But first…another dance?”
Ashley
It’s the next morning and I wake up and realize that we’re onboard The Seeker.
It all comes back to me.
Jeryl may have seemed happier after I told him I had a contact with Armada Intelligence. But he wanted more. And…let’s just say that his devotion to it was single minded.
I lay back and think. How when he realized I wanted to dance, all the hesitation and bearing it for being a good husband went away. Instead, he put his hands around me and dragged me close to his body. I could feel him squeeze my ass through my thin dress. He began to grind on me. I responded back. I remember he got me so horny, bought me another martini—and then my hands went to his trousers.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered in his ear as I felt his dick.
“Let’s go,” he said back to me, his eyes boring into mine.
We stumbled out, and I called for a cab.
“No,” I remember him telling me. “Let’s go back to the ship.”
I looked at him amazed.
“I want you to take me to the contact you have,” he said. “I want you to arrange a meeting in person. Give them enough time.”
He began to pull me close to him as we stood on the landing looking at New Washington bustle in the last hours of the evening. I felt his hands on me.
“That’s all I want,” he said to me. “And then the evening is ours.”
An hour later, we entered my quarters where I keyed in some orders to CNC to take us to the place—to Io.
And then once the ship was underway, Jeryl fucked me.
He had his way with me and made me scream in pleasure. He took me like he did all the years ago in New Sydney when a chance encounter led us to spend a weekend of blissful indulgence together.
I sit up now and realize that Jeryl is not in bed. He’s not in the living room area either.
I open my comms unit and look to see his location.
I don’t know if I told him where we were going. But we’re still on track for Io.
Io is something of a showcase as far as terraforming goes. After life was discovered in the Ionian system back in the 21st century, it became a center of scientific attention. Practically every exobiologist in the system tore themselves away from studying whatever they were studying and migrated en masse to Io, where they could watch little jellyfish-things squirm through the lightless oceans locked away beneath the planet’s icy surface.
At first, Io was of course declared off-limits to colonization for fear of contamination, and only a few mostly robotic expeditions were subsequently allowed to touch down there to investigate the life-forms.
That didn’t stop a robust tourist industry from springing up. “See the only spot in the galaxy known to host living creatures!” People were lined up for seats from the very first time the tours were announced.
All of that changed when the Pan Solaris Corporation received the licensing and developmental rights to Io. It went from preservation of life into full terraforming mode.
The atmosphere began to be scrubbed. An ozone layer was created. Life began to be shot into the ground. Microbes began to be inserted into the soil. The jellyfish-like little beings suffered mass extinction, obviously.
Sure, a few were saved. Preserved in laboratories and refuges across the Union. What’s left today is 25 million people spread out over a terraformed world consisting of two continents and several cities and towns.
Jeryl and I have both been to Io before and we’re travelling at a FTL factor of 5.
This is my ship, and I’ve had to pull a few scheduling strings to get it able to go wherever I need to for the short time during the final phase of the Galactic Council negotiations, but that doesn’t mean I can ignore my responsibilities and play house with Jeryl, much as I might like to.
Plus we have the delegates to consider.
As captain of this ship I can’t avoid aliens; protocol dictates that I must treat them as ambassadors. So I have to spend a bit of time ensuring that the entire contingent is well appointed for and no one has raised a fuss as to why The Seeker has left orbit of New Washington.
After I take care of my responsibilities, I head to the observation lounge to find Jeryl. We’re nearing Io now, and the view is spectacular.
Jeryl doesn’t look at me as I enter the crew lounge as he’s absorbed by the Ionian system, which from here appears breathtaking. I go over to the resequencer and draw off a cup of Ionian coffee. There’s nothing special about this thing other than the fact that it’s made to taste like beans grown hydroponically on Io—with a distinct minty tang, which makes it fabulously expensive. Lost in thought, Jeryl doesn’t notice me until I sit on his table.
“Oh, Ash! Didn’t see you come in,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I say, and pat his arm. I can’t help but blush as I inadvertently think of the ways he took me last night. “Just wanted to tell you that we ought to arrive at Io in an hour or so.”
“Thanks...”
“What’s on your mind? You look serious.”
“Just wondering what we’re going to find when we get there and talk to your friend, that’s all.”
I have no answer to that question, of course. Instead I say, “Hon, is this all worth the effort? In the past three years you’ve spent all your time shuttling back and forth between planets and in meetings with aliens as well as humans. We’ve hardly ever had a week off. And I don’t remember a vacation.”
He grimaces. “Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about that, babe. But dealing with all those conflicting schedules...” He shrugs. “I have to see them when they can make time for me.”
“This whole thing could unravel at any time,” I say, more to myself that to him. This is not something I have not previously admitted to him. “If there are factions working against it, including from our side, well, hell.” I don’t have to continue.
“I know,” he says again. “Don’t think there haven’t been moments when I was thinking I’d be better off doing recovery work to help our people rebuild after the war.” Frowning, he adds, “How’s the coffee?”
I shrug. “Not bad.”
“That’s an improvement, then.” He gets up to fetch some for himself. “You know what my trouble is?” he says when he comes back to the table. “I’m a damn idealist. I can’t help thinking that something good can come from the war and all the misery it brought. Not just to us; but to the Sonali, those supercilious pricks, and everyone else.”
I manage a small smile. “Even supercilious pricks deserve to live in peace, huh?”
“Something like that.” He sips at the coffee. “Oy!”
“Yeah, it’s tangy in Io.”
“Listen, Ash, I want to help everybody rebuild. If we can do that, it’ll put us all on a firm footing. I mean, you know, in case something else comes along.”
“Huh? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Something. I can’t help thinking about the stuff my old professor used to say, about the Drake Equation and all.”
“Oh, about how come there aren’t more advanced civilizations and all? But there are. The Sonali, all the others...they have star travel. We just didn’t know they were there because they don’t use radio.”
“That’s partly it...but when you think about it, isn’t it a little weird that we’re all on more or less the same level?”
“Don’t get you.”
“Every race we’ve contacted is within one or two hundred years of us in terms of technology. You’d think some would be way beyond...or way behind.”
“I don’t know, I never thought about it.”
“Yeah, well, I have. And so have others. And something nags me about the Union keeping information on lockdown. Something is going on.”
I scoff. “Like what, exactly?”
“I don’t know, I tell you. But I’m convinced that we all need to stick together—us, the Sonali, the others. We’ve got to find common ground.”
“You’re worrying me a little bit,” I say. And I remember my thoughts back at The Ledge, when I had a brief feeling that he was becoming paranoid. Is it a concern he’s voicing another expression of that? Or is he right, and we need to be more aware of larger forces at work around us?
“Sorry, I don’t mean to,” he says. “But you wanted to know what’s on my mind. I don’t want to keep any secrets from you, babe.”
I nod slowly. “I appreciate that. And I know that a lot of things can go wrong. That whole thing with the Tyreesians, killed by a screwy thruster...”
“It’s more than that,” he says, “but that could be a part of it. All I know is, I think it’s better to have ten allies than to have ten adversaries. That’s what I’m working towards; allies. Just in case. Maybe I’ll learn something from talking to this friend of yours. I sure hope so.”
I stay silent.
“After all the war we’ve seen, how do we know that it didn’t just scratch the surface, Ash?” he asks. “You know, before we got on the scene, up until three years ago, some of these races barely had any sort of diplomatic contact with each other. You want to know why they all rush into Union space? The concept is just so fucking foreign. To live among others. To understand them. It’s like they haven’t conceived of something like that.”
“And you think the Galactic Council will help?” I ask.
He shakes his head in thought and looks at me as he speaks, “Wouldn’t you rather we had a place like that where we could point blank ask the Sonali if they had destroyed The Mariner before we went ahead and convinced ourselves they did?” I nod slowly, because Jeryl is right. “If we had a Galactic Council back then, we could have stopped the fucking war before it even started. And that would make us stronger than if we went our separate ways. I truly believe that.”
“Me too. I—” That’s when my communications unit goes off. I look at the readout, and my heart sinks. It’s my security chief. “Gotta take this,” I say, and he motions for me to do it.
“Yeah?”
“You’re needed in the rec center, Captain. There’s been an incident with one of the delegates.”
“An incident?”
“Be right there,” I say. Jeryl and I look at each other. Moments later we’re hurrying out of the observation lounge—without taking our coffee.
Can’t play house with my Admiral-husband. Even for a moment.
Jeryl
We make our way in a jog to the recreation center. It is a massive bowl-like hall taking large portions of the three central decks in the TUS The Seeker.
We arrive at the double doors that lead into the recreation center and stop there to take in the environment. There’s a small crowd gathered at the center. There are yells and cheers and I see someone cursing and spitting fire against another.
I notice that there are mostly humans there, but that doesn’t mean there’s no delegate in that crowd that’s being battered and bruised.
I glance over at Ashley and see her scanning the crowd. With a bit of amusement, I begin to wonder how she intends to solve this problem. As a Vice Admiral, I feel the urge to jump in and give orders, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to undermine Ashley’s command, especially before her crew.
This first thing Ashley does is speak into her comm link. “Patch me through to the security chief,” she says.
After a while, I hear a reply. “Captain.”
“There’s a commotion in the recreation center. I can see there are few security officers here. I want you to mobilize more and send them here immediately.”
“Right away, ma’am,” comes the reply.
“You have less than a minute,” she says and cuts the link. Then she looks at me. “Let’s go stop this.”
We cover the distance to the teeming crowd, whose voices drown out ours. We can’t shout above their voices, so we have to press through. We go mostly unnoticed as they’re mainly attentive to what’s happening at the center of the circle. Some recognize Ashley and I and they clear a path for us, some move away from the mini protest to avoid any repercussion.
Once we get to the center, we see the cause of the hullabaloo. I see a young, violent ensign being held back by a muscled security officer. The ensign’s eyes are red with rage and his uniform is torn from his struggle to break free from the security personnel’s strong grip. The object of the ensign’s wrath appears to be Traz Gomar, the Sonali Ambassador to the Peace Accords.
I see that the Ambassador is hurt, though nothing that a few minutes in the sick bay couldn’t treat—and certainly nothing that would make the Ambassador do anything to drastically affect the accords. Nevertheless, as I see this, my anger is sparked immediately to the ensign.
I get the urge to make a proclamation that will effectively strip the ensign of his rank in the Armada and send him back to the Academy for further training or flat out expel him. I may have no control of what happens outside the Armada; I may have no control of civilian actions. But I’ll be damned if I don’t control what Armada officers do.
I’m on the verge of speaking, when Ashley subtly touches my arm. I look into her eyes and I can almost hear her voice in my head telling me to not let my frustration cloud my decision.
Now that everyone has seen me and the Captain, there is a profound silence. I look around and see that the crowd has progressively thinned, though a few brave souls stayed. I assume these are the ones that have specks of anti-alien sentimentalism tainting their souls. At that moment, about fifteen highly armed security personnel poured into the recreation center. Within seconds, they had every exit cornered and had a loose circle surrounding the scene. Some guards came to assist on subduing the ensign, while two security personnel came to stand beside the ambassador, who doesn’t visibly seem displeased with this situation. I notice the chief security officer standing within eyesight of the captain, who nods at the security chief, acknowledging her presence.
Ashley turns to the ensign and says, “What’s the confrontation about?” she’s got an edge in her voice.
The ensign, who’s still visibly angry, speaks in a very low and hate-infused tone. “That thing standing there is the cause of the confrontation, ma’am. He’s responsible for the deaths of my parents. He’s responsible for the death of my five sisters and two brothers. He’s responsible for the deaths of my entire neighbors and colony. They came with their massive ships and destroyed Rivers Colony. They glassed the entire planet from space, never even doing the inhabitants the courtesy of facing their destructors.”
Now he’s on the verge of tears and is severely weak. His next words are filled with emotions that begins to melt my initial anger at him. “No one survived. Even though people fled before the bombardment started, only five thousand out of one hundred and twenty seven thousand people were able to get away. We were a defenseless and peaceful colony. We had not attacked a Sonali colony and had no capability to do so. It didn’t matter to them. They unleashed hell on the planet, killing everything—living and non-living.” He says, then breaks down and begins to sob.
Ashley glances at the ambassador, who looks at her, head held high, not a jot of remorse in visible in his eyes or stance. I feel Ashley’s temperature rise as her anger is stroked. Tension rises even more in the recreation center. I observe the security personnel. None of them betray any emotion as they all remain flaccid. Good, I think. I can rely on their objectivity in case I have to take command.
Ashley leans into me and gently whispers to my ears. “The ensign’s parents lived on Rivers Colony when it was attacked. These were one of the very first colonies that suffered at the start of the war.”
I listen intently more to the emotion in her voice than to her words. This is not the first time I’m hearing grief and pain from a relative of the lost. The truth is, the Sonali lost people too. We bombarded their planets and destroyed their ships as well. The Sonali lost as much as we did, yet they’re here willing to make peace. They weren’t attacking humans and blaming them for the war. After all, the war had been predicated on an event that never even took place—the event of the Sonali destroying The Mariner.
These guys never wanted to consider the whole truth, as usual. They were more interested in pointing fingers to the blue skinned “villains” and meting out justice as they liked. It’s wrong and immoral. It’s hugely unfair and highly prejudiced.
“We all need to put the past behind us, because that’s all it is. The past,” I say to my wife. Her reaction turns into mild shock and contemplative silence.
“If that was me, your wife, on that Rivers Colony, would you be able to put it behind you?” she asks, and I am taken aback by the hurt I hear in her voice. “If it was you wife and family that were murdered in such a gruesome way, would you be able to do what you’re telling this ensign now? Would you be able to move? What if you have to work with the very same commander that’s responsible for the death of your wife in the past war? What if they killed your children and these people are asked to be invited to your house? Would you be okay with that?”
I am still stunned by Ashley’s soft reprimand, because I thought we both understood the necessity of the Peace Accords and the need to forget the past. Nevertheless, her rhetoric has struck a chord in me—which I would rather not have struck because of its potential to derail the Peace Accords.
Ashley motions for the chief of security to come. She marches into the middle of the gathering and stands at attention.
“Place the ensign under arrest and restrain him to his quarters,” she orders. “He has disobeyed ship rules and will be punished accordingly.”
“Also, escort the ambassador to his quarters and place someone outside his door. I also want you to place an armed guard with every alien aboard this ship. No alien moves around without at least one escort. I don’t want an incident like this happening again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the security chief says.
“Is this really necessary?” the Sonali ambassador hisses, his first oral communication since we arrived. Then he turns to me and says, “You assured us that this ship is safe.” It is more of an accusation than a statement of fact. I get an urge to turn to Ashley to explain it herself, since it was really her assertion. But I look the Sonali in the eyes and remain passive.
“Yes,” Ashley says, when she realizes I’m not going to say anything.
The ambassador looks like he’s about to protest.
“Look, ambassador,” I say. “You can fuse about this all you want. If you’re really interested in your safety and the safety of your delegation and our peace accords, you’ll let us handle this thing the way we see fit.”
After a tense moment, the ambassador surrenders and allows the security people to lead him away.
Ashley’s comm chirps. “Go ahead,” she says, tapping it.
“Captain, Vice Admiral,” the navigations officer says. “We have arrived at planet Io and are currently orbiting.”
“Roger that, Lieutenant,” Ashley says. “Vice Admiral and I are headed for the shuttle bay. Have operations prepare a shuttle ready for immediate departure.”
“Aye, captain,” replies the lieutenant.
Ashley turns to me after cutting the connection and says, “Are you ready for the truth?”
I step aside. “After you.”
She leads me out of the recreation center to the direction of the shuttle bay.
Jeryl
A shaky-looking ensign is waiting for us by the shuttle entrance in Shuttle Bay 5 when we arrive.
After resolving the recreation lounge issue, we’re now heading for Io.
The ensign snaps off a salute, which Ashley returns.
“I’m your pilot for the trip down to the planet’s surface,” the ensign says.
I begin to wonder if she can actually fly the shuttle. Her hands are clammy. I can see the sweat trickle down her neck to taint her flight suit. She doesn’t look like she can handle the ionic composition of the atmosphere.
Ashley notices this too.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Ashley asks.
The ensign bows her head and nods. She’s now playing with her hands.
“We don’t have time for this,” I whisper to Ashley. “These missions shouldn’t be handled by newbies. I need to have a word with whoever put her on this mission.”
Ashley gives me a wry smile.
“That won’t be necessary,” she says. Then to the ensign. “Look, why don’t you sit this one out.”
The ensign looks up at us immediately with relief in her eyes.
“Are you serious?” she blurts. Realizing her breach in protocol, she mutters, “Sorry.”
Ashley pats her on the back. “Sit this one out.”
Ashley and I enter the shuttle. I secure the hatch, while she starts her pre-flight check. She then checks in with the CNC to confirm that they have clearance to enter the atmosphere.
“You’re cleared for departure,” I hear in the comms as I join Ashley in the cockpit.
I take my seat and strap in. The cockpit is dark and cool. Though there is a massive flood light showering the shuttle bay, the main view screen of the shuttle dims this, maintaining the serene atmosphere in the shuttle.
“Roger that, Seeker,” Ashley replies, powering up the main drive.
The shuttle vibrated to life, lifting up into the air a few seconds later. Right ahead of us, the shuttle door lifts open. There is a miniature hurricane and whatever atmosphere is in the shuttle bay is sucked into the void of space.
Ashley glances at me. “Are you ready?”
I shrug.
She looks at the view screen and shoves the yoke forwards. The shuttle leaps into motion like a responsive feline predator. This kicks me back as the enormous Gs mounts on my body before the inertial dampeners stabilize the craft. Ashley doesn’t ease up on her acceleration until we are several hundreds of kilometers away from The Seeker and banks, bringing the shuttle back towards The Seeker.
The Seeker looms before us, a glittering and sparkly wonder. Beautiful as I remember her, seeing her in space, hanging on invisible threads still amazes me. She thrums invisibly, her sublight engines sustaining her slow rotation around the planet.
I notice Ashley turning to look at me as we begin to pass underneath her.
“Do you ever miss her?” Ashley asks in the silence of the shuttle.
I think about that question for a moment. Do I really miss commanding The Seeker? I guess I haven’t really thought much about it ever since I was promoted. I’ve been so consumed with trying to fix the damn galaxy that it just didn’t cross my mind what I was missing.
I chuckle. It’s not as if Ashley is having much fun commanding The Seeker right now, either. But, do I miss commanding it? Exploring the stars?
“Not really,” I reply. “It’s not something I’ve thought of so much in the past three years, giving how busy I’ve gotten.”
Then I remember how much I miss my wife.
“I miss you,” I say.
After a brief pause, Ashley says, “I know this is unfair to bring up, but sometimes I feel like you’re ignoring me.”
Her words bring pain to my heart. I wince and try not to meet her gaze. I don’t blame her. If I were here, I would think I was ignoring me, too. It’s just this damn job. It takes everything from you. Everything.
“I’m sorry,” she says later.
“There’s no need to apologize,” I tell her. “It’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” she says, shaking her head vigorously. “It’s the war and the Sonali and the Tyreesians and the whole fucking galaxy. It’s like they don’t want us together.”
I smile as I remember the little time we have spent together since we got married.
“And when we are together,” she says, pausing in her thoughts. “It’s because of the galaxy.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Think about how soon you wanted to come here?” she tells me. “How you wanted to get to The Seeker so fast that you pulled every trick in the book.”
The madness.
“Listen,” I say. “I’m sorry about the other night. But you have to admit, we had some crazy times together, even though it lasted just a few days,” I say.
I see her take a few deep breaths.
I see her smile in my peripheral vision.
“I wonder what it’ll be like to live in a farm,” she says. “Wake up in the morning, make breakfast. Lie in bed all day. Make dinner. Read the newspaper. Sleep. Then repeat.”
She glances my way. This time I crane my neck to meet her gaze.
“I call it boring,” I say.
“I call it peaceful,” she replies.
I turn away.
“We didn’t sign up for a war,” Ashley goes on. “We certainly didn’t sign up to try and piece the galaxy together. Heck, when I signed up to go from enlisted to the Academy, it was to pay for school. I didn’t believe there were aliens. I didn’t even take Professor Guss’s class because I thought it was a load of crap.”
“I took his class, and it was a load of crap,” I reply with a private smile to myself.
There is a little pause.
“Can we ever live a normal life again?” Ashley asks.
My reply is simple, genuine, and straight from the heart.
“What is normal?”
Silence.
Then the comm comes to life.
“Unidentified shuttle from the TUS The Seeker. This is Io’s Space Defense Center. Please come in.”
“SDC, this is Captain Ashley Gavin of The Seeker, piloting the Shuttle Freedom,” she replies. “We require priority landing.”
“We don’t see any scheduled stop for your craft to Io city,” comes the petrified male voice. “Are we supposed to be prepping for an attack?”
“Negative, SDC,” Ashley replies. “This is routine stop-by. Please advise on priority landing.”
“Stand by, Captain,” he replies.
“Hold on,” Ashley mutters to me. “We’re beginning to enter the atmosphere.”
I didn’t get much time after that to hold on. It felt like we had hit an invisible wall. Our ferocious speed is arrested sharply the moment we made contact with the atmosphere. The ship jerks side to side, Ashley deftly controlling the craft.
I am knocked to the side. I manage to look through the view screen and I see that we have entered the ionosphere, which is a sphere of dense ionic activities. This is where the planet gets its name from.
“Shield at seventy percent and holding,” Ashley says through her teeth.
Several lights go off on her panel and I can hear an incessant beeping sound. There’s a loud explosion to our aft that knocks us off course.
“Shields at fifty percent and holding.” Ashley says.
There we cut through the lower layer of the ionosphere and are free. Ashley heaves a loud sigh of relief and I join in as she begins to laugh.
“Captain Ashley, maintain current course for ten minutes and deviate west. You’ve been cleared to land on Pad 91. This is at the edge of Io City. Welcome to Io.”
“Thanks, SDC,” Ashley replies. “Captain Ashley out.”
We’re currently crossing a forested terrain. Ten minutes and we deviate west. We come upon a network of landing pads and locate pad 91, which is truly at the edge of the city.
Spread out like a cone is Io city, a very dense collection of buildings and skyscrapers. It’s a surreal sight with its tech buildings and brick and mortar stores. There are wide highways and one-lane roads jammed with people.
Ashley circles a portion of the city for us to get a feel of it before setting the shuttle down on the pad.
We unstrap ourselves and exit the shuttle into the perpetually dim world. A few technicians are anchoring our shuttle to the ground. Ahead, a fat, mad man walks towards us. Behind him is a small building with a control tower.
“My contact here is Admiral Sanchez,” Ashley whispers into my ears. “He has agreed to meet us at a local bar not too far from here. We’ll need to hitch a ride.”
I nod.
“My name is Lieutenant Ronny,” says the man. “Can I see some IDs please?”
We pull out our Armada Command credentials, plastic pieces of IDs with an encoded chip embedded within. The man scans my ID with a handheld device, then moves to scan Ashley’s.
“How long are you staying?” he asks.
“Not long,” Ashley replies.
“Welcome to Io,” the man says and begins to walk back in the direction of the building.
“Hey, how do we get to the city?” Ashley calls out.
The man points to our right, where there is a small gate in the high walls that surround the landing pad. The man doesn’t look back at us, but speaks nonetheless.
“There’s an air car parked outside,” he says. “You berth gives you access to the car for 24 hours after which you begin to pay.”
Then he disappears into the building.
I fold my arms. “Do you really think he’s a lieutenant?”
“I doubt it,” she says to me quietly. “The SDC is probably on the take from a corporation who are subcontracting for cheaper labor.”
We find the air car and access it with our IDs. This time Ashley lets me drive and we head out into the city. Apparently the denser aspects of the city have a no fly zone policy, so we have to park in a parking lot and walk the rest of the way.
“Did you know this planet started out as an agricultural planet?” I ask Ashley as we slowly make our way through the maze-like one-lane roads that are jammed with other people trying to make their way through as well.
“Really?” Ashley replies.
“Yes. In fact, the reason why corporations came to this planet several decades ago was because of the richness of its soil, which terraforming transformed and enhanced into an agricultural and economic marvel.”
“Didn’t the ionic cloud deter them?” Ashley asks.
“Not any more than the soil deterred the early miners on Earth,” I say. “I mean those guys mined everything. They mined gold. They mined diamonds. They mined coal. They even mined oil.”
“But you see, colonies are set up in three different ways,” I continue. “Either a bunch of people discover a planet with great potential and they get financing for an exploration or a corporation finds a planet they intend to harness and run for profit.”
“There are also Terran Union campaigns,” Ashley says.
“Yes,” I reply. “Much like New Washington. These colonies are necessarily for an extension of our government.”
I notice we’ve left the heavily trafficked area of the city and are now crossing the slums. I begin to wish I brought a weapon.
“When the Terran Union forms these colonies, it asserts its governance and influence in a number of ways,” I continue. “By providing basic amenities like defense and slipstream communication. They also allow a representative from the colony to be present on the Terran Council.”
We stop by a bar in a two-story building that looks abandoned. The wet street ends in a high wall. I can see a couple of shady characters picking through the trash. All around the watery ground I see pieces of broken glass and hard drugs. I wonder what a former Admiral would be doing in such a scummy place.
“Well, husband, you would make a great professor someday,” Ashley tells me, winking. The trademark mischievousness is back. “Maybe if Guss retires one day.”
I chuckle as we enter seedy bar where we are greeted with loud music and a pungent smell. I recognize at least three banned psychotropic agents in the air. The bar is small and has a low ceiling. Dim lights flash disco style as couples dance on the dance floor. At the edges there are tables occupied by people either smoking, drinking or gambling.
I spot a couple of aliens, from Sonali to Tyreesian to the Children of Zorm. I guess the anti-alien sentiment hasn’t gotten here.
Ashley pauses by the door and scans the room. She points to a man at the other end of the bar wearing a dark clothing. She takes my hand and we push through the dancing bodies to the other end of the bar.
The Admiral spots us before we come into range. He stands to hug Ashley. They speak for a while. I couldn’t hear them because of the loud music, but I see them smile at each other and I conclude that they’re probably reminiscing over the past.
Ashley then grabs me and pulls me closer.
“This is my husband and direct superior,” she says, beaming with pride. “Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery.”
The man sizes me up for a moment. He has a diminutive figure, yet a commanding set of eyes. His beads have spikes of white, making him look charming and mysterious. He stretches forth a firm hand, which I take.
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” I say, remembering my training. Just because you’re not in active military service doesn’t mean you forever lose the rank.
“Oh, my pleasure,” the admiral says. “I read all about your work. I know you’re responsible for bringing an end to the madness that engulfed the universe for five years. I’m also following up on your work to establish a galactic council.”
The man begins to observe me with a different set of eyes.
“I must say I’m impressed,” he says. “Not many are capable of a quarter of the things you’ve achieved. Greatness comes easy for you?
“Yeah, well, greatness is being threatened at the moment, which is why we’re here,” I say.
Admiral Sanchez rolls his eyes.
“Ah…The incident in New Washington,” he says.
He motions for us to sit. He winks at the barman, who brings us each a glass of wine. The admiral motions for the barman to turn down the volume a little so we can have a conversation, then tips him a little overboard.
The admiral doesn’t begin to speak until we’ve downed our glasses of what turns out to be pungent and strong wine. Then he orders for another round.
I throw a side glance at Ashley. Is he trying to get us drunk? She only smiles back at me. Sweetly, I might add.
“The death of Leader Greer will no doubt bring your Accords to an end, if you don’t manage it well,” the admiral says. “A foreign diplomat dying in your supposedly secure facility sends all kinds of bad messages. My sources tell me that the Tyreesian government is already claiming this is as an act of sabotage by would-be galactic tyrants. They’re even going as far as saying that if the human government does not contain this act and fish out those responsible, they are going to find themselves embroiled in another war.”
“What?” I blurt, shocked. “I haven’t received such communique.”
The admiral flashes me a sympathetic look.
“Then you’re in a much deeper mess than you realize,” he replies. “Isn’t it ironic? We’re concerned about pursuing galactic peace—which these negotiations will bring out, yet we’re on the verge of another interstellar war. That you don’t even know about. Because it’s being conducted at the highest fucking levels.”
I exhale loudly, anxiety having free reign over my thoughts.
“Do you know what caused the explosion?” I ask finally.
This is when Admiral Sanchez smiles, with a curious glint in his eyes.
“I know much more than you can ever hope to comprehend,” he says.
I swallow hard. Not knowing how to respond, I remain quiet.
“Would you like to know some of it?” the admiral asks.
Ashley
I watch my husband do his best to play it cool in front of Sanchez. I see amusement dancing in Sanchez's eyes, but he doesn't say anything, which I appreciate. Jeryl has a decent poker face, but right now I don't think either one of us can hide how anxious we are to hear what Sanchez has to say.
Living through the madness of the New Washington protest was hell enough. Watching a diplomatic shuttle explode when so much has already been lost that day only added to the horror and helplessness.
We need to get to the bottom of this mystery to save the galactic council and our own sanity. And quite possibility our marriage.
We've been doing well despite everything, but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a strain. Right now we’re a team, but I know he's burning inside to figure out how to get the negotiations back on track. And I don't blame him. If we don't have the council—we don't have a chance for peace. And without peace, then we don't have a future.
But after what we went through after The Ledge? We may be paying a price that includes our marriage.
I'm just glad Jeryl is taking Sanchez seriously; that they’re both listening. Because right now with all the shit hitting the fan, we need more allies and people we can trust. I know Sanchez is no bullshitter.
"Well, first," begins Sanchez, "I don't believe this was an accident."
"You mean assassination?" asks Jeryl.
Sanchez shakes his head. "No, more like sabotage. This wasn't a surgical strike. This was shock and awe."
"I don't understand," I say looking from Jeryl to Sanchez, "Greer is dead. If someone blew up his ship, then we're looking at murder."
"Well, that's the thing," says Sanchez solemnly, "I have doubts that Greer died in the explosion."
Jeryl looks at me dumbfounded.
I feel my heart start beating fast because suddenly the ramifications of what Sanchez is saying hits home. "This was a ruse," I say. Sanchez nods.
"I think so."
"But wait a minute," says Jeryl, "We all saw the explosion. How can you doubt what happened?"
Sanchez sighs, then rubs his eyes, "Because when I ask what happened—why the shuttle exploded, the only answers I get from anyone official are bullshit."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Okay, so the official response tells me that the takeoff thrusters malfunctioned and caused a chain reaction that destroyed the shuttle midflight,” Sanchez says.
"But that doesn't make sense," Jeryl and I reply in unison. We've been on enough starships to know the basics of flight procedures.
"Exactly," says Sanchez, who appears happy that we understand, "Even a green pilot knows not to engage those within planetary atmosphere. Not unless you do want things to go boom. So bottom-line: the thrusters could not malfunction because they would not have been online to begin with."
"I know that makes sense," I say, “But we’re dealing with an alien species and therefore alien tech."
"I thought of that too, but here's the thing. The Tryeesian ship has the equivalent of our takeoff thrusters, trust me—I checked, and the laws of physics apply the same to their engines as they do to ours." Sanchez replies.
I chew my lip, nodding in agreement. "But the real doozy is the part that nobody is mentioning," continues Sanchez. I arch a brow at him.
"Either one of you heard of Sherlock Holmes?" Jeryl rolls his eyes and I grin.
"Yes," I say smirking as I recall when I first mentioned Sherlock to Jeryl on The Seeker. He asked me then what ship he captained. I'm amazed I kept a straight face.
Sanchez looks a bit confused with our reactions, but he keeps talking, "Holmes had an idea that when you're trying to solve a mystery and you run out of logical solutions, you need to look at improbable ones because they are often the only possible solution left."
"So what exactly are you saying?" asks Jeryl.
"I'm saying that everyone saw an explosion and assumes Greer is dead. Officials are labeling it as an accident due to a thrust malfunction. Yet, we can't accept that has a rational answer so we need to look at the other evidence to solve this."
"You found some evidence to solve this?" I ask, feeling more confident.
"Well, “says Sanchez as he stipples his fingers in front his face, "It's not the evidence I found that is so remarkable as much as what I did not find."
"I don't understand," I say looking at Jeryl, his face mirrors my same confusion.
"No problem," says Sanchez pulling out his tablet, "I can show you." He taps a code into his tablet then holds it out for us to see, "That's the breakdown of the molecular residue left after the explosion. I'm going to give you a hint: the only thing registering in this area of space are atmospheric molecules and alloys."
Suddenly I get what Sanchez is trying to tell us, "There's no trace of organic matter."
He smiles. "Exactly, even a massive explosion would leave some amount of organic residue."
"And if there was organic debris," said Jeryl swallowing his nausea, "That would be what's left of Greer.” Sanchez' face lights up like a teacher pleased with his students.
"Yes! but according to this report either Greer never exited or..."
"He wasn't on the ship when it exploded," I say.
"That's some trick," says Jeryl, "I personally saw him get in. How the hell did he pull it off?"
Sanchez considers a moment before saying, "Most of the aliens we have encountered have technology way above what we consider cutting-edge." I see Jeryl thinking, likely replaying how different the Sonali weaponry was when we met them the first time.
"However, the three of us also know how aggressively Terran Union has worked to advance our position, so we are no longer playing catch up." Sanchez continues as Jeryl and I nod. It’s true. Our advances during and after the war meant we no longer had to turn tail and run in an alien skirmish. It no longer felt like we were bringing knives to a gun fight.
"I think the 'trick' was a successful matter transfer."
"But there is no way Terran Armada has that kind of tech, " I say, "Right?"
"They might not have it yet, but that doesn't mean it's not being worked on," says Sanchez.
"I don't understand, " says Jeryl. He's not the only one.
Sanchez looks both of us, "Let's assume that this was a matter transfer. And let's assume that the transfer was done by non-Terran technology." We both nod at him. "Okay, now imagine that Terran Armada is trying to figure out a way to transfer matter, but it wants to keep that little project under wraps."
"Of course," says Jeryl, "Armada Intelligence would want to avoid bringing any attention to tech that might expose what they are working on. It's a smart move."
"So, we're on our own," I say with a grimace.
"Yes," says Sanchez, "We can't expect or even trust any "official" intel— so you're going to have to investigate on your own."
"Any suggestions?" I ask.
"Yes, we know that no organic matter was left. We also can safely assume that it was a matter transfer—"
"And if it was transferring from Greer's ship then it would need to find a place to safety transfer that matter to."
"Which means it would need to be nearby."
"Yes," says Sanchez, "You'll need to look at the records of what ships came in and what ones left New Washington at the time of the explosion."
"My navigations officer can compile that report for us," I say.
"Great, once you have the ship narrowed down you'll need to map its flight path. That should lead you to Greer."
"I don't think he'll be too happy to be found," says Jeryl.
"No, I doubt he will," says Sanchez as he gets up. "Well, Jeryl, Ashley," he shakes our hands, "Time for me to leave. Good luck."
He leaves us together, but alone in our heads. Though when we look at each other I can tell we're thinking the same thing: a fake assassination can mean only one thing.
Sabotage.
Sabotaging something that took three years to get to this point.
I see frustration laced with anger at this betrayal on Jeryl’s face, but underneath I also see his confidence and conviction. His hope.
I lean in to him, touching my forehead to his in silent understanding. He puts his arms around me. "We're going to get through this," I say.
"I know," he says pulling me close. I rest my head on his shoulder. Marriage doesn't grant you telepathy. But time together does make it easier for you to anticipate each other's thoughts and actions. I remember saying that to a friend and Jeryl added, "Yeah, that's a cautionary tale."
Marriages, good ones, are a partnership, two people working together toward similar goals.
Right now we have a shared goal.
Find out what ship fled during the explosion.
Find out where that ship went.
And find out who the hell is trying to destroy the galactic council before it even begins.
Jeryl
"Well, that was enlightening," I say to Ashley taking a seat. We're now back on The Seeker in the captain's quarters.
She smiles at me, "I told you Sanchez would deliver."
"How soon can your navigation pilot get that data to us? I want to figure out what ship we'll need to chase."
"I sent him an encrypted message as soon as Sanchez suggested it so I should get a response any minute, but isolating which ship did the transfer is one thing," She looks at me and I see the seriousness in her eyes. "But I'm more than hesitant to go after it while our crew and alien delegates are sharing the same space."
"If we don't follow the ship now we might lose it," I reply.
"We can follow it, but let's drop the delegates off first," She leans toward me emphasizing her words, "We are a flying powder keg right now. The animosity between the 500 humans we have aboard and the delegates could blow up any time. We need to drop them off."
I sit forward, one hand coming under my chin. "I don't know if we can afford the time to stop."
"Jeryl, we need to make time,” she says to me, her face tight. “We need to drop them off at a diplomatic commune or New Washington or someone else they'll be safe before we go hunting."
"But that's just it," I say, "Where are they going to be safe?" My hands gesture with my words on the futility of the situation, "We just watched our peaceful diplomatic compound go to shit before it even started and on top of that a delegate’s ship exploded right in front of us! Where the hell can we take these people that will make them safe?"
"You don't think Armada Security is up to the challenge?" she asks me.
"If we're dealing with sabotage, which with everything Sanchez told us seems to be the case, then I'm not sure who we can trust on the ground. For all we know this was an inside job,” I say. “I mean it's not as though there isn't a great deal of opposition to this treaty."
Ashley rolls her eyes.
"Well, that's an understatement," she says as she sighs. "I agree it's a volatile time and we have no idea who we can trust, but what about the opposition of our own crew? Their anger at having to babysit alien delegates is going to create major animosity between everyone on board. We're going to need to deal with that which is already going to be one huge pain in the ass. Add to that the fact that we're on a ship with finite capacity. My point being there's only so far someone can go to get away from other life forms on this ship. And Jeryl," she looks straight at me, "What happens when the delegates realize we're chasing an alien vessel? You won't be able to keep our flight plan a secret for long. They'll figure out we are chasing one of their own. Then the shit will hit the fan again, but this time we'll be responsible for it."
We both hear a notification chime. It's Ashley tablet. Frankly, I'm grateful for the interruption. Our argument is just going to keep going in circles like a dog chasing its tail. She raises valid points about the tensions between our human crew and the delegate members. The war was not so long ago for anyone on board to have forgotten. Re-branding our alien enemies into friends is going to take time— and time is something we don't have.
I watch Ashley look at her tablet frowning.
"What is it?"
She hands me the tablet, "Notice anything out of the ordinary?" I take a long look at the data. It's the report we've been waiting for from the navigations officer regarding the immediate arrival and departure of ships before and after the explosion.
It's a thorough report and at first glance it's an overwhelming map of dots on a page; each one marked by velocity and distance. I begin to have a suspicion over which ship is the one when Ashley points at the screen.
And then I see it—one ship on a flight path seemed normal, until I realize that with its position, it left minutes after the explosion.
Its initial proximity to the blast seems odd too. The ship appears to be almost sitting, waiting for the explosion, and after the explosion it lingered there for about a minute before speeding away.
"Yes, I do," I reply to Ashley, "For one thing—why would a Tyreesian merchant ship just hover nearby when all of the delegates should’ve been departing?" Ashley nods at my thought.
"Exactly," she agrees.
"And another thing," I continue, "Is that the same ship suddenly takes off a minute after the explosion. A captain would normally react to that kind of circumstance by waiting around to find out what happened and possibly offer aid.
“And if it was concerned about its safety it would have initiated a defensive shield. None of those options were employed. It just took off like a bat out of hell and it looks like the flight path is heading straight for the Omarian system on the border of Terran and Tyreesian space.”
"Yes," says Ashley fervently, "The flight path of that one ship makes it our primary suspect." She arches her brows at me, "But if we head that way we need to tell the delegates onboard what we're doing. The situation on the ship could get worse if we suddenly go into FTL. I don't think they'll believe we're sightseeing."
"Think we can convince them we've decided to take a second honeymoon?" I can tell that Ashley wants to be angry, but underneath her annoyance I see she's trying to suppress a smile.
"Well, Admiral Montgomery,"she says, no longer able to hide her smile, "As captain of the Seeker don't you think you should have cleared that flight plan with me first?" I stand up, going to her. We kiss and embrace then looked at each other.
"But where's the surprise in that?" I ask jokingly.
"Ahh," she says. Then she gets serious. "If I don't buy that, then I think we'll have a hard time selling that idea to the crew or delegates. Particularly since the Omarian system is not exactly a place one goes for a good time."
"Bull," I say, "We can have a good time anywhere." Ashley sighs.
"Jeryl, what are we going to do?" She rests her head on my shoulder. I hold her tight. It can be a wonderful thing to work with my wife. To have her close and share in my work—for her to really understand what I go through daily.
And then there are moments I wish we weren't so close in rank, so I could shelter her away from this whole mess. I don't tell her this, I know she's too independent to ever want to be hidden away from ugly shit in the galaxy. It's one of the many reasons I love her; she's a strong, intelligent woman. And I know she's got my back, even when she disagrees with me. Like today. But I know how to make this call and I know it's a risky one.
"We need get after that ship as fast we can," I say, "What's the current FTL?"
Ashley steps away from me, holding her tablet up. "We're at FTL factor of 1, but if we push to FTL factor of 5, we might be able to overtake them. They’re likely traveling at slower speeds. In addition, they don't know they're being chased. Yet."
"Can you tell the navigations officer to plot a course at FTL 5?"
She stares at me for a moment and then relents, "Yes." She opens her comm.
"Crowder, set a course for Omarias sector. FTL factor of 5."
"Yes, captain." She clicks off the comm.
"I hope we're making the right decision, Jeryl."
"Me, too," I say, "But I don't think we have much of a choice. We need to get to the bottom of this mess and we need to do it fast. If we want to avoid war, we're going to need to fight for peace. The longer it takes for us to rectify this situation the more the delegates will lose faith in coming together to build a galactic council.
“We don't have time to wait for a better option. We have to act now. We need to figure out who the hells behind this and we need to stop them."
Ashley looks grim, but I know she sees the logic in what I'm saying. I don't like playing chase either. I'd actually rather be getting something done with the galactic council. But because that has been screwed up, I have no choice but to do what I can to fix the situation as soon as possible.
And if that means taking a ship full of disgruntled aliens and Terrans along for the ride, then so be it.
Ashley
The Seeker drops faster than light travels at the edge of the star system of the Omarias colony.
“Engaging STL drive,” announces the navigations officer and then taps a couple of buttons on his workstation.
There’s an almost indiscernible jerk as the ship heads in the direction of the brown planet ahead.
I’m sitting on my chair and looking at the view screen. There are a lot of ships orbiting the planet. There’s also a massive space dock for smaller shuttles. This is what you should expect from a tax haven colony.
“How long till we get within range of the planet’s gravitational field?” I ask the navigations officer.
The navigations officer does the math. “Ten minutes, Captain.”
“Captain, we are receiving communication from the Omarian Space Station,” says the navigations officer.
I look at Jeryl, who is standing by a workstation to my right.
“What do we tell them?” I ask him.
I know that word would have spread all across the galaxy of what transpired at New Washington. If this exercise is truly being sabotaged by some unseen forces, then can we trust the Omarian authorities?
“I’m not sure we can trust them,” Jeryl answers. “There are so many questions we have that I’m not sure we can trust anybody.”
“I agree with you,” I say.
“On screen.” I say to my communications officer.
A seasoned blonde-haired man appears on the screen. He’s wearing Armada Command uniform and from his insignia, I can tell he is a commander. Maybe the highest ranking officer on the colony.
When the man sees me, he snaps off a salute. Then I notice he’s standing in some sort of a control center. There are work stations about and a crew working.
“My name is Commander Phillips of the Omarias II Space Station,” he says.
“This is TUS The Seeker. I’m Captain Ashley Gavin and onboard this vessel is Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery of Armada Command.”
A worried look creeps onto the commander’s face. Do you have anything to hide? I think to myself.
“Are we in some sort of trouble?” he asks after I don’t say more.
I cock my right eyebrow. “Have you done anything wrong?”
The man frowns. “It’s just that I don’t have you on my schedule for arriving ships today, ma’am.”
“This is Terran Union Space and you are a Terran Union Colony. Any Armada vessel can come here as and when they like and choose.”
I am taking the hardline approach so he doesn’t begin to probe me for my reasons for coming. Better for him to be on the spot than me.
“Of course, ma’am,” the man breathes. “It’s just that The Seeker is a harbinger of war and destruction. It is wise for a colony commander to ask questions when a ship like The Seeker appears in his long range scanners.”
I have never heard my ship being referred to as a harbinger of war and destruction. I don’t exactly like it, but it is fitting. I suspect my ship also strikes fear in the heart of other species. Though, I can’t take credit for this reputation. It has been all Jeryl.
I place my best smile on my face. “Be at peace, Commander. We are here on official Terran Armada business. Stand by. We will contact you if we need you.”
“Roger that, ma’am,” he says. “You are cleared for approach.”
I nod. “Captain Gavin out.”
I cut the feed from my arm console.
“Science officer, what can you tell me about this planet?” I ask. Then I add, “Just the juicy stuff.”
The science officer pulls up the information from his console.
“Omarias II is a colony that belongs to the Nova Corporation,” the science officer reads. “It was founded in 2172 and has grown to a current population of seventy five thousand people. It was declared an economic free trade zone shortly after its founding, which was the major drive for its quick development. Omarias II exempts inhabitants from a lot of laws within the Terran Union, both economic and otherwise.”
“So, I am effectively looking at the lawless outlands?” I ask.
“Correct, ma’am,” replies the science officer.
“Scan the planet for signs of our quarry,” I say to the science officer. “Be as discrete as possible. Low power. Short range. I don’t want to raise suspicions yet.”
“Your very presence here is suspicious, Ashley,” says Jeryl to my right.
“Yeah, well I don’t want to raise suspicions more than they already are,” I say. “I’ve not given anybody reasons to believe I’m after them.”
“Ma’am, I’m detecting the energy readings from the freighter that left New Washington,” says the science officer.
“Where?” I ask.
“At the far side of the planet,” replies the science officer. “It’s orbiting.”
“Gotcha,” I mutter to myself.
“Navigations. Bring us into orbit and place us directly beside the shuttle. Match its trajectory, please.”
“Aye, captain,” the navigations officer says.
Again, the ship sublight drive kicks the ship a little and we enter orbit. We gently maneuver our way past the many orbiting vessels until we come within range of the freighter.
“Matching trajectory,” announces the navigations officer.
“Tactical, what’s the status of our shields,” I say.
“Shields are offline, captain,” the tactical officer replies.
Before I say anything, the navigations officer says, “Trajectory aligned, Captain.”
To the tactical officer, I say, “Raise shields.”
“Hold on,” Jeryl says and the tactical officer hesitates.
I glance at him for an explanation.
“We’re trying not to raise suspicion aren’t we?” he says.
“I have civilians on board this ship,” I reiterate to my husband. “One rightly torpedo from that freighter and the entire quarters of the delegates will be destroyed.”
“Tactical, will you be able to get the shields up before we are fired upon from this range?” Jeryl asks the tactical officer.
“No, sir,” the tactical officer says. “However, our systems will detect their weapons system going online, during which time we can raise our shields and engage powerful evasive maneuvers that they won’t be able to compensate for. And it is against Terran Union laws for a vessel’s weapons system to be online five hundred kilometers away from its atmosphere.”
“Isn’t that law exempted in this colony?” I ask.
The tactical officer checks his workstation for that information.
“No, ma’am,” he says. “That’s why the freighter’s weapons system are offline.”
“Okay, belay my last order,” I say, conceding to my husband’s wisdom.
“Hail that freighter,” I order. “And put it on screen.”
“Hailing,” the communications officer. After setting up the frequency, he begins to broadcast.
“Unidentified Tyreesian freighter,” the communications officer says, “This is TUS The Seeker. Come in.”
A diminutive, male Tyreesian appears on the screen. He looks at me as if I had woken him from a slumber. Accusingly.
“I am Ashley Gavin, Captain of The Seeker,” I say. I feel Jeryl’s presence beside me.
“What can I do for you, Captain,” the Tyreesian says with a hiss.
“Were you in New Washington last week?” I ask.
The Tyreesian man gives me an equivalent of a shrug. I take that for a yes and proceed.
“What were you doing there?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, madam captain, I run a cargo business. What would I be doing in New Washington if not to deliver my goods?”
I mutter to my husband, “Are all Tyreesians this uptight?”
He chuckles. “You should see Leader Greer when he’s riled up.”
“Too bad, we’ll never get to see him.”
“Not if he’s dead,” Jeryl says. “What if he isn’t as Sanchez suggested?”
I look back up at the Tyreesian. “What else did you do at New Washington?”
“Nothing,” he replies, oblivious to my side conversation with Jeryl. “After delivering my goods, I left.”
“How big is your crew?” I ask.
“Fifteen.”
“Do you know Leader Greer?”
The Tyreesian becomes visibly agitated. As do I, when I realize I may be onto something.
“Yes?” That was more of a question than an answer.
“Have you been in contact with him, lately?”
“The last I heard, he died in an explosion.”
“Before the explosion?”
The Tyreesian’s agitation increased.
“Captain, I’m noticing increased levels of perspiration and heightened state of dread,” my science officer says to me. The Tyreesian doesn’t hear this.
“He’s hiding something,” Jeryl mutters to me.
“No,” the Tyreesian says.
I pause and look the Tyreesian in his slits (which apparently they can see through). The next time I speak, my words are measured and heavy.
“I will ask one more time, sir,” I say. “Did you have any contact with Leader Greer while you were on New Washington?”
“No,” the Tyreesian replies, a bit too fast.
“What business do you have in this star system?” I ask next.
“Why?”
“Just answer the question,” I say, feigning irritation. I know I have him on the run.
“Look, human, the last time I checked, I am under no obligation to answer such questions,” the Tyreesian sneers a reply. “And as my permit is still valid for another two years. I have the right to conduct business within Terran Union space.”
I open my mouth to reply, but the Tyreesian is speaking again.
“If there is a problem, let me know so I can get a proper legal counsel,” he says.
“That won’t be necessary,” I reply. “Have a good day and good luck.”
I cut the feed.
“He’s definitely hiding something,” Jeryl says to me.
“Yeah, and I’m going to find out what.” I walk over to the science officer’s station, which is situated to the forward right of the CNC, just before the view screen.
“Scan the freighter for signs of life,” I tell him.
I watch the science officer execute the scan. “Twenty five, ma’am.”
“The Tyreesians sent a ten-man delegate, including Greer himself, Jeryl says.
I march to the center of the CNC right before the view screen.
“Bring him back,” I order.
The Tyreesian appears on the view screen again.
“What now?” the Tyreesian blurts.
“Our scans reveals that there are twenty five Tyreesians on board your ship,” I say, trying a gamble. It actually says twenty five life forms, which may include pets and animals.
“You better start cooperating with me,” I proceed. “Otherwise I will send a boarding party and we will seize your ship.”
The Tyreesian begins to sweat profusely, tugging his flight suit as though it all of a sudden became tighter.
“You have no right to do so,” the Tyreesian replies.
“I am a captain of a Terran Armada Battle Cruiser,” I reply through my teeth. “I’ve killed at least a hundred million Sonali during our war. You think I care?” I snarl. All the frustration at everything comes up. “I have every right to board your ship, seize it, and question your crew.”
The Tyreesian begins to mutter nonsense to himself. His eyes begin to vacillate as his face progressively contorts into confusion.
Without warning, the ship is jarred by an explosion on aft. Warning sirens erupt and fills the CNC.
“What the fuck was that?” I yell, picking myself from the floor. “Shields up!”
“Shields up,” tactical confirms.
“What was that?” I ask again.
“Ma’am,” the tactical officer says, “a Tyreesian warship has just emerged from behind the Omarian sun, where it has been hiding, and fired at us. Minimal damange.”
Anger burns bright in my spirit. “Battle stations everyone!”
Jeryl
As soon as the ship is struck, my instinct is to take command. When Ashley looks at me with terror filled eyes, I realize this may very well be her first time in battle as a Captain, and going up against the Tyreesian is not something a green ship captain should be doing.
“I am taking command of this ship for the duration of this engagement,” I say, taking my place on Ashley’s seat.
I stretch my hands over the arm, feeling each buttons on the Captain’s console. Memories of the not-so-distant war comes to me.
“Take us to high alert,” I say as I look around my surroundings.
“Aye, Captain,” replies the tactical officer. Before long, a ship-wide alarm begins to ring. The CNC takes on a reddish tint as does the view screen.
“Bring all weapons system online.”
“Weapons system coming online,” says the tactical officer.
“Damage assessment.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the tactical officer replies. “We have minor fluctuations to power to our FTL. Decks thirteen and fourteen were breached, but they have been sealed.”
“Any casualties?” I ask.
“There were three ensigns in the holochamber, conducting their scheduled flight training sessions,” replies the tactical officer. “They were sucked out into space when we were hit.”
“How the fuck did we not see the ship?” I roar. I see the vessel now. It is way bigger than The Seeker and has an angular geometry that accentuates its terrifying look.
“They were hiding behind the sun, sir,” says the science officer. “The solar flares from the sun interfered with our scanners such that we couldn’t detect them.”
“But how could they detect us?” I ask. “How did they know we were here? How the fuck did they get a firing solution so fast? And why weren’t we forewarned?”
“Sir, their weapons systems may be well advanced than what we are used to,” the science officer says.
“Conduct a tactical assessment of the ship,” I say. “I want to know what we’re going up against.”
“Aye, captain.”
“Sir, all ships in orbit are peeling away,” the navigations officer says. He looks at me for instructions.
“Keep track on the freighter and get ready to execute evasive maneuvers, if needed,” I say.
“Communications, send a message to Armada Command,” I say. “Tell them we have just been fired upon by a Tyreesian Warship. Tell them we are going to defend ourselves.”
“Aye Admiral,” the officer replies.
“Admiral,” the science officer says. “My assessment is finished.”
“Can we defeat them?” I ask.
“Based on my assessment? No, we can’t,” the science officer says. “They appear to use a sophisticated weaponry systems that is unlike anything we have ever known.”
“Why don’t we know about this?” Ashley asks from the station closest to us.
I realize that she is directing the question towards me and with an accusing tone.
“Didn’t we share intel with them?” Ashley says. “They’ve been hiding a lot from us.”
“Apparently,” I reply. “Forget that we practically told them everything.”
“And whose fault is that?” Ashley says. I can hear the pain in her words.
Even though it’s way out of line, I chose to ignore it. She has just lost three crew members. She would need some time to recover.
“Sir, message sent to Armada Command,” says the communications officer.
“Sir, I suggest we leave the systems immediately,” says the science officer.
I frown. “Why is that, Lieutenant?”
“When you asked me to assess the ship’s tactical capability, I ran two tests,” the science officer replies. “I ran a quick test as well as a more detailed test. The results I gave you were from the quick test.”
“And now?”
“It appears that my earlier assessment were greatly insufficient,” the science officer says. “If we go up against that warship, it will pulverize us into ashes.”
I almost hiss. That’s not exactly what I want my CNC crew to hear before going into battle.
Ashley comes to my side. “We need to weigh our options.”
“What options?” I ask her because I frankly do not see much options.
“We are out-sized and out-gunned,” she says. “We are carrying the entire galactic council on this ship. If we’re destroyed, there will be war. This time not between one species and another, but an intergalactic war. We will have caused a first Galactic War.”
“The cancer of the human race would have spread across the galaxy,” I mutter back to her. “How poetic.”
I glance at the science officer. “What is the ship doing now?”
The science officer begins to scan the ship.
“It is still within the orbit of the star,” the science officer says, “and the radiation is masking its activities. I don’t have enough power to penetrate the star’s influence.”
“Divert power from all non-essential systems to the scanners,” I command.
“Diverting,” the science office replies.
After a minute, he says, “Shit! Sir, the warship is charging its main cannon again. They’ve locked on us.”
Warning signals erupt again in the CNC.
“Evasive maneuvers!” I yell.
The drive kicks in with a loud whine. The Seeker goes into what feels like free fall, banking hard and avoiding the flash of particle beam that crosses our brow. The inertial dampeners roar as they work to keep the gravity on the ship.
“Set a course for that ship,” I order the navigations.
Ashley grabs my hand. “We can’t risk it. Three are already dead. Many more will die and for what?”
“We cannot run away,” I say. Then I speak up for the benefit of the CNC crew. “We swore an oath to protect every Terran Union colony. The Omarias II colony has just come under attack. We are under obligation to protect it. We can’t run. This is Terran space.”
I glance at the navigations officer and flash him a stern look. “I said plot a course for that ship.”
The navigations officer nods and plots the course.
“Course plotted.”
“Engage the FTL drive, factor 1,” I command.
The navigator pauses and looks at me. “Sir?” he asks.
“Do it, Lieutenant,” I say back to him.
“Jeryl,” Ashley says. “You can’t go to FTL bursts inside a system.”
“Do it, Navigator,” I say, ignoring her. Blood pounds in my ears.
“Diverting power to the FTL drive,” says the navigations officer.
“How long till we are in firing range?” I ask.
“One point three seconds at factor 1,” replies the tactical officer.
“Okay. Weapons hot,” I say.
“Weapons hot,” replies tactical.
“We can’t outgun them, but we can outsmart them,” I announce to the CNC crew. “Tactical, coordinate with navigations. The moment we drop out of FTL drive, I want all weapons lighting that ship up.”
“Roger that, sir,” says the tactical officer.
“Sending coordinates of drop off point to tactical,” the navigations officer says.
“Received,” the tactical officer replied. “Acquiring firing solutions.”
I say to the communications officer, “Hail that ship.”
“Go ahead sir,” says the communications officer.
“Unidentified Tyreesian Warship. This is Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Union Starship The Seeker. You have violated our laws and fired upon us. We hereby order you to stand down and surrender yourselves.”
“Sir, I am noticing an increased energy to the weapons,” says the science officer.
“Tactical, how long?” I ask.
“Soon, sir,” he replies.
“They think we’re sitting ducks,” Ashley says, “that’s why they’re so relaxed. That’s why they haven’t taken a step towards us. They think they have destroyed our FTL and our drives.”
“Can they see our weapons are charged?”
“Yes,” replies the science officer.
“Then they are overconfident in their shields,” says Ashley.
“Three proton torpedoes will melt their hull, no matter what shield technology they have developed,” I say to her, convinced beyond reasonable doubt. I know this makes me unreasonable because I have no proof for my assertion.
“Firing solution ready, sir,” the tactical officer says. “Ready to execute.”
I stand to my feet. “Communications, hail them again.”
The communications officer gives me the go ahead.
“Unidentified Tyreesian Warship. This is Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Union Starship The Seeker. You have violated our laws and fired upon us. We hereby order you to stand down and surrender yourselves. This is your last warning.”
No response.
“Sir, they have engaged their weapons.”
“Execute,” I say to navigations and tactical.
The FTL kicks, sending The Seeker forward at a speed faster than that of light. We miss the particle beam shot by only a few yards. We appear less than a hundred kilometers from the ship and then three proton torpedoes launch from the ship along with an opening salvo of particle beam shots. The ship is engulfed in a cloud of explosions.
“Take us out of its line of sight,” I say. “What’s the status of that ship?”
“Minimal damage, sir,” comes the science officer’s reply.
I feel cold terror slip down my throat.
“We are being targeted by—”
The ship is hit square in the port, sending it tumbling through space. The CNC crew were thrown about. I landed hard at the foot of the captain’s chair. Blood poured from my mouth as my ears are beseeched with the screams of warning. Sparks fly all around the CNC crew.
“Sir, all systems are down. I repeat, all systems are down!”
I don’t know whose voice is that. I drag myself off the floor and onto the captain’s sit. I look around to see that Ashley is also making her way off the ground.
“Damage report,” I say.
“All systems are down,” replies the tactical officer. “Decks one through sixteen suffered catastrophic damages. The engine is down, both sub-light drive and FTL. Weapons are flickering.”
“Sir, sensors report reveals that the ship is locking on us again.”
“What’s the status of our shields?” I ask.
“Shields down, sir,” replies the tactical officer. “We don’t stand a chance against their weapons.
There is another solar flare from the sun and an idea catches in my mind.
“Tactical, can we fire the remaining torpedoes?”
“Yes, sir,” he replies. “But without a firing solution, we will be blindly firing into the sun. Plus we’re off course and can’t correct course of the STL drives as they are down.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I want to fire into the sun. Get ready to fire on my command once I give you coordinates.”
I tap the button on my arm console.
“Engineering here,” says the chief engineer.
“How long till we get at least thrusters?”
“I can do thrusters in five minutes,” comes the reply.
“You only have forty five seconds,” I say. “Get it done.” then I cut the line.
“What’s the status of the ship?” I ask the science officer.
“It’s hard to tell with the sensors down,” says the science officer. “But from sensor report, our torpedoes didn’t even graze their hall. Their shield is too strong.”
After a long pause, the man says, “They will have their firing solution in less than a minute.” He looks at me. “One more shot from their canons and we are gone.”
“Engineering to CNC.”
“Go ahead, Engineering,” I say.
“Thrusters are online,” he says. “But it’ll only be online for a few minutes. That’s the best I can do sir.”
“That’s all I need,” I reply.
“Tactical, input the firing coordinates from my console and fire when ready.”
“Navigations, after firing, put as much distance between us and the sun.”
“Sir, I must advice against this action…” the science officer starts, but the torpedoes have already been fired and the thrusters have already kicked in.
Now let’s hope the advanced astrophysics classes at the Academy paid off.
The Tyreesian warship doesn’t realize what is happening until it’s too late. The torpedoes strike the surface of the sun and there is a combined thermonuclear explosion greater than anything any race has ever developed. It causes the dimmers on the viewscreen to kick in.
The Tyreesian begins a full reverse away from the sun.
But it’s a little too late. The nuclear explosion leads to a mighty solar flare that engulfs the Tyreesian ship and destroys it in an instant, incinerating everything to the last molecule.
We are far enough from the explosion not to be affected. However, the heat washes over us as wave after wave of it and radiation slam into the ship.
Warnings lights flash and power conduits explode – further adding to the smoke.
I am incensed. I have just been attacked by a Tyreesian warship in Terran Union space. Yes, it is on the border, but the warship had no right to trespass into Terran space.
Maybe we’re not destined for peace.
Maybe we’re only fated for war.
Ashley
The thruster works long enough to get us back into orbit before it fails like the rest of the systems.
The atmosphere on the ship is thick with smoke. Sparks from loose wires are flying all around. The red lights are still flashings in the CNC, but the sound is gone. A lot of the workstations have been damaged, and only the tactical, navigations and communications workstations have power. The view screen is offline. All we see is the vastness of space.
We have been hit hard today. I know everyone is looking up to me. First to have kept them in one piece, and now, to salvage the situation. At times like this, people look for someone to blame—and who better than the aliens on our ship? This is a problem I have to anticipate.
However, I realize I have to consider an even greater problem, which is what this attack means for the galactic negotiations. Are we going to be plunged into another state of war? Is this the beginning of another long and bitter crisis?
It had taken pure ingenuity and a miracle to destroy that one Tyreesian war vessel. I may not be lucky the next time. Their weapons are more advanced. Their shield capability are light years ahead ours. We fired everything we had at it and didn’t even graze its hull.
Should there be a war between the Terran Union and the Tyreesians, I have no doubt we would suffer greatly. The same dynamic would play out again as it did at the beginning of the Earth-Sonali war, where it had to take five ships to bring down one Sonali vessel.
Maybe in this case, it would take ten. We weren’t prepared for that conflict, yet I know we can’t stand idly while the Tyreesians violate our border, invade our space, and fire on a Terran Union starship.
I am furious. Mind numbingly furious.
I look around CNC, especially at the crew. A lot of them are bloodied and bruised. Those who have working consoles have their eyes on their screens, while those who have damaged workstations are trying not to look my way.
I understand that I could have ordered a retreat. But retreat was not an option. We will not be bullied within our territory, not when we can do something about it.
Tell that to the people who lost their lives in the last engagement, a voice says in the back of my mind. Tell that to their families. Tell their mothers and fathers how they were sucked out into space and how they suffered the most excruciating death possible.
“This is war,” I mutter in response to the demon in my mind.
Is it? Or is it just you?
I remember the question Ashley asked me back at New Washington. Do I miss being captain? I have my answer. No, I don’t miss being captain. I don’t miss the bloodcurdling experiences.
I don’t miss the close calls.
I don’t miss the hull breaches and dying crewmates. No one in their right minds would miss being trapped in a space battle.
But I do miss charting the unknown.
Seeing the galaxy.
Hurtling through space, seeing things never before seen.
I stand up from my seat and walk over to Ashley. She’s still recovering from the attack. I head over to her and prop her up. She clings on to me with shaky hands.
CNC is sufficiently dark to hide our moment.
“We came close to being destroyed today,” she says, her voice trembling.
“I know,” I mutter back to her, holding her lithe form in my hands.
“I’m sorry if I didn’t take your advice,” I say. “I know this is your ship.”
She hugs me tight, snuggling deeper into my arms.
“I’m glad you were here when this happened,” she says. “I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Go to the sickbay and get checked up,” I say. “Then go to our quarters and get some rest. By the time you’re back in CNC, I should have it all patched up.”
She breaks our embrace and gives me a smile.
“I should be the one telling you that,” she says.
“Yet, you’re the one who needs it more,” I say.
She nods and heads out of CNC.
I tap my comm link. “Vice Admiral Jeryl to the Chief of Security.”
“This is the Chief of Security,” says a male voice. “Go ahead, sir.”
“I want you to check on all aliens aboard this ship. Make sure they are well protected and advise me on their situation.”
“Yes, sir,” replies the head of security.
“Also, if you think it’s necessary after what we just suffered, double the guards around them.”
“Roger that, sir,” replies the security office.
“Good. Out.”
“Communications officer,” I say after cutting my link to the security chief, “open a ship-wide communications channel.”
The communications officer gives me the go ahead when the channel is open.
“This is Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery,” I say. Then I pause to collect my thoughts.
“About thirty minutes ago, we entered the Omarian system in pursuit of a Tyreesian vessel we think may hold answers to the explosion that occurred last week in New Washington. As we interrogated this vessel, unknown to us, there was a warship in the system, who used the solar flares from the sun to hide its presence.
“We were fired upon by this Tyreesian warship after which we engaged with it in battle. Though outclassed and outgunned, we were able to destroy this ship.”
I paused again to take in breath.
“I know many of you here have never been in a battle,” I continue. “I know many of you have lost a friend today. We are still yet to get a thorough damage assessment because most of our systems are down. But I know of three ensigns who were killed in the first strike. At times like this, it is easy to point to the object of our hate and strike back. It is easy to look at the delegates we have on board and take out our frustration on them.
“But in these times, it is also easy to find strength in our collective existence as a people of peace. It is easy to see the light of our love and express our humanity. Let us not give into hate at this crucial moment. Now is the time to stand on our morals and the ethos that have made the Terran Armada a potent force in this galaxy. Let us rely on our training and see to it that the deaths and damage we have suffered today are not in vain.
“Let us divert all our energy and strength to getting this ship up and running, all the way to battle readiness. Let this be your silent mantra in these times: that you will not rest, until the perpetrators of this crime are brought to book. And I promise you, as your commander that they will be brought to book.”
I stop and allow the silence to stretch on for thirty seconds.
“Will you join me?”
I pause again, happy to see all the CNC crew nod their heads at my question.
“I am initiating emergency repair protocols,” I say. “I want us ready to fight in the next ten hours. Thank you and godspeed.”
I motion for the communications officer to cut the feed, which he does.
“Alright everyone,” I say aloud. “Let get going.”
I return to the captain’s chair and contact Engineering.
“How long till we get the power back online?” I ask.
“Backup generators will provide the necessary power for the repairs to go on,” the engineering chief says. “That means all non-essential systems will remain down. Power won’t be back for another three hours.”
“That’s not good enough,” I say, feeling my frustration eat away my heart.
“Sir, that’s the best I can do,” he replies. “I have all my personnel on this. And thanks to your inspiring speech, all those who were on duty leave have returned.”
“When will the engines be back online?” I say. “I mean all engines, both the FTL and the sublight drive.”
“I estimate five hours,” he says. “The damages were substantial. They targeted our power and engines. It was not a random strike, sir. It was surgical and they managed to cripple us.”
I sigh. “Get it done. No extensions.”
“Aye, sir,” and the line went dead.
“Operations, how long till we are battle ready?”
“Six hours sir,” the operations officer says.
“Okay,” I reply. “I want you to take point on this. And all those who have finished their repairs should report to the sick bay to get checked out and get some sleep.”
“Aye, sir,” says the operations officer.
“What’s the status on the Tyreesian freighter?”
“Before our long range scanners were fried, I detected it firing its FTL drives, sir,” says the science officer. “It has left the system, along with all the orbiting ships at the time.”
“Sir, we have entered into orbit with Omarias II,” says the navigator. “There are a few ships in orbit, the ones who arrived after the conflict.”
“Keep us in orbit,” I say.
My comm chirps.
I tap it and say, “Go ahead.”
“Admiral, all aliens are accounted for,” the security chief says. “I’ve also doubled their security detail. But they are pretty angry. They believe we are keeping them hostage. Please advise.”
“I will visit them all,” I say and cut the comm signal.
It takes me about three grueling hours to speak with each delegation and convince them that keeping them in their quarters at this time is in their own interest. After this, I go to my quarters to rest up and get refreshed. I change into a clean uniform before returning to CNC, refreshed.
By the time I return to the CNC, all the workstations have been repaired and are back online, drawing power from the backup generators. Soon after I return to CNC, the main power comes on along with news that the thrusters and sublight drives are back online.
“Admiral, engineering reports that the FTL will not be back online for another two hours,” says the operations officer shortly after.
“Take us out of high alert,” I say.
“Aye, sir,” says the tactical officer.
The red tint disappears and the lights come back on in CNC.
Captain Ashley walks into the CNC about an hour later.
“We need to go down to the planet,” she says to me. “The freighter may have dropped them there.”
“It’s worth a shot,” I say. “We’ll take a shuttle and security personnel this time.”
Ashley nods.
“Ma’am, do you want me to contact the colony government and inform them of your coming?”
“No,” she replies. “The less people know that we are coming, the better.”
I nod grimly.
The fewer the people who knows we’re going, the fewer the questions.
And bodies.
Jeryl
Once we’re safely aboard the shuttle and away from anyone who could overhear any conversation, I talk over my shoulder to Ashley as I pilot us out of The Seeker’s hangar bay and into space. “You’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking,” I say.
“Yes. The Omarians are working with the Tyreesians.”
“That would be it. I don’t know why, or for how long, but I’d bet my ass on it.”
She grins. “Fortunately for your ass, and my enjoyment thereof, I think that’s a safe bet.” The grin vanishes. “What are we going to do about it?”
I think about it for a few minutes while we descend through the planet’s atmosphere. Omarias II is a beautiful world, mid-way in size between Earth and Mars, with a pleasant if chilly climate. The northernmost continent is coming out an ice age, and many native animals have thick coats of hair. We’ll be landing just outside the planet’s biggest city, Meiden, on the southeastern tip of the continent in a temperate zone. “They’re going to have people to meet us. So here’s what: I’ll keep them occupied while you remain aboard the shuttle. We’ll say that you’ve got to stay here to coordinate repairs to The Seeker. With any luck, you’ll be able to look around after we leave their landing grid, and see what you can learn.”
Her gaze slides away from mine. “It’s not going to be easy,” she says.
“I know that. But we’ve got to try it.” I reply. She agrees.
“This is Meiden Control,” says a voice over the commlink. No visual. “May I have your credentials, please?”
I give Ashley a wry look. As if they don’t know who we are! We just vaporized a Tyreesian starship in orbit around their planet! But I give her our names and the ship’s ID specs and in return receive official recognition from the dockmaster.
“You are cleared to land,” she says. “Pad 12 is vacant.” Is it my imagination, or does she sound a little nervous? I raise my eyebrows on Ashley, who nods once. A set of coordinates flash on our screens. “Standard berth linkages available, if you have Nova Corp adaptors.”
“We can adjust for them,” I say. “Thank you, Meiden.”
She cuts off without acknowledgement.
“Not very polite,” Ashley mutters.
I bring the shuttle in for a perfect landing in the local grid, and while Ashley oversees connections to the Omarian data network I take a moment to brush off my uniform and make myself as presentable as possible.
“You’re as bad as a woman,” Ashley says with a grin when she joins me in the airlock a moment later, having finalized the interface.
I return the grin as the airlock cycles. With so much death and destruction, it might seem odd that we’re so easy going. But it helps the tension. And there’s a sense of gallows humor undercurrent.
The product of five years of war and seeing too much death.
We step out onto the landing tower. Awaiting us is a ramrod-straight female wearing a business suit. She’s very pretty and has long dark hair, and though she is pale of skin she has an Indian cast to her features. Behind her stands two beefy men. They aren’t in uniform, but I know security goons when I see them. I don’t see any immediately obvious weapons, but I assume they’re well-armed. I feel Ashley stiffen slightly at my side. We brought one security personnel of our own, and, as a gesture of good faith, I have him accompany me. No need to hide him away. As with all people who have something to hide, we want it to be obvious that we have nothing to hide.
After I introduce myself and Ashley, the woman steps lightly forward and presents a slender hand. Gripping mine with surprising strength, she says, “My name is Anjali Bagawati. Do call me Anja. I want to extend our sincerest thanks for saving us from that privateer ship.”
“Privateer?” Ashley says.
“Yes, of course,” Bagawati replies. “They’ve been in orbit here for several days, trying to force us to enter into a trade agreement, and jamming our slipstream communications so that we couldn’t call for help.”
What a load of balls, I am thinking. It’s just barely possible that a pirate freighter might have a damn warship lurking out-system to supply muscle, but only just. Something like this isn’t the Tyreesian style. A deal’s been cut here, and this Nova rep is lying her ass about it. But I play along.
“I’m glad we showed up when we did, then,” says Ashley. “What were they after?”
“Our agricultural scientists are developing strains of disease-resistant wheat,” she tells us. “The Tyreesians got wind of our work somehow, and showed up unannounced.”
I clench my jaw. This is exactly the sort of thing the Galactic Council would be interested in—if there was a Galactic Council. And if Bagawati’s story were true.
“I’d like to offer you a tour of our facility,” she now says. “It’s not every day that a genuine war hero visits our humble world.”
“Splendid,” I tell her heartily, as if deference to my celebrity is nothing less than my due.
Ashley says, “I’m so sorry to have to miss the tour, Anja, but I must stay aboard the shuttle to coordinate repairs to The Seeker.”
“Oh. I see. Well, that will be fine.” She gives a brief nod and says to one of the guards, “Stay here and make sure no one disturbs the captain as she works.”
“Ma’am,” he says.
Well, that’s a spanner in the works.
“Jenkins,” I say to the security officer. “Make sure that this Nova Security gentleman has your help if you need it.”
Jenkins nods and Anjali looks at me with a sideways glance. If she wants to leave a man near our shuttle, I sure as hell am not leaving Ash unguarded.
As I accompany Anja Bagawati toward the elevator (no drop-tubes here; modern technology hasn’t quite caught up with Omarias II), I am mentally kicking myself. We should have foreseen something like this. We want Ashley to be able to come and go without being watched. However, there’s nothing for it. Ashley is resourceful, and if anyone can wrangle a way out of this problem, she can. In any case, there’s nothing I can do about it now.
“So, ‘Bagawati,’” I say. “Is that Assamese?”
She is taken aback. “Yes, but how could you know that?”
“A cousin of mine married a girl whose family migrated to that state from Bangladesh in the late 1900s,” I say. “I visited there a dozen times of more. Great food,” I add, flashing my best grin. I can almost hear Ashley roll her eyes. “And many people there with your surname.”
Bagawati blinks, but quickly recovers from her surprise. A good corporate representative is never at a loss. “Indeed. We must have a conversation about that. Meanwhile, I’d like to offer you a tour of our facility here.”
We descend the elevator and I am escorted into a ground car that whisks us away on a tour of the Nova Corporation facility outside of Meiden. As we drive, I regale Anja Bagawati with tales from the war, to give her an impression that I’m really nothing more than a glorified grunt who’s impressed by his rise into the ranks of power as a Vice Admiral and is inclined to brag about it. When I ask an offhand question about a large, windowless building off to one side of the grounds, Anja smiles and says it’s just a warehouse.
“There are containers of wheat inside there that are waiting for shipment to a dozen worlds for further testing in exo-environments.”
“I see.” I nod wisely and drop the subject, as if I am not interested. But I would like to know what’s really in that building...as well as in a few other buildings whose contents are not described. I’m being shown what they want me to see, and they’re not even being particularly sly about it.
“I do hope your ship was not badly damaged in the battle,” Bagawati says. I know she’s pumping me for information, so I spin a tale about how we’re operating at half power in some sections, and how we’ll need to put into drydock as soon as we can so that final repairs can be made. It’s not true, of course; The Seeker’s computer and engine systems can make almost all the necessary repairs from what we have aboard, and the machine shop can fashion the few components that aren’t in stock by diverting power to the resequensors. We wouldn’t be much of a starship if we couldn’t handle just about any sort of mechanical emergency. We’re not a shoestring operation; and ships have been handling in-flight repairs ever since the days of Apollo 13. It’s true that The Seeker will need some drydock work, but she’ll be 90% operational in a very short time.
We learned to repair a lot during the war with the Sonali.
I know the Omarians will have their ground-based telescopes on The Seeker, so the real problem will be to patch her up without the extent of the repairs being obvious. We want them to think she’s barely able to limp back home from here.
Bagawati believes me—who wouldn’t believe a war hero? And I have a reputation for probity that serves me well when I need to hand out a line of bullshit, as I do now. Being a diplomat has taught me a great deal about how to say nothing in a lot of words, and how to lie to someone’s face in utmost sincerity.
All the while I spin my yarns, though, I am worrying about Ashley. How is she going to get the information we need with a guard on duty outside the shuttle?
Ashley
I watch Jeryl saunter away with that slinky Anja Bagawati on his arm and suppress a twinge of jealousy. He’s always good with the ladies, charming when he wants to be—and we need all his charm today. I tell the jealousy to go take a nap and turn to a more pressing problem: what to do about the guard stationed outside the shuttle?
Right now, our Security officer, Jenkins, is engaged in a stare down with the Nova Corporation guard.
They’re locked on each other, but if I try to make a move away from the shuttle, I know the guard will look towards me.
I’m not without some charm of my own, however, as well as other assets. I set to work on the shuttle’s instrument panel, loosening a control module inside of which I have stashed a small pack of things no girl should be without: an electronic lock pick, a quick-suck datastick, and a miniature pharmacopeia. I have even have several of these items hidden at strategic points around The Seeker, as well as one aboard each of the shuttlecraft.
Be prepared, I always say.
I once saw an old flat-film about a fellow who was stuck in a loop of time. Every day when he woke up, he had to live the exact same day again. There’s also a medical condition called “transient global amnesia” that has the same effect: someone who has suffered one of these events can’t create short-term memories.
What most people—including my husband—don’t know is that Union medical science has developed a drug that perfectly replicates this effect. It’s currently available in several “strengths”: two minutes, five minutes, and fifteen minutes. I have a dose of each in each one of my kits.
I tousle my hair, unzip the top of my tunic a little, and step over to the airlock, which is open. Clearing my throat and making my voice breathy, I say, “Excuse me sir,” to the guard standing outside at his post.
Both men look over at me, but my eyes are only for Nova Corp right now.
“What is it?” He’s all business, but when I lean out of the airlock his eyes just naturally go down.
“I’m wanting a cup of coffee, but my resequensor seems to be out of whack. Do you know anything about them?” I give him the big eyes, which he doesn’t notice for a moment because his gaze is elsewhere.
“We’re not supposed to—”
“I’ll come out and explain it to you,” I say, thrusting a leg out. God, aren’t I glad I had a leg day at the gym yesterday.” His eyes go there, too, and by the time he recovers his poise I am outside, standing in front of him.
“My goodness,” I say admiringly, “they do grow them big on Omarias II, don’t they.”
He can’t help it: he puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. I can see Jenkins close his eyes in a scowl, feeling proprietary about his Captain flaunting herself in front of a stranger.
But the Nova Corp guard loves it. He’s now openly staring at my body and I don’t doubt that he’s only had the Trinidec sexbots to keep him company for quite some time. I can tell it’s working. And that’s when I hit him with a two-minute dose from the little dispenser I have hidden in my left hand. He doesn’t notice the spray as it settles on his clothing and sinks in. “I promise that the repair won’t take more than a couple of minutes,” I say. “It’s happened before.”
“Ma’am, I can’t,” he mutters. He knows that he shouldn’t leave his post, and so he stands there with his libido warring against his sense of duty. I walk a few steps in either direction while he struggles with himself, letting him see the goods. Oh, maybe I unzip my tunic top just a teeny, tiny bit more.
“I admire your dedication,” I purr. “It must get awfully uncomfortable in that uniform. It looks so scratchy.”
There’s a bead of perspiration standing out on his forehead, but he remains erect and after one glance down the valley of my breasts he keeps his eyes straight ahead.
I wait for it.
He murmurs, “Ma’am, I can’t.”
I move around behind him and step back into the airlock. The next ninety seconds are the longest in my life.
“Ma’am, I can’t.”
And there you have it. He’ll be stuck in that loop for another half hour, just a ramrod-straight young soldier standing obediently at his post, muttering “Ma’am, I can’t,” every so often. But there is no one close enough to hear.
Except Jenkins.
I quickly flash my eyes to Jenkins. My look is clear. Stand guard in case Mr. Nova Corp comes out of it.
I tuck my hair up under a short black wig, doff my tunic and put on a set of work clothes that I use to help Jeryl work on the shuttle at times, and duck out the door with my little set of tools.
Five minutes gone; twenty-five more before he comes back to his sense.
With the guard temporarily immobilized, I now have only the CCT cameras to worry about. This section of the Meiden space port’s grid, Pad 12, is not fenced off, which is fortunate for me, because I can see other maintenance personnel and pilots walking around on various errands. Some are female, so I know I won’t attract any undue attention with the guard still seemingly at his post. Most space workers have too much to do to pay attention to what’s happening on other pads anyway, as I well know. Still, I can’t dawdle. Carrying a clipboard for added authenticity, I leave the ship and walk as though with purpose toward the closest grid strut, looking it over carefully as I approach. Sure enough, there’s a cluster of CCT lenses, and below that a maintenance terminal.
As though making a report, I tap into the terminal. I don’t know the proper codes, of course, but my little Armada hand-held has more computing power than the entirety of the grid’s big iron, as well as a full freight of viruses, Trojans, and worms. I have to hard link it, but I’ve got patch cords for that, and it’s the work of less than a minute for me to be into their system and riffle through their files. Meiden cybersecurity will be having a cow about this soon, but it serves them right for not being up-to-date with their software. And in a spaceport, no less.
Fifteen minutes left. I risk a glance around the port grid. No one seems to have noticed me. That’s good, I’m just a boring little maintenance tech doing her job, nothing to see here.
Of course, even if their software was up to date I still have some goodies that let me crash right through their web defenses. My time in Armada Intelligence has left me with a legacy of interesting toys and techniques on using them.
I haven’t had to use anything like this during my entire time with Jeryl—and he doesn’t know that I used to work for Intelligence as a full-scale operative.
I’ve never told him about my missions after peace with the Sonali was achieved three years ago. As far as he knows, I take The Seeker out on missions on an ad hoc basis and then come back to shuttle him around as an Admiral. The fact that I captain an “Admiral’s ship” is what got Armada Intelligence attracted to me in the first place.
But I could never tell Jeryl. Not about what I’ve done in the field. My non-disclosure agreements with the Armada keeps me from ever telling anyone, and although I feel bad about it—a marriage doesn’t do well when partners keep secrets—I don’t dare break the NDA terms. I am not part of a cell or even of a unit; I am a solo operator, one of only five in the entire The Seeker. No one can know this except my immediate superior, whom I have had no contact with for several years and may, for all I know, never see again.
All this flashes through my head while my hand-held rips into the data fields. I affix the quick-suck stick to the side of the pad. Now I am sweating; it won’t be more than a minute or two before the port AI realizes something is copying information out of its storage banks. And, according to the timer, I have about five minutes to get back to the ship before the guard comes out of his temporal fugue state. “Come on, come on,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
I’m getting everything, I think: all the records in the port’s computers, every scrap of footage from the cameras, everything we need to prove collusion between the Tyreesians and the Omarians.
At last the upload is complete, and the stick flashes a green LED at me.
“About time,” I mutter, disconnecting the pad and sliding it into my pocket. As casually as I can, I step away from the terminal, and just for good measure I have a good stretch before walking back toward our shuttle. The guard is still standing there, muttering “Ma’am, I can’t” every so often.
One minute, forty-five seconds.
“You’re damn right you can’t,” I say as I pass by him and give Jenkins a thumbs up and duck into the airlock as soon as I’m sure no one is watching. There’s a wide grin on his face.
I rip off the maintenance clothes, remove the wig, fluff out my real hair, and step outside to position myself in front of him just as he says, “Ma’am, I can’t,” one last time and then snaps out of it.
“Oh, well, I understand,” I say sadly. “I’ll tell you what...if I can get it going I’ll bring you a cup, would that be okay?”
He doesn’t even look confused. “We can’t accept anything from off-worlders, I’m sorry,” he says.
“Oh, dear. So am I.” Yeah; except for all the stuff you accept from the frigging Tyreesians, right? “Well, excuse me, I’m going back in.”
“Ma’am.”
I suppress a desire to give Jenkins a wink. But I do give both men an extra wiggle of my ass as I walk back in.
They deserve it.
Jeryl
Trusting Ashley to take care of her end of the plan, I give my arm to Anja Bagawati—not an unpleasant task, I confess—and allow her to lead me away to the aircar. We’ve just stopped at the Sonali War Memorial Park.
“For all those sons of Omarias II that fell during the war,” Anja says as she leads me back. They’ve kept this fake tour going for a while now as I play my part of a semi-clueless military man who is rather full of himself. I pretend not to care about more of the buildings we pass on the carefully orchestrated little tour she’s arranged for me, and blather on about the damage our ship supposedly sustained, making sure to make it sound worse than it in truth is.
Meanwhile I am gathering as much information as I can from her conversation, but she’s a pro—she’s careful not to let too much slip. Nonetheless, I make mental notes as we proceed, in case there’s any chance I’ll find an opportunity to dig a little deeper into what Nova Corporation is up to here.
What Anja says is perfectly legitimate: Nova has been working to develop genetically engineered, pest-resistant strains of wheat that can be used on colony worlds. I know she’s being truthful about this because through my position in Armada Command and seeing reports from various institutions in the Terran Union I’m privy to documents and records that the public usually doesn’t get to see.
Nova is highly regarded on many worlds for their efforts promoting human expansion, but for the very same reason they are despised on certain other worlds. Anja works hard to make certain that I see Nova and the Omarians as victims at the mercy of the Tyreesian privateers we cleaned out.
“We had no idea that that warship was lurking in the vicinity,” she says.
“These things happen,” I say. “Doubtless, they must have been working on their own between the warship and the freighter. The merchant ship approaches an unsuspecting mark with trade deals. If all goes well, there’s no need to call in the muscle. But if the target planet doesn’t like the proposed arrangement or has no interest in doing any deals, the freighter jams communications and yells for help. The warship comes in, parks in orbit, and makes a very convincing argument for the planet to come to terms.” I shrug. “After which, of course, the warship moves off followed by the freighter, and they head for their next target.”
“It’s very fortunate for us that you happened along when you did,” she says, but I can tell that there’s tension in her tone. She is not happy at all. “We’ve had no problem with the Tyreesians until now, even though the border is so close to us. Trading partners arrive here fairly regularly, you see, and we’ve had no reason not to make them welcome.”
Again, Union records bear her out. Until recently, Omarias II was in the middle of nowhere, figuratively speaking. It was off the normal trade routes, and was considered something of a backwater; a place to be from, as opposed to a place to go. It’s a perfectly fine planet with nothing at all that could attract any tourist trade. The entirety of the Omarian system, in fact, has nothing whatsoever in the way of distinguishing characteristics. There are no beautiful ringer worlds like Saturn, no jungle worlds to attract hunters, no water worlds to attract anyone who might be attracted to water worlds (without beaches, what is the point of such planets?), and no worlds with intelligent life. Aside from Omarias II, there are two other rocky, airless worlds closer in to the primary, and three gas giants further out. Aside from a few long-period comets, that’s it.
The Omarians developed a reputation for keeping to themselves, and minding their own business. That all changed after First Contact with the Sonali. Every human-inhabited system drew new attention as nearby stars were examined for any traces of life whether or not they had Earth-type planets. Lo and behold, soon a Tyreesian training camp was discovered on a desolate moon in a star system about two light years away from Omarias II. The closest actual settlement was four light years farther on.
“And it’s that settlement with which we have been trading,” Anja says, leaning a little closer to in the back seat of the chauffeured aircar in which we are touring Meiden. “There’s never been a lick of trouble until now.”
“Ah,” I say knowingly. “But surely there have been pirate raids?”
“Attempted raids, yes,” she says. “But we have defenses. Because we are the only inhabited world in this system, there is no interplanetary commerce. And because of that, there are no mercantile vessels to attract avaricious interest. Furthermore, Vice Admiral, there’s so little in the way of cover as ships travel toward Omarias II—no asteroids, few comets—that we can see their drive plumes almost as soon as they drop out of FTL. Anyone who doesn’t answer our hails is fired upon, and we signal the Armada to alert their forces.”
I know these things to be true, as well. Armada and Terran Union records indicate that there have been three incidents of attempted piracy over the past five years, all successfully beaten off by the alert Omarians.
All of which makes me even more suspicious about the visit of the supposed “pirates.”
“We’ve simply never had this sort of trouble before,” Anja is saying, wide-eyed. “All we grow here, besides our own food crops, is experimental wheat.”
“And what of Nova’s fleet?” I ask. “Surely the past incidents would have been enough to convince the corporation to assign a few ships here to keep guard. I’d think they’d be anxious to protect their investment in the wheat.”
“There are no fleet vessels assigned here,” Anja says. “The corporation doesn’t feel that it would be worth their while to locate defensive assets to Omarias II.”
“I see.” Nova’s attitude seems a little odd to me, given that the Union has likewise not had the Armada set up any patrols for this planet. “Would you like to talk to someone in the chain of command?” I ask. “I’m sure I could have an Armada ship or two posted here for your safety.”
“I’m afraid that would be very inconvenient for them, wouldn’t it?” she asks.
Inconvenient for you, you mean. I think. “Not at all, my dear, not at all; it’s the Armada’s duty to protect all citizens of the Union. I assure you, I can have ships stationed here within a fortnight, and you will face no further threats from pirate incursions.” I say.
I can see from the flash of dismay in her eyes that the last thing she wants is to have a couple of ships full of incorruptible Armada Marines circling her planet, cutting off what much be a lucrative revenue stream. No doubt it’s serving to fill the pockets of the upper echelons of the Omarian government; graft is the same no matter where you go. The rich and powerful benefit, while the man in the street gets nothing.
“We would be endlessly grateful to you, Vice Admiral,” she says, affording me some secret amusement.
Anja’s heart isn’t in the remainder of the tour, and for my part I’m finding her company tiresome but I must spin this out as long as I can to give Ashley the time she needs to dig information out of the Omarian databanks.
But at last Anja ends the tour after her pad beeps and someone in her office says a meeting has been called. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Anja says. This of course is bullshit; no doubt she has arranged to receive the call as a pretext to wrap up this ridiculous tour. She pretends regret, I pretend solicitude, and we head back to the shuttle.
As the aircar pulls up outside the landing grid, I can see the guard still standing at his post. I frown as he seems to mutter something to himself, but then Ashley steps out of the craft and he shakes his head as though clearing it. What has been going on here? Oh, well, Ashley will let me know. In any event, she seems to have accomplished her goal; she has a broad smile on her lovely face.
“Ah, Captain,” I say. “How are the repairs progressing?”
“Quite well, sir,” she says. “I trust you found the tour entertaining?” She glares at Anja, who maintains a bland expression. I restrain a grin.
“Most enlightening,” I say. Her quote well is a code phrase that lets me know she’s been successful and that we should get the hell out of here and back to The Seeker as quickly as we can.
This suits me perfectly well. I take Anja’s hand and bow over it. “Thank you for a wonderful time,” I say.
“The pleasure was all mine,” she says. We’re both lying. She sketches a salute to Ashley, gets into the limo, and is driven away.
“She’s very attractive, don’t you think?” Ashley asks me as we enter the shuttle.
“Oh, do you think so? I hadn’t noticed.”
She elbows me in the ribs, and I burst out laughing. To her credit, so does she.
Ashley
We are at the shuttle’s control panels, awaiting permission from Meiden Control to lift off. “What’s taking them so long?” Jeryl grouses. “This delay makes me nervous. Are you sure you’ve covered your tracks well enough?”
I give him a pained look. “Don’t you trust me to get the job done?”
“Of course I do.” He drums his fingers on the arm of his acceleration chair. “I just want to get off this planet, is all. I may represent the Terran Armada, but if they think we’ve cracked their security...”
“It’s true they may have had a little computer trouble,” I say.
“Yeah, no kidding. You’re the trouble.”
“I think they’ve suffered some sort of data incursion and are trying to pin down the source.”
“Tell me they won’t be able to do that,” he says.
“They won’t be able to do that,” I say, deadpanning.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he says with a wry smile.
“I’m fairly sure a few Trojans got into the system, uh, somehow...and wiped out all traces of the entry point.” I explain.
“A pity.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
At last Meiden Control comes through with our permissions. They may suspect us, but there’s no proof, and they know they can’t keep us here indefinitely. Jeryl, of course, has a perfect alibi, being with Miss Slinky the whole time. The guard will have assured his superiors that I never left the shuttle, and I was very careful to edit the security video records. There’s no trace of me leaving or re-entering the landing grid.
We lift off from the grid. “This is a relief,” says Jeryl, and I agree with him. On the other hand, I haven’t done any work “on the ground” like that in a while, and it was nice to use some of my old skills. I was very happy to see that I can still handle that sort of thing, not that I had any doubts.
Shortly we’re approaching The Seeker on a standard entry. Once we dock, Jeryl and I head for our quarters where we can go over the data I have stolen.
Putting up a DO NOT DISTURB flag on my channel, I get down to work uploading the information off the data stick.
“I still don’t see how you were able to do this,” Jeryl says as we watch the transfer indicator slowly approach 100%. There’s a lot of encoded stuff in there that will take time to unravel. “I wouldn’t have let you do it except that your file has a mention lately that you’re able to perform covert missions if the situation warrants.”
“Honey,” I say laying a hand on his arm, “I have to confess something to you.”
He gives me a suspicious look. “What do you mean? Confess what?”
“Well, you remember after the war...you went to work for the Diplomatic Corps within the Armada. You were so totally focused on breathing life into your Galactic Council concept.”
He shrugs. “Sure, so what?”
“And I told you I was busy with my duties as a captain, helming various missions, when I wasn’t shuttling you around?”
“Well, Admirals do get to pick their ship, and I thought we spoke—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“But that’s not all I was doing,” I say pointedly.
“Sure, you were...wait a minute. You told me; you mean you were doing other things that you weren’t telling me?”
“I’m afraid that’s so.”
“Wait—while we were married?”
“Yes.”
He glances around the room as though he were looking for help. “Okay. What were you doing?”
“I worked for Armada Intelligence for three years.”
“You what?”
I repeat it.
“Yeah yeah, I got it...Intelligence?”
“Yes. I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you. You understand, don’t you?”
A long moment of silence passes.
“I guess so, but it’s a lot to take in. So you were an agent all that time?”
I nod.
“Working on what, exactly?”
“I can’t tell you that. I wouldn’t have told you this much even now but you have a need to know. Command agreed when I joined that I could tell you this much. And it’s why I insisted that you let me do the op planetside.”
Jeryl remains silent, looking out the windows to the stars. I stare at him. Will this be the straw that breaks us?
He heaves a deep sigh. “Cripes, hon, this...wow. At a loss for words, here.”
“I feel bad about keeping all that from you, my love.” It’s no lie; I really do feel torn between my duty to the Union, of which I am proud, and my duty to my husband not to lie to him. Although some of my Intelligence work must still remain cloaked, at least I have been able to tell him this much.
I glance at the computer screen. It’s going to be at least another half hour before the upload is complete. I turn back to Jeryl and begin to unfasten my tunic, letting it fall to the floor. I unbuckle my pants and wiggle my ass because I think I know how we can spend that time. “I need to know that you forgive me for keeping secrets from you,” I whisper, leaning close so that my breasts brush his arm. “Would you like me to...beg for it?”
Danger always arouses me, and I am feeling very aroused just now, having successfully completed a tricky mission on Omarias II.
“There are several things I’d like you to beg for,” he says to me, and my heart beats a little faster because he has used that low-pitched sexy voice that never makes it out of the bedroom.
“You’ve kept secrets from me, Ash,” Jeryl says with a glint in his eye. “I’m going to teach you to not do that again.”
“Is that a challenge?” I say, biting my lip.
He doesn’t reply.
He has a lot to learn about me, and his first lesson is going to be that I don’t back down from a challenge. Instead, I always up the ante, and that’s just what I plan to do. Unbuckling his pants, I look him in the eyes as he tries to keep a straight face, but I know he’s shocked and wondering what the hell I’m about to do.
His cock is warm and soft, falling into my hands as he spreads his legs to keep his pants from falling. With my eyes still locked on his, I lower to my knees.
“What are you doing?” He smirks, and we both know I’ve outdone his little arrogant move.
“I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count,” I say boldly as I settle onto my knees, slipping him into my mouth before he can begin to speak his objection.
“Fuck!” He bites through his teeth as I press my head back and forth, swirling my tongue around him shaft as I bob back and forth.
He groans loudly when I take him as deep as I can, and then his hand falls to my hair, gently moving the stray hairs from my face. He’s looking down at me, and I’m staring back up, smiling as best as I can at him.
“I said you need to beg,” he warns me, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of my response.
“Mmm,” I manage, my mouth quite full.
His fingers intertwine in my hair as his hips thrust forward, fast and hard. He thrusts as if making love to my mouth, deliberate and paced; my eyes fill with tears as I struggle to breath past him.
His second hand pulls my arm up and places it on his hip. I feel his hips surging forward rapidly, and I grip him tight, moving back and forth with his rhythm, pressing along with him.
“Look at me, baby. Let me see your eyes,” he grunts and I happily oblige.
“Open your mouth. Stick your tongue out,” he instructs. I can see his abdomen flexing through his t-shirt and know this is putting him on the edge, ready to explode at any second. He twitches in my mouth, just slightly and I taste a salty cream hit the back of my throat. Instinctually, my tongue races to taste it, and he lets out a moan in response.
“Open up for me, baby…Let me fuck you,” He growls, his eyes flashing to the overhead lights in my quarters.
My mind is racing with all the things I want to do to him. I begin humming and moaning, trying to push him to climax. He growls as my sounds hit the tip of his manhood, vibrating the most sensitive spot on his body.
“Oh fuck, Ash! I’m going to…” he groans, his body leaning over as his pleasure overflows into my mouth.
He tugs my arm as soon as we are on my floor, pulling me tightly against his body. His lips find mine in a second and my tongue slides inside his, letting him taste himself on my tongue. He grips the nape of my neck, dipping me back to accommodate his dominating kiss.
My leg climbs up his body, and he grips the back of my thighs, walking me backwards until my back hits the wall of the hallway. His boxers are now pulled up, but I can still feel his erection as he presses against my pelvis.
“I want to take you right here,” he whispers, pulling away from our passionate kiss.
“Yeah?” I ask before licking my lips.
“Yeah. You’ll be screaming so loud your guards outside will know something is up,” he smirks.
He’s so sexy and strong; knowing he can lift me like a feather and seeing him do it, just imagining all the ways and places I can fuck him, makes my mind scream.
“Strip for me,” he growls, and I scramble to take them off before unclasping my bra, releasing my large breasts. Catching one in each hand, I watch his length grow before my eyes as he looks over my body with hungry eyes.
“See something you like?” I raise up on my knees, poking my ass out as I push my breasts further into my grasp.
“You’re sexy as fuck,” he sighs and I lower my hand between my legs, sliding my index finger down to feel myself. I am soaking wet after all of this build up; I could bring myself to climax easily, but I clench down when the pleasure pours out of us together.
“Would you fuck me already?” I whine, finally, shamelessly begging.
Without words, Jeryl walks us over to me his mouth drops between my legs before I can get a word out. Wasting no time, he kisses my opening like he did my mouth, aggressively and dominating. My sex pulses around his tongue and I feel the first vibrations of my orgasm building in my chest. My chest is rising and falling rapidly, my moans loud and needy.
“Right there! Yes!” I cry when he touches my G-spot with his tongue as he curls that long slither of wetness toward my front vaginal wall.
Knowing he’s found my spot, he slides two fingers inside of me and gently caresses my hot spot, over and over, while his tongue works to split my lower lips, exposing my engorged clitoris. Taking me into his mouth, I feel myself fall over the edge as he sucks me into an explosion, his mouth growing gentler as the vibrations rack through my body.
“Mmm…You’re sweeter than I remember,” he licks his lips, tasting my arousal. It’s so fucking sexy, my body clenches, already on the verge of climaxing again.
Climbing up my body, he slams into me without so much warning and I scream in delight. He’s so long and thick, spreading me to my max deliciously. My slippery sex welcomes him as my legs wrap around his waist, my ankles crossing on the small of his back.
“Fuck! You feel amazing,” he growls as his body lifts and lowers into me, first slowly— too slowly. His manhood is too big to move slowly, my body is craving a pounding from him and he knows it. After an orgasm like that, I need to feel him hard and fast.
“Fuck me, baby!” I yell and he smirks, his body responding instantly, his pace increasing as he collides with me roughly, just how I need.
He feels amazing, and my body begins building up again. My second orgasm is imminent, and I’m ready for it. With my hands raised above my head, I press against the headboard to push into him, meeting him at every thrust. Our bodies are rocking together perfectly, the chemistry is through the roof.
“You’re ready to cum again, baby,” he growls, his mouth lowering to my neck as he sucks my skin gently.
“Yes! Oh God! Yes!” I cry, my voice strained and desperate as I feel my insides prepare for an explosion. He feels so good, it’s almost too much to bear. Of course, I’ve had orgasms before, but nothing like this. My entire body is rattled as the second climax spills out of me.
His cock slides in easier as my cream coats his length. His groans push me onward, I absolutely love that I’m turning him on as much as he’s getting me off. I can’t wait to taste his essence again, but before he’ll give it to me, he slides out of me, and flips me over with a flick of his wrist on my hip.
Climbing to my knees, I rest on all fours as I wait for him to enter me from behind. With his hands on my hips, he pulls me back onto his cock, slamming into me as I scream in ecstasy. He feels even better from this angle, his rod deep in my belly. My head falls to the bed as I arch my back and push my ass backward in sync with his rhythm. Our bodies are sheen with a coat of sweat, making us slide against each other smoothly as he fucks me hard and fast from behind, stretching my tight pussy even further.
“Tell me what you want,” he growls, his hand rising in the air before falling harshly on my ass cheek. My body bucks like an animal, as he grips my hips to hold on for the ride.
“Yes! Yes! Again!” I cry and he slaps my other cheek even harder. The pain and pleasure work hand in hand and I feel myself readying for another orgasm. He grunts in response to my bucking, his hips surging faster and deeper into my velvety insides.
My body is building too fast, and the vibrations are too strong. I’m afraid of what’s about to happen, as this climax threatens to tear me in two it’s so powerful. My body rages onward, throwing my ass back to Jeryl as his aggression surges.
“Stop fighting and give it to me, Ash!” He yells.
On cue my orgasm rushes out of me, my body going limp, but Jeryl doesn’t seem to care. He pumps me full of cock until my pussy stops squeezing him, and my climax fades away. Sliding out of me, I feel his hand at my sex in a cup-like motion. Dragging his hand up my ass crack, he coats my third hole in my own juices before sliding his cock into my tight ass.
“Ahhh!” I scream in shock. I wasn’t expecting that, but damn it feels good.
“That’s my girl.” His voice is low and steady. He’s in such control, while I’m losing it, coming back to back, which has never happened to me before.
I feel the vibrations again, and know there’s no way I can take another explosion. My body is just too weak, but he feels too good to stop. I want to lose myself in another orgasm, and I know he’s not going to stop until he makes that happen.
“That’s it, baby,” he coaches me as his voice grows slightly unsteady. It’s getting too good to him, I can tell.
“Yes! Please!” My orgasm is right there, just strokes away. All I need is a little slight pressure on my clit, and as if he can read my mind, his hand reaches around and squeezes me tightly. Opening his fingers, he rubs his fingertips frantically across my sensitive spot and I explode again, my body collapsing.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Jeryl flips me onto my back, his body quickly climbing my body until his cock is shoved in my mouth. He begins thrusting in just like he was fucking me, and I taste myself on him. The rawness of it all just turns me on, and his hips are losing control, which lets me know he’s getting close to his own orgasm.
“Oh, you’re mouth feels so good, baby. Open up for your Admiral,” he groans, his cock slamming to the back of my throat, as I struggle to breathe, trying not to choke.
My eyes are filled with tears again as my gag reflex threatens my constitution. But my mind flares up.
An evil thought starts going through my brain.
Jeryl’s groans are growing weaker, more vulnerable like moans as he inches toward his orgasm. It’s the sexiest shit ever, and it pushes me to take his jabs to the back of my throat with ease, knowing there’s a load of spunk at the finish line if I can just take a little pounding.
“Oh, fuck! Take it, baby! Stick your tongue out,” he whispers, looking down at me. I try to take him deep and I gag on the tip of his cock, my mouth filling with saliva.
He stops thrusting forward, dangling his throbbing cock right in front of my mouth. Cocking my head back, I let spit drip out onto his shaft and quickly work my hand to rub it in, jerking him roughly.
“Oh, God!” His eyes close before he looks down at me again. I can tell he’s in his own heaven of pleasure as his hips begin pumping forward again. I stroke in rhythm to his thrusts, and I feel his strokes become more erratic.
“This what you want?” I smirk, inching my lips back towards him, flicking my tongue out tantalizingly.
He thrusts forward with more force in response, and I hesitate for one excruciating moment before letting him back into my mouth, letting his full length slide in and out with ease.
He’s coated in my juices and my spit, sliding in and out of my mouth as I struggle to suck the head of him as much as I can before he’s surging back into my throat. His rhythm is relentless, and just when I think I can’t take anymore his balls draw up. I know he’s close to coming, so I brace myself. To my surprise, and a bit to my horror, he slows and then abruptly stops. Shifting down my body, he straddles my upper torso, his cock landing between my breasts.
“Hold them together,” he instructs me breathlessly, and I do as he says, cupping one large breast in each hand as I push them together, letting him slide between them with the help of my saliva.
Jeryl adds his own spit between my tits, and he slides even smoother. I can tell he’s running from his orgasm, trying not to cum, but I want him to. I want him to cum in this position so I feel myself coated in him. Making it my business to push him over the edge, I talk nasty to arouse him further.
“You want to cover me…Admiral?” I ask seductively, licking my lips as he thrust his cock between my breasts.
“Fuck yeah!” He bites out the words and I know he’s not far from losing control.
I let my naughty thoughts linger through my brain and take over as I call him ‘Admiral’ and arch my back, pushing my breasts forward into my hands as I massage my nipples between the pad of my thumb and my index fingertip. His eyes close slowly and I know he can’t bear to watch me without coming.
“You like that don’t you, Admiral? You like watching these bounce just for you,” I move my hands up and down to exaggerate the movement, causing my breasts to shake violently with each of his thrusts.
“Do that,” he says through clenched teeth.
“Oh…you like that, Admiral?” I ask seductively continuing to make my breasts bounce.
“Yeah…Oh, fuck,” his eyes close again and I think he’s going to lose it.
His hips pump more aggressively, and I feel his pelvis bucking against me, knowing he needs the friction. Reaching behind his long rod, I grip his balls in my hand and squeeze firmly.
“Ahhh! Ash! Fuck!” He yells, almost in a whining tone. He’s on his brink, and I can feel myself racing towards my own orgasm just watching him.
“Yes! Oh, shit, Jeryl! You’re gonna make me cum again,” I moan, my control seeping through me as I squeeze my nipples. Reaching backward, he shoves his middle fingers inside my wet snatch, curling upward as he penetrates me quickly. Oh, God it’s magnificent. His hips are still thrusting between my breasts and now we’re both on the brink of an explosion.
“You’re not getting this nut until you cum for me, baby,” he warns, and I shriek out, wanting to taste him so bad.
“Faster, Admiral!” I cry, eager for another climax.
“I’ll give you what you want, baby! Tell me what you want,” he roars.
“I want you to cum all over me,” I plead.
“Then cum for me! Fuck, baby! I’m about to bust for you. Give it to me, Ash!” He barks and I explode on command, my body feeling like a deflated balloon, as the air escapes me dramatically. My hands struggle to hold on to my breasts as he continues to pump me, now more aggressive since he can focus on his own release.
“Yes, Jeryl!” I yell, my own body still reeling from the explosion.
“Beg for it,” he bites his bottom lip, holding himself back as he looks down into my eyes.
“Please, Jeryl! Please! I want to taste you, Admiral! Cum all over me,” I plead, sticking my tongue out. I can tell he’s about to cum before he even pulls his cock into his hand, sliding his grip up and down his shaft fast and hard.
“Louder! Beg for it!,” he growls loudly.
“I want it, so bad! Please,” I beg and his eyes hood over. I open my mouth wide as the warm white cream begins to ooze from his cock.
Moving over my body, he shoots some off everywhere. A little on my tongue, then some on my cheek. Another glob lands on my breast, and even more on my belly, as his body bends over, as he milks every drop from his twitching cock.
I pull him back into my mouth and suck gently as he spasms in my mouth, another lob landing on my tongue as he moans in ecstasy.
“Fuck…” He growls, and I take him to the back of my throat, sucking all of him until he holds the nape of my neck so I can’t move any further.
“Holy fuck,” he sighs.
When The Seeker’s computer signals that the upload is complete, we’re still lost in each other. The chime barely penetrates my consciousness, but I do manage to gasp, “It’s done.”
“But I’m not,” he whispers. And neither am I...but within a few minutes we come again, and are basking in an afterglow that must, regretfully, be truncated. Duty calls.
There are a great number of data files, and we set the computer to analyzing these. There are also video files, and these we want to examine ourselves, particularly the ones captured around the time the Tyreesian freighter was in orbit.
“Tap into the cameras around the landing grid,” I suggest. “If there’s any funny business going on, it’ll involve off-worlders.”
“I’m on it,” Jeryl says, and he calls up the feeds. Half of them go to his monitors and half go to mine. For the little while there are no sounds in the room other than our chairs creaking from time to time as we shift in them while we scan the records. We don’t have a precise time stamp on when the Tyreesian freighter landed, but it had to have been within a range of a planetary day, and that day’s records are what we examine.
“Here we go,” Jeryl suddenly says.
“Got the freighter?” I ask.
“Yep.” He sends the video feed to my monitor and I watch as the Tyreesian ship settles into the landing grid as gracefully as a soap bubble. “Nice piloting.” I observe.
“The Tyreesians know their stuff.”
We watch impatiently as the freighter is linked to the port’s service umbilicals. Jeryl, as impatient as I, taps the FAST FORWARD key and we see techs scampering around to make sure the connections are secure. The freighter’s main airlock snaps open and ten Tyreesians skitter out. Jeryl clicks the FF key again to disengage it, and the aliens slow to normal speed as they walk down the ramp to the ground.
He and I see it at once. “Whoa!” he says. I say, “Zoom in, please.”
At first glance we are looking at an undistinguished group of Tyreesians. All are about 6 feet tall, heavyset, with the typical Tyreesian long-braided hairstyle. Eight of them walk away from the freighter, leaving two in conversation. One has his back to the camera. There is something familiar about his stance, and I scrunch up my face, trying to place him.
They shake hands briefly in the Tyreesian manner. One of the pair walks back inside the ship. The other turns around to follow his eight comrades, revealing his face to us.
“Freeze it there,” says Jeryl, and the computer stops the footage. We stare at the Tyreesian. We have a very clear look at him, and can even count the wrinkles around his ear-slits.
I shake my head in disbelief. “That can’t be him.”
Jeryl sucks his teeth. “Sure as hell looks like him.”
“But how...?”
“I don’t know,” Jeryl says. He gestures at the screen. “But there he is.”
“Well, shit fire, babe.”
“No kidding. Listen, Ash, how long before we have our engines back online?”
A quick call to Engineering gets the answer: less than an hour. The Omarians think we’ll be here for another day or so, because that’s what we’ve told them.
I have Navigation plot a course out-system, toward New Washington. Then I call Engineering again. “As soon as they’re ready, give me ahead full. I want us out of here so fast that we make their satellites spin in their orbits.”
“Aye!” I turn to Jeryl. “Sufficient, sir?”
“Very good, Captain” he says, grinning as he rises from my seat. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go talk to the delegates.”
Once we get to New Washington, we’re both going to want to talk to Grand Admiral Flynn.
You don’t have to be Armada Intelligence to know that’ll be an interesting conversation.
Jeryl
“Vice Admiral,” my comm link chirps. “All the delegates are assembled in the recreational center. Please advise.”
I tap my comm link. “Hold them there. I’m on my way. How is security?” It has been a hectic, dreadful day. I know some of Ashley’s crew may be feeling vindictive.
“Secure, sir,” the chief of security says. “I have a full complement of security personnel guarding the center. I’ll be there myself to oversee things.”
“Well done, commander,” I say, before releasing my hand from the comm unit, effectively cutting the link.
“What are you going to tell them?” asks Ashley as I make my way for the door.
I pause and turn back at her. “What else is there to tell? The truth.”
She shakes her head in protest. “You can’t. That’s classified information. We should kick it up the chain of command.”
I chuckle.
“I am the chain of command, captain,” I say. “Why don’t you go to the CNC and coordinate the repair efforts. We should ready to leave within the hour. Perhaps, it will boost ship morale to see their captain on her feet.”
Ashley flashes me a cold look, which is kind of weird considering we just had sex.
My heart melts. I walk over to her and touch her lightly on her shoulders.
I look her in the eyes and say, “Don’t worry. I have this thing all figured out. Trust me. Okay?”
She doesn’t respond for what feels like one minute.
She finally heaves a sigh. “Okay. I trust you.”
I smile and walk out of her quarters. There are two security personnel waiting outside Ashley’s quarters. One is assigned to me, while the other is assigned to Ashley. Part of the armed guard that the Armada still insists Captains and Admirals should use on board its own starships.
I wonder if any other power in the universe mistrusts its own officers as much as we do.
They both salute me when I step out, and one follows me away from the room to the recreational center.
I certainly don’t have things figured out. I just really want all these to end. It is beginning to give me a migraine.
It’s not like I am trained as a diplomat. I am trained as an explorer and during the war as a warrior. But a diplomat? I don’t even like diplomats and bureaucrats and paper pushers. To me, they are all of the same stock.
It is just that after being the one to end the Earth-Sonali War, I became the de facto face of the Terran Union to the galactic powers. I was immediately commissioned by a unanimous vote of Armada Command to represent the Terran Union along with the Diplomatic Corps to the various powers of the galaxy and mandated to establish a Galactic Council—which over time I came to see the value in.
At first I thought no other race would even consider joining.
Well, at first I thought there’s no one who wouldn’t want peace. Now, it appears the Tyreesians were playing a game with us all along. I have no idea why. To keep us off balance? To distract us? A prelude to war? I know that this Tyreesian gambit can only lead to bad eventualities. I can’t do this on my own. I have to get the delegates in on this. Let them know that in the end it wasn’t a human fault that scuttled the talks that have taken three years of our lives. It was caused by the Tyreesians.
And if the strongest powers in the galaxy don’t have a place to resolve their differences peacefully, we’ll soon be in another war. I can tell. Although, maybe this time we will be united through war against a common enemy: the Tyreesians.
As my security personnel and I exit the elevator into the wide hallway that leads up to the double doors of the recreational center, I can hear a cacophony of voices and yells coming from within. Lining the hallway are armed guards. They nod at me as I pass, but I don’t pay them much heed. I am consumed with the problem before me.
The moment I walk into the recreational center, the delegates spot me and their noise increases. They are seated on chairs right in the middle of the center, their lead delegates taking up the front line of seats.
“There he is!” shouts one.
“You promised we would be safe!” shouts another.
“We were almost destroyed!” shouts yet another.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
And then they were all talking all at once, yelling and accusing me.
I walk right in front of them and stand still, my hands folded right behind me. I look at each one of these aliens, yelling for a response from me. The leaders are the most agitated.
The guards have formed a loose circle around us in the recreational center, though they look outwards and pointed their guns in that direction.
I raise my hands to calm them, but they only get louder. I can feel their anger, I can feel their fear. I can feel their frustration. I know I would feel this way if I were in their shoes. So I don’t blame them. I only empathize with them.
Finally, I take a deep breath—and scream.
“Please calm the fuck down!” I roar above their noise.
Shocked, the faces of the delegates and their retinues are frozen. No one has ever probably addressed them as such. Ever.
Silence prevails in the center.
“Vice Admiral, why are we still aboard this ship?” asks one of the leaders. “You whisk us from the diplomatic compound in New Washington and then transport us without our consent to an unknown destination. You keep us locked in our rooms like rats. And you force us to live in jeopardy and fear of reprisal attack from you crew…”
“I am sorry, if I have caused you any harm,” I begin to say.
“You have!” roars the Sonali lead delegate. “You have and you know it. We have been unable to contact our respective governments. Every now and then some crewmate passes by our quarters screaming anti-alien obscenities that are too barbaric to be uttered by the cultured tongue. And you stand before us with a pretentious attitude?”
The Sonali lead delegate stops and the lead delegate of the Children of Norm continues, albeit in a more subdued and less condemning tone. “What exactly is happening, Vice Admiral?”
“Thank you, sir,” I say in gratitude, “for giving me the opportunity to explain what has been happening.”
“As you all well know the circumstances of event that led us to flee New Washington,” I start.
“Well it is those same circumstances that led us to the Omarias II star system in search of what exactly happened to Leader Greer of the Tyreesian Collective. I suppose if anything evil were to happen to any of you, god forbid, you would want the appropriate attention to be given to it.
“I don’t trust anyone else to investigate this but me. This is why we came here. Unfortunately, we were attacked by a Tyreesian warship, as most of you already probably know, and we had to defend ourselves, our crew, and our complement of diplomats, leading us to destroy the warship.”
“Greer never wanted this Council to happen,” the Sonali lead spouts with renewed acrimony. “Now he has paid for it with his life. The Tyreesians must have assassinated him, and I wouldn’t blame them. If I were them I would assassinate the Tyreesian fool too.”
“Computer,” I say, taping my comm. “Play the recording we obtained from Omarias II in the recreation center.”
“Working…” blasts the feminine voice in the hall.
A holographic feed erupts beside me and immediately captures the attention of all the delegates. The feed shows the Omarias space station on the planet’s surface and a freighter landing in the dock. It then cuts to the freight’s main doors opening and ten Tyreesians walking out.
The delegates must have recognized some of the Tyreesians as members of the Tyreesian party because they begin to murmur.
For effect, I say, “This recording was taken right after the incident at New Washington.”
The feed then shows two Tyreesians talking at the foot of the freighter. It is unclear who they are. One gives the other a handshake and returns into the vehicle, while the other walks in the direction the others went.
Before the Tyreesian walks out of the field of view of the camera, he comes close enough for us to see his face.
“Computer, freeze frame!”
The holographic projection freezes.
A gasps of murmur sweeps across the delegates. Everyone, including the leaders, are staring at the clear image of Leader Greer alive and well on Omarias II.
A definite silence follows.
“For some time, we have been working on a matter transportation technology,” I begin to say. “I don’t work with Armada Intelligence, but what little information I received or deduced from my briefings suggested that we were still quite a long way from developing it. It appears the Tyreesians have developed this technology.
“You see, matter and energy are interconvertible. Matter can be converted to energy and vice versa. The matter transport theory hinges on this interconvertibility to transport matter via energy from one point in space to another.
“I should probably not be telling you this because it’s classified information, but if we are going to form a galactic council, we’ll have to trust one another. We’ll have to share with one another. We’ll have to work with one another.”
The delegates are now transfixed with what I have to say. The silence continues, and I must say I am enjoying it. It’s not every time you get to make one full sentence with a room filled with diplomats who all want what’s best for their people.
“Right from day one, Leader Greer has been driving us apart. I believe this is why. It allowed the Tyreesians get a jump on this technology, while for the past three years we’ve all been fighting amongst ourselves as they’ve been perfecting something that could give them a leg up on this quadrant of space. This has been their plans all along.”
Even though I’m done talking, the delegates remain dumbfounded. No one speaks or asks a question.
“The question isn’t me endangering you, delegates,” I say calmly. “It’s whether we’ve been played a fool by the Tyreesians for the last several years.”
Silence reigns.
I have nothing more to say.
So I walk out, leaving them to the frozen holographic image of Leader Greer of the Tyreesian Collective.
Jeryl
The security chief comes after me in the hallway.
“Vice Admiral!” I hear.
I’m already in the elevator, but I put my hand in the path of the sliding doors to keep them open.
“What is it, commander?”
“What do I do with them?” he asks, pointing towards the recreation center.
“Send them back to their quarters,” I reply. “They can also remain in the recreation center if they want to. But it’s either their quarters or the recreational center. Nowhere else.”
“Should we seal off the entire center?” she asks.
I think about it for a while. The crew need the center as much as the aliens. But from previous experience, some crew members may take it as an occasion to make trouble. While thankfully, no delegate has died, including Greer, I wouldn’t want that to start on this ship. I certainly wouldn’t want an Armada officer to be responsible.
There would be no returning from that.
“What do you think, chief?” I ask.
The security chief does a double take on that. She stares at me as though I haven’t really asked her opinion.
I smile, arching my eyebrow for a response.
She clears her throat. “Sir, I think we can let others into the recreational center. We will have guards in the center and around, so no one will get any ideas. Also, people need to be free to move around. Keeping them locked up or keeping them away from the RC will only make them grumpier—and grumpy people do foolish things.”
“I couldn’t have said it better, commander,” I say. “Do as you say.”
She nods and walks back to the RC. I ride the elevator to the first deck, where I connect with another elevator that takes me straight to the CNC.
Ashley is sitting in the captain’s chair. I see from the view screen that we’re already hurtling through space at FTL factor 4.
“How much time before we get to New Washington?” I ask, announcing my presence to the CNC crew. Ashley turns to see me.
“We are less than thirty minutes out, sir,” replies the navigations officer.
“How did it go?” Ashley asks the moment I am within range of her whispers.
“I showed them the feed.”
Her eyes widen.
“I told them what I know of Armada Intelligence’s plans to develop a matter transport technology,” I continue.
I see the disapproving look in Ashley’s eyes.
“You disapprove?”
“Of course, I disapprove,” she says, “I know how folks at Armada Intelligence think and operate. They’ll raise hell if they know you told them classified information.”
“And how will they find out?” I ask her. “Are you going to tell them?”
It is not my intention, but I can’t help the condemning tone with which I speak.
Ashley doesn’t reply. She looks away at her view screen.
I am about to head over to the workstation to the right, when she speaks again.
“I may not tell them” she says, “but that’s not to stop the delegates or their retinue from speaking to people they know. I bet you they already have.”
“We are receiving a priority slipstream communication from Admiral Flynn,” says the communications officer. He turns to look at me. “It’s for you sir.”
“On my screen,” I say.
“Aye, sir,” the communications officer says.
On my screen I see a message. I open it and read its content. The Admiral is requesting I meet him the moment The Seeker enters orbit. He wants me to come alone.
I glance at Ashley to see her looking at me. I motion for her to come, which she does. She reads the message.
“Why does he want you to come alone?” she asks.
“I’ll have to find out,” I say.
Ashley says, “Have a shuttle and a pilot ready for the Vice Admiral,” Ashley says. “He leaves immediately we enter orbit.”
“Destination, ma’am?” asks the operations officer.
“Armada Command,” she says as she returns to her chair.
“Aye, ma’am,” the operations officer says. “A pilot will be standing by at Shuttle Bay 03.”
I head over to shuttle bay three. By the time I’m strapped in the shuttle and the Lieutenant is done with his preflight checklist, we are cleared for departure.
Ten minutes later we are landing on a landing pad at Armada Command. There is an officer waiting for me as I exit from the shuttle.
“Vice Admiral,” he says, “right this way.”
He leads me through a door into an elevator that descends three levels. We walk into a small lobby with a homely decor, the fresh smell of coffee, and a holographic screen tuned to the news. There is a small desk by a wide door, where a lady sits, looking at her computer.
“Hey,” I say to the Admiral’s secretary.
She waves at me, then returns her attention to her screen.
“This is where I leave you, sir,” says the officer, standing by the door. “The Admiral is waiting for you on the other side.”
The door opens and Admiral Flynn is in the doorway. “Come on in, Jeryl,” he says.
I walk into the Admiral’s office and the Admiral closes the door behind me. We both head over to the couch and sit down.
“I received your message,” Admiral Flynn begins. “You engaged a Tyreesian warship in the Omarias Nova Star System.”
It isn’t a question, even though it sounds like one. The Admiral is looking at me intently.
“Sir, with all due respect,” I say, “it’s time for you to come clean. I don’t think you invited me here to have my intelligence insulted. What’s really going on?”
The Admiral seems taken back by my response. At first, I see anger fleet cross his eyes, before it is subdued by reason.
“Did you know about Greer?” I ask, point blank.
The Admiral sighs and reclines his back on the couch.
“Armada intelligence began to suspect Greer of nefarious purposes the first time he set foot on New Washington three years back,” he says. “We were particularly suspicious that the Tyreesians were on the verge of cracking the matter transportation technology that we have been trying to develop for quite a number of years now. Our suspicion was confirmed when we noticed that during your negotiations with the delegates, the Tyreesians were strategically blocking certain transfers of key technologies that would have helped us achieve this matter transport technology.
“You see, the Tyreesians aren’t that more advanced than us. In some ways they are behind, in other ways they are ahead. As strong as their weapons are, it’s barely one generation ahead. Everything they hit you with or even their shields—we’ve probably got on our drawing boards or labs. They got a jumpstart on developing this matter transport technology and it served their interest to keep the delegates fighting.”
“That much I figured,” I reply. “Their shields are way advanced than ours. Their weaponry however are not so advanced. They were able to incapacitate us because they had the jump on us and targeted specific systems.”
The Admiral nods as he muses over what I’ve just said.
“You may not have figured this though,” he says. “The person in charge of the Tyreesian science team charged with developing the matter transport technology is none other than Leader Greer. And the first time he uses his technology in an open environment was for a diplomatic sleight of hand.
“That son of a bitch.” I remark, though indecorously.
“Armada Intelligence could not confirm this at first,” Admiral Flynn continues, “so they decided to keep it close to their vests until hey had enough information. But you’ve basically spilled the beans on this one, so they decided to tell us what they know.”
I sigh, shaking my head more from exhaustion than from annoyance.
“What now?” I say.
“We need to catch up with the Tyreesians,” Admiral Flynn says, teeth on teeth. “Those bastards are getting bold, attacking an Armada vessel in Terran space. We need to even the odds to stave off another war less than five years after the last one.”
Admiral Flynn looks at me, his eyes void of emotions.
“The Terran Union is depending on you, Jeryl,” he says. “The Galactic Council is a good idea and if it is enshrined, then all governments will have to work together. Your proposal has the full support of the Terran Union now.”
I can’t help but feel disgust shoot up my throat.
“We only got the full support of the Union now our backs are against the wall and we want something,” I blurt, revulsion spilling into my words in overlapping waves.
Admiral Flynn shrugs.
“We all have to do what we all have to do,” he says. “Though that is the reason of their full cooperation now, maybe in the future situations it will be more ideal.”
Admiral Flynn’s comm link chirps. He raises his device on his hand and taps it and listens to the auditory play in his ears. I don’t hear what is being said, but I watch as Admiral Flynn’s face turns white as though he has seen a ghost.
“Copy,” he says and lets his hand fall away from his comm.
“What is it now?” I ask.
“That was from Edoris Station,” he says wearily. He takes a pause before continuing.
I am not prepared for what I hear.
“The Tyreesians have amassed ten warships in orbit of the Omarias II Colony. They have a message for you…Disband the quest for a Galactic Council, or the colony and its seventy five thousand inhabitants will be glassed.”
Jeryl
I walk out of the Admiral’s office, my head spinning out of control.
“Everything alright?” asks the Admiral’s secretary as I pass her by.
“No, everything’s not alright,” I reply.
I activate my comm link on my hand. “Vice Admiral Jeryl to The Seeker shuttle. Come in.”
“Here, sir,” replies the shuttle pilot.
“Get ready for takeoff,” I say. “I’m on my way to there.”
“Back to The Seeker, sir?”
“No,” I say. “We’re going to the Diplomatic Center.”
“Aye, sir,” he replies.
I walk into the drop tube that goes all the way to the launch pad on top of the building. Along the way to the top, some officers join in, while others leave. I have to respond to salutes and smile at those who were in awe of me all the time.
On the launch pad, the shuttle was already idling, waiting for takeoff.
“Vice Admiral Jeryl to The Seeker,” I say, taping my comm link.
“This is The Seeker, Vice Admiral,” says the communications officer. “Go on.”
“Patch me through to the captain,” I say.
“I’m right here, Jeryl,” Ashley’s voice comes through the comm.
“Have you heard?”
“Yes,” she says. “I’m just seeing the news feed. This is a disaster.”
“Not quite,” I say. “I want you to assemble all the lead delegates and have them meet me at the diplomatic headquarters.”
“Aye, sir,” she says.
“I want them seated in ten minutes,” I say, “and I want you with them.”
“Aye, sir,” she replies, after which I cut the link.
I board the shuttle and within seconds we are airborne. It is midday in New Washington and the sky is agog with shuttles and air cars. The pilot is constantly in contact with the air traffic control. Towards the end of the flight, he is patched through to the diplomatic HQ control center that clears us to land on the main landing pad atop the building.
Before I exit the shuttle, the pilot says, “I’ve received a message from The Seeker, sir. They want me to inform you that the captain has departed from the ship and will be landing in five minutes.”
“Roger that,” I say.
I’m met by Colonel Masters and a team of armed marine guards. They all salute as I approach. I return their salute then Colonel Masters falls in line with me while the rest of the marines fall in behind us as we head for the elevator.
“What’s the status of the building, Colonel?” I ask.
“We are secure, sir,” he says. “Ever since the last incident, we have taken extra precautions on who we allow into the compound. It’s better to prevent the likes of Lucien from gaining access to the compound than stopping him from exercising his rights.”
“Good,” I say.
We and a group of the marines enter the elevator. The rest enter an adjacent elevator.
“I was informed by The Seeker than there was going to be an emergency meeting with the delegates on floor three.”
“Yes,” I reply. “Is the floor secure?”
I am not really paying heed to the colonel. My mind is taken by the problem that has just presented itself to me. Ten Tyreesian warships in the Omarian system. How the fuck am I supposed to beat that? I know I have the Terran Armada behind me, but I remember how much it took me to defeat one warship. How about ten?
What if they decided to militarize their matter transport technology? I’m guessing you need transporter pads in both locations but with their intelligent capabilities, what if they smuggled them all across New Washington? Simultaneous thermonuclear explosions around the planet. We wouldn’t even know which direction to fire a torpedo.
“Yes, sir,” the colonel replies to my query. “We have doubled security in the building ever since the incident. No such reoccurrence as what happened before will occur in this facility. You have my word.”
“And your marines?” I ask, eying the four soldiers before me in the elevator.
“They have been cautioned against the use of force against unarmed civilians,” the colonel replies. “Those who erred in the last engagement have been disciplined appropriately.”
The elevator deposits us at the third floor. The hall is filled with marine soldiers all hefting automatic disruptors. At the door into the conference room, Captain Gavin is standing and waiting for us.
She hugs me first before speaking.
“This is really bad,” she says.
I don’t reply.
“What are we going to do?” she asks. “Going up against ten of those things, while a terrible venture, will only plunge us into another war.”
“I don’t intend on going to war with the Tyreesians,” I say. “But if they force my hand, I will be left with no choice.”
“The Terran Union…” she begins but I’m not having any of it.
“Will do whatever I want them to do,” I cut her off. “Those boggarts have finally fallen in line behind me.”
Ashley arches her eyebrows in surprise. “You got their approval?”
I nod, remembering the disgust I felt when Admiral Flynn informed me. Bureaucrats, loathsome bunch.
“Let’s go deal with this,” I say and walk into the conference room.
The moment the delegates see me, they all begin to talk at the same time. They are seated around the table this time and not looking down at the grounds of the building.
I take my seat at the head of the table, while Captain Ashley and Colonel Masters take up positions to my left and right. I see a mix of marines and security personnel from The Seeker scattered around the conference room.
“By now…” I speak above their voice, subduing them to silence.
I pause to catch my breath.
“By now you’ve seen the threat we received from the Tyreesian Collective,” I announce. “They are demanding for the negotiations for the Galactic Council to be dissolved otherwise they will fire upon an innocent, defenseless planet with about seventy five thousand inhabitants.”
I pause. I watch as the fear spreads across the room like a cold, infecting every mind that is open to hear me. I try to look into some of their eyes, but none of them is willing to look back at me, except, of course, the Sonali.
“This is a terrible turn of events,” he says.
“Indeed,” I reply.
“How could this happen?” blurts another delegate. “Don’t your systems have Terran Armada defense?” his voice takes on an angry tone.
“And when you realized that the Tyreesians may be up to no good, why didn’t you take the proper precautions to protect those planets closest to the Tyreesian space, knowing that they could use these planet as hostages?”
“Pardon me, sir, but we only just discovered the Tyreesian plans,” I say. “The truth is, Leader Greer has been playing us all for a fool for three years. He used us as a pawn in his game of chess, and he always had the upper hand simply because of our ignorance. There was no way we could have prevented this without foreknowledge of this planned attack.”
“But why do they want to break up the council?” says another. “Don’t they want peace?”
There is complete silence.
“Do we stand a chance against the Tyreesians?” asks the Reznak delegate.
I don’t answer. We stand a chance if our governments all band together to resist the Tyreesian oppression. However, would their governments want to commit their forces to war?
After a pause, I say, “Look, I’m not going to lie to you. The situation is grim. But think of this. The fact that we are facing this great opposition to the Galactic Council is proof positive that we are on the right track. We are definitely doing the right thing. The onus is upon us to see this thing through.”
I pause for effect. I can see the glimmer of hope rekindled in their eyes. I press on.
“We can work together. We can prevent this terrorism from happening. As individual people we may not stand a chance against the Tyreesian war machines. However, if we band together and stand as one, the Tyreesian will have to bow to our forces.
“But I promise you. If we refuse to stand up to this oppression and go our separate ways, we will be damned to return to the barbaric form of brutality we have become accustomed to. The Earth-Sonali War will be nothing compared to the conflict that will engulf the galaxy.”
A heated argument immediately follows my rendering, which each delegate weighing the pros and cons of following me to battle against the Tyreesian Collective. I allow the arguments to proceed for about ten minutes, after which I bring the room to a silence by rising to my feet.
Surprised eyes stare back at me. I presume they were expecting me to join in their argument. I am, however, consumed with working out the Tyreesian problem. I refuse to believe this is the end of the road.
“It’s your decision, whether to remain as one and fight this or to disband and give in to terrorism like cowards. You have twenty four hours, after which you will have to let me know what your response is.”
Silence greets me as each person in the room stares at me.
“Thank you,” I say as I walk out of the conference room, Ashley and Colonel Masters following in tow.
I swear. This walking out from silence is becoming my thing lately.
Jeryl
We’re back on The Seeker in Ashley's quarters. I'm on slipstream with Admiral Flynn as he does his best to reassure me. "Jeryl, I hate to add any bad news to the situation; however, you should know that the Nova Corporation is determined to prevent the galactic council from forming. As we speak they are lobbying stridently against it."
Admiral Flynn looks at me his jaw set in a grim line. "But look at it this way—we both know that these self-righteous assholes are only happy when they're running things. And they're mad as hell that you're stealing the spotlight by proposing an idea they didn't have the balls to suggest themselves."
Admiral Flynn looks at me smug with pride. "Don't pay those assholes any mind. Stay strong. We're on the home stretch with this, I promise. Flynn out."
The slipstream goes dark. I replay what Admiral said to me. I wish I could share in his optimism but right now I have too many frustrating things on my mind. Too many things are weighing on me. Flynn may be right; we may be in the home stretch, but it still feels like we have miles to go and many roadblocks are on the way. Ashley switches the news on. There's even more bad news coming through the news feed.
"We’re now live from WSHN—where Terran Nationlists are protesting the plans to create an intergalactic council with representatives from alien races across the galaxy."
The newscaster is standing in a huge crowd of protester. She steps near one of the protestors, "Sir, can you share with us why you're opposing the galactic council?" she asks pointing the mic at him.
"The formation of a galactic council is ridiculous. I had a lot of respect for Admiral Jeryl during the war, but now he's lost his mind. He cares more about the well-being of aliens than he does his own species. I don't know how he sleeps at night. He wants this council so bad that's he's willing to trade human lives for it. And I refuse to stand for that," says the man disgust written all over his features." The newscaster turns back to the camera.
"In addition to these protests, the Sonali outpost of New Washington is seeing a rise in anti-alien violence." I click off the news feed.
I try not to take the protesters words personally, but it is personal. He's talking about me and my dream. Ashley notices my demeanor.
"Jeryl," she says coming over and placing her hand on mine, "He's wrong." I look at her with worried eyes. "It's easy to talk about a problem when you don't have to deal with it."
She looks into my eyes, a small knowing smile on her lips. "How many times have we seen a situation where the people who are screaming the loudest—are also the same people farthest away from the problem?" I know she doesn't really expect an answer. It's a rhetorical question; part of my wife's effort to make me feel better. It almost works.
Almost. I kiss Ashley gently, my mind already backtracking to Flynn's words, the newscast, my mood dipping toward despair.
Suddenly there's a beep on the comm. Incoming message. I look at the connection. "It's Marjda, Chief Delegate of the Drupadi," I say, looking questioningly at Ashley who shrugs her shoulders in reply. I tap the comm. I know about the Drupadi, but I have never actually spoken with their leader Marjda. I recall how the Drupadi are supposed to be an extremely seductive race. I gulp a bit wondering how much more trouble I may find myself in just by talking to her. I click the message.
"Admiral Montgomery—I need to show you something. Can you please come planet-side to meet with me? It is most urgent. I think this is something you will really want to see before the delegates make their decision."
I look at Ashley. "What do you think?"
"I think you should go—now," she says firmly.
"Marjda, I'll meet you planet-side as soon as possible. Montgomery out." As I send out commands for a shuttle to take me to the planet.
I think of all the things on my way:
The anti-alien protests.
The increase of violence against non-Terrans.
The Nova Corporation doing all they can to make sure the council fails.
The delegates fearing for the safety.
And now Marjda has another piece of the puzzle to show me.
Why do I feel like my meeting with Marjda is going to be more dangerous than any of the obstacles in my path?
I take a deep breath.
I have no idea what she's going to show me, and I have no idea how it will affect me.
But what I'm really curious about is my first contact with a Drupadi and how it’s going to affect me.
Jeryl
My pulse beats faster as I enter the Drupadi Empassy right off Ambassador Avenue. I'm doing my best to keep a poker face, but inside my thoughts, it’s chaotic. If it wasn't enough that I need to solve all the issues threatening the creation of the galactic council—the very thing we need for sustained peace throughout the galaxy, now I am about to face a sexy female alien with a secret—one she'll reveal to me only. I can't help but wonder what she'll want in return. I also can't help but entertain how exactly I will respond to a trade for the information.
For three years I’ve felt like a bug under a microscope every time I talk to her. She’s flirted with me. She’s rubbed herself against me. She’s batted her eyes. The worst part? She’s been like that with everyone—her entire race is programmed to determine the sexual desires of those they engage with and to tailor their reactions appropriately. But has it bothered me that she’s given everyone attention? Have I felt jealous?
Not a bit. I’ve lapped up her attention like a hungry varren.
My face is flushing and my palms are sweaty. It’s always like this with Marjda. I feel like I'm a guy asking a girl to prom or going on a first date. However, given that there's more than my ego on the line, I firm up my resolve because the fact is that the stakes are really high and much bigger than me.
If I don't get the information Marjda says she can give—then it's quite possible that everything I have worked toward these last three years since the end of the war will be for nothing.
I can’t afford, or more importantly, the universe can’t afford for me to not gain this information. I tell myself that failure is not an option, over and over as I enter the room where I am to meet Marjda.
But in the past, we’ve always had the luxury of official duties that brought us together—with retinues of aides.
This will be the first time I step into her den. Where there are no Armada Marines. No cameras. No motion sensing doors.
She sits on a low backless chaise. Her legs are crossed delicately at the ankles - her body half turned to face me. Her clothing is soft, sheer pale blue layers that leave nothing to the imagination. Looking her. I can see exactly how she will look naked.
As I sit on an opposite chair with a low table between us, I run through all things I know about the Drupadi.
They are a species devoted to sexual pleasure. It is their main goal in life.
They are similar to us with regards to body shape, but instead of having specific regions, the Drupadi's entire body is one big erogenous zone.
As I remember this I try to for the millionth time in three years to think of a polite way to greet Marjda given that shaking hands is considered a sex act. Instead after I sit I put my hands on top of my legs; I pretend that I've glued my palms to my pants. I'm hoping this mental trick will keep my hands from wandering to exotic places that are suddenly well within my reach. Given the stakes in this I feel like an intergalactic spy confronting a femme fatale who has information I need. Actually, that metaphors fits a little too well.
She starts the conversation, "Admiral Montgomery, thank you so much for coming so soon. I really think this information holds incredible worth to you. But after all this time, considering you are in my home…may I call you Jeryl?"
I sit mute for a moment. The soft, huskiness of her voice charms me, so it takes a moment for me to respond.
"Yes, you can call me Jeryl," I respond, telling myself that I am only doing this out of diplomacy. She smiles at me with a knowing glint in her eye. I don't believe many people say no to her requests.
"Forgive me," she says, one hand playing with the hem of her dress, "I must confess meeting you here made me nervous." I can't help but arch a brow in surprise.
"Why?" I ask dumbfounded.
She looks askance at me, "Why?” she asks back, arching a delicate eyebrow.
“Have we not danced around this for three years? Have you not lain awake at night when The Seeker has been out on assignment and wondered what it would be like…to have me? To realize how much I’ve wanted to have you?" I duck my head but I smile at the compliment.
Then I get serious, "Well, I also was a catalyst for the war," I say as my smile disappears. “You never know what a night with me might bring.”
In the past, I’ve learned to joke and diffuse the sexual tension that Marjda exudes into the atmosphere.
Marjda leans toward me, her seductive voice taking on a serious tone.
"From everything I have learned regarding the initial conflict that lead to the war, you acted in the best interest of your people with the information you had at the time." She looks into my eyes. "Frankly, I think you were very brave and decisive. All decisions we make have consequences; however, if we are too afraid of those consequences then we become stagnant in our actions. I think it is better to take action, even if it might be the wrong one, than to do nothing at all. If we do nothing, then we might as well give up. After three years, you do not strike me as a man that easily gives up." Marjda slides toward the edge of her chair bringing her closer to me.
I am watching her move, still enchanted by her voice, when I notice my body is responding more than it normally does. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my manic heart beat. As I breathe in my pulse doesn’t slow, but I find myself not caring that my attraction is becoming obvious. Marjda leans down toward me. The v-neck of her dress billows out revealing more of her cleavage. Her breasts are barely covered. I can see the outlines of her nipples straining against the seam of the fabric. I watch as she casually slides a hand up her stomach to the bottom of one breast. She keeps her eyes on me as she hooks a finger into the side of the v of her dress, tugging it down to expose a ripe pink nipple.
My mouth is dry as sand. I feel trapped in her gaze. My mind is screaming at me that I need to be careful as my body is sending me an entirely different message. I feel like I have an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other.
My brain reminds me that Terrans who had sex with the Drupadi say it’s the most intense experience of their lives. However, some Terrans never share their experiences because sex with a Drupadi can have extreme side effects. Most notably, sex with a Drupadi sans protection (in this case mental shielding via white noise earplugs) can result in permanent insanity. However, many are more than willing to risk madness in order to experience sensory heights of pleasure with a Drupadi.
But for me there is more on the line than my own sanity. I need this information to save the galactic council. Self-preservation for the good of all is a strong motivator.
I pull myself out of my lusty reverie, but seconds later my mind returns (as do my eyes) to Marjda. What is going on?
Then it hits me.
I remember—and realize I always forget this crucial fact.
Pheromones.
How could I have forgotten? For a moment I almost chuckle, thinking that it is a good thing that first contact was not with the Drupadi. Things might have gone much differently.
I place one arm over the other, gently pinching the skin to rouse myself. The pain works. I'm able to focus my thoughts.
"Marjda," I say, "I’m honored to have your trust in this matter." I do not move my hands, my imagination has decided that the glue I used on my hands are super glue. "I would love to continue to chat with you, but unfortunately the information you have to give me is indeed very urgent. So if you can please tell me I am eager to take care of this."
"Of course, of course," says Marjda. I am relieved that she’s going to tell me until she says, "I will need to come whisper it to you. After all it is a secret that is only for your ears." She stands and walks toward me. I feel like a rabbit facing down a fox. I cannot escape. I look down at the circle of silver around my left finger on my left hand. Ashley.
I feel like an asshole for only thinking of her now. I realize that I had let my mind wander to the possibilities of this meeting as soon as I touched down planet-side. It's like the saying that one hand doesn't know what the other one is doing. Well, part of my brain was focused on the business of my mission while the other part of my mind sealed out everything focusing on another objective. Sex with Marjda. A chance of a lifetime.
And I was prepared to forget the fact that I was a married man. That I had a beautiful trusting wife off-planet waiting for me. That she and I have a great sex life. And hopefully a great future together.
A future I could destroy in one act.
I realize that there is so much on the line in this one meeting: the galactic council, the possibility of universal peace once the council is established and now my marriage to Ashley.
I could lose it all.
Or I could win.
Losing is not an option.
All this runs through my mind as Marjda slinks toward me. Her body is even more impressive up close. As her dress shifts her nipple plays peek-a-boo under the fabric. I think of how sensitive her nipple must be as the silk slides against her flesh. She leans down to my ear. Her scent engulfs me. She smells sweet, alluring and ripe. My mouth goes from desert to water. Her tongue darts out, licking her lips. I sit still as stone as she whispers in my ear. Her breath tickles my ear. Her hand rests lightly on my shoulder as she whispers to me. Her information jolts me enough to move away from her, breaking the spell of her seduction.
"That's true?!" I say completely astounded. This means...
Marjda smiles with delight at my response. She leans forward putting one hand on my chin pulling my head up.
“Now for what I’ve waited three years for, Admiral Montgomery,” she whispers.
She steps back releasing my chin. I watch as she moves her hand to her waist. I see a cord I did not notice earlier. Marjda gently pulls the cord loose from her waist. Her dress falls away revealing her body in all of its splendor. I'm awestruck at the perfection of her form.
My hands begin to lift from my pants. My "glue" dissolves as does my will power. She moves in closer. Her breasts are level with my face. I can reach out and touch them, put them in my mouth...
Slap!
My left hand has risen and struck my right leg. The ring on my finger, my wedding ring, leaves a mark on my trousers. I don't think it cut me, but one thing is for sure: the pain has snapped me out of my lust-fueled fantasies.
I stand quickly, stepping around and away from Marjda.
"Thank you, Marjda," I say my voice more shaky than I'd like, "You’ve helped me immensely."
"My pleasure," she purrs. She looks completely at ease as though she is not standing before me without a stitch of clothes on. I turn doing my best to appear to walk normal from the room.
The truth is a part of me wants to run out the door.
While another part of me wants very much to turn around and go back.
Back through the door into the waiting sweetness of Marjda's embrace.
Maybe one day. In a different life.
But not today.
Ashley
Jeryl and I walk into the diplomatic hall, where the delegates are assembled. The murmurs die out as Jeryl takes the head of the table and I stand by his side.
“Have you all reached a decision?” he asks.
There is a complete silence.
“We have chosen Ambassador Gomar of Sonali to speak on our behalf,” says a delegate from the Vozelian Peoples.
Ambassador Gomar stands to his feet, draws in a long breath, and begins to speak in a low, but strong voice.
“I was on the plains of Ashnak when I first heard the clarions of war. My heart beat faster than a Bushdi horse fleeing from terror.
“It was a dark, windy night and I had just finished mating with my wife. Oh, what a beauty she was. Our three male children were in their rooms, asleep and locked in. Our house was the only house on those plains for miles, and no air gliders or shuttle traversed this area of our home planet. So we had mated all night on the bare ground, in our carnal, natural state.
“It was in this state that I heard we were going to war,” he whispers.
“I was young back then. A Novitiate within the Military Caste, despite the fact that I was an admiral with a bey of ships at my command. We are not a violent race, as many takes us to be. We may be intense, arrogant and unabashed sometimes, but this is just who we are. This is our society. And at that time, all I felt was the thrill of battle. This is what I had been raised to do.”
I take a deep breath and think of if I faced Gomar in combat. He looks at me and Jeryl.
“I went to war against your kind,” he whispers. “I transported entire platoons to land on your planets and burn your cities. Destroy your crops. Kill your people.”
My chest starts to tighten but I continue to listen to Gomar.
“And your people…the Terrans…they were unused to the level of warfare that we hoped would remove you from the conflict. But they met us, barbarism for barbarism. Savagery for savagery. We glassed one planet, you came back and attacked ours,” he says in subdued voices.
“Humans have a saying …war is the mother of all invention. Indeed, how true this saying is. For during our five year conflict with your species, we saw your species transform from the naïve childlings of the galaxy to vicious killers that shocked even our most battle-hardened members of the Military Caste.”
I feel Jeryl fidget. Gomar continues.
“All three of my children died in the Terran assault on Rylos. When your ships came and dropped mass terraformers onto our atmosphere, causing civilians to choke to death as they tried to breathe, my people knew that we had opened the door to hell,” he says, looking directly at the two of us.
I shudder. I’d been involved in the attack on Rylos. Well, The Seeker was. We’d battled the Sonali, taking high casualties as we attacked military bases in the system. Armada Intelligence had apparently dropped the terraformers without telling anyone else as the battle began to be lost. This was in the second year of the war—when we thought we would lose.
“My wife died on Aldereen IV when a Terran frigate refused to be defeated and set its FTL on course to collide with the most densely populated settlement on the planet. My friends perished on the front lines as we laid waste to your cities.”
“My wife, who was laying by me naked as the cry for war went out—how much I would give to hold her again. My sons. My friends. 5 billion Sonali.”
The Ambassador pauses as what looked like tears pooled in his eyes. But they don’t fall off. Instead, their mist out of his eyes and disappear in the air.
“Excuse me,” he says and he tried to get himself together.
The entire audience is spellbound, including me. I can’t even imagine how deep his agony goes. All the while, I have been convinced that Terrans had suffered the most during the war with the Sonali—but the Sonali had suffered equally. I begin to realize how easy it is to judge people when you don’t know the circumstances that framed them into being who they are now.
“People talk about scars,” the Sonali continues. “People have physical battle scars. Some even have emotional scars. I will carry scars with me to the day that I die... “
Jeryl is visibly affected and I wipe a tear from my eyes as well.
“The first two years of our war saw us defeat the humans on every front. They were severely handicapped with the way they designed their ships. Yet, they displayed an ingenuity and cunningness that was beyond what we knew or experienced. They not only employed their war tools, they employed it with grace and excellence. The tides began to turn and we began to really feel the full brunt of the conflict.
“The Terrans…have known nothing but war for the entirety of their existence,” Ambassador Gomar states quite plainly. “Their race has only known technology for the blink of an eye—maybe two thousand years. The Sonali were once like you, Admiral Montgomery. We fought amongst ourselves and once almost destroyed our own home world. It took us fifteen hundred years to recover before we tried again to venture into space. It took your race a tenth of that time. You are so violent as a species…but on the other side of the face, you are filled with wonder and ingenuity. Curiosity and the desire for peace. For tolerance.”
I look at Gomar with an awe built on respect.
“Such repulsive ugliness and such unfiltered beauty the galaxy has never seen,” he continues slowly. “When the final human assault came towards Beta Hydra III, I knew as I went into the conflict that should the Shrine of the Holy Combine be destroyed, then the backbone of the Sonali would collapse. More important than even our home world was Beta Hydra III.”
Silence reigns in the chamber.
“And then came Jeryl into the conflict. The Avenger of The Mariner himself. Warbringer, my people called him. Our Military Intelligence had painted him to be a war monger, a man that feeds off the fear of the Sonali and eats their flesh and bones for breakfast. Which is why I was stunned, when I heard him call a cease fire. He had finally realized we had nothing to do with The Mariner vessel, and he was willing to accept that he had led his people to war with the Sonali by mistake. He placed his own life between two opposing forces to stop the conflict. That day, the galaxy paused as your ship set itself between both our fleets and you told your own people to stop their advance. I said to myself, that is a man of honor.”
All the while, the Ambassador had been addressing the room filled with delegates, marines and some personnel from The Seeker. Now he focuses in on Jeryl, who is sitting at the head of the table.
“You are a man of honor, Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery,” he says. “When you brought up the idea of a Galactic Council, when we were negotiating the terms of our ceasefire and truce. I made a statement to you. Can you remember?”
Jeryl nods, totally impassive.
I know why Jeryl is so impassive—because he’s moved by the Ambassador’s speech. He’s trying not to show weakness, and by weakness I mean he’s trying not to shed tears before everyone present.
“You said to me, ‘As long as I know that Captain Jeryl Montgomery is a man of honor, I will follow him to the ends of the galaxy to see this Council become reality.’”
The ambassador nods his head.
“I said that even though the last thing we as a people wanted to do was look a Terran in the eye. I said that even when the weight of our loss still weighed like a stone in my heart. I said that even though Terrans still represented the apotheosis of all that was bad and evil in the galaxy to me—for the great fire with which you wasted our bases, deep space stations, planets…Yet, I made that statement, because you had demonstrated irreproachable character and because all is fair in war.”
He pauses again and catches his breath. He cracks a half smile, which isn’t exactly the worst thing in the world.
“We have not necessarily been the most agreeable of people,” the ambassador says, waving his hand across the delegates. “However, we do believe in this Council. We have either witnessed or experienced interstellar war to know that the survival of our respective species depends on this Council. And I speak for my fellow colleagues that we know of no better person to usher us into this new millennia of galactic development than Jeryl Montgomery, the Avenger of The Mariner.”
There are no cheers. Only nods and silent agreements.
The Ambassador draws to his full stature, all notion of emotions vanishing from his person like steam from air.
“Vice Admiral,” he says in a firm voice. “All eight races are willing to sign into the Galactic Council. We believe in you. We believe in this Council and realize that it is bigger than one man or one race. We have also each contacted our respective governments and they are all dispatching ships to the Omarian system.”
Even though I don’t respond (I’ve been learning the nuances of diplomacy), I feel a burst of joy in my heart.
Peace.
A chance to die…not in fire. But in peace.
The greatest wish every soldier has today.
Jeryl
I stand to my feet after nodding my agreement to the delegates’ decision. Overwhelmed, but successful in hiding it, I motion for Ashley and Colonel Masters to follow me out of the conference room.
In the hallway, Colonel Masters says, “Well, that went well.”
Ashley is beaming at me.
“We couldn’t have asked for a better resolution than that,” she says to me. Then she frowns a bit and says, “Does it seem as though it always requires a provocation of war for peace to come?”
I think about it for a moment. It wasn’t until after the World War II that the United Nations was born in early twentieth century to foster a more integrative international environment. It wasn’t until after World War III that the Terran Council was born and we were ushered fully into the space age. It wasn’t until the Sonali War started that we came to an agreement with the Sonalis and got to know about other races and species.
Now, it would seem, that provocation with the Tyreesians is a necessary factor for the establishment of a Galactic Council.
Do I like it? No. Do I think it is necessary? No. Am I going to accept it?
Yes. It may not be ideal—just like the Terran Union waiting to be pushed to the wall before fully getting behind the Galactic Council decision—but if I want peace, I may have to first go to war.
“What do you want to do with them?” asks Colonel Masters.
I glance at Ashley and she nods at me.
“Well, we’ve held them for too long,” I reply. “So, they can do whatever they want to do. We have achieved our aim. Now, we have to go and meet the Tyreesians in the Omarian system.”
Colonel Masters says, “Roger that.”
Ashley and I return to the shuttle and are airborne in minutes. As we shoot higher and higher into the air, I can’t help but think back to how far we have come. I think back to Ambassador Gomar’s tale of his life before, during and after the war. I can’t help but compare his experiences to our experience.
World War III had devastated Earth and laid it to waste. Almost every nation armed with nuclear weapon had fired upon another. 2 billion people were killed in the nuclear fire. People who weren’t killed during the destructive explosion were wiped out by the following fallout. Radiation rain was the order of the day and children who are born with all forms of devastating and gruesome disabilities as a result of mutation was a common sight at the hospitals …or whatever a medical practitioner could set up.
We had fought so ferociously without considering what we were doing to our planet. We had been so taken by greed, vengeance, and a quest to exert our superiority and dominance over our fellow humans that we hadn’t taken care or thought about the generations to come. By the time we realized how far we had erred, it was too late. Earth had become severely deficient to support life. So, we looked to the stars for help.
Through a series of political and strategic amalgamation, the Terran Council was formed. Then the Terran Union, with a Council and a President. We knew now that we couldn’t hope to survive as a race if we maintained our divisive practices like having different governments on earth. When we’re spread across the stars, humanity had to be unified. Who knew what we were going to find beyond the solar system?
Humanity’s mission to the stars was simple. We had to bring back materials from other planets to rebuild the home world. We had to mine asteroid belts, mine planets for ores and minerals and microorganisms and vegetation to replenish what we had lost during the world war. As we spread further away from the home world, it became necessary to form colonies. As one generation led to another, humanity was beset by another catastrophic event—The Schism—which saw the outlying colonies breaking from the Terran Union because they felt sending relief materials to earth was not a priority for them.
After the Schism, the Terran Union’s focus became divided between exploring the vast reaches of space and supporting the home world building project. Then came the war that would forever change humanity. The five year conflict with the Sonali people.
Some professors back at the Academy on Earth would argue that the technological advances the Terran Armada experienced in the brief five year war with the Sonali by far surpasses what we experienced in the time between World War III and the Sonali. A lot had to do with capturing Sonali ships and studying their technologies. A lot had to do with space exploration as our vessels were more powerful and faster and hence we could cover more grounds.
We studied the Sonalis and replicated their designs. Then we improved on them … made them better. We even the odds pretty quickly and began to push them back until we almost obliterated them.
“War is the mother of all invention,” I mutter to myself in the dark, cold and silent interior of the space shuttle.
“What was that?” Ashley asks.
I shake my head, still engrossed in thoughts.
As a result of our leaps and bounds in technology, earth is now rebuilt. What was estimated to be completed in another one thousand years has been completed In a shorter time. I hear it’s a beauty to behold from above.
I suddenly realize that we are a tenacious species. Humanity will fight until its last breath, and then it will keep on fighting. Different species may, now and again, try to lock heads with us. However, humanity will always triumph. We will always succeed. Nothing—no one—can stop us from achieving our goals.
No one can snuff out our desire to explore the unknown. To live freely in the known universe and to purse happiness and contentment.
The dream of humanity in the stars cannot be snuffed out so easily.
“Shuttle Freedom to The Seeker,” Ashley says. “Approaching.”
“This is The Seeker,” says the communications officer. “Maintain current heading. Shuttle bay 05 is your entry point. Welcome back, Captain.”
“Copy,” says Ashley.
Ashley guides us into the landing bay. As soon as the shuttle bay is repressurized, we are both walking out of the shuttle. Seconds later, we are walking in CNC.
“Captain, in your absence, the Tyreesians have sent in several messages requesting an update on their demands,” the tactical officer says, turning to look at me and Ashley.
“They are taunting us,” Ashley says, then looks at me.
I say to the tactical officer, “Are we ready for battle?”
“Yes, sir,” the officer replies. “Although, I would advise against taking on the Tyreesian fleet. We barely made it out alive from our previous encounter.”
“Noted,” I say.
I turn to the navigator. “Set course for the Omarian system. FTL factor 5. Get us there ASAP.”
“Aye, sir,” he replies and goes to work on his workstation.
Six hours later, we drop out of FTL at the edge of the system and begin to Omarias II.
The alarms go off, and soon the CNC descends into organized chaos as the officers begin to rattle off information to me and the captain.
“Sir, long range scanners detect ten Tyreesian war vessels holding formation near the planet,” spits the science officer.
“They’re staying away from the sun,” comes the reply from the tactical officer. “Meaning we can’t hope to set off a thermonuclear explosion to take them out like the last time.”
“Captain, we are being painted by a long range weapons system,” the tactical officer breaks off to say.
“Are their weapons system online?” I ask.
“Long range scanners say no, sir,” replies the science officer. “But there’s still a lot we don’t know about Tyreesian technology. I may be wrong.”
“Sir, a ship is breaking formation and edging closer towards the planet,” the navigations officer says. “Its flight path will bring it into the gravitational well of the planet, but is forward momentum will cause it to swing by, putting it right in our fronts at a distance of five hundred kilometers in three minutes.”
“An intercept course?” I ask, for clarification.
“Yes, sir,” he replies, his eyes peeled on his work station, though I can see it all on the screen.
“Maintain current speed and bearing,” I say. “When we’re within range of the particle beam, bring us to a full stop.”
“That will also put us in range of their weapons sir,” says the tactical officer.
“I’m well aware of that, commander,” I say.
“What’s your play, sir?” This question comes from the operations officer.
“My play?” I ask, my eyes focused on the view screen, where I can see the nine ship formation beyond the planet and the lone ship making to intercept us. Superimposed on this image are readouts like distance, speed, bearing, and some telemetry information.
“My play is, I just want to talk.”
“Sir, I advise raising shields,” says the tactical officer. “The ship is now within range to fire upon us.”
“Negative, commander,” I reply.
“Sir, we are being hailed,” says the communications officer.
“On screen.”
The screen switches to show a Tyreesian on a command seat in the ship’s control center.
A familiar face. The one who nearly scuttled the progress we built.
Leader Greer.
He gives me an evil smile—at least that’s what I think. Maybe to him, it’s a humble smile.
But I doubt it.
“Hello, old friend,” he says.
Now I’m sure it’s evil.
Ashley
I wonder how Jeryl can be so calm and cool in the face of the very thing that threatens to destroy him and all he’s worked for. It’s one of the very qualities that has endeared him to me—one of those rare talents that makes him a very great leader.
Though I am the one sitting in the captain’s seat, it is Jeryl Montgomery, the Vice Admiral, who runs the show. He’s standing before the view screen, right in my front. His posture is solid and firm. He’s standing in full length, his hands fisted at his sides. I can see a portion of his face. From what I can tell, he’s extremely passive. You would think Jeryl and Greer had never had a previous encounter.
“Leader Greer,” Jeryl says, his voice casual, but determined. “It’s wonderful to see you still alive. It broke our hearts to find out that your shuttle had been destroyed. My people tell me there was a catastrophic failure to your engine which cascaded to affect the entire ship.”
Leader Greer blinks a bit, as though confused. Again, I look at the Vice Admiral with renewed admiration. I don’t think I could ever have thought of a better opening line. Throwing them off their game…They’ve been planning this for a while. You cannot win against them when you’ve only learned about the game on the eve your destruction.
The only way to defeat them would be to change the game or change the rules. Only then can you two play on equal footing.
“Erm…” Greer stammered.
Jeryl uses this opportunity to continue.
“Say, Leader Greer, I can’t help but wonder how you were able to escape from the explosion,” he says. “We knew you guys were working on a matter transport technology. We just didn’t know you had perfected the technology…”
Greer begins to recover from his confusion.
“I have no idea of what you speak,” he says.
“Come on,” Jeryl presses. “Then tell me, how is it that Nova Security Camera shows you leaving your shuttle with ten of your other delegates…or should I say partners in crime?”
This time, Greer has a response. “Here’s one question for you, Jeryl. How were you able to determine we have a matter transport technology being developed if you don’t have a similar program?”
Jeryl doesn’t reply. His hands seem to tighten more, almost turning white.
Greer who had leaned forward in an accusing manner, now relaxes back in his command chair like one who has won a conquest.
“I thought as much,” Greer said. “You humans can talk all you want about Galactic peace. But we know that deep at heart your race are a warring clan. You can know no peace until you have masters. And the Tyreesian Collective have elected to be your masters.”
Jeryl looks at the Tyreesian for a few seconds before bursting out into laughter. The Tyreesian is startled by this behavior and only looks at Jeryl aghast.
Jeryl goes on until he begins to cough and hold his belly.
“I’m sorry, but did I say something funny?” Greer asks, genuinely puzzled.
I can only feel sympathy for him because I know every step, word or decision Jeryl makes is calculated to evoke a certain response or arrive at a certain endpoint. What I don’t know is what the fuck Jeryl has planned.
“Did you really mean all that?” Jeryl asks.
Greer doesn’t respond. Rather, he blinks severally. I have a feeling he’s beginning to feel stupid.
“Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery, it’s over,” Greer roars. “Your little game is over. Your little council is over!”
“Nothing is over until I say it is,” Jeryl clamps back.
And I watch as the Tyreesian flinches.
Jeryl says, “You think you can just crawl out your little hole and begin to make demands? Do you know who you’re dealing with? You’re dealing with the Terran Armada. We don’t respond to threats. And we sure as hell don’t negotiate with terrorists!”
There is a profound silence.
Greer is vibrating with rage on his seat. Waves upon wave of anger from Jeryl crashes against the hall of the CNC as well. I can feel his anger and frustration over the last few weeks come to bare. Finally, I see him exchanging his cool for his anger. I don’t know if this is by design, or if it’s a mistake and he slipped. With Jeryl, you can’t tell until it’s all over.
Greer relaxes in his command chair.
“You think we are joking?” Greer says. “You think we will not do what we say we will do? You think my people are weak and make empty threats? Let me tell you what you don’t know, Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Armada. We are not the Sonali you all but defeated in your little war. We are far superior to you. We are not afraid to crush you and we will, if you resist.”
“And what does that say about your species?” Jeryl replies, his voice contrastingly calm and reasonable. He almost sounds as though he is imploring a mad man (in this case Greer) to see reason.
“What message do you leave for the universe?” Jeryl proceeds. “That you are lovers of violence? That you only care about yourselves? That you have no regard for other life forms? That you…”
“I’ve said this before,” Greer cuts Jeryl off, much to Jeryl’s surprise. “The universe doesn’t care what you think. The universe was here long before we were born and the universe will remain long after we are gone.”
“So what do you think the other races will think of you?” Jeryl continues. “No doubt they have learnt of your plans. If they have not already cut all ties with you, maybe they want to see if you can’t be persuaded otherwise. But I promise you, should you proceed on this course, it will not end well for you.”
“So is that why you’re here? To persuade me?” Greer sneers.
I can hear the contempt in Greer’s tone. I can also feel my heartbeat rising.
“Vice Admiral,” the tactical officer says. “The science officer has alerted me to rising energy discharge form the other nine vessels. They are bringing their weapons system online. I advise we raise our shields.”
“Time’s up, Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Armada,” Greer says. “We can talk all we want about what’s right and what’s wrong. That won’t change our decision. The Galactic Council has to be stopped or else we will destroy the entire Omarias II colony.”
There is a silence.
I let out a puff of air and silently suck in another lungful.
Seconds tick away into minutes.
Greer holds Jeryl’s gaze.
The crew are all looking between Jeryl and Greer.
Jeryl breaks the ice with a nonchalant shrug.
“Why don’t you go ahead and do it,” he pronounces. “Hell, we’ll help you do it.”
A series of gasps sweep across the CNC crew. I look around and confusion light up the officers’ eyes. They look at each other for an explanation, but no one knows what is happening.
Greer is also confused. He blinks again and again, licking his lips more than once.
“I won’t hesitate to do it, Jeryl,” Greer says, though in a weaker, less certain voice. “Is a stupid club really worth the lives of seventy-five thousand humans?”
Jeryl smiles.
“Your plan is evidently flawed,” he starts. “Do you think we don’t know that the Nova Corporation was never behind the plans to establish a galactic council? They do far too much business with the Tyreesians nowadays that it is difficult to tell if they are a Terran colony or a Tyreesian colony.”
Jeryl shrugs again.
“So, if the Tyreesian Collective feels like blowing up their business partners, have at it,” Jeryl continues. “Know this, however. We know that that traitor Lucien Parker and his goons of Terran Nationalists are all sponsored terrorists by the Nova Corporations. And when you think of it, it’s ironic. Money flows from the Tyreesians to Nova Corporation to Terran Nationalists.
“So, if you want to blow up some allies then…by all means.”
Greer looks at Jeryl wide eyes. The crew have the same expression. They are all held spellbound by Jeryl’s supposed fearlessness.
Many have said Jeryl is a war monger. I know this isn’t true. However, sometimes it is difficult to say that. Now is one of those times when I don’t know if Jeryl gets off on fighting wars.
Greer begins to talk, when Jeryl raises a finger and Greer shuts it.
“Oh, one more thing,” Jeryl says. “While we’ve been talking, the fleets from all eight parties to the Galactic Council have entered this system and are en route to this location. You can start glassing the planet, however, know that when you do, all these ships will come and it will mean the beginning of an interstellar war that will sink your little Collective into fire and fury that the Galaxy has never, ever fucking seen.”
There is a brief pause.
“Your choice,” Jeryl ends by saying.
He turns around and makes a cutting motion with his hand as the signal gets terminated.
I look at Jeryl. Mouth agape. He smiles at me.
“Feel like having some fun today, Captain?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.
Leader Greer
I was absolutely taken by surprise that I find myself staring wide-eyed at Jeryl Montgomery’s image on the screen. How had the Terran uncovered the truth of the operation? Adding to my shock is the sting of the Vice Admiral’s obviously calculated smirk. This bastard is mocking me, daring me to reply!
But there is nothing I could say, nothing I could do.
I slapped the controls without uttering a word, cutting off the comm link to Montgomery’s ship. Enraged, I feel my face darken to navy blue as I spin my chair around to face the Nova Corporation representative sitting where the camera had not seen her.
Anjali Bagawati appears every bit as dumbfounded as I am, which does not give me any comfort. At this moment, I am maintaining self-control only by a supreme effort. If not for my restraint, I would have physically attacked this woman.
My hands grip the arms of my chair so tightly that I know my nails would leave half-moon cuts in the plastic padding.
Never had I hated the Terran race as much as I do at this moment.
“What do you know about this?” I ground out in as calm a tone as I could manage, though I know I sound as if I’m being strangled.
The woman’s eyes turn ghostly pale and the whites of her eyes shows all around her pupils. “I—I—nothing, I assure you, Leader!”
“Nothing!” I barked, leaning toward her and baring my teeth. “Nothing?” I croaked a mirthless laugh. “Your security fails utterly, and you know nothing about how it could have happened?”
“W-we did detect some sort of minor fluctuation in the power levels of our—”
“Did you or did you not assure me that your systems were impregnable?” I somehow gain control over myself and my voice is now almost at a normal pitch.
“I did, and they are, but as I say, this fluctuation must have masked a breach. I don’t know how it could have been done. Nothing could get past the AI. Nothing!”
I fix her with an ironic gaze. “And yet,” I say. “And yet.”
I gesture at the blank view screen. The after-image of Montgomery’s mocking face seemed to persist there like a repulsive stain.
“I can’t explain it,” she murmurs.
“Leader Greer?” The tremulous voice came from the ship’s communications officer.
“Well, what is it?” I didn’t bother disguising my anger.
“I, uh, there are some news broadcasts coming in that I think you should s-see,” the officer says. I find myself taking some small, mean satisfaction in the man’s cringing tone.
“Patch them in,” I say.
“Yes, Leader.”
Anjali Bagawati and I watch in growing astonishment and anger as the news feeds began unspooling.
“Our lead story concerns information obtained by sources on Omarias II indicate that the Nova Corporation’s Interstellar Finance Division has been instrumental in laundering money from the Tyreesian government to Terran Nationalist Party officials. Nationalist spokesman reject the claims, saying—”
“Terran Nationalist Chairman Lucien Parker said today that the allegations that the Nova Corporation installation on Omarias II has quote, “No ties whatsoever,” unquote, to his party. Observers on New Washington say that videos and sound recordings obtained at great risk by Union operatives show otherwise, and—”
“Nova Corporation board member Debra Sharjah categorically denies links between Nova and the Terran Nationalist group, as shown in this section of a question and answer session with her this morning.”
Sharjah’s face swims into view. It was fixed in a stern expression as she says, “There is not and never has been any contact between Nova and the Terran Nationalists. We are a freedom-loving company and do not take any political stands whatsoever. This story turns out to be entirely false, based on lies planted by rivals.”
I glare at Bagawati. “That’s the story you people are going with?”
“Look, I tell you—I know nothing about it.” She struggles to recover her aplomb. “I doubt that your group will be able to come up with anything better on such short notice.”
“So you haven’t spoken with your superiors?”
“No, the slipstream’s been quiet so far this—” The communicator band on her wrist buzzes, and she emits a slight gasp. Looking at the ID readout, she says, “It’s my manager.” She rises from her seat. “I’ll have to take it in my quarters, Leader.”
“Of course.” And I hope you get your hindquarters burned off… As I no doubt will. I thought as she hurried out of the room.
I turn my attention back to the news feeds. There was the sneering face of Lucien Parker, as he addressed a mob of his followers: “Anyone who believes that we would take any money, so much as a single credit, from some mongrel race of aliens needs to have his bolts tightened.”
I motioned at the screen, cutting the audio feed. Larker spoke on, looking like an angry puppet.
What had gone wrong? I rather thought I knew. Somehow that degenerate Jeryl Montgomery and his bitch of a wife had managed to uncover the truth. I could not blame Nova or the Nationalists from trying to deflect responsibility. The next step for both of us would be to find what the Earth people call a scapegoat or a patsy.
“That’s certainly what I would do,” I mutter.
“This just in,” says a news announcer. “Nova Corporation spokesman Davvido Stone has announced that Anjali Bagawati, the company’s representative on Omarias II, has been revealed as the source of a long-standing program of graft and corruption on that world. She has been terminated from the company and will face prosecution when she returns to Earth. Company troops are on the way to Omarias II even now to secure her arrest. Terran Union Secretary Wilton Lafcadio has called for a full probe of Nova Corporation and the company has agreed to cooperate. Keep tuned to this channel for updates on—”
A movement in my peripheral vision attracts my attention. Anjali Bagawati stands in the doorway to the command deck, her eyes wide and unseeing.
She had either heard the news report, or that call had been her notification.
Although I have no sympathy for her…I know how she feels, and somehow we’re now stuck in the same situation.
“They’ve thrown me to the wolves,” she says faintly. She walks in, unsteady on her feet, and sinks down into an acceleration chair. “What will I do?”
“Accept your fate,” I snarl. “I expect nothing better from my own people. It is the price of doing this kind of work.”
“I’m ruined,” she whispers.
I snort.
“Acceptance,” I say, “When failure is all there is, fail magnificently and with dignity. Hold your head up. Do not show the fools that you are wounded.”
She scoffs. “Easy to say.”
I turn away from her, scowling. She was right, of course. My own reputation would be shattered, my family disgraced. My career is over now. I would never pilot another star ship. I harden my heart against the pang of regret in my chest.
Anjali Bagawati looks blankly around the room. “There’s nothing for me here now,” she says. “And I dare not return home. They have frozen my assets. I won’t get my pension.” She licks her lips. “No one will hire me after this.”
“As I say, this was the risk we took when we embarked on this project.”
“How can you accept defeat so easily, Leader Greer?”
“Not a day passes that defeat is not a possibility,” I say. “Surely you must know that. All of us aboard this ship will share in my ignominy. When we return to our world, we will be stripped of rank and made to work in the mines.”
She nods. “I simply did not expect to fail. I...I am not prepared.”
I feel something inside me, some small twinge of pity. But there was nothing I could do for her. We have lost the game.
My next move, my last in this operation, would be the most painful of all.
“Open a channel to the Terran ship,” I say to the communications officer. “I wish to speak with Vice Admiral Montgomery.”
“Yes, Leader.”
I waited while the connection was established. This is the worst fifteen seconds of my life.
Jeryl Montgomery’s face appears on my screen. To my relief, there is no trace of humor or triumph on the man’s face.
“Vice Admiral,” I say. Jeryl nodded slightly.
“Leader Greer.”
“I will withdraw.”
Montgomery’s face remained serious.
I feel a bitter gratitude for the Terran’s professionalism.
Montgomery inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, Leader Greer.”
The screen goes blank. I think of the mines and repressed a shudder. I am not accustomed to physical toil.
But I will do my best, and will not complain.
I need to, for my spirit to be not broken.
Ashley
The Seeker enters the Sol System, the last of a large complement of vessels across the Galaxy. On the view screen, the science officer does us the pleasure of highlighting some of the key milestones we have achieved right from the nuclear fire of World War III to returning it to its pristine beauty now.
I am in awe as we soar towards the home world. It’s been a month of preparations. I can tell the CNC crew is still astonished over what happened. There is a stunned silence. No one expected we would be flying back to Earth like this.
Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery stands to my left, reading every single word that the science officer has scrolling through the screen. There might be just sheer determination on his face right now, but back in my quarters, he shared with me how he really feels.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him. He’s just close enough to hear my subvocalized voice.
Jeryl swivels on his heels as though a ghost had spoken. He squints at me.
“I can’t describe it,” he mutters back to me. “I feel…at peace.”
Me too, I think to myself. We let the comfortable silence speak for how we feel.
The CNC is dim as all focus is on the bright view screen. There is a tensed silence as we make our way through the void of space to the third planet from the sun. As we pass all the different colonies and outposts on the way, we receive welcome messages, which the communications officer announces and displays on the screen.
“Approaching Earth’s moon, Captain,” says the navigations officer.
I think of enormity of that statement. Who would have ever thought I would be leading the victorious charge back to Earth, having brought about the framework for a galactic peace?
Sure, I didn’t do it as much as how Jeryl did. But I‘ve been with him all throughout the process, all throughout everything. First, as a chauffeur—but then as a diplomat as well.
I remember those sleepless nights when I would tirelessly think of how the diplomats would possibly decide or what the other species would make of our proposal. Then came the whole Tyreesian play at the Omarian system. This was the final showdown, where the might of the strongest powers in the galaxy was challenged by an erring species.
But the Tyreesians had caved in and not one drop of blood has been spilled.
“This is what a Galactic Council can prevent,” Jeryl said to me.
“Lieutenant, what’s the status of the delegation from other worlds?” I ask the communications officer.
“Confirming…” he replies as his hands fly his workstation.
My gaze shifts back to my husband and commander, Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery. This way has taken a lot from us. This state of perpetual tension and conflict has driven a wedge between us. And even though we have reaffirmed our love for each other, we still felt apart.
Why wouldn’t we? If it wasn’t the Sonali today, it was the Nakra tomorrow. And if it wasn’t the Nakra tomorrow, then it was the Tyreesians the next.
The only joy I have is that we won in the end. We won both battles. The battle to remain in love and the battle to unify the galaxy.
Yeah, sure, the galaxy is more than nine powers. There are a lot of races we reached out to that flat said no. There are some that didn’t even respond to our messages—we weren’t sure if they didn’t understand or they just ignored it; we haven’t had time to investigate. There are some that said they’ll be sitting on the sidelines, in case during the whole procedure we decided it was better to butcher ourselves than to sign an accord—yes, some actually said that.
But we won.
We were able unite billions of people together in an open forum where we can resolve our issues without going to war.
Jeryl predicts that over the next several months and years, when the success of the Galactic Council spreads across the galaxy, when others begin to see the positive results and immense benefits derivable from this union, they will join.
“Before you know it,” he had said with a gleeful grin (I wasn’t sure if the glee was from his words or from the fact that we were about to have sex), “every species in the galaxy would want in. Even those who we never knew existed.”
“Captain,” the communications officer says, calling my attention back to the CNC. “The delegates have since arrived and acclimatized to Earth’s environment. All their ships are docked in Space Dock, orbiting the planet, where a shuttle service conveyed them to the Earth. They are settled in their rooms and are prepped for tomorrow’s ceremony.”
“Copy,” I say.
Glancing over to the navigations officer, I say, “Have we been cleared to dock?”
“No, ma’am,” the navigations officer replies. “It seems they are having a bit of a problem on where we should dock.”
“Well, tell them to hurry up,” I reply. “We are ten minutes away from the cradle of humanity. We have travelled for weeks to get here. I wouldn’t want to spend one more second that I need to on this ship.”
Jeryl smiles alluringly at me.
“We’ve been cleared to dock, ma’am,” the communications officer says, a mixture of awe and confusion.
“Confirm that, Lieutenant,” I say with a smile “Earth has just been rebuilt. They’re probably just polishing up the door handles to give her a great shine for us.”
The Lieutenant take about three minutes before saying, “Spacedock is asking that rather than dock, we orbit the planet, ma’am. They say that it’s only fitting for the circumstances that we’re in and our help in getting there.”
“They are honoring us,” Jeryl says in my ears.
“Proceed, Lieutenant,” he then says to the navigations officer.
“Aye, sir.” And he corrected our bearing.
Before long, Earth looms into view, covering the entire view screen. It’s a beautiful swirl of blue, green and white. It looks pure and pristine…virgin. For a precious moment, the background noise of murmurs and discussions in the CNC ceases as everyone for the first time in a long time sets their eyes on planet Earth.
“I can’t believe we actually did this,” I say a bit mad. I am standing in the empty, deserted hallway of The Seeker, outside Jeryl’s quarters.
“I told you I needed your help,” Jeryl replies, his voice faint.
I am a bit unnerved by the silence in the ship. Aside from a skeletal crew of less than ten, Jeryl and I are the only ones onboard The Seeker—a vessel that could comfortably accommodate up to five hundred people.
“And what’s wrong with being helped on Earth?” I reply.
Jeryl doesn’t respond. Rather he exits his room, perfectly dressed in his white uniform with all laurels hanging from his breast badge.
“Is that all of it?” I ask, sarcastic.
“No,” he replies. He lets lose a sharp smile and says, “It’s not even half of it.”
I roll my eyes and begin to walk away.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, catching up to me. “I wouldn’t have asked you to stay with me while I work on my speech if I didn’t need you.”
“No, I understand,” I reply. I’m not really angry, after all we are going to Earth and we do have a shore leave of two weeks, so spending two more days aboard The Seeker isn’t a big deal.”
We arrive in the shuttle bay, where our transport awaits us. We strap in and the pilot takes off immediately.
“What I don’t understand is why back here on the ship?”
“Because it’s where I can think,” he replies. “I’ve made so much memories on this ship, it feels like my home. It feels like a part of me.”
I shake my head. “Jeryl, all the memories we made on this ship was either a memory of being shot at or a memory of shooting someone. That can’t be what inspires you…”
Then he smiles. “I do remember some really amorous times.”
I feel the heat explode in my cheek. I sneak a glance at the pilot to see if he heard what my husband just said. The pilot doesn’t seem to be paying us any heed.
My comm chirps.
“Go on,” I say after activating it.
“Where is the Vice Admiral?” says Admiral Flynn’s worried voice. “It’s almost time for his speech and the signing!”
“We are on the way, sir!” I snap off.
Jeryl gives me a questioned gaze. I mouth: Flynn.
“You’d think he’d take this ceremony really serious, giving the years of his life to make it work,” Flynn says then ends the line.
“He’s on his way, sir,” I say.
“Pilot, how much longer?” Jeryl says.
“Two minutes, sir,” he replies. “I’ve been cleared to land you right there in Geneva, near the ceremony’s location.”
“Copy that, Lieutenant,” Jeryl says.
We land shortly after. It’s noon in Geneva and the ceremony is taking place in the outdoors on a raised mega platform by the sea. There are over a thousand delegates from over twenty different races amidst the congregation, which numbers close to three thousand. In the front row are the Terran Council, the President, the Admirals that form the Armada Command of the Terran Armada, the members of the Corproate Council (with a fresh-faced new representative from Nova Corporation, I’m guessing), the leaders of all the species represented, and some key corporate heads.
We are ushered to the two empty seats in the front row. There’s a well decorated table before us are the documents to be signed. Before the table is a raised dais where the podium is.
An Admiral invites Jeryl up to make his remarks. We all clap as Jeryl makes his way to the podium.
“Today, is a great day for the peoples of the galaxy,” Jeryl starts as we’ve rehearsed over and over again.
“Today is a day our children and their children will remember and thank us for. It is a day they shall remember as the day the galaxy took an important step towards peace and unity. There have been wars, and the sacrifices we’ve made will not be so easily forgotten. There have been losses and compromises on all our parts—and those losses and compromises will not soon lose importance in our eyes. However, find solace in this truth, that history will remember each and every one of us as a hero. For true heroes are not forged in the fires of war, but in the quest for peace.
“Today, as we sign this accord, we become the architects for tomorrow.”
We all shoot to our feet, clapping our hands. The ovation thunders across the gathering.
Jeryl invites all the leaders, presidents, and ambassadors of the different species to the table to sign the Sol Accords, which they do amidst thunderous applauses and flashes of media bots. Jeryl is not the president, but he signs as a guarantor.
All the governments had made it clear that they wouldn’t be signing if Jeryl doesn’t sign. So the President of the Terran Union had made him the guarantor of the Sol Accords, forever enshrining his name in history.
While the signees are being photographed, I feel someone slip in beside me. I turn to see Admiral Flynn. He doesn’t look so happy.
“You and your husband need to see me tomorrow in my office at Armada Command in Vancouver by 0800,” he whispers to me. He then walks away saying no more.
I shrug.
Whatever it is, on a day like today…can wait.
Jeryl
There is a silence in the air car as it fires off towards Vancouver. Ashley and I are sitting in the back seat, holding hands. We’re both tensed.
Last night, during the party that followed the signing of the Sol Accords, a stern-eyed commander from Armada Command hand-delivered a summon to me and Ashley. We had been ordered officially to face an inquiry by 0900 in Vancouver, repeating what Flynn had told Ash earlier during the ceremony.
At first I wasn’t sure what I was hearing. Enquiry? After all we’ve achieved?
“This must be a mistake,” I told the officer once he delivered the news.
“No, sir,” he replied me. “It’s no mistake. There is an inquest into your actions over the last eight years. You will have to answer to it.” and then the man walked away.
I remember thinking: who let him into the party?
Ashley and I had been dancing in preparation for some bed action when the commander had intercepted us. Now we both stared at each other, the letters in our hands. Ashley had chosen that time as the right time to tell me that Admiral Flynn had approached her during the signing to tell her to meet with him at 0800.
After I had gotten past the fact that she had chosen to keep this information from me till now, I said, “It can’t be a coincidence that he’s requesting to see us one hour before we stand before the board of inquiry.”
“No, I don’t think so,” she had replied. “I think Armada Command wants to screw us over and Admiral Flynn is trying to prevent that.”
I remember how enraged I’d felt last night, when Ashley had voiced my suspicions. The bastards! We’d brought peace to the fucking galaxy and this is how my own race thanked us?
Suffice to say Ashley and I had spent the night mostly awake and deep in thoughts. As much as I would hate to admit it, I was afraid. I never thought there’d be a possibility of me being afraid on Earth. I was used to the idea that fear only existed when my navigations officer warned me that an unidentified ship had appeared within range. Or when a malicious ship was firing up its weapons system.
“What do you think they’d do to us?” Ashley asks, her voice a bitter reminder of what lay ahead.
I have tried not to dwell on what ifs because I realize that if you don’t know—well, you just don’t. There is no merit in dwelling on speculations that only breed fear. Yet, I find that not speculating and not dwelling on these speculations is far worse.
I heave a sigh.
“I honestly don’t know,” I reply. “It’s not as if we’ve informed Armada Command of some of our unforgivable sins.”
“We are approaching Armada Command,” the pilot says. “I have been asked to inform you that Admiral Flynn will see you immediately as we land.”
I frown. I look at my digital watch. It’s still 0630 hours. We still have about ninety minutes before our proposed meeting with the Admiral. We had decided to come in early so we could sniff around and get a feel of just how bad our situation was.
“This is unfair!” Ashley cried out. “After all we’ve done. After all we’ve been through. After all the dangers. After all we’ve lost.”
I realize she’s on the brink of tears. I feel her pain. Her anger.
The very institution we swore our allegiance to is the very same institution that is about to hang us out to dry. And for what reason? Surely the ends do justify the means. Surely the Command can overlook some of our discretions. Isn’t all fair in war?
I pull my wife closer and comfort her.
“I’m sure it’ll be alright,” I say, though it is a flat lie. For the first time in my career as an officer in the Terran Armada, I really don’t know what’s going to happen. I haven’t the slightest clue what’s going to happen. Are we going to be dishonorably discharged? Are going to be sent to prison?
I realize with a shocking chill that we are mercy of paper pushers, who’ve probably never tasted war or been on the receiving end of enemy lasers or torpedoes.
The shuttle landed soon after. We alighted and were met on the tarmac by Admiral Flynn. He has a grim expression on his face.
“Admiral Flynn,” I say in greeting.
“Jeryl,” he replied, then nods at my wife. “This is a big mess. A big mess. Follow me.”
He leads us into a drop tube that drives down to the fifteenth floor. Armada Command in is a massive set of pentagonal and octagonal towering structures —a nod to the twentieth century United States military command building. Armada Command is far bigger than what any twentieth century mind could conceive. It is a fortress that stretches two hundred stories high, covering a large area next to Vancouver. Completely self-contained, it still integrates seamlessly into the city.
Admiral Flynn leads us into his office, which is a lot bigger than the officer he has in New Washington. A lot bigger and a lot plusher. There is a big desk up against a large window that overlooks the river that traverses the side of the building. In the distance, I can see air cars zipping across the city. There is a no fly zone imposed around Armada Command, except for designated areas for entry and egress.
There’s a mid-sized couch arrangement off to the left of the room. This is where Admiral Flynn leads us to and sits us down. He sits across from us and observes us for a moment.
I have a lot of things to say to him, but I keep my mouth shut. Now, I figure, is the time to listen to Flynn and receive his words.
“You must be wondering why I met you at the tarmac,” he says.
We don’t answer him.
“The inquiry has been moved up to 0700 hours,” he says, then looks at his digital watch. “That means you only have twenty minutes before you both have to stand before the board.”
“Sir, we haven’t received any official notice as to that effect,” Ashley says.
Admiral Flynn only nods.
Our comms both chirp at the same time. I tap my comm and hear: “Please note that the inquiry has been moved up to 0700 hours. You are hereby required to present yourselves to the Chamber of by that time.”
I glance at Ashley.
“Someone must have gotten word that I was meeting you before,” he mutters to himself.
“It’s been moved up to 0700 hours,” she mutters to me, her eyes wide with shock.
I nod.
Then I look back to Admiral Flynn.
“Is this a witch hunt?” I ask the obvious question.
He nods. “They may say it’s not, but I know it is,” he says. “They found out I had requested to see you. They are trying to keep me from getting to you before they speak with you. Look, the plan is to have you removed from Armada Command.”
“What!” Ashley blurts, shooting to her feet.
“And they will, if you don’t do what I say…” Admiral Flynn continues.
“Who’s responsible for this?” I ask. “Why are they doing this?”
Admiral Flynn had been leaning forward to speak to us. Now he lays back on his couch and says, “It’s been going on for a while, Jeryl. You have amassed a lot of enemies back here on Earth while you continued along your trek through the stars. You’ve faced off against entire races. You indirectly started and directly ended wars. You were even able to bring the Terran Union to its knees. But I think the final straw was struck when the aliens wouldn’t sign an accord without you.
“You broke the hedge, Jeryl. And he that breaks the hedge is the one the serpent will bite. You broke rank. You rose above their heads, even though you’re just a Vice Admiral.”
“I didn’t do all these things for that purpose,” I counter. “I did everything I did with the only singular purpose of uniting the galaxy after witnessing firsthand the horrors of interstellar war. I can’t believe these guys would do such a thing!”
Admiral Flynn says, “They will, and much more. Look, we are running out of time. These guys know everything you did. There is a spy in The Seeker who has been reporting to Armada intelligence. You know this. You know that armada Intelligence has a spy one very vessel in the known universe. Doesn’t matter if you root them out. They’ll get another in.”
I nod. It was really a speculation, but I’m not surprised to learn that it’s reality.
“You know that you can’t lie,” Admiral Flynn says. “So, here’s what you are going to do. When asked about sharing classified information about the Tyreesians…”
“That’s what they’re going to use?” Ashley spouts in disgust.
Admiral Flynn nods solemnly and contuse, “Tell them I gave you a direct order to do so…”
I shake my head. “I am not dragging you into this.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“No,” I reply, firm. “If we go down, we go down. I am not bringing you down with me.”
“Listen to me!” Flynn roars, putting fear in my bones. “This is not about me or you. This is about the Galactic Council. This is about peace in the Galaxy. The people who are trying to string you up don’t have a clue how vital you are to the Accords. They think they can remove and the galaxy will not kick back.
“It’s better you’re in the Armada than out of it. If you don’t want to watch everything you’ve built fall to the ground, you will do exactly as I have told you.”
Then the doors into Flynn’s office opens and a complement of security personnel hefting weapons enter.
They salute us all.
“Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery and Captain Ashley Gavin,” announces the lead agent. “We have come to bring you before the board. Please follow us.”
I don’t look at Flynn again before I am take out of his office.
Ashley goes in first for questioning. I know these sessions take as much as thirty minutes, but Ashley is only in there for five minutes, further confirming my fears. These guys have already decided on their course of action. This is for the sake of formality. Then I know that I have to bend to Flynn’s will just this once.
For the greater good…
I am led into the board room. It is a dark place with only three spot lights. One light is on the entrance, the other light is on the stand, and the third is behind the curved, elevated table ahead. There are seven people seated. I can only see their forms and the color of theory uniform, but I don’t see their faces.
I step into the light.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” says an AI tasked with recorded sworn testimony.
“I do,” I reply.
“Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery, I only have one question to ask you,” says the Admiral in the middle. “The evidence against you is overwhelming. This is just a formality. Did you or did you not reveal classified information about the Armada’s project to develop a matter transportation technology to an alien nation?”
I look from one form to another. All I can feel now is hate and rage. Then I feel betrayal and it sucks like hell.
“I revealed to Leader Greer of the Tyreesian Collective that we are in the process of developing a matter transport technology, much like the one he used on New Washington,” I reply. “I did so as a means of staving the extermination of over 75,000 people on the Terran colony world of Omarias II. I did so to prevent another war between the Terran Union and a race that appears to be far superior to us.”
Silence.
Jeryl continues, “I also revealed this information to the diplomatic delegations on board The Seeker when explaining why they should not abandon the negotiations and how it was possible that Greer was still alive,”
“You violated one of our sacrosanct laws and you put this entire establishment at risk,” says the same Admiral. “And for that…”
This is it.
This is where I need to violate my morals and ethics to preserve my Oath of Service when I first joined the Terran Armada.
This is politics at the levels I’ve reached.
I have to do as Flynn told me.
“No, I did not,” I reply, cutting him off.
“Excuse me, Vice Admiral?” the Admiral replies, unsure of himself.
“I did not put this establishment at risk,” I say, “because I was acting on orders from my commanding officer, Admiral Flynn.”
Someone lets loose a soft, almost indiscernible gasp.
There’s shock.
If this is true, it throws a torpedo into their entire framework for drumming me out of Armada Command.
One statement undoes what they are trying to do. And hopefully it keeps me in the game.
The Admiral’s hunker in and talk between themselves for a few seconds.
“You do realize you are speaking under oath,” the lead Admiral says. “If your testimony is found to be false, the consequences can be more severe.”
I remain silent.
“We will inquire with Admiral Flynn,” the Admiral says, “then we will deliberate amongst ourselves and issue our judgment in 24 Earth hours. Dismissed.”
I turn around and walk out of the room.
Later that day, we are in a hotel room nearby when we receive the judgment of the inquest.
I take a look at the official communication:
Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery, under the charge of providing critical and classified national security information to interests that are not aligned with that of the Terran Union, has been recommended to receive a personal disciplinary note on his file. As penalty for such actions, he is stripped of his rank as Vice Admiral and reduced in rank to Captain.
He will serve as Captain of the TUS The Seeker.
The communication went to on specify that Ashley was further reduced in rank for aiding and abetting my actions and would have her rank reduced to Commander, becoming my First Officer.
We are sipping a bottle of wine on the seventieth floor of a five-star hotel overlooking the river when I read out the judgment.
“It could have been worse,” Ashley says with a smile. She’s wearing a diaphanous red robe that has been tingling all over.
I smile back at her, flinging the letter away. “It’s where I’ve always wanted to be.”
Ashley comes to me and sits on my lap. Then she kisses me and says, “Me, too.”
Jeryl
I sit in the Captain’s Office of CNC once again as Captain Jeryl Montgomery. Even though I’ve been demoted, I still feel contented. Commander Ashley Gavin is in the CNC preparing the ship for our month-long patrol along the Terran Union’s border with the Outer Colonies.
I think of the Outer Colonies and I feel nothing but sympathy. This Sol Accords we’ve signed with the other races effectively leaves them out in the cold. They were not party to the accords, even though they were humans.
Not that we didn’t try. We made several diplomatic overtures, and while diplomatic talks were opened up after first contact with the Sonali, they’ve progressed very little.
The abject hatred of Earth and the Terran Union’s tolerance for alien life has always stopped them. And now they’re howling through the presses about being shut out from the benefits of the council.
You should have thought about that when you were breaking away from the Union, I think.
I feel the soft thrum of our sub light engine as we break out of Earth’s orbit. I’d already given the order to set a course for the border. I also ordered that we don’t engage the FTL drive until I am back on the CNC.
At sub light, we were going to be at the moon in ten minutes. We would be exiting the solar system in an hour or so.
My comm chirps.
“Captain Jeryl, here,” I say.
There is a pause.
I look at the display readout on my desk to see who I’m speaking with. It’s the communications officer.
“Is there a problem, Commander?” I ask.
The commander clears his throat. “No, sir. It’s just that it’s weird to hear you address yourself as Captain.”
“Well, Lieutenant, it was either this or I get tossed out of the force,” I reply.
“I’m sorry about the wrong turn of events, sir, however, I’m glad to have you back as our Captain.”
I smile. “My wife was doing a great job, wasn’t she?”
“Fantastic one, sir!” the communications officer replies in haste. “She’s just not you. For what it’s worth, sir, I trust you with my life. And I’m willing to go anywhere with you as my captain. Sir, I know I speak for everyone when I say that.”
“Thanks, commander,” I say. “That means a lot. And I’m glad to be back. It’s where I’ve always wanted to be, anyway. Armada Command thinks this is a punishment. They don’t know it’s a dream come true.”
There is a short silence.
I clear my throat. “Did you want to tell me something?”
“Yes, sir,” the communications officer says. “Admiral Flynn is requesting a slipstream connection with you.”
“Put him through,” I say.
“Aye, captain.”
Without warning, a life-size Admiral Flynn erupts in the center of my office, courtesy of the new holoprojectors outfitted on The Seeker while in orbit of Earth. The tall man is standing right in front of me, his hands held behind his back and looking smart.
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt by the board’s decision,” I say, genuinely meaning every word.
The day after we had received our judgment, I contacted Admiral Flynn to find out is he had suffered for his supposed instructions. It turned out they had only issued a stern warning and a note in his file, which doesn’t matter much now that he was a full-fledged Admiral. I was thrilled to find out he hadn’t been demoted or sanctioned or even put on trial, because even Admirals report to the Terran Council. A supposedly powerful Admiral could be brought down by the Union. As ultimately, we all report to civilians.
This did not happen to Flynn. Only a stern warning and a useless note in his file, watered down by his advocate. It reinforces Flynn’s belief that they just wanted me for going over their head with the Galactic Council and the Union. It’s a sad thing to know that corruption and envy and greed exist in this institution that I cherish with my life.
Since this is the case, it is better I remain in the stars, exploring…and yes, fighting, than behind a desk, pandering to a set of insecure, weak Armada brasses.
Admiral Flynn flashes me a sympathetic look. “I told you they didn’t give two shits about what you did, son. They just wanted to put you in your place. They wanted to show you that they were still in charge and that you still report to them.”
I say, “That’s disheartening, sir. Not the demotion, but the reason behind it. If I were paying for my sins, then that’s okay. But I’m not. I’m paying this price because I tickled some top Armada official’s fancy.”
Admiral Flynn shrugs. “It’s politics, son,” he says.
“The Military is not a political organization,” I reply.
“All organization is a political organization,” he claps back, holding my gaze for a brief moment before beginning to pace. He only paced when he was antsy.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Why are you so edgy?”
He stops and looks me in the eye. “This isn’t over, Jeryl. I’ll fix it.”
“No, you won’t sir,” I reply. I rise to my feet and walk all the way around my desk until I’m sitting on the forward portion of my desk, facing the Admiral.
“You didn’t cause this,” I say. “There’s no need to fix it. Perhaps, I don’t want you getting into trouble because of this. I am here to serve and I will serve in whatever capacity Armada Command deems fit. If they deem it fit for me to captain a ship, then so be it.
“I don’t want you raising dust and becoming their target.”
The Admiral smiles. “You always were an honorable man,” he says.
I smile back. “I guess that’s one of my fatal flaws.”
“It’s what makes you such a great officer,” Admiral Flynn says, all of a sudden serious again. “And a good friend.”
For a moment, we shared a connection, a bond that had been forged in our days back at the Academy when he was my senior.
“As for your mission, you will be reporting directly to me,” he says.
I frown. “I thought I’d be reporting to Admiral Ford?” My orders had said Admiral Ford of Armada Command in New Washington.
He shakes his head. “I got them to change it. I want you reporting to me. I don’t want any obstacles in your career. I think after eight fucking years, we make a great team.”
I smile at the Admiral. “Thanks, sir,” I say.
Admiral Flynn nods at me. “See you in a month. Admiral Flynn out.”
The image vanishes from the screen and I am once again left alone in my ready room.
“Captain, please come to the CNC,” the communications officers voice comes through the intercom. “There’s something you should see.”
I compose myself before walking into the CNC.
“Captain in the CNC!” roars one of the three security personnel stationed in the CNC.
“At ease, everyone,” I say aloud.
Commander Ashley is at her station. She winks at me, and I nod back. I walk straight to the captain’s chair and I sit in it.
Memories surge in my mind. For a moment, I am overwhelmed. I manage to take control of these memories and force them to the back of my mind. Then I bring my erratic emotions under control.
I look up at the communications officer.
“What is the matter, Commander?”
“We just received a priority message, sir,” he says. “It’s sent directly to us, but it’s also broadcasting across all frequencies.” He turns to look at me. “It means everyone can hear what the message says.”
“Where is the message from?” I ask.
“It appears to originate from somewhere within the Tyreesian space,” the communications officer says.
“Greer…” I mutter.
“Put it on the screen,” I order.
“Aye, sir,” he says and returns his attention back to his workstation.
Soon after, a firm looking Greer appears on the screen.
“I speak on behalf of the Tyreesian collective when I say this. The Galactic Council will fall. The Tyreesian collective is an enemy to this Council and does not support it in any way. We hereby issue a warning to every race that is a signatory to the unholy pact, stay away from Tyreesian space. We will view any and every ship that enters our space as a provocation and we will destroy it with immediacy.
“And to you, Vice Admiral…or should I say Captain Jeryl Montgomery. You may have succeeded in this round, but don’t get comfortable. This is far from over.”
The Tyreesian vanished from the screen, plunging the CNC into silence.
Everyone turns to look at me.
I heave a loud sigh. Then flash a smile. “Well, at least they got the memo about my new command.”
The CNC erupts into laughter.
“What are we going to do about that message?” Ashley asks. “This is an obvious threat to our sovereignty as a people as well as the integrity of the Galactic Council.”
“Yes, sir,” says the science officer. “I agree with the First Officer. This threat is an act of war. We have to respond in kind.”
“In kind?” I ask.
“Yes,” the science officer replies with a straight face. “We have to send a strongly-worded message saying we will not be bullied or subjugated by the Tyreesians and that any attack whatsoever upon any of our vessel will see us bringing the full might of the Armada and the combined military of the Galactic Council to bear on the Tyreesian home world.”
“True,” I say. “But that’s above my pay grade. We have a one month patrol mission. Why not focus on that and leave the message to the Admirals back at Armada command?”
This is where the science officer cracks a smile. Relief washes through.
“Aye, sir,” he says.
CNC can tell I don’t really give a shit about Greer. Let someone else handle it.
I want to explore space. Find peace.
“Is course set for the border?” I ask.
“Aye, sir,” the navigations officer replies. “FTL is primed and ready. On you go.”
I sigh.
Such a good feeling.
“Go,” I say.
Fire On The Frontline
Call of Command Book 3
A Pax Aeterna Novel
Copyright © 2018 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Prologue
Gunfire shattered the night’s silence.
Lydia threw her back against the wall of one of the buildings in the alleyway, her heart beating fast. Holding her breath, she pressed the blankets she was holding with one hand against her chest.
“Shhh,” she whispered as something—someone—cooed from inside the blankets, a tiny hand reaching out to grasp her thumb. “We’re almost there.”
In the distance, she heard another laser rifle going off, the sound of it like the crack of a whip. Sounds like these weren’t that unusual nowadays, but Lydia had never managed to grow accustomed to them. As far as she was concerned, there were some things no human being should ever grow accustomed to.
Of course, the Udenar didn’t really care about what Lydia—or any other human being, for that matter—thought. They only seemed to care about two things: making humans do whatever task they deemed necessary and instilling fear in everyone’s heart. And not necessarily in that order.
She still remembered the day the Udenar arrived. She was tending to the fields, running a small army of crop-bots, when the sun was blotted out by thousands of raiders flying in close formation. She didn’t exactly know what was going on, but she was certain that it couldn’t be good—and she was right. The Udenar took over Galea in just one day, spreading over the surface of the small farming colony like cancer.
A few more days and everyone on the planet had been enslaved. What for, Lydia wasn’t entirely sure. All she knew was that the Udenar were running a tight ship, making every single able-bodied person on the planet work on some kind of mining operation.
Lydia had done her fair share of work under the Udenar, rewiring her own crop-bots to haul dirt back and forth, but she had enough. She wouldn’t live in fear.
Peering from the alleyway into the deserted road, she took a deep breath and turned around the corner of the building. Keeping herself close to the wall, she hurried down the street, mindfully placing one foot before the other and trying to make sure she didn’t do more noise than necessary.
She knew that at this time of the night, she’d be shot on sight. No warnings, no questions, no anything; just a laser burning a hole through her skull. And, come morning, her body would probably be hung in the town’s small square. Whatever could be said of the Udenar’s intellect, they sure had a flair for the dramatic.
“Almost there,” she whispered to the baby, stealing a quick glance at his rosy cheeks. He looked back at her with his pale blue eyes, and his lips curled into an innocent smile. Lydia wanted to smile back, but the anxiety cramping all her muscles had turned her face into a marble block.
Out in the distance, an old warehouse rose against the pale moonlight. The ceiling was riddled with holes, and the old hangar doors were on the verge of falling off from their hinges⸺but Lydia didn’t care about any of that. She knew she’d find what she was looking for inside those four walls.
Looking at both sides of the road, Lydia crossed it hurriedly and then stepped out of it, the tall grass reaching for her waist and brushing against the blankets she had wrapped the baby in. Furtively, she made her way toward the warehouse and then circled the building.
Although she was almost sure there’d be no Udenar patrol in the surrounding streets for another half an hour or so, she didn’t want to be reckless. And so she did as instructed, heading toward the back of the building, then going straight for the metallic door and fishing a keycard out from one of her pockets. She pressed it against the card reader, and the red glow coming from the small panel turned green.
Pushing the door open with her sore right shoulder (lately, her whole body always felt sore), she stepped inside the warehouse and narrowed her eyes into slits. She waited for a few heartbeats, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she finally sighed. There, in the middle of all the junk and discarded metal parts, was a large shape covered by a green canvas.
She was reaching for the canvas when she heard an aircar in the distance. This late at night, it had to be an Udenar patrol. She froze for what seemed like an eternity, hoping that the aircar would simply fly by, but that didn’t happen. Instead, she heard it stop right from across the street, the swoosh of the car’s hydraulics as it landed on the ground sounding just like a death sentence.
“No, no, no,” she repeated quietly to herself, holding the baby so tight against her chest that her ribs felt as if they were burning. “Please go away, just go away,” she insisted on her silent prayer, closing her eyes and biting down on her lower lip.
Her prayer didn’t work—she heard the aircar’s door swing open, and the echo of heavy footsteps reached her ears shortly after. When the baby stirred and then cried out, Lydia was almost sure she’d faint there and then.
Instead, adrenaline kicked in.
She turned on her feet as fast as she could and pulled the canvas back with the other while still holding the baby with her other hand. She allowed herself a panicked smile as she saw the small shuttle that had been hidden under the canvas and then simply pressed the keycard against the panel of one of the side doors.
Moving as fast as she could, she jumped inside. Although her heart was beating like a war drum, she could still hear the Udenar’s heavy footsteps rushing toward the warehouse. From the gaps on the battered hangar door, she saw the shaky glow of at least three flashlights.
Slowing down for just a second, she laid the baby down on the passenger’s seat and cursed under her breath as she tried to work the belts around his tiny body.
With that done, she finally sat on the pilot’s chair and glanced at the panel and all the electronics—the shuttle was an old HB70 model, used for simple orbiting transfers, and she was familiar with it. Two quick taps of her fingers on the panel, and she waited to hear the familiar rumble of the shuttle’s engines.
Instead, what she heard was the sound of laser rifles poking holes on the warehouse’s door. She sank in her seat instinctively, the lasers leaving a red glow inside the dark warehouse, and punched the controls one more time.
And then another. And another.
“For fuck’s sake!” she hissed, almost on the verge of tears. Some God up above must have taken pity on her, as the engines finally came alive, and the whole cockpit lit up at once, the glow from the control panel and dashboard almost too much for her eyes.
Grabbing the controls, she forced the shuttle upward, raising it just a few centimeters in the air, and then she held her breath. Tilting the controls forward, she gritted her teeth as the front of the shuttle smashed against the large warehouse’s door, sending them flying back in an arch.
Right in front of her were three Udenar, all of them fully equipped and wearing laser rifles. Despite their helmets and body gear, she could still make their grotesque humanoid shapes⸺almost like a human, but with awkwardly angled limbs and a permanent hunched back.
They pointed their rifles straight at the shuttle, and Lydia made a split second decision. Instead of attempting to fly upward and risk being shot at, she just upped the shuttle’s speed. By the time the Udenar realized what she was about to do, most of their blood was already covering the front of the shuttle.
“Serves you right, assholes,” she cried out suddenly as one of the Udenar flew over the cockpit, rolling over it like a ragdoll. Gripping the controls so tight that she felt the blood run out from her fingers, she wiped the sweat off her brow with her right hand and forced the shuttle to trace an upward arch toward the distant stars.
Soot and smog that now covered the planet’s surface made it impossible for her to see them, but she knew they were there anyway.
And somewhere among those stars, she’d have a new beginning for her and her child.
She didn’t care if that happened on Human Confederation or Terran Union space. Hell, as far as she was concerned, she could start from scratch right among the Sonali. As long as her baby was safe, the rest was nothing more than background noise.
As she finally escaped Galea’s atmosphere, she held her breath as she saw the star-sprinkled firmament. How long had it been since she had seen a sky like that? Too long, that was for sure.
She just stared out into space as the shuttle slowly entered orbit, almost hypnotized by the moment. “Wake up, Lydia,” she told herself, sitting straight in her seat.
She hadn’t had anything to eat in two days, and she hadn’t had any sleep for at least three. But as much as she wanted to rest, she couldn’t do it on Galea’s orbit. The Udenar kept the whole planet under lock and key, and although she was off the ground, she still had to escape the star system.
She was about to input the coordinates onto the control panel when the whole dashboard turned red. She looked at the shuttle’s sensors and gritted her teeth as she saw a dozen red blips on the screen. A fleet of Udenar raiders, all approaching at a fast clip.
“God, if you’re out there,” she whispered as she manned the controls once more, “Now would be a good time to give me a hand.”
Jeryl
“Nothing?”
“Nothing at all, sir. The galaxy has never been this quiet.”
“Good,” Jeryl whispered as he sat on the captain’s chair, glancing at the viewscreen with a soft smile on his lips. He never thought he’d be happy about the boredom of a border patrol, but after five years of war with the Sonali, he now saw things differently.
He still remembered the days when The Seeker’s sensors picked up hostiles every single day, and he didn’t miss them for a single minute. Sure, when he was younger he had enjoyed the rush, but after seeing the hefty price humanity had to pay for such a conflict…
“Start plotting a course back to the Edoris Station,” he said as he glanced at his navigation officer, Lieutenant Docherty.
“On it, sir,” the lieutenant replied quickly.
Jeryl’s gaze wandered back to the viewscreen. He breathed in deeply, taking in the vastness of all the empty space that surrounded The Seeker, and he found himself smiling once more.
Being promoted to Vice-Admiral after the war had felt good, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he felt more at home as Captain of The Seeker. Sure, it had been a demotion, but what did he care? He had his ship, Ashley was by his side both as his wife and First Officer, and the galaxy was at peace.
Of course, the Tyreesians were probably nursing their anger in some far corner of the galaxy, but they had been keeping to themselves. That probably wouldn’t last long, knowing how the race operated, but Jeryl simply refused to agonize over the future. He’d take it one day at a time, and he’d relish every single day of his life.
“Engineering says FTL drives will be ready in about five minutes,” Lieutenant Docherty proclaimed from his workstation—a complete mess of blinking screens, all of them littered with navigation formulas and coordinates.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Leaning back on his chair, Jeryl ran his fingertips over all the assorted buttons on both arms of the chair. And to think that with a push of a button, he could decimate thousands of lives⸺all without breaking a sweat and hearing a single cry of agony. A shiver ran up his spine as he remembered the days of the war.
How many lives had perished because Jeryl had issued a command? How many had suffered because of him?
Stop it, he commanded his brain, choking the life out of those thoughts. No good will come of that.
He had spent enough sleepless nights thinking about the war to know that it’d do him no good. After all, he had done his best to put the galaxy on the right track. From brokering the peace between the Terran Union and the Sonali to making the Galactic Council a reality, Jeryl knew he had done everything he could to do some good.
Now it was up to others to decide on the fate of the galaxy.
As far as he was concerned, he was content to mind nothing but the fate of his ship and his crew. Maybe one day, perhaps not that far down the road, he’d have the urge to settle somewhere nice. Somewhere warm preferably, where he could trade off his uniform for a pair of khaki shorts and one of those tacky shirts sold at spaceports everywhere.
It’d be nice to have one or two kids running around and a place to call home. Sure, The Seeker was Jeryl and Ashley’s home, and had been for a long time, but it wasn’t exactly the place to raise a family—a functional one, at least.
Despite his devotion to the Terran Armada, Jeryl would never go to the lengths Admiral Pierce had gone—to raise a child only so that he could turn her into a perfect military machine. At least those were the rumors.
“Lieutenant, you have the bridge,” Jeryl said as he stood up, nodding at Docherty. “Await my return to jump into FTL.”
“Yes, sir,” Docherty replied, his tone so perfectly clipped he almost sounded like one of those officers part of the Armada recruiting campaign.
Jeryl was almost out of CNC. The doors had already slid onto their partitions to let him through—when Mary Taylor, the comms officer, called after him.
“Sir, wait!” She exclaimed, going up to her feet and glancing from her screen to Jeryl.
“Got anything?”
“Yes, sir…” Mary continued, now fully focused on whatever she was reading on her screen. “We’re picking up...something.”
“Something?” Jeryl asked, already turning on his heels and heading back into CNC. “Care to elaborate?”
“Yes, sir. We’re picking a frequency, but it’s tenuous.”
“We might be picking up some kind of magnetic interference from a nearby star,” Jeryl offered, but his comms officer just pursed her lips. She considered that option for one second, but then quickly and completely discarded it.
“No, it can’t be. There’s someone out there, and they’re trying to reach us.” She stopped for a moment, lost in her own thoughts, and then looked back at Jeryl. “Well, not exactly trying to reach us—whoever it is, they’re just trying to reach...anyone. But the signal we’re picking up is too tenuous. They must be far. Either that, or their comms apparel is too weak or outdated.”
“Alright, let’s look into it,” Jeryl said in a loud voice, assuming his position on the captain’s chair once more. “Let’s use the long-range scanner and see if we pick up anything.”
“On it, sir,” one of the young ensigns proclaimed and immediately got to work, pushing a myriad of buttons on his holographic keypad.
“Put it up on the viewscreen,” Jeryl commanded, and a couple seconds later, the viewscreen took over the forward part of CNC. Projected onto a blanket of darkness and stars, Jeryl could spot a faint blue dot on the corner of the screen, the farthest coordinates The Seeker’s scanners could pick.
“Whoever they are, they got lucky,” Mary announced. “Just a few hundred kilometers more, and I doubt we’d be able to pick up anything at all.”
“Lieutenant Docherty, stop what you were doing. Set a course for that ship’s coordinates. I want to look into it,” Jeryl said, drumming his fingers on the armchair. It was probably nothing, but he wanted—needed—to be sure. After all, The Seeker was patrolling the border between the Terran Union and The Human Confederation.
More often than not, it was a quiet place, but occasionally you’d find the odd smuggler trying to make his way from one space territory to the other without paying the custom taxes. And then there were the space pirates, of course, but they weren’t that much of a concern. Whenever anyone saw The Seeker, one of the most formidable killing machines during the Sonali War, they just stopped dead on their tracks and paid their respects to Captain Jeryl Montgomery.
The thing was, lately, this specific quadrant had been very quiet. Too quiet, in fact. From all the reports, the quadrant was part of a smuggling route between some of the Human Confederation’s farming colonies and their well-off counterparts on the Union.
But a few months ago, ships stopped crossing the border. The whole zone was like a silent graveyard, and maybe that was the reason Jeryl had decided on it as a good spot for a patrol run.
“ETA, Lieutenant?”
“Thirty minutes, sir,” Docherty said.
Jeryl kept his eyes on the viewscreen as The Seeker cut its way through empty space at sub light speed, the blinking blue dot up on the screen growing larger as the minutes ticked by.
“How’s that frequency? Still nothing?”
“It’s still too tenuous, sir,” Mary Taylor said, “I’m betting whoever’s out there, they’re using some old and weak equipment. But we’ll be able to have pick up a clearer signal in just a few minutes.”
“Good. Because it seems our friends out there are not alone,” Jeryl commented, watching as a dozen blinking dots appeared on the screen, right behind the initial signal they had picked up.
What was going on? Smugglers? Pirates?
No, it didn’t make any sense—none of those flew so many ships in such a tight formation. Only one thing was clear: someone was being chased.
“Sir, I got it!” Mary finally announced. “We’re within range, and we’re being hailed!”
“Put it up on the screen.”
“We only got audio, sir,” she said, but pushed the signal onto the viewscreen all the same. The screen went dark, but the sound of static permeated the whole of CNC.
“This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery of The Seeker. We’re doing border patrol on this sector, and we require you to announce yourselves. Please provide identification.”
“Please...someone...help...” a frail woman voice pleaded, the crying voice of a small child on the background.
In that moment, Jeryl’s blood turned cold.
Jeryl
“Was that a…baby in the background?”
“Yes, sir. I believe it was.”
“Find out who’s chasing them, now!” Jeryl ordered Mary, and then identified himself again. “Shuttle, this is Captain Jeryl Montgomery of the Terran Union Starship The Seeker. What’s your name?”
“My…my name is Lydia. Please, help us.” Her response was still crackling over the system. Jeryl looked at Mary and brought his hands up, in a quiet what the hell gesture.
She shook her head and shrugged. “She must be using an old system, sir.”
“Clear it up.” Jeryl turned his attention back to the main screen. “Lydia…Lydia, can you hear me?”
The transmission became clearer, with only a few minor cracks of static. “...es, I can hear you. Please…them off of m…”
Jeryl walked up behind Docherty. “Who’s chasing her? And what the hell is she flying?”
“She’s flying an old HB70 model shuttle. It’s not meant for long distance, or speed. I’m not completely sure who’s chasing her, sir. Scans show that they’re small, raider-sized ships like ours. But I don’t recognize the signature or design, sir. They’re shaped like a, uh, a boomerang, maybe?”
“Do we have visuals on them?”
“On it, sir,” one of the ensigns replied, and the viewscreen shifted to show a small shuttle against a pitch-black canvas.
“Zoom in,” Jeryl ordered quickly.
Docherty pushed a button on his panel and the screen zoomed in. The HB70 was sort of a flying box. About thirteen feet long, eight feet wide, with two engines on the top corners, the shuttle was a dinosaur. The small raider-type ships chasing her looked just as Docherty said, like boomerangs, or…
“You have got to be shitting me. They look like twentieth-century stealth bombers.”
“But they’re faster and outfitted so much better. They could actually cause some damage to us, sir. Not enough to destroy us, but enough to hurt us.”
“Lydia, push that little box of yours as hard as you can. We’re going to try to get them off your back.”
“…ank you!”
Jeryl turned towards Mary. “Taylor, get me connected to those ships.”
“Sir.”
“Where the hell is my First Officer?” He asked no one in particular, pursing his lips as he looked around CNC. Lately, it seemed like Ashley was avoiding him. Maybe it was all in his head, but he couldn’t help thinking that it had something to do with the fact that she had lost the captaincy to him.
“I’ve opened a channel, sir.”
“Good, keep talking to Lydia, and ask her about the raiders.” As Mary nodded, Jeryl put himself in the center of the CNC. “This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery of the The Seeker. Identify yourselves.”
There was no answer. The silent hiss was loud. Shaking his head, Jeryl tried again. “This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery of the The Seeker. You are currently chasing a civilian HB70 shuttle. Identify yourselves.”
“No answer, sir. They’re actively ignoring us.”
“Arm the weapons, get the shields up, and prep the fighters. I’m gonna try this one more time. Maybe being a little more forceful will do something,” Jeryl said as he took a deep breath.
“Attention, unidentified craft in pursuit of the HB70 shuttle. This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery of the very big, very powerful The Seeker. You need to identify yourselves right now, or we will be forced to intervene. If you don’t know what that means, it means that we will stop you—at any cost. Identify yourselves.”
Still, no answer came. Even the ensign at the security station sighed. Hiding a grin, Jeryl shook his head.
“Okay. How long before we get to her?”
“Several minutes, Captain,” Mary answered.
“What about the ships behind her?”
“They’re holding off, for now. I think we’ve confused, or maybe even scared them,” Docherty responded.
“Do we have a visual on the shuttle pilot yet?”
“Yes, sir. Putting it on main screen now,” Mary answered.
Jeryl looked up at the screen and hid his shock. What he saw was a woman that looked older than she was. Her sunken cheeks, dark eyes, and unkempt hair aged her tremendously. The panic on her face didn’t help either. Behind her, Jeryl could see the barest of movement and assumed it was the baby.
“Lydia, how are you holding up?”
“Like shit, sir. Is there any way to get these things off of me?”
“Working on it, just keep pushing that shuttle and keep an eye on your systems.”
“Sir, I’ve figured out who, or rather, what they are,” Mary said.
Jeryl walked over to Mary’s station. “What do you got?”
“The raiders are old Tyreesian design…”
“Those are Tyreesians out there?”
“Not exactly…I said they were old Tyreesian design. About three generations ago, a similar design to what they were using just before the war, according to some of the records we’ve found since the war ended.” Mary punched a few holographic keys and brought up an image on her screen. Pointing her finger, she showed him what she was talking about. “The Tyreesians are known for selling off their old tech when they make advancements. Pirates, Tyreesian rebels, and other races have been known to buy their old ships.”
“So…who’s flying these?”
“The woman on the shuttle told me that those are Udenar. I don’t know much about them.”
“I do. They’re ugly bastards. Humanoid, legs and arms bent the wrong way, permanent hunchback…not the brightest light on the ship.”
“Sir?”
“As a race, they’re older than human beings, but not terribly smart. They managed to figure out space travel after we did, even though they’re almost twice our age,” Jeryl explained, trying to remember whatever pieces of information concerning the Udenar bastards still floated inside his head. “Separated into three different ‘tribes’, the Udenar are more followers than leaders. They follow whoever is strong enough to take over the tribe.”
Jeryl sighed as he continued. “Each tribe has their own skin color; gray, brownish green, and maroon. The gray ones are the ‘smart’ ones; the maroon ones are the grunts, but mean bastards; and the brown/green ones are the…they’re the…well, they’re the cannon fodder and punching bags for the other two. Two-thirds of the population are the dumb ones, the weaker ones, and they’re usually the first ones sent into battle.”
“So, they bought Tyreesian raiders and are chasing random shuttles?”
“Could be but…they aren’t even in this sector, normally. They attack trading routes between Drupadi and Tyreesian space. Makes no sense why they’re out here.” Looking back at the main screen, he could see another collective of raiders coming to join the first group, bringing the number to twenty-four. “Bastards. How much longer before we get to Lydia?”
“Three minutes before we’re in range.”
“And the Udenar?”
“Thirty seconds, they’re speeding up.”
“Goddammit! Where the hell is my First Officer?”
“She’s not answering our calls, sir.”
Son of a bitch! Where the hell is that woman?
Jeryl pushed the ship-wide broadcast button, “All hands, we are at red alert. I want the Hunter pilots to load up and prep, you’re launching in forty-five seconds.” Taking his hand off the button, he ordered shields up and an increase in speed.
“Lydia?”
“Captain, they’re getting closer! They’ve started targeting me!”
“We’re sending out our fighters and we’ll be there in a minute. You need to move that shuttle any way you can to keep them off you.”
“It’s barely holding together as it is,” Lydia shouted. She screamed as laser fire erupted around the shuttle. The baby’s cries echoed in the background.
“Lydia, you need to move!” Jeryl looked at his navigators, “Get us there and launch the Hunters, now!”
Docherty pushed the comm button, “All Hunters launch, I repeat, all Hunters launch!”
“Docherty, will any of our weapons reach them?”
“No, barely out of range sir.”
“Fire some shots off anyway. Might slow down the pursuit enough for the shuttle to put some distance between them.”
“Aye, sir.”
It’s been a while, Jeryl thought grimly. It’s time for The Seeker to bare its teeth again.
Jeryl
“Lydia, we’re going to fire a few shots in your direction to try to get them to back off a bit, so watch out,” Jeryl told Lydia as calmly as he could.
“…kay,” Lydia’s voice cracked. The emotion and stress of everything happening was obviously getting to her. If she makes it through this, she’s going to need some serious therapy to help her deal, Jeryl thought to himself.
On screen, he watched as The Seeker’s laser cannons fired at the Udenar fighters. The blasts came up short, but it did exactly what he hoped it would. The Udenar backed off, not realizing the range of the lasers.
“Lydia, push that shuttle as hard as you can, we’ve given you some space.” There was no response from Lydia, but the shuttle stopped weaving back and forth and began flying straight for The Seeker.
“Sir, the Hunters are launching. They’ll engage with the Udenar in a matter of seconds,” Docherty announced.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Get engineering to give us everything they can. I don’t want to leave our Hunters out there alone.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Jeryl turned his attention to his other navigator. “Ferriero?”
Pedro Ferriero turned to look at Jeryl. He was in his early twenties, but he had been one of the most promising crew members of The Seeker. “Sir?”
“I want you to keep firing at the Udenar, even if we don’t hit them yet, keep them off balance.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ferriero began punching holographic buttons and his screen changed to show the Udenar raiders and some targeting reticules. He pushed some more buttons and the ship’s laser cannons began firing.
Funny how lasers have a limited range, Jeryl thought as he watched the screen. I still remember how I thought they’d go on until they hit something.
Lydia’s HB70 was centered on the screen, a myriad of boomerang-shaped raiders chasing her while dodging laser blasts that popped before them.
Then The Seeker’s Hunters came into view. Bullet-shaped fighters with four wings and three thrusters, each wing armed with a laser cannon and two missiles, the Hunters were the Union’s third generation personal fighter. Ridiculously quick, well-armored, and fitted for two, the Hunter was the latest weapon the Union was using since the formation of the Galactic Council. As short-range fighters, they sacrificed fuel capacity for speed, making them annoying and devastating pests to any enemy vessel.
“Sir!” Ferriero suddenly blurted out.
“What is it?”
“There’s another group of raiders coming, six more just appeared on screen.”
“Shit. Thirty to twelve. Docherty, get us over there!” Jeryl sat in his chair and brought up his own holo-screen. Pushing a few buttons, he had the information he was looking for: the Hunters’ status, The Seeker’s ordinance count and shield level, and Lydia’s shuttle.
This allowed him to keep track of what was happening. It was a new technology that some bureaucrat wanted the captains to use to justify the new government contract. Jeryl didn’t care—it wasn’t a bad piece of tech, and it did help him keep track of everything from his chair, which was convenient.
“Ferriero, how far are the six new ones?”
“They should arrive around the same time as us, sir.”
“Good. I want you to maintain fire on the raiders while Docherty gets us in position to get Lydia’s shuttle on board.”
“Sir, we have to drop the shields in order to allow her to board. That will leave us vulnerable to enemy fire.”
“I know that, but we can handle their laser fire better than she can. Docherty, I want you to position us between the shuttle and the raiders and open up shuttle bay doors.”
Docherty and Ferriero looked at each another, but did as they were ordered. Watching the screen, Jeryl saw the Hunters engage with the Udenar raiders. The Hunters were split into two teams of six, one going up, one going left.
Their movements were flawless, the symmetry undeniable. They moved as though they were one entity, one mind. Twelve raiders went up to match the six Hunters. Ten raiders followed the other six that went left, and the last two raiders continued to chase the shuttle. The six others were still too far away to tell who they were choosing to target.
Jeryl looked at the Hunters who went to the left since they were going to be the first to engage. The Hunters stayed in close formation, barely dodging the laser-fire. It looked as though they were playing a game of chicken with the Udenar.
Just as Jeryl was about to yell at them to move, the six broke apart, shooting off in different directions. This seemed to confuse the Udenar raiders—they tried to break off and chase the Hunters, somehow leaving two of the Hunters completely uncovered. Those two changed direction again and began chasing down the raiders that were chasing the other Hunters.
Meanwhile, the other six began a complicated spinning maneuver. Each ship was spinning as they were revolving around one another, and that kept the Udenar from being able to lock down a target. The Hunters held their fire until they were almost on top of the Udenar raiders, then shot at point blank range, striking with devastating accuracy. Three Udenar were destroyed while four others took damage.
“Sir, we’re within firing range of the raiders.”
“Coordinate with the Hunters, make sure to fire on the ones that they aren’t chasing. Get us between Lydia and the raiders and get her on board this ship!”
“Yes, sir.”
The Seeker started firing at several of the raiders, hitting two, and sending them spinning uncontrollably in different directions. The shuttle was right in front of them, and Jeryl could see the damage it had sustained. It was a miracle it was holding together. Laser burns covered the entire left side of it, and one of the engines seemed to be blinking in and out. The six new raiders were firing at the shuttle, luckily with terrible aim.
“How much longer?”
“Seven seconds. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two…and one! We’re in front of…uh, behind her, sir.”
“ALL STOP! Get the shuttle bay open! Lydia! Turn the shuttle around and get inside The Seeker as fast as you can!” Jeryl yelled out. Looking at his screen, two of the Hunters were taking heavy damage, one was crippled, and the other nine were flying around like crazy little, drunk hummingbirds, blasting Udenar raiders, then shooting off in a random direction.
The hostile raiders fired on The Seeker then, rocking the ship. Ship computers were warning of possible hull breaks, but Jeryl wasn’t worried; she was a tough ship and could handle a few seconds of laser blasts.
“She’s on board, sir!”
“Shields up! Get us moving! Take out those ugly bastards! I need security and a med team to the shuttle bay, immediately!”
The awkward white flash of the shields engaging flashed on the screen, and The Seeker started moving and firing. Seeing one of the raiders baring down on the crippled Hunter, Jeryl quickly took over part of the weapons array, aimed, and fired a particle beam. The raider vaporized, leaving behind only a small piece of a wing. Ferriero fired on three raiders as two Hunters fired on them, destroying all three quickly.
Then Jeryl noticed one of the Hunters flying around and through the raiders, almost as if the raiders were being held back while the Hunter was on fast forward. The Hunter was slicing through the raiders with ease.
“Who’s the pilot? Identify yourself!”
Ashley’s voice came over the comm system. “Hey, Captain.”
“Ashley! What the hell are you doing in a Hunter?”
“Blowing up Tyreesian leftovers. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
Shaking his head, Jeryl turned his attention to Docherty and Ferriero. “Help her out, take those raiders out.”
“Damn, she’s good.” The voice came from behind Jeryl. Looking back, he saw an ensign smiling and watching in admiration.
“What’s your name again, Ensign?”
“Ensign Tira Avae, sir,” she said as she snapped to attention.
“At ease. Pay attention to your instrument panels…and maybe a little to what your First Officer is doing.”
Shaking his head again, Jeryl looked back at his screen. Four of his Hunters were incapacitated, and only fourteen of the thirty raiders remained. Ashley flew her Hunter with ease, conducting maneuvers that few of her people thought was possible. Jeryl tried to concentrate on the other Hunters, but he kept returning to Ashley’s.
She flew back and forth, firing off lasers with deadly accuracy. Looking at his screen, he saw that she still had her full complement of missiles, the only Hunter to have more than three remaining.
With only ten raiders left, Ashley ordered the rest of the Hunters to split into teams of two and to come at the raiders from different directions.
“Ferriero, get that cluster of raiders on the right, make it easier for our Hunters,” Docherty said as he turned The Seeker to the right. Ferriero took aim, moved his fingers to the plasma cannon button, and fired. Four raiders, clustered together and turning around to come back at the Hunters, vanished from the screen.
“Thanks,” Ashley’s voice said over the comm. “Hunters, let’s finish them off.”
That kid, Tira, isn’t wrong, Jeryl thought. She’s good. Maybe too good.
Ashley
Ashley Montgomery, first officer of The Seeker, entered the flight bay and looked around at the fighters. She and the other pilots had decided to call them Hunters. They were fearsome, beautiful, and deadly. Bullet-shaped, with two wings that opened to four wings once in flight, each wing armed with a laser and two missiles each, three thrusters in the back, and each painted a dark, metallic gray with white.
“Commander?” It was Lieutenant Vanessa Templeton, head flight engineer in charge of the flight bay.
“What is it, Vanessa?”
“Ma’am, the CNC is looking for you.”
“Ignore them.”
“Ma’am?” His look of shock was priceless, Vanessa was a stickler for the rules.
“I’ll go up there in my own time. I’m inspecting the Hunters.” Ashley ignored Vanessa’s salute and proceeded to look around at the fighters. Each one outfitted for two, that way one could concentrate on piloting while the other handled weapons, although one pilot could do both from their console. It was a sort of fail-safe, if anything happened to one pilot, the other could still fly and fight.
Jeryl’s voice came on the overhead, “All hands, we’re on red alert. I want the Hunter pilots to load up and prep, you’re launching in forty-five seconds.”
“Vanessa! What the hell is happening?”
“There’s a shuttle being chased by about two dozen raider-sized fighters, ma’am.”
“Get me into a flight suit!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Vanessa raced to the far side of the flight bay, Ashley right behind him. He helped her into the flight suit as the other pilots were hurrying into their own suits.
“Powers! I’m going out on Hunter nine, I want you as my second.”
Powers Boothe barely hesitated. “Whatever you say, Commander. Jensen, your sitting this one out. Let’s move people, we’re launching!”
Ashley and Powers raced over to the Hunter ship that had a number nine painted on the nose. Climbing the ladder into the front cockpit, Ashley grabbed the helmet and secured it to her suit. She heard the hiss of the suit’s air regulators kicking in, then her helmet’s HUD came on, linking her to the fighter.
Powers’ voice came on in her left ear, letting her know he was locked and settled. Double checking her instruments, Ashley powered up the Hunter and felt the power of the engines kick in, lifting the ship off the floor.
Looking around, she watched until the first eight Hunters launched, then pushed the throttle forward, launching her ship into space. The instantaneous push on her body was exhilarating for the split second they were still in artificial gravity, then they were clear of The Seeker and all feeling of weight vanished.
“We’ve just been fed with information from the CNC. We’re facing two dozen Tyreesian class fighters, older ones. They’re piloted by Udenar soldiers—not that bright, but they outnumber us.”
“Tell me about the fighters.”
“Twenty-first century stealth bomber look, class three laser canons on each wing tip, particle beam under the cockpit, twin howitzer-style cannons in the front, armor is weak, but maneuverability is equal to ours.”
“Got it. Hunter team, Six-Pack Maneuver! Team A up top, Team B go left.”
“Yes ma’am,” the Hunters replied. Then, the twelve Hunters split up seamlessly.
“Get them in close before you fire. Looks like The Seeker is going to provide us some cover.” Ten Udenar raiders focused on Ashley’s team that had gone left, twelve on Team A, leaving two to chase the shuttle.
“Six more raiders just showed up. Thirty in total!”
“Stay in formation, don’t worry about the six new ones, we’ll deal with them later. Both teams, let’s play chicken with these guys. Keep movements to a bare minimum to avoid their fire, then shatter when I call it.”
The Udenar were getting closer, but their aim was atrocious. With only the most minimal of movement, Ashley and her Hunters avoided the laser blasts with ease.
“Commander, if they decide to use their particle cannons, we’ll be hit if we stay this tight.”
“I know, but they’re not going to use their particle cannons. They failed more often than they worked. SHATTER!”
Each member of Team-B split off in different directions, hitting their boosters to add distance between them and the Udenar. Ashley wasn’t followed by any of the ten Udenar raiders, so she instantly changed direction and began chasing them. One of her team was being chased by three raiders, so she went in to help. She locked on to one of the raiders and fired her lasers, destroying the raider quickly. She lined up a second one and fired, destroying the left wing with ease.
Looking over, Team A was zipping back and forth among their twelve opponents. “Powers, keep me updated on how the other team is doing. Jasper, you have one coming on your left!” Ashley chased down another raider, destroying it.
“Two coming up behind us!” Ashley looked back, saw two raiders come up behind her and jerked her Hunter hard right. She made the Hunter barrel roll as she pushed it hard, changing directions at a blink of an eye.
If they were in any form of atmosphere, she and Powers would’ve been bouncing around their respective cockpits. But in space, the jerking around was a brilliant plan, and kept the Udenar off their asses.
Getting behind one of the raiders, Ashley shot and missed. “Damn!” She realigned her shot and destroyed the raider.
“We got two of the Hunters taking heavy damage, one disabled. Eighteen Udenar remaining.”
“Shit.” Turning back towards the main fighting, she saw The Seeker vaporize a raider that was bearing down on number 3.
“Who’s the pilot? Identify yourself!”
“Hey, Captain.”
Crap. He’s gonna be so pissed, Ashley thought to herself as she bit her lip.
“Ashley! What the hell are you doing in a Hunter?”
“Blowing up Tyreesian leftovers. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
She clicked off her connection to The Seeker and concentrated on taking out as many raiders as possible. “Hunters, protect our injured. Jasper, you’re with me.” Jasper followed Ashley, helping her take out the raiders as they flew back and forth.
“Four down, Commander. Fourteen left.”
“Everyone, synchronize your HUDs with mine. Jasper, hit the one at eleven o’clock, Martinez, three o’clock. Francois, cover Vizzenzi’s ass, you’re always looking at it anyway. Powers, make sure I got full thrusters, I’m going to cut through them like a scythe.”
“You got it, Commander.”
Ashley dodged, weaved, and charged full-on, never once using her missiles and hitting each raider with a deadly barrage of laser fire.
With only ten left, she ordered her remaining Hunters to pair off and chase the rest of the raiders down. As she and Jasper were flying for a pack of four raiders, The Seeker turned and fired off its particle cannon. The four raiders vanished, leaving only small traces of debris behind.
She clicked on her comm to The Seeker, “Thanks. Hunters, let’s finish them off.” Ashley turned her Hunter around, jerking the stick hard to the left. “Powers, get me a bead on the last six. I want targeting locked down for the missiles.”
“Aye, Commander.” As her screen lit up with six targeting reticules, she signaled to Powers to give her all eight missiles. The two raiders that were farthest away were each targeted with two missiles on her screen.
She counted to three silently in her head, then fired. She watched as her full compliment of missiles rushed away from her. One raider exploded, followed by a second, then a third and fourth. The fifth and sixth raiders followed quickly, and everything was clear.
“Hell yeah! That was fun! How are our people, Powers?”
“Four incapacitated, but living. Three more have taken damage, but all accounted for, Commander.”
“Nice. Good job, guys.” She opened the comm to The Seeker. “Captain, we need some help with pickup.”
“On our way,” Jeryl replied.
“Powers, did the shuttle make it on board?”
“Yes, ma’am. The Captain is requesting your presence in the shuttle bay, at your earliest convenience of course.”
Ashley laughed. That was a blast! I love flying these things.
She kept her Hunter outside, keeping an eye on her people until they were all aboard The Seeker. Then, she slowly flew her little fighter into the flight bay, landing it in its designated spot. Disconnecting her helmet, she took a deep breath and let out a sigh. She unbuckled, popped her canopy open, and climbed down. Vanessa came over to help her out of her flight suit.
“Good flying, Commander. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone fly like that.”
“Thanks, Temp. It was fantastic. How’s the shuttle?”
“In the shuttle bay. The Captain wants you there.”
“Okay.” Ashley shrugged out of the rest of the suit and walked out of the flight bay.
Jeryl
“All good?” Mahesh asked, but Jeryl just kept looking straight ahead as he walked out of the CNC, the good doctor trailing after him. Jeryl had summoned him the moment the old HB70 shuttle landed inside The Seeker. After he had seen Lydia on the viewscreen, he knew that she’d need medical treatment as soon as possible.
“All good, doc,” Jeryl lied, his voice terse. He knew that Mahesh could see through whatever bullshit he espoused, but he wasn’t particularly concerned—more than his subordinate, Jeryl looked at The Seeker’s Chief Medical Officer as a friend. How many of Jeryl’s wounds had the doctor tended to? How many of Jeryl’s officers had Mahesh pried from death’s cold hands? Too many to count, that was for sure.
“If you say so,” the doctor shrugged, his voice revealing the true meaning behind his words. Jeryl was pissed at Ashley, and Mahesh knew it.
“Yeah, I say so.” Jeryl didn’t mean to snap, but the words came out harsher than he had intended. Still, he didn’t apologize—despite having the privilege of seeing the doctor as his friend, him being The Seeker’s captain meant that he had to keep a certain distance at times.
Of course, he also knew that made a hypocrite out of him; after all, he was married to his First Officer. He knew some of the The Seeker’s crew didn’t approve of it at first, but when Ashley became captain she earned everyone’s trust and proved what she was made of. As far as Jeryl knew, no one had any problem with their relationship. And if they had...well, they could just shove that opinion someplace where the stars don’t shine.
“You got your stuff, doc?” Jeryl asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his relationship with Ashley.
“All of it. I’m ready to go.” Mahesh’s face opened into a bright smile as he patted the blue bag he carried on his right hand. Jeryl had known a fair share of doctors in the military, but none quite like Mahesh.
The man lived to save lives. He was a healer, through and through. Even during the Sonali war, Mahesh had always refused to take up arms and be part of what he saw as a pain factory.
“Good, man.”
Smiling back at Mahesh, Jeryl placed one arm on the doctor’s shoulder and squeezed it slightly. It wasn’t exactly the same as apologizing for the way he had snapped at him before, but Jeryl hoped it was enough for the doctor.
“Do you have any data on the shuttle’s occupants?”
“None. All we know is that there’s a woman and a small child aboard. That shuttle is just a rundown piece of junk, and we didn’t get any information on the occupants’ vitals. It’s one of those old HB70 models.”
“They still make those?”
“I don’t think so,” Jeryl replied, thinking back to the last time he had seen one of those old transport shuttles. He couldn’t even remember when that had been. Maybe twenty years ago? “The corporation that used to build them went belly up when shuttle technology started to improve. I think some Human Confederation colonies still rely on those old shuttles, so maybe that’s where our mystery woman came from.”
“Could be,” Mahesh replied casually. He didn’t care if the occupants of the shuttle were from the Terran Union or the Human Confederation. Even if the occupants were Tyreesian, Mahesh still wouldn’t care. He operated on a single directive: to save lives. Every life.
They walked in silence down the hallway that lead to one of the elevators. The door slid open almost immediately, and Jeryl and Mahesh stepped inside.
“Hangar deck,” Jeryl said out loud, and a blue bar lit up right above the elevator door.
“Hangar deck,” the ship’s AI monotone voice repeated, and a second later they were on their way.
The ride down to the hangar was fast, and Jeryl almost jumped out from the elevator the moment the doors slid open. He couldn’t tell if that was because he needed to see the woman inside the shuttle or because he wanted to see his wife and make sure she was alright.
“Where is she?” Jeryl mumbled to himself as he stepped into the hangar, looking around it and trying to spot Ashley’s raider. Most pilots were still wearing their flight suits, so they almost seemed like carbon copies from a distance. But he spotted her the moment his gaze touched her—how could he ever mistake her for someone else? Her hair cascading down her shoulders, that perfect silhouette...after all this time, Jeryl still found it hard to accept that Ashley was his wife. The way he saw it, he was a lucky man.
Without slowing his step, he made a straight line toward Ashley, leaving Mahesh behind. The doctor quickly veered off and started casually checking up on the other pilots; he didn’t need to do it, but Jeryl knew it was because he wanted to give Jeryl and Ashley a few seconds of privacy.
“Ash,” Jeryl whispered the moment he closed in on her. Their eyes locked, and for half a second Jeryl almost leaned in to kiss her, but somehow resisted the urge and kept his back straight. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Why shouldn’t I be?” Ashley responded, cocking one eyebrow up. Jeryl pursed his lips and frowned at that.
“You weren’t supposed to be out there, Ash, and you know that too damn well.”
“Why? I’m not made out of porcelain, Jeryl, and you know that I can handle myself out there,” she hissed, taking one step back and staring back at her husband. For the time being, she wasn’t an officer looking up at her Captain—she was a woman trying to prove to her husband that she didn’t need to be coddled. Jeryl knew that, but he didn’t particularly care for it.
“I’m not protecting you because you’re my wife,” he whispered at her, trying to keep an appearance of normalcy to everyone else on the hangar. “The reason I don’t want you out there is because you’re my First Officer. And the CNC is where I need my first officer to be—not out in space like some goddamn maverick.”
“A maverick?” Ashley snorted. “I’m not a maverick. I went out there and did what I was supposed to do.”
“Without approval.”
“Without approval,” she repeated, almost as if she was willing to challenge Jeryl’s authority. Then, she finally sighed and ran one hand through her hair, her helmet trapped between one elbow and her waist. “Okay, you’re right. My name wasn’t part of the flight plan for today. But you know I can fly better than the others, and I didn’t want to risk these raiders shooting down the shuttle. That thing would fall apart if they had landed one single shot. Lucky for us, these Udenar can’t aim for shit.”
“Yeah,” Jeryl agreed, not willing to push the issue anymore. He’d sort it out later. Right now, the important thing was the shuttle.
Turning on his heels, he followed Ashley’s gaze and looked at the HB70 shuttle—it sat in the middle of the hangar almost like a museum piece, its fuselage all rusted out. Jeryl felt tempted to kick the thing on its side just to see if the engines would fall.
“Well, you saved the day...you do the honors,” Jeryl said, waving one hand at the shuttle and looking at Ashley. Finally, she cracked a half-smile.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she replied and then rushed toward the shuttle. Mahesh and some security personnel were already gathered in front of one of the side doors, but no one had taken the initiative of opening it.
“Don’t tell me you’re planning on knocking?” Ashley asked, and without another word pushed the door open and stepped inside the shuttle. Jeryl quickly followed after her, and his heart tightened at the scene in front of him.
Lydia was passed over the controls of the shuttle. Up close, she looked young and beautiful, her brown hair cut short in a hazardous way. Despite her beauty, she seemed too thin and frail for her own good. Jeryl was more than willing to bet a few hundred credits that if he peeked under the woman’s ragged shirt, he’d find ribs that looked like piano keys.
“Mahesh, get in here!” Jeryl barked immediately, and the doctor quickly got to work. He was so fast Jeryl only saw a blur—one moment he was walking past him and Ashley, and now he was already kneeling in front of the unconscious woman and checking her pulse.
“Ash,” Jeryl whispered softly as he saw what was on the passenger’s seat.
“Oh. It’s the—”
“I know.”
That was all what Jeryl managed to say, all of his attention focused on the pile of blankets on the passenger seat. From inside the blankets, a tiny baby smiled up at Jeryl, his pale blue eyes meeting the Captain’s.
“Come here, little one,” Ashley said, leaning over and picking up the baby and cradling him against her chest. “Shhh, it’s okay now. We’ll take care of you.”
Jeryl simply stood there with his feet glued to the floor, looking at his wife as she held the baby in her arms. For a moment, he almost forgot he was aboard his own ship, his mind taking him into a future where Ashley would be holding his own child, a future where she wouldn’t have to call him Sir or Captain any longer.
“I get it, Captain, you love kids,” Mahesh said, derailing Jeryl’s train of thought. “But this woman needs to get to the medbay fast.” As he stood up, Mahesh locked his eyes with Jeryl’s and lowered his voice. “And by fast, I mean now.”
Ashley
“Do what you need to do, doc,” Ashley told Mahesh, still cradling the baby against her chest. She couldn’t help but notice that despite the mother’s condition (if she was, in fact, the baby’s mother), the child seemed to be healthy.
She wondered about the kind of effort it took to keep a baby well-fed when your own ribs seem to be eager to poke a hole through your skin. A shiver ran up her spine as she tried to imagine whatever hellhole these two had escaped from.
“The baby too,” Mahesh continued, and reached for him rather unceremoniously. For a second, Ashley almost clutched him tight, but then her common sense prevailed and she carefully lowered the baby onto Mahesh’s extended arms.
The doctor looked down at the child for a moment and smiled at Ashley, unable to resist the charms of a human that still hasn’t gone through the pains of growing up. “He seems fine, but I want to be sure.”
“Of course,” Ashley and Jeryl said at the same time, exchanging a glance as they did so. Before she knew it, she was blushing. She looked down at her feet then sucked in a deep breath.
Jeryl was right to be mad at her, she knew it, but she was growing tired of...pretty much everything. Just a few months ago The Seeker had been hers to command, and now she was back at being Jeryl’s right hand. She didn’t despise her position, but she didn’t relish it as much as she used to.
Besides, being back together as Captain and First Officer wasn’t exactly helping their marriage. She knew that was a possibility the moment she said yes and then decided to keep serving aboard The Seeker, but what else could she have done? Enter a marriage and be apart from her husband from months at a time for God knew how long?
“Comin’ through,” two of Mahesh’s medical staff announced as they rushed onboard the old shuttle. A high-end stretcher hovered behind them, carefully maneuvering its way in and somehow not bumping against any of the people inside the cramped shuttle.
Ashley stepped to the side and stood in silence as the two men grabbed the unconscious woman and moved her to the stretcher under Mahesh’s attentive gaze. They covered her with a thermal blanket, and then tapped a button on the stretcher; immediately, the stretcher’s small dashboard lit up as it started doing a readout of the woman’s vital signs.
“Hold on!” Ashley positioned herself at the door before the stretcher could leave the shuttle. Then, she knelt by the stretcher’s side and grabbed the woman’s hand, carefully holding it. She wasn’t sure if the others had seen it, but she could almost swear the woman had stirred. And she was right—the moment she laced her fingers on the woman’s, her eyelids fluttered open.
“W-where…?” She mumbled, her eyes going around the room and taking in the faces of the Terran Union officers that surrounded her.
“You’re aboard The Seeker,” Jeryl replied at once, standing over Ashley. “My name is Captain Jeryl Montgomery. We got rid of the Udenar, and took your shuttle in.”
“James?” The woman continued, ignoring Jeryl and still looking around.
“This little one?” Mahesh asked, joining Ashley and Jeryl. He leaned in slightly, showing the woman her baby. By now, he had already replaced the ragged blankets the young James was wrapped in with a thermal blanket.
“James…” The woman coughed as she said the kid’s name, reaching out for him with both arms. Mahesh hesitated for a moment, but then relented and carefully allowed the woman to take the baby into her arms. The moment she felt the child against her chest, she sighed heavily and closed her eyes, a pale smile taking over her lips. “Thank you,” she then said, turning her head around so that she could look up at Jeryl.
“This is what we do,” Ashley replied, squeezing the woman’s cold hand in hers. “We’ll have some questions for you, but right now the important thing is to make sure you’re well. The rest can wait.”
“They came...they came without warning,” the woman started, almost as if she didn’t hear a single word of what Ashley had just told her. She seemed eager to tell her story, and Ashley wasn’t about to stop her.
“They?”
“The Udenar...they came all at once. We couldn’t escape...we just couldn’t,” she continued, her eyes now closed once more. Ashley pursed her lips as she felt the woman’s fingers tightening around hers, almost as if she was reliving whatever it was she was trying to tell The Seeker’s crew.
“Where did that happen?” Ashley insisted, eager to have anything she could look into. She had never met an Udenar, but a fiery hate was already burning inside her—they were more than willing to murder a woman and her child, and that was something Ashley couldn’t forgive.
“Galea…” The woman whispered.
Ashley and Jeryl exchanged another glance. Neither of them knew anything about a place called Galea—if she was talking about a planet, that ruled out Terran Union space.
“Is that a planet, Lydia?”
“Y-yes,” she replied, her voice growing fainter by the second. “Just a small farming colony. Not much to look at, but we...we had our lives there.”
“What happened? Did the Udenar raid the planet?” Jeryl asked, now kneeling besides Ashley.
“Not exactly…” Lydia replied, making a herculean effort to keep the words coming. Ashley was about to follow-up on Jeryl’s line of questioning when she felt Mahesh’s right hand on her shoulder.
“Alright, I know you have lots of questions to ask the lady,” the doctor said, softly squeezing Ashley's shoulder, “But right now we need to get her to the sickbay. Whatever it is she has to tell us...it’ll have to wait.”
“Very well, doc.” With a nod, Jeryl and Ashley stood up and moved to the side, allowing Mahesh’s personnel to lead the stretcher out of the shuttle. They followed after, then stood side-by-side as they watched the woman be carried away, the small child on her arms.
“We need to look into this,” Ashley started, looking at Jeryl not as his wife, but as his First Officer. There were a lot of questions to be answered, and Ashley hated it when her queries were left unanswered. Why were the Udenar operating on this sector? Why were they raiding a small farming colony?
“I know,” was Jeryl’s mere reply, his face blanketed with a steely expression. He was deep in thought, probably trying to analyze the few pieces of information Lydia had given them.
“The Udenar haven’t been that active in this sector,” Ashley offered.
“I know. I took a look at the border patrols on this sector, and not a single Udenar ship has ever been detected in the area. Any other day, and I’d say this was the result of a simple Udenar incursion...but something here doesn’t sit right.”
“Yeah,” Ashley agreed, “It definitely doesn’t.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
With that, Jeryl looked into her eyes. She almost expected him to smile, but he didn't. He just turned on his heels and marched out of the hangar deck, taking one of the elevators. Ashley stood there for a moment, still carrying her helmet on one hand, and then made her way toward her Hunter raider.
She had started piloting one of the small ships the moment The Seeker’s hangar had been expanded to accommodate them, and she had fallen in love with the freedom that it provided her with. Inside the cramped cockpit, she was alone, her thoughts and the comms’ chatter being her only company. Despite Jeryl’s protests, Ashley had kept on piloting the raiders.
You’re a rebel inside your own ship, she thought, and then smiled sadly.
Admiral Flynn
“…Galactic Council policies have been on debate since the…”
“Oh, shut up!” Flynn grumbled, one hand on the controls of the aircar and the other on the side dashboard. He punched a few buttons and the image of a newscaster was replaced by one of an enthusiastic jazz band. He had had enough of the Galactic Council and the constant reporting on it—as far as he was concerned, it was enough to have to pour over dozens of briefs every single day; he didn’t need to hear all the made-up bullshit that passed for news these days.
“Christ!” he hissed as a shrill alarm sound filled the aircar; his gaze went from the dashboard screen to the windshield, and that just in time to avoid the large transport shuttle that had swerved onto his path. Moving fast, he gripped the controls tight and forced the aircar to tilt sideways, his heart beating too fast for a man his age.
He was already regretting his decision to drive himself to office—after all, Admirals had assigned pilots for a reason. At least I didn’t spill the damn coffee, he thought to himself, this time keeping his eyes on the traffic.
Everywhere he looked, the sky was filled with fast-moving aircars and transport shuttles, all of them miraculously avoiding each other. Business as usual in New Washington.
People happily milled about with whatever affairs they had. Day brought out the workforce and night brought out the parties. Underneath the scenic metropolitan culture there was a hint of underworld corruption. New Washington had secrets that Admiral Flynn only felt. There was an unspoken rule here; if it didn’t affect you directly, ignore it.
Since the Sonali war and subsequent formation of the Galactic Council, he had become skilled at ignoring mundane problems of the people. It wasn’t apathy, just the knowledge of more complicated problems in the universe. He just didn’t have enough energy for everything.
Already late, he sipped coffee while maneuvering his luxury aircar through the congested traffic on the way to the base. The security officer opened the gate and waved him through. Flynn gave a friendly nod and sped through.
However, getting through the door of the officer’s complex was more difficult. Once the encoded door slid open, all personnel had to take the slow walk through weapons detection. He emptied his pocket and put the items on the small conveyor belt and stepped on the larger one enclosed in tempered glass. The system scanned him for guns, biological weapons, and anything that could be weaponized when combined with other elements. It also checked him for viruses that could become pandemic.
Ten minutes later he stepped out the other side, grabbed his items from the smaller conveyor belt, and rushed down the hall. The meeting he was scheduled to present was already underway. He muttered an awkward apology to all the pencil-pushers assembled at the table and began his breakdown of Armada expenses.
Flynn wondered why he was in such a hurry to get to work as he sat at his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. No matter how much he tried to will the throbbing in his temples away, it remained a steady drumbeat.
Things were quiet for the Terran Union since the war ended. That meant he was buried under endless streams of inane documents. Armada ships needed upgrades. Edoris station needed serious maintenance. Blah, blah, blah—it was like running a daycare full of ungrateful kids.
They came at him from all sides with demands and most of them were unrealistic at best. Two or three were downright absurd. One idiot requested designer toiletries for enlisted women. Disgusted, he set the tablet down and buried his face in both palms. He had just finished justifying every little expense the Terran Armada dished out. Most had no idea that behind the politics and tactical moves, government boiled down to one thing: numbers.
The throbbing was relentless. When the slipstream came to life with a demanding pitch, he cringed before looking up. His moment of rest was over. He sighed and glanced at the slipstream monitor. The word urgent was attached to the identification tag, with Captain Montgomery following.
Exasperated but not surprised, Flynn hit the accept button. If Jeryl called, it was most certainly urgent. That man was a magnet for crises. Luckily, he was good at working through them.
Too bad those talents weren’t put to better use. His tendency to act impulsively was tempered by the gifted knack to bullshit his way through almost anything. In Flynn’s opinion, Jeryl Montgomery’s talents would be put to better use somewhere else. As far as the Admiral was concerned, Jeryl was wasting his time on border patrols and pointless expeditions. A man like Jeryl was meant for something greater than commanding a spaceship.
“What is it, Jeryl?” Flynn let the frustration come through. Of course it wasn’t all about Jeryl, but he was sure to make the headache worse.
“Bad time, Admiral?” Jeryl had a cocky half-smile that said he knew the answer.
“Of course it is. I could use a break from the paperwork, though. What’s up?”
“We just tugged in a woman and baby from a shuttle with Udenar hot on its tail. She’s got quite a story.”
“Udenar?” Flynn interrupted.
“Yep. She claims she’s from Galea, and the Udenar have seized control of the entire planet. She and her baby barely made it out of there in a beat up shuttle.”
“Well, that sounds like bullshit,” Flynn picked up the tablet and began tapping the screen. “Galea’s well inside Human Confederation boundaries. The Udenar are piss-poor pirates.”
“I would think the same, but you didn’t see the mess of Udenar ships after this poor woman. She’s scared to death.”
The look on his face said he was serious. It wasn’t bullshit. Leave it to Jeryl Montgomery to find himself in a situation that could lead to war. Flynn knew the man didn’t go out looking for it, but somehow it always happened. Once Jeryl set his mind to something, he was like a juggernaut that steamrolled everything in its path.
He clenched his jaw and took in a deep breath, “Okay, you fought off the Udenar and rescued the woman in Terran Union space. That is well within your purview. You are not to investigate this woman’s claims, or approach the border for any reason. Is that clear, Captain?”
Jeryl’s eyes flashed briefly with anger, “Yes, sir,” he said too politely.
“Be as mad as you want, Jeryl. You know this is a matter for the Human Confederation. We don’t have a bead on the new Chancellor yet. He may react badly to an Armada ship blatantly crossing the border. Let us contact him first.”
Chancellor Cassius Ojun was still an enigma. He seemed the perfect politician. He catered to the blue collar majority while satisfying the corporate class. There was something there that didn’t add up with his rise to power. Flynn couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was off.
Jeryl rolled his eyes and snorted in frustration, “Those Udenar will notice their missing fighters. What then?”
“If they cross the border again, you have authority to engage. Until then, sit tight.”
Flynn knew that would be a hard order for Jeryl to follow. He was a man of action. Anything less drove him crazy. The angry furrow had already begun to form between his eyebrows.
“Yes, sir,” Jeryl replied in a low voice.
“Tell me more about this woman.”
The change of subject worked to distract the captain. His face brightened as he spoke, “I don’t know much yet. The woman was starving and half-crazed with fear. She passed out as soon as she got a little food down. According to her, the Udenar conquered the entire planet nearly overnight and turned the natives into slaves. The coup was too swift for anyone to call for help. They’re keeping the appearances up, though. Apparently they have Galea’s governor reassuring the Human Confederation government that everything’s fine.”
“Conquer the small planets first, building up to the more influential ones. It’s risky, but I get it. Going from small-time pirates to planet stealers, I don’t get.”
“We only have a piece of the story. There’s got to be more to it.” Jeryl had the glimmer of an idea in his eyes but didn’t elaborate. Flynn didn’t ask. He knew his friend would talk when the idea wholly formed.
“Undoubtedly.”
The Udenar were a small race from the far edge of the Outer Colonies. Their position was prime for trade with the Human Confederation, Sonali Combine, and Tyreesian Collective. Instead, they chose to close themselves off and attack trade routes whenever they saw an opening.
They smuggled and raided whatever they needed, but not enough to catch the eye of the Galactic Council. Otherwise they were secretive but not a threat—until now. Flynn couldn’t help but wonder how long they had been amassing the weaponry and manpower for such a feat. A small farming planet like Galea could not be their end game. If it was, there had to be a higher purpose. Maybe he gave them too much credit.
“Keep me informed?”
“Of course.”
Flynn powered down the slipstream with a worried frown. His gut told him the situation would escalate rapidly and Jeryl would be caught in another fight before Flynn could find the answers he needed. Unfortunately, there were channels to go through. He wasted no time putting in his request to speak to Chancellor Ojun. With any luck, the Chancellor’s assistant would contact him before the end of the day.
The headache had thankfully subsided when his tablet chirped two hours later. He picked it up and saw a message from the office of the Chancellor. They couldn’t be inconvenienced with a slipstream conference. Although the Schism ended long ago, relations between the Terran Union and Human Confederation were still strained. An Admiral didn’t rank high enough to get their attention.
Thank you for your concern. We have the situation well in hand, the message read.
Realizing he would get nowhere fast, he put in his request to speak personally to the President of the Terran Union. That would take some time, but he wouldn’t be stonewalled. The most he could do was wait and hope Jeryl kept himself out of trouble. Flynn smiled. That would not happen. He would actually wait to see what kind of trouble Jeryl got into.
It was the end of the day, but Flynn still had his ignored documents to comb through. He reached into the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a half-empty bottle of vintage bourbon. He poured a good four fingers into his old coffee cup and took a healthy gulp as he looked out the window of his office.
A new Chancellor on the Human Confederation, the Tyreesian keeping to themselves, and the Udenar making a power play. And on the middle of it, Captain Jeryl Montgomery. These are interesting times, the Admiral thought, and then allowed himself a smile.
Jeryl always knew how to keep things interesting.
Jeryl
Jeryl couldn’t fall asleep.
Even though his eyelids seemed as heavy as lead, sleep didn’t come easy. He simply couldn’t stop thinking about the Udenar, Galea, and Lydia and her son. He knew something was off the moment he saw the Udenar raiders pursuing Lydia’s shuttle, and that feeling was spreading in his mind like cancer, leaving a foul stench in its wake.
A situation like this shouldn’t be that hard to figure out, but three days had passed after Jeryl’s meeting with the Admiral...and still there was no progress. Knowing Flynn, Jeryl knew that there was only one reason for the radio silence—someone was stalling. Whether that was the result of a Terran Union or Human Confederation policy, Jeryl wasn’t sure; all he knew was that whatever was happening in Galea mattered.
“Jeryl?” Ashley whispered, turning on the bed and throwing one arm over his naked chest.
“I’m here,” he replied softly, his open eyes never leaving the ceiling.
“Can’t sleep?”
“Not really.” He ran one hand through her hair, his fingertips brushing against her naked shoulders. Looking at her, he felt the urge to pull her against his body and try his best to forget all about Galea and the Udenar.
But he couldn’t. Dozens of questions kept floating inside his head, demanding all of his attention. Sighing, Jeryl sat up on the bed and swung his legs out of it. Just like always, being captain of The Seeker was taking precedence over his role as a husband.
“There’s something I must do,” he told Ashley, his voice just a gentle whisper, but she had already turned her back to him. He couldn’t tell if she was asleep or just pretending, but he figured that knowing the answer to that question wouldn’t really help.
He made a mental note to carve some alone time for him and Ashley—God knew they needed that—and then started putting his uniform on. By the time he was ready, he no longer felt tired. It was almost as if there was something magical about his uniform. Whenever he had it on, he felt as if he could go on forever.
Crossing the room as silently as he could, Jeryl stopped before he opened the door and looked back over his shoulder, his gaze settling on Ashley’s shape. He stood there in complete silence for a few seconds, just taking in the way the shadows draped over her half-naked body, her silky hair covering his now empty pillow. Almost tempted to go back to bed and join her, he sucked in a deep breath and opened the door.
A few minutes later and he was walking down The Seeker’s maze of corridors, making his way toward the medbay. He had read all the briefings and reports, but he still hadn’t talked with Lydia one on one—something he wanted to do as soon as possible. Sure, it was late and she was probably asleep, but Jeryl didn’t feel bad about waking her up. Her health had been improving by leaps and bounds ever since Mahesh started taking care of her.
“Sir?” A young nurse raised her gaze as Jeryl entered the medbay, surprised to see the Captain waltzing inside there.
“I need to talk to Lydia,” he said, making sure to keep his voice down. Even though he wanted to wake up Lydia, he didn’t want to scare the poor woman—God knew she had gone through a lot.
“She’s actually awake,” the nurse replied, and then started getting up, putting her tablet down on the desk in front of her.
“No need,” Jeryl said with a wave. “I know where she is.” With that, he marched down the main room and went straight to the bed right at the end. As there were no cribs aboard The Seeker, the medical staff had pushed another bed against Lydia’s so that she could sleep while keeping her son close.
Lydia was sitting on her own bed, an old book propped up on her lap. Her hair was tied in a bun, and she actually looked her age. It was amazing what three days of rest could do to a person. Despite still being thinner than she should, she had started to regain some of her natural beauty, the lines in her face much smoother than when Jeryl had first seen her.
“Captain?” Lydia asked, putting the book down.
“Just call me Jeryl.” Grabbing a chair from the corner, he set it close to the bed and sat down by Lydia’s side. “Can’t sleep?”
“Not really.” She smiled gently, tucking a stray lock of hair over her ear. “To be honest, I feel like I’ve spent these past three days asleep. I just can’t do it anymore. You?”
“I don’t sleep much these days,” Jeryl replied, and then glanced at the cover of Lydia’s book. “Walden? That’s an old one.”
“One of the nurses let me have it. I actually read it when I was younger...and I always liked books. Much better than a screen. Besides,” she added, patting the book with her delicate fingers, “I’ve always loved this one.”
“Nature, right?”
“Nature, yes,” she laughed softly. “I’ve always loved the outdoors. That’s why I moved to Galea, actually.”
“You’re not from there?”
“No. I was born in Centralia. But it just wasn’t for me, you know? I wasn’t made for the city and, besides, I didn’t want him to grow up there.” She glanced at James, who slept peacefully under a tiny blanket, and then turned her gaze back to Jeryl.
“I heard it could be a hard place.”
“For those with no money, sure. Not that I had any money on Galea—farming is a thankless job, after all—but at least we weren’t living in a city. And Galea is a nice place. Or, well…it used to be.”
“Right,” Jeryl nodded. “The Udenar.”
“Yes,” Lydia nodded back, her tone a sad one. “On any given night, you could look up and see thousands and thousands of stars up in the sky. You can’t do that in Centralia, you know? Even if you’re not in a city, most places are covered with smog. Galea’s like that now.”
“That’s a shame. Galea sounds like a beautiful place.”
“You’d like it. Well, you would have liked it. Now that the Udenar brought all that machinery...the planet’s unrecognizable.”
“You told Ashley, the officer you talked to before, that the Udenar had set up some kind of mining operation, right?” Jeryl asked, leaning toward Lydia, eager to take in all of her words.
“Yes,” she nodded again, “They’re mining. What exactly they’re mining, I have no idea. But I guess there’s something of interest to them there—they started drilling just a few days after setting up shop. Confiscated all our farming bots and had us rewire them to help in the mining, and almost everyone down there has been put to work.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever they need us to. Being their servants, operating their machines, or serving as practice for their aim.” As she said that, Jeryl could almost swear the lines in her face were starting to deepen once more, a shadow of worry and sadness taking over her eyes. “They’re ruthless. I don’t even think they want to stay in Galea—they just want to mine whatever it is they’re mining, and then I figure they’ll leave.”
“You also said they’ve kept the government in place.”
“The government?” Lydia almost laughed at Jeryl’s words, but then she settled on a disturbed smile. “If you want to call it that. It’s basically just a small-time governor and a few assistants to run the whole planet. All I know is that the Udenar keep him at hand so that whenever the higher-ups on the Confederation call, he’s there to assure them everything’s fine. Not that they’d care anyway.”
“Not a fan of the Confederation, huh?”
“Not really. Mostly, they’re just a bunch of self-serving hypocrites. I actually like the new Chancellor, Ojun, as he seems to care for the little guy...but I doubt that a single man will be able to do any good. Too many interests at play.”
Leaning back on his seat, Jeryl sighed. He knew the Confederation wasn’t exactly what you could call a successful government, but sometimes he couldn’t help but be surprised by how bad things were there. Although a reunification between the Union and the Confederation was unlikely—not to say impossible—that was something Jeryl wouldn’t mind seeing before he checked out for good.
“The Union won’t help, I know that, Jeryl,” Lydia suddenly said. “But you’ve saved me and my child, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”
“Why do you say that? That the Union won’t help?” he asked her, taken aback by her statement.
“Because no one ever cares for the little guy. And if my own government won’t care, why should yours do?”
“There’s always someone who cares, Lydia,” Jeryl found himself saying. Slowly, he got up to his feet. “Now try and have some rest.”
With that, he smiled at her one final time and left the medbay, his own words echoing inside his head.
There’s always someone who cares...even if that someone has to be me.
Ashley
There were three raiders on Ashley’s tail.
Her breathing was shallow, and the grip she had on the raider’s main controls was firm. She had her eyes trained on the small viewscreen right in front of her, and she processed all the information and blinking lights faster than she had ever believed to be possible. Inside her Hunter’s cockpit, Ashley felt right at home.
“Alright, let’s have some fun,” she whispered to herself as she forced her raider to make a sharp turn to the right. She felt as if her body was glued to the seat, and she could almost swear she heard her bones rattling inside her. But despite all that, she felt alive. Happy.
“Steady, steady,” Ashley mumbled, watching as her screen warned that one of the raiders behind her had locked its weapons. She kept her Hunter moving fast toward her right, and then reached for the side with her left hand. She felt the hard contour of a lever there, and then curled her fingers tight around it. When she felt the time was right, she pulled the lever as hard as she could and engaged the raider’s reverse thrusters, forcing the ship to decelerate fast. She gritted her teeth, feeling as if someone had shot her with a cannonball in the chest, but kept her eyes focused.
The three raiders that were pursuing her flew past in a hurry, and then she released the thruster’s lever and went for the weapon’s control, unleashing all of her Hunter’s fury on the other ships.
“Gotcha.”
ALL TARGETS DOWN, a message read on her screen, superimposed over all the other information.
“Better luck next time, guys,” she laughed, opening her comm channel.
“Not with you around, Hunter One,” one of other pilots responded, and the others joined in agreement.
“Good job anyway,” Ashley commented, pleased with the squadron’s performance. “Let’s head back,” she continued, and then rejoined the other three raiders in a close formation pattern. Now moving at a steady pace, the four ships started making their way toward the hulking shape in the distance, The Seeker.
Ashley led the way, all of her adrenaline slowly receding from her bloodstream. It felt good to be out in space, even if just for a couple of hours. Whenever she had the opportunity, she always carved the time to join the Hunter pilots during training. As first officer of The Seeker, she wasn’t really supposed to be inside a raider cockpit, but she was so good at it that Jeryl simply couldn’t deny her the pleasure.
After docking inside The Seeker’s hangar, she took her time before exiting the cockpit. She sat there all alone, and took a deep breath as she tried to prepare herself for the day ahead. One quick shower and she’d be putting on her first officer uniform and joining Jeryl at CNC again. Lately, it seemed that he never stayed away from The Seeker’s bridge for more than a few hours at a time; she couldn’t even remember the last time she had woken up next to him.
“Ash?” She jumped in her seat as she heard someone call out her name, followed by a loud knock on her raider’s fuselage.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she hissed, stepping out of her raider to meet Jeryl’s gaze. He was standing at the bottom of the climbing ladder that lead to her cockpit, looking almost too annoyingly perfect in his Captain’s uniform.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to,” he shrugged, and then took Ashley’s helmet out of her hands as she climbed down the ladder. “Couldn’t resist to join them, huh?” He asked, pointing with his chin as the other three pilots dragged their feet across the hangar, looking tired and defeated.
“I couldn’t resist to beat them, that is. But what are you doing down here? I thought you were already back at the CNC?”
“Just came from there. The Armada has sent us a pile of reports concerning pirate activity in Drupadi territory, and I need your help to look at it. We might be called in to investigate.”
“You’re shitting me,” Ashley protested, one hand on her hip. “The Udenar have started acting crazy, a whole planet’s population is under shackles...and the Armada wants to send The Seeker into Drupadi territory?”
“Not much we can do about it, Ash,” Jeryl sighed, locking his eyes with hers. His words sounded sincere, but Ashley knew him too well. Jeryl wouldn’t come all the way from the CNC to the hangar just to tell her she had to look at some bullshit reports. No, Jeryl wanted Ashley’s opinion—or maybe her support on something. He just wasn’t comfortable being straightforward about it.
“You went to see Lydia, didn’t you?” She asked him, cutting straight to the chase.
“I did,” he nodded, and then sighed again. Pursing his lips, he turned on his heels and pressed his back against the raider’s fuselage. He was looking straight ahead, but his gaze was blank. Ashley could tell that Jeryl was torn.
“The Armada will never authorize us to look into it, Jeryl. You know that,” she whispered, pressing her back against the raider and joining him. “I know you’ve been waiting to hear back from Flynn, but—”
“But we never will,” he said, finishing her sentence. “I know that. And even if the Admiral does get back to us, I doubt we’ll hear what we actually want to hear.”
“We can’t just go back to patrolling borders and nailing small-time pirates without knowing what’s really going on in Galea.” She ran one hand through her disheveled hair and looked straight into Jeryl’s eyes. “No matter what the Armada says, we can’t abandon these people.”
“They’re the Confederation’s responsibility, not ours.”
“Do you really believe that, or are you just trying to convince yourself?” She asked, perhaps sounding more aggressive than she had intended. “You know damn well that the Confederation won’t lift a finger to rescue some farming colony out in the boondocks. They’ll just write it off as a loss and go on about their day.”
“Maybe it’s different with this new guy, Cassius Ojun,” Jeryl said, this time sounding like a tired old man.
“Yeah, I’ve read about him too. But if the new Chancellor wanted to do something, he would have already acted on it. Seriously, I doubt he has even responded to Flynn.”
“I know,” he replied, and then just stood there in silence, almost as if he was too afraid of uttering the words he wanted to say. “But you’re right, we can’t abandon these people.”
“We can’t,” Ashley agreed, and suddenly her heart started picking up the pace. Here they were, The Seeker’s captain and first officer, once more ready to guide their ship and crew into an uncertain territory—one that could lead to war.
And this time, they were risking war with the Human Confederation—which meant that if it came to that, they’d have to raise arms against their fellow humans. But what was their other option? Walk away from a situation like this, hands in their pockets and whistling into the air while thousands suffered at the hands of a merciless race? If that was her duty as a ranked officer in the Terran Armada, Ashley wasn’t sure if she had made the right career decision.
“We don’t need to go all out,” she found herself saying, even though she knew they were committing to a dangerous course of action. “We can drop into Galea’s star system, take a quick look to assess the situation, and we’ll be in and out as fast as we can. With all the second-hand crap the Udenar have gotten from the Tyreesians, I doubt they’ll be able to spot us.”
“Right,” Jeryl nodded, his lips a thin line of worry. “In and out, as fast as we can,” he continued, but the tone in his voice made it sound like he didn’t believe his own words. Much like Ashley, he knew that they’d be stepping into an equation with too many unknown variables. Anything—and everything—could happen.
Once again, they were making a leap into the unknown.
“Let’s do this.”
Jeryl
Jeryl tried to make his words sound convincing, but he wasn’t sure if it was working. He had been part of the beginning of one war already, he really didn’t want to be part of another. But he couldn’t just leave these people to be forgotten or ignored by the Confederation, or the Union. Pushing himself away from the Hunter, he leaned over and gave Ashley a light peck on the cheek.
“Thanks.” Without another word, he walked to the elevator, and as he hesitated long enough for the doors to open, Ashley came up behind him.
“What was that for?”
The doors opened, they got on the elevator, and Jeryl called for the bridge. As the elevator started to take them up, he looked at his wife. If there was anyone that didn’t think she had the perfect figure or smile, he would call them out on the lie. The idea that someone could brighten up a room with their presence seemed asinine to Jeryl for the longest time, but Ashley’s smile truly did light up his world.
“Just a thank you for reminding me why we do what we do. If we don’t help these people, then how are we any better than the Udenar?” He asked as the elevator stopped at the CNC. The doors slid open and Jeryl stepped off, turning to look at Ashley as she followed him. “Even if all we do is get information to help these people…well, that will be at least something.”
“Then let’s do something,” she smiled. She put her hand on his arm and gave it a light squeeze, then walked over to her station.
Jeryl smiled, then put on his serious face as he turned around. “Docherty, Ferriero, I want you to plot a course for the Confederation space. Pick a location away from Galea, but still within scanner range. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Sir, I don’t mean to question your orders, but isn’t that a violation of protocol?” Ferriero asked, turning his chair to look at Jeryl.
“Technically. And that’s why we’re going to keep this as quiet as we possibly can. It’s an information-gathering order. We’re simply investigating why the Udenar are in the area, that’s all.”
Ferriero shrugged and turned back to his console. “It will take a few minutes to locate a suitable location and for the FTL to power up, sir.”
“Understood. Lieutenant Taylor, you have the bridge. Commander Gavin, in my office.” Jeryl walked across the CNC to his ready-room and walked in. Still as spartan as it was five years ago, he sat at his desk and let out a heavy sigh.
“Everything okay?” Ashley asked as the doors closed behind her. “You don’t look so good.”
“You do realize, that this could potentially start another war. And if it does, we’re…”
“We’re going to get vilified for it. I know.”
Ashley came over to the only other chair in the room and pulled it around the desk to sit right in front of Jeryl. She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eyes. “But if we sit back and do nothing, we’re condemning these people to the atrocities that Lydia told us about. Look, we’re here. This will only take a few hours, then we can go to Drupadi space like the head honchos want us to. And hopefully, the information that we gather can be used to help push Ojun, or Flynn, or both to do something. These people don’t deserve to be treated the way they’ve been treated, and we’re the ones that are here to do something about it.”
Jeryl looked at Ashley, then took his hands out of hers. He gently grabbed her face and pulled her in for a kiss.
They kissed passionately before pulling away, almost as if they were reliving their first kiss. They smiled at each other, then Ashley leaned in and planted a light kiss on Jeryl’s lips again.
“Come on. Let’s go save a planet.”
Jeryl stood up and straightened his uniform, then followed Ashley out of the office.
Back in the CNC, he went straight to Docherty’s station. “Status?”
“One minute until FTL is ready. I must extend my own concerns about this order, sir. We haven’t received permission to enter Confederation space and this could create an issue for us, sir.”
“I understand that, but we can claim that during our investigation of Udenar activities in the area, we mistakenly entered Confederation space.”
“Yes, sir.” Docherty turned back and continued working on his holographic console. As soon as the FTL was ready, Jeryl ordered Docherty to punch it.
I hope I’m not screwing this one up, Jeryl thought as the FTL came to life.
The FTL engaged, the screen went dark as everything around them vanished.
“Sir, we’ll arrive at the coordinates in about two minutes,” Ferriero reported.
“Where are we going to be?”
Ferriero answered without looking away from his screen. “Roughly the distance of Saturn to Earth, just at the edge of our sensor range. Should give us a chance to scan things without being noticed.”
“Nice work, Ferriero. Good job, Docherty.”
“Thank you, sir,” they both responded.
“Ensign Avae, I want you to—”
Just as they were coming out of FTL, the ship rocked, knocking everyone off their feet and off their chairs.
“What the hell is happening?”
“I don’t know, sir. We hit something coming out of FTL.”
“Get me damage assessments and find out what the hell we hit.”
Ashley was already at one of the stations, trying to find out what was happening. Docherty and Ferriero returned to their seats, Tira was helping others to their feet, and Jeryl was rubbing at his knee and elbow.
“Captain, exterior sensors are currently offline. It’ll take a minute or two to get them back,” Ashley said as she looked up from her station.
“Try to get them back faster. Docherty, do we have any way to see what’s outside?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Someone get me something!”
It was Tira that answered first. “Sir, Engineering has reported that the engines are undamaged. Preliminary medical reports only have bumps and bruises, one possible sprain so far.”
“Thank you, Ensign. Anything on the sensors yet?”
“Getting the exterior cameras up now, additional sensors are twenty seconds.”
“Show me.”
Ferriero turned on the main screen, but there was nothing. There was empty space where they could see.
“Give me a 360 view.”
As Ferriero pushed more buttons and the view changed, they were finally able to see what it was that they had hit.
An Udenar transport was floating behind them, practically ripped in half from the collision with The Seeker. Bodies and supplies floated in space while three lights on the shuttle still blinked. One of the bodies floated past their view.
“All sensors back online, Cap—oh, shit!”
Jeryl turned to Ashley to see her face go pale. She punched three holographic keys and sent the visuals to the main viewscreen. What was there made several of the bridge crew curse: three cruisers, six shuttles, three dozen raiders, and an old Tyreesian freighter.
“Fuck! Red Alert! Battle stations, everyone! Divert any unnecessary power to the shields and find us a way out of here!” Jeryl yelled out.
Somehow, they had flown right into the middle of an Udenar mini-fleet. Why were there so many Udenar ships in Confederation space, and why hadn’t the Confederation dealt with them or called for help?
How did they manage to take over this much of a sector of space? They weren’t that smart, or that terribly ambitious, so how the hell did they get so many ships and take over a whole star system?
So many new questions formed inside Jeryl’s head as the whole CNC prepared for battle.
“They’re scanning us, sir,” Docherty said. His fingers were a blur as they flew all over his console, trying to gather as much information as he could about the fleet. Ferriero’s fingers were slower, but they were flying just as much as he was trying to shut down all unnecessary systems.
Ashley’s voice came from right behind Jeryl. “Captain, one of the AI computes our odds at forty-one percent against the fleet of Udenar ships.”
“Damn. Shit, their turning. Ferriero, light them up!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ashley, how many of the Hunters are capable right now?”
“Eleven of the twelve. The twelfth Hunter has only one cockpit usable right now.”
“Can it fly?”
“Yeah, it can.”
“Get your Hunters out there, but stay away from the big ships if you can. Don’t get caught in their range of fire.”
“Like I’m that stupid. Okay, okay, we’re going,” Ashley said as she rushed out of the CNC.
Within minutes, the Hunters were launching as Ferriero and Docherty were taking down the Udenar freighter. The three cruisers and raiders were coming for them, as were the shuttles.
Now that Jeryl had a better view of the shuttles, he could see that they had been retrofitted for battle, each of them armed with two laser cannons and a small complement of missiles. Whatever plans the Udenar had for Galea, they sure seemed ready to defend them with tooth and nail.
“Shit.”
Ashley
The Seeker could handle three Udenar cruisers, six shuttles, and three dozen raiders, no matter what the damn AI said. The two AIs that they were forced to have on the ship always underestimated the crew’s abilities to compensate for virtually anything they faced.
Ashley paid no attention to the percent of survival the AI reported—she knew they would survive this confrontation.
As she rushed into the hangar, she saw her team already suited up and getting into their Hunters. Powers was waiting for her with Vanessa. They helped her into her flight suit, then she climbed as fast as she could into her cockpit. Putting her helmet on and hearing the familiar hiss of the suit’s air circulator kicking in, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
She was always jazzed up for a fight, but ever since the Hunters were brought on board, she felt this whole new level of adrenaline, a new level of joy when she got to fly. Her first fight, only a few days ago, gave her such a rush that it was almost orgasmic in feeling. Knowing that she was about to fly and fight again, she struggled to keep her voice level and calm.
“Alright, people. We got three cruisers, six shuttles, and three dozen raiders out there. We need to keep it loose and fast while staying away from the cruisers. They’ll light us up like we’re nothing. The shuttles have been retrofitted with lasers and missiles, and probably shields too, but they have no speed or maneuverability. We know the raiders—they can fly. But their pilots suck. Let’s knock them out.”
“Yes ma’am!” came the universal reply. Each Hunter floated away from their locks and exited the hangar doors. Eleven fighters, twenty-three pilots, about to take on forty-two different little ships.
“Diamond formation, top to bottom. Break hard when we’re within range of their blasters. Leave the shuttles to me and Jasper to test. The rest of you, fly circles around those damn raiders.”
Her HUD display blinked and warned that one of the shuttles had already fired their missiles.
“Heads up! Missiles inbound.” Three of her Hunters barely broke formation and fired on the missiles, destroying a few hundred klicks in front of them. They rejoined the formation and flew on.
Ashley made note of the shuttle that had fired at them; it was turning away and heading back towards the cruisers.
Coward, Ashley thought as a slight smirk formed on her mouth.
They kept in tight formation, heading straight for the raiders—but something was bothering Ashley.
“Powers, how many raiders are you counting?”
“You saw it too? I’m only counting twenty-nine. A few of the others are reporting the same.”
“Fuck. Fin…” She was interrupted by laser fire exploding within their formation. Screams and shouts filled her ears as the formation broke, each Hunter splitting off, two of them already damaged. The seven missing raiders flew by from underneath, heading up.
“Francois, Vizzenzi, pair off and fight together. The rest of you, hit the fuckers. Powers, let’s play,” Ashley commanded, flinging her Hunter up after the seven raiders and using her superior speed to hunt them down.
She chased two of them down fairly quickly, blasting them and sending pieces of each ship careening off into the vastness of space. Two more went down almost as fast. The other three were flying back for the rest of the raiders, looking to join their ranks. Thirty-two left.
Looking to her left, Ashley saw Jasper attacking one of the shuttles that had tried to sneak up on them. She could see a few of his lasers get deflected by a shield, but then his blasts struck home. Six shots—that was all the shuttles could withstand before their shields dropped.
“Nice job, Jasper! Everyone, listen up! The shuttles’ shields are weak. They can only withstand about six shots from our lasers before their shields go down. Hit them from the sides or behind, don’t take them head on or they can fire back.”
Her people acknowledged, then all she could hear was shouts, calls for help, calling out targets and warnings as they engaged the Udenar raiders.
They’re fucking bats, that’s what they are. And I hate bats, Ashley thought, gritting her teeth.
Ashley felt a rush of intensity as she flung her Hunter around, avoiding laser fire and chasing down Bats. Her people were fairing pretty well, and it helped that The Seeker was able to provide some help. Flipping a toggle next to her screen, she was able to see that The Seeker had not yet engaged with the cruisers, so they were providing some laser fire.
Three Bats and a shuttle disappeared in brilliant flashes of light as Jeryl fired off a few more shots. Flipping her screen back to what was in front of her, Ashley banked hard left as she fired off two of her missiles.
She couldn’t help but let out a loud Whoo! as her missiles hit their targets. Powers kept her up to date on targets, aggressors, and how the others were doing. Francois was gone, his Hunter hit by four Bats.
Cursing, Ashley threw caution to the wind and flew directly toward the heaviest concentration of Bats. Her finger rarely left the trigger as she weaved, zagged, bobbed and spun her way through them.
“Jesus, I think I’m gonna throw up!” Powers said through clenched teeth. Ashley laughed as she flung the Hunter to the right, avoiding a missile and enjoying how it destroyed one of the Bats chasing her.
“Ashley! Get out of there, the cruisers are bearing down on you!” Jeryl’s voice suddenly blasted in her ear.
Ashley looked up and saw two of the three cruisers beginning to engage The Seeker while the third coming towards them. She could see two of their rail guns move, repositioning themselves.
“Hunters, SCATTER!” She hit the brakes, flipped her Hunter over, and engaged her thrusters at full power. Somehow, the three Bats that were chasing her flew right past without touching her. She flew her Hunter with ease through the mess, seeing Jasper come up on her left. Ashley flashed him a thumbs-up—then his Hunter vanished in an explosion that temporarily blinded her.
“JASPER!” Her scream echoed through her cockpit, along with the screams and shouts of her nine remaining Hunters. “God fucking dammit! Hunters, get back to The Seeker to regroup. We’re killing every last one of these fucking fuckers!”
“Ma’am…we got a problem!”
“What is it, Vizzenzi?”
“More ships just came out of FTL, ma’am. A shit load more ships. Not counting the dozen raiders that are left, there’s fifty ships out here ma’am.”
“Fuck! Jeryl?”
“We see them. Get your asses back here, there’s nothing else you can do out there.”
“Bullshit. We can still hurt those bastards. What showed up?”
“At least another dozen raiders and a bunch of Udenar ships…actual Udenar ships this time, not Tyreesian cast-offs.” Ashley flipped her screen to look behind her, then zoomed in.
Thirty-some-odd ships of various designs and sizes were popping into space, but none of them were the size of the three cruisers. As a matter of fact, the biggest of the newcomers was about the size of a mid-level drop ship—no more than a ten-person crew with maybe double the ordinance of the Hunters.
“Screw it, we can hit them. Hunters, anyone not able to fight, go back to The Seeker and help out there. The rest of you, let’s tear these ugly-ass bitches up.”
Ashley flipped off her communicator when Jeryl tried to say something, brought her Hunter back around, and flew right into the teeth of the Udenar fleet. Out of the ten remaining Hunters, six flew with her. On her screen, she saw that Vizzenzi, Thompson, and Corrins were docking.
“Keep track of The Seeker, Powers. I want to know how she’s holding up.”
“Will do. They want to be out here, you know that?”
“I know. How bad were they?” Ashley replied, hiding the disappointment that she felt.
“Vizzenzi is done, her Hunter was barely holding together. Corrins lost weapon systems, and Thompson has a broken leg. His backup might come back out.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
Using her HUD to flip to all of her Hunters, Ashley ordered them all to keep an eye on their payloads and to return to The Seeker for reload if they needed to.
The seven of them were like wolves in a field of sheep. They cut through the raiders, utilizing their superior speed to avoid laser fire. Ashley and Powers seemed to be everywhere, bailing out a team member here, shredding a Bat or four there, playing chicken with Udenar shuttles trying to bear down on a Hunter.
From a distance, it looked as though seven wasps were doing what they wanted against a myriad of very slow birds.
It was an amazing thing to watch…but unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.
The Seeker was taking a beating, unable to get themselves away from the nearly fifty ships attacking her from almost every direction. The Hunters were streaming in and out of The Seeker’s hangar, getting missiles reloaded and switching pilots in a steady flow.
Ashley went in too, hating how slow she was being reloaded, even though she knew it was being done as fast as possible.
“Ashley, we need to find a way out of here. We need at least a small hole to fly through, we’re not going to last much longer,” Jeryl said through comm.
“We’ll figure it out.” Then she saw several of the flight crew running for one of the windows. “What the hell is going on?”
“Holy shit…I never thought I’d see this. Confederation ships just showed up and they’re hitting the Udenar.”
“About fucking time!” Pointing at one of the flight crew, Ashley yelled, “Get me back out there!”
Jeryl
The damn AI was wrong. Forty-one percent chances against this? Jeryl’s real worry was whether or not any of the Hunters were going to be destroyed. He was worried about his ship and crew, but there was no way that those cruisers and shuttles could destroy them. His crew was too damn good at what they did to lose to crappy looking ships like that.
“Ferriero, give the Hunters some cover fire. Docherty, get the cruisers’ attention. I don’t want them looking at our people out there.”
“Yes, sir,” the two navigation officers replied.
Jeryl nodded and went back to his chair. He watched Ashley and her team put themselves into a diamond formation through his little screen. If they did what he thought they were going to, they would stay in tight formation until the enemy fired, then they would break off, creating chaos wherever they went, then coming back together a few seconds later.
He saw the seven raiders break off from the rest, going down. It looked like they were going to try to fly up on the Hunters.
“Ferriero, can we fire yet?”
“Not yet, sir. Twenty more seconds.”
“Damn.”
The seven raiders flew into the formation, hitting two of the Hunters and breaking the formation up.
Damn, she didn’t see them. Maybe I should’ve given her a warning, Jeryl thought, shaking his head.
Then, the chaos started.
The Hunters broke off, flying everywhere, hitting everything. Two of them were damaged but are still going strong. Jeryl watched, keeping an eye on the cruisers that were coming for The Seeker, but just watching his wife and her team wreak havoc on the Udenar.
Then one of the Hunters was attacked by four Udenar at once. Ferriero fired in the direction, but the Hunter was destroyed before The Seeker’s lasers impacted. Looking at his screen, Jeryl saw that it was Francois Peirot, one of his Petty Officers from the original crew. The co-pilot was someone that Jeryl didn’t recognize, a Petty Officer Kamil Stacic. He felt terrible that he couldn’t place a face to the name.
Docherty’s voice broke his momentary self-loathing. “Sir, cruisers engaging.”
Snapping his head up, Jeryl saw two of the three cruisers in front of them, coming in line to fire. “Take evasive action. Rail guns and lasers, save the particle beam for when we need it.”
“Aye, sir.” Docherty banked The Seeker to its left, Ferriero fired on the nearest of the two, and Jeryl watched as shields deflected their shots. “Tira, keep an eye on the Hunters and let me know what’s happening with them.”
“Yes, sir!”
While he could keep an eye on them while dealing with the cruisers, he wanted his full concentration on what was happening right now. The Seeker shook with each laser blast the shields absorbed, and Docherty and Ferriero moved and fired in return.
The cruisers weren’t a match for The Seeker, but they weren’t stupid. After the first few seconds of fighting, one of the cruisers went up high while the other went left, trying to put The Seeker in between them from different angles. It worked.
Shields were dropping at a steady clip while they tried to get out from between them. Jeryl looked at Mary. “Are you sure those are Udenar cruisers?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered as the ship was rocked by a shot across the top. “They match computer databases.”
“What about their weapons? Those seem stronger than they should be.”
“Running a quick scan.” As the ship shook again, Mary’s screen flashed through dozens of pictures before settling on one. “Sir, they’re not typical armaments for Udenar forces. These are CTS-60, weapons made by the Aido Corporation back during the war.”
“How the hell did they get their hands on that kind of weaponry?”
“The Aido Corp lost almost a dozen ships the first two years sir. Probably salvaged.”
“Shit. No wonder they’re doing as much damage as they are.”
“SIR!” Ferriero yelled. He was pointing at the screen where the third cruiser was lining up to fire at the Hunters.
Jeryl reached past Mary, pushing the comm button for the Hunters. “Ashley! Get out of there, the cruisers are bearing down on you!”
He could see the Hunters turn and run as the cruiser fired its rail guns. One of the shots missed, but one hit.
Ashley yelled Jasper’s name, and Mary let out a gasp. She and Jasper had been close, as they had trained together and were roommates for years. Squeezing her shoulder, Jeryl tried to dial up an apologetic nod.
“Holy shit! Sir, at least forty more ships just came out of FTL!” Docherty suddenly blurted out, bringing them back to the current situation.
“What the fuck? God damn it! Get me a count, now!” Jeryl rushed back to his seat, getting his screen up.
“Sir!” Mary punched some buttons and swiped the info to his screen.
“Jeryl?” Ashley’s voice came in over the comm.
“We see them. Get your asses back here, there’s nothing else you can do out there.”
“Bullshit. We can still hurt those bastards. What showed up?”
Jeryl studied his screen for a second. The ships were oddly different from the first ones that came in. “At least another dozen raiders and a bunch of Udenar ships…actual Udenar ships this time, not Tyreesian cast-offs.”
“Screw it, we can hit them. Hunters, anyone not able to fight, go back to The Seeker and help out there. The rest of you, let’s tear these ugly-ass bitches up.”
Jeryl tried to order her back, but she cut off connection. “Dammit.”
“She’s tenacious,” Tira said from behind him.
“That, she is.” Hitting a switch on his screen, Jeryl called up the hangar. “Templeton! You got Hunters coming in for repairs and reload, work on them faster than you’ve ever done before.”
Without even waiting for an answer, he cut off the comm and focused on the fight at hand. One of the cruisers was badly damaged and was trying to limp away, but the other one was still firing away at them. The Seeker was down to fifty percent shields, and they were going to drop fast.
They were getting surrounded in a hurry. Fifty ships surrounded them, pelting them from all sides.
“Tira, keep those shields up! Docherty, pay attention to the left. Ferriero, up top!” Jeryl’s adrenaline reflected on the way he handled everything at one time; he was shouting orders, talking to engineering, keeping up with Templeton, studying the Udenar, and trying to find a way out of the choke hold they were in.
Then The Seeker was hit hard—so hard that the entire CNC was rocked, knocking people from their seats and off their feet. Jeryl was flung from his seat, rolling into the back of Ferriero’s chair, and Ferriero almost falling on top of him.
Jeryl pushed him back into his seat, then tried to rise to his feet. He could see Docherty a few feet away from him, trying to help one of the crew up—when another blast hit, causing a small explosion on the bridge and sending everyone flying again.
Jeryl was momentarily dazed. Shouts and screams echoed around him and things were a blur, then everything came back in sharp recognition. Automated systems had put out a small fire, Tira was helping him to his feet, Mary was yelling out orders, and Ferriero was calling for help.
Jeryl looked around and saw Docherty, his body lying at an awkward angle at the captain’s chair. His eyes were open, but they saw nothing.
“He must have hit his head and snapped his neck, sir. There’s nothing we can do,” Tira said as she helped him to his feet. Jeryl only nodded. “I’ll help Ferriero, sir.” Tira jumped into Docherty’s seat and took over flight of the ship.
“Shields down to twenty-seven percent. Hunters are in and out sir. Rail guns are empty.” The calm that Tira displayed as she called out the information was almost mind-numbing. Jeryl couldn’t comprehend it, how the hell was this kid so damn calm? What the hell was in her head that kept her this damn calm?
“Mary, take over shields…move every ounce of power we can afford to shields. Docherty—”
Fuck, Jeryl thought as he closed his eyes.
“Sorry. Tira, if you have to, take us through the raiders, but find us a way out of here!”
Jeryl sat, then clicked to Ashley’s HUD display and turned on her comm. “Ashley, we need to find a way out of here. We need at least a small hole to fly through, we’re not going to last much longer.” He said it quietly—it was only meant for her. No one else needed to know that he was scared shitless right now.
“We’ll figure it out…What the hell is going on?”
Jeryl looked at the screen as some on the bridge began cheering.
“Holy shit…” He whispered as he saw what was happening. “I never thought I’d see this. Confederation ships just showed up and they’re hitting the Udenar.”
“About fucking time!”
“Yeah.”
It was a miracle. The Confederation fleet flew in, a few dozen cruisers with their own fighters pouring out of them like water. They broke off into three groups and engaged the Udenar. Jeryl’s screen showed 270 Confederation ships in total.
Two minutes later, and all hostiles had been turned into a floating junkyard.
The Udenar never stood a chance.
Jeryl
That was close, Jeryl thought to himself, gripping his chair so tight his knuckles had turned white.
If the Confederation fleet hadn’t shown up when it did, The Seeker would have been looking at a battle it’d have a hard time winning. Maybe they could have handled fifty Udenar ships, but Jeryl really wasn’t looking forward to have the Armada foot a bill of a few million credits in repairs. He wasn’t exactly in good terms with his superiors, and he figured that even Flynn would have a hard time defending Jeryl after he went against his orders and marched straight into Confederation space.
Still, the Udenar had cost him one of his more experienced officers – Docherty.
“They’re hailing us, sir,” Mary announced, looking over her shoulder at Jeryl. He took one deep breath and then nodded at her, mentally running through a large list of explanations he could present to his counterpart in the Confederation fleet.
“Put them up on the viewscreen,” he commanded.
A few seconds later, The Seeker established a comm link to HCS Crimson, the flagship on the Human Confederation fleet. The image of a balding man in his sixties took over the viewscreen; he was sitting on a chair similar to Jeryl’s, and he was wearing a grey uniform. There was a serious expression on his face, and the lines on his forehead seemed so deep it was as if they had been carved with an axe.
“I’m Captain Jeryl Montgomery of The Seeker,” Jeryl introduced himself, maintaining an expression as serious as the one his counterpart had. “We’d like to thank you for your assistance, Captain.”
“I know exactly who you are. Who doesn’t? My name’s Harlan West,” the man on the viewscreen responded, a slight accent to his words. “I’m the Captain. And no need to thank us, Captain Montgomery. These Udenar are trespassers on Confederation territory, and we were to deal with them one way or the other.”
“Either way, your assistance was most welcome,” Jeryl insisted, feeling as if he was walking over shifting sands. Captain West had specifically used trespassers when talking about the Udenar, and that was a term that could also be applied to The Seeker and its crew.
“Now, enlighten me, Captain,” Captain West continued, leaning back on his chair and keeping his steely gaze on Jeryl. “The Udenar are known raiders, so it’s not that surprising to find them pilfering inside Confederation territory, but I can’t help but wonder...why is a Union ship—and The Seeker, especially—doing in our little corner of the galaxy?”
Thread carefully, Jeryl thought. The last thing he wanted was to start a dispute with the Confederation over nonsense. If the conversation soured, Jeryl would either have to surrender his ship or trade blows with a superior fleet. None of which were valid options from where he was standing.
“We were just pursuing a lead,” Jeryl started, his hands growing sleek with sweat. “These Udenar have crossed the border into Union space, and we were just investigating matters. We entered Confederation territory unwittingly, and for that you have my apologies. I can assure you that the Union has absolutely no interest in meddling with your affairs. We are more than willing, of course, to extend a helping hand.”
“How so, Captain Montgomery?” Captain West questioned, cocking one eyebrow as he kept his unblinking eyes on Jeryl.
“We know that this star system has been overrun by Udenar forces, and we could help you look into it. The Union, or the Council for that matter, has no ties to the Udenar, and we would welcome the chance to prove our good will to the Confederation by helping resolve this particular situation.”
“So, the mighty Captain Montgomery and his powerful Council wants to help, huh?” This time, Captain West didn’t even bother hiding his disdain. He snorted loudly, then leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. Somehow, his image on the viewscreen made Jeryl feel as if the Crimson’s captain was staring down at him.
“Let me tell you something. The Confederation has survived this far without needing anyone’s help, and I can assure you that my fleet is more than capable of grinding all these Udenar rats into dust by ourselves.”
“Captain West, we were just—”
“Save it. We don’t need the Union. In fact, we’d appreciate for the Union—and you, Captain Montgomery—to keep its nose out of Confederation affairs.” Leaning back on his chair once more, Captain West rested one hand on his armchair, his fingers brushing over the comms panel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do. But, before I leave, one word of warning—you better turn around and leave, because if you don’t...well, then you’re no different from the Udenar, are you?”
With that, Captain West shut down the comm link, the CNC’s viewscreen turning dark.
“Bastard,” Jeryl cursed under his breath. He had hated Harlan West’s arrogance, but the worst part was that he the situation was out of his control. Jeryl had his hands tied, and there was nothing left for him to do…other than to tuck his tail between his legs and leave Galea’s star system empty-handed.
“That went well,” Ashley sighed behind Jeryl, her voice dripping irony. She was as pissed as Jeryl was, but at least they had done everything they could. Anything more, and the risk would outweigh the reward.
“Yeah. It went perfectly. But at least we didn’t start a war.” With a sigh, Jeryl looked at Ferriero. “Ferriero, get us out of—”
“Hang on!” Ashley said, walking across the CNC main floor and joining Ferriero at his workstation, her eyes glued to the screen that held all the sensors and long range scanners information. “Are those…?”
“Must be,” Ferriero agreed, and then swiveled his chair around to look straight at Jeryl. “Captain, our sensors have picked up another Udenar fleet moving toward our position.”
“Another? Just exactly how many of these bastards are out there?”
“A shitload,” Ferriero replied by instinct, and then he sat straight on his chair. “Pardon the language, sir.”
“Nevermind that, Lieutenant. Just put the sensors view up on the screen.”
The moment Ferriero obeyed the command, Jeryl felt his blood freeze inside his veins. The word Ferriero had just used—a shitload—was exactly the first word that Jeryl thought of to describe what he saw on the screen. This time, the Udenar weren’t coming with fifty or so raiders. No, this time they had brought whatever else they had hidden on the star system. The viewscreen was completely littered with blinking red dots, all of them representing an Udenar ship.
“Can we get a read on those ships’ signature?” Ashley asked Tira, the young ensign working next to Ferriero.
Despite her being a novice on The Seeker, she had already proved herself as more capable and intelligent than other senior officers. The girl can think on her feet, and she was devoted to her job in such a way that Jeryl couldn’t help but be reminded of his younger years in the Armada.
And she’s pretty too, he thought. Those were, more often than not, the truly dangerous women...and Jeryl knew that by experience. After all, he was married to a woman just like that, one as beautiful as she was deadly capable.
“No ma’am,” Tira replied. “They have around 150 fifty raiders there, and there are some bigger ships as well...but I can’t know for sure what they’re flying. Probably more second-hand Tyreesian vessels. But even if they’re using old dreadnoughts and cruisers, there’s—”
“No way we stand a chance,” Jeryl said, finishing Tira’s sentence. “Alright, Ferriero, tell Engineering to power up the FTL drives and plot a course back to Union space.”
“On it, sir.”
“What about the Confederation fleet?” Ashley asked. She had an expression on her face that Jeryl didn’t appreciate—she wanted to stand her ground and fight, even though the odds were against them.
“They’re going to leave as well,” Jeryl replied. “Without The Seeker’s help, there’s no way they’re a match for a fleet that size.”
At least I hope they run, Jeryl thought, or we’re all fucked. Asshole or not, Jeryl wouldn’t abandon Captain Harlan West to a certain death.
Cassius
Flushed with anger, Cassius Ojun stormed into the Vice Chancellor’s office. Horace Brody looked up from his desk in surprise.
“Chancellor. Sir. What can I do for you?”
“You can explain to me why I had an embarrassing slipstream conference with the President of the Terran Union.” He crossed his arms and clenched his jaw.
“Sir?”
“The Udenar memo that didn’t arrive in my inbox until this morning. You didn’t think that was something that required my immediate attention?”
“No sir. I didn’t want to bother you. If the claims are true, it’s a Human Confederation matter. The Terran Union has no business meddling.”
“Except when Udenar ships cross over the border to fire on a Terran Armada ship. A ship that rescued two of our citizens.”
Vice Chancellor Brody’s face fell. “I missed that. I only skimmed the message. I’m sorry.”
“I averted a war, this time. You better hope that Terran Admiral is as understanding as the President. If not, you’re responsible.”
“Yes, sir,” Horace mumbled with downcast eyes.
Cassius stalked out of the office, glaring at Horace’s wide-eyed assistant. He expected some incompetence from the lesser staff, but not the Vice Chancellor. It occurred to him the man needed a second assistant, but his annoyance outweighed the thought. He would punish Horace first, then give him another assistant.
Back in his own office, he powered up the slipstream and waited for Admiral Flynn’s face to appear.
“Chancellor Ojun. I see you’re finally taking this matter seriously.” It seemed all angry military officers had the same disapproving frown and upturned nose.
“I apologize. I only got the memo this morning. How are the woman and child?”
“Scared, but in good health.”
Good. He hoped they hadn’t suffered much. He had a soft spot for families. This woman was tenacious enough to jumpstart a beat up shuttle and evade the oncoming fire to save her child. He wanted to talk to her. The people needed a hero, and a bravery award for a blue collar single mother should do just the trick.
“I’ve just ordered half a fleet of ships to deploy for investigation. It will take them three days to arrive at the border.”
“My ship is still out there. Keep in mind they have orders to engage if the Udenar cross the border again.” Flynn’s tone was a dare. He hoped they would do just that.
“Noted.” Cassius pushed the button to power down the slipstream. Those Terran Union bastards always acted superior when they were the ones who started the Earth-Sonali war on faulty assumptions. It took them five years to fix their own screw up, and they still had the nerve to look down on the Human Confederation.
It was both funny and sad. It was a shame he had to be congenial. His rebellious side wanted to say screw the lot of them. The responsibilities of higher office were a real drag, but worked hard to keep his face bland and friendly. If he returned Flynn’s contempt, the situation could only fester.
The Human Confederation fleet filled with battle cruisers made their three-day trek to Galea. On the third day, Cassius dumped all his menial paperwork on Horace while he monitored the detachment via the HCS Crimson’s slipstream. It wasn’t necessary, but he wanted to see the events firsthand. He assumed the Terran Union Admiral exaggerated the gravity of the situation. He would judge for himself if further action was needed.
The flagship leading the fleet slowed to sub light drive as it approached Galea’s sector. Cassius saw the planetary system as tiny specs and flashes.
“Long range scanners are picking up a Terran Union ship exchanging fire with fifty Udenar ships just outside Galea’s moon orbit,” Captain West relayed for his benefit. “From its signature, it seems we’re looking at The Seeker. We’ll have visual in three minutes.”
Son of a bitch!
Cassius leaned forward as if that would speed things up.
“Screw that. Step on it, Captain!”
It was against procedure. The closer to a star system you were, the more dangerous FTL became. They did not have time to coast up to the planet.
“Yes, sir! This is the Crimson. Jump on my mark,” Captain West broadcasted to the rest of the fleet. “Mark!”
The slipstream turned to static for a few moments as the Crimson made an FTL jump, followed by the remaining two hundred twenty-four ships. Cassius held his breath.
Cassius whistled through his teeth when the slipstream came back into focus. The Seeker did its best to fend off the fifty Udenar ships. The raiders that flowed from its belly served as a distraction, moving in shoot-and-run patterns.
The Udenar shook them off and pressed forward, forcing the Armada ship to back off. It had superior weapons and shielding, but the constant barrage would soon overwhelm The Seeker. If the fleet hadn’t jumped, The Seeker would be toast.
The Crimson wasted no time. It charged in at full throttle, the fleet separating into their squads.
“Squads one and two, take the rear,” Captain West barked.
Ninety ships veered off to round up behind the Udenar.
“Squads three and four, flank!”
Ninety ships veered around the opposite direction.
The last ninety rushed forward, rail guns pounding the Udenar. Raiders deployed, pouring from each of the ships. They surrounded the enemy and started picking them off in rapid succession.
It only took a few moments for the backwater thieves to attempt a retreat. Immediately, they were boxed in by the three squads.
“Yeah!” Cassius yelled, forgetting that slipstream worked both ways.
“Sir, could you not distract my CNC crew?” Captain West asked in the background.
Cassius cleared his throat and settled down.
The Human Confederation fleet destroyed the remaining Udenar while the Armada ship brought its raiders back to bay.
Quiet aftermath followed. Cassius could hear each member of the CNC breathing for a moment.
“Bring those raiders home,” Captain West ordered.
The racket of the CNC returned to normal. Cassius only saw the view of the patched-in screen. Debris littered the vacuum of space. It was an ugly sight that left Cassius nostalgic for the simplicity of his farming planet. He did his job and came home to his wife every night. His children smiled and welcomed him home. His biggest worry was old terraforming equipment. Those had been the easiest years of his life.
“Captain West, send a shuttle to pick up the woman and child. Have them brought to Centralia immediately,” Cassius said as he leaned back to relax. He would personally house them and take her statement. At the moment, he didn’t trust anyone else to follow protocol. After she was settled he would hold a ceremony in her honor. The press would eat it all up, and the Human Confederation would love her. Within a month, she and her child would be the most recognized faces in the system.
“Yes, Chancellor.”
One thing was clear as he watched the dogfight: though the Udenar ships were inferior to The Seeker and his own ships, they were still higher quality than the pirates have ever had before. Someone with more funding and resources had to be behind the Udenar.
Cassius powered down the slipstream and paced around his office. There were three choices.
Someone within his own ranks, which seemed unlikely. Those ships were not a design Cassius recognized. They were similar to traditional Udenar ships, but they were too old to be as fast as they were.
The Kurta Colonies were an option, but they distrusted everyone and kept to themselves more than the Udenar. They were more interested in hunting each other than conquering a foreign planet. His next choice would have been the Terran Union, but The Seeker was the most famous ship since first contact. The Armada brass would never put it in danger for a ruse.
That left the scheming Tyreesians. They were ambitious and organized. They had their eyes on Galea for some reason.
Cassius stopped pacing and sank back into his chair.
Galea was a farming colony. A year before, the geology team discovered a material that was unlike anything they had seen before. They had trace elements of two different soft metals, infused with a crystalline mineral dust. The result was a hardened conductive material that cast a brilliant prism of color when you held it to the light. Cassius kept a lid on it and ordered another team there for extensive testing. The team named it Bachnian crystal and was currently testing its use as a battery.
That was what they were after. They must have discovered a use for it that Cassius hadn’t thought of yet.
Cassius sucked in his breath. If the Tyreesians were involved...
He reached over the desk and hit the stationary comm, “Admiral Hennesy, power down the FTL in our ships.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me. Remotely power down those FTLs before they jump!”
“Yes sir.”
Cassius took three deep breaths to quell the shaking.
Did he just sentence the crews of over two hundred ships to death—or did he actually save their lives?
Jeryl
“Engineering says FTL drives are ready to go,” Ferriero announced.
“Do we have our coordinates set?”
“We do, sir. All we need is one order, and we’ll be out of here in the blink of an eye.”
“Very well,” Jeryl replied. “Await my command,” he continued, and then fell into deep silence, looking at the viewscreen. He felt his heart pick up the pace as he watched the hundreds of blinking red dots grow closer on the screen, just like angry wasps circling their enemy.
The Confederation fleet remained motionless as the Udenar approached, and Jeryl hoped that just meant they were still powering up their FTL drives. No sane captain would dare lock horns with a fleet that size, even if that fleet was mostly composed of rusted-out Tyreesian ships. As arrogant as Captain West seemed, Jeryl doubted the old man would be crazy enough to engage.
And still, the Confederation’s fleet looked as if it was waiting for the Udenar. It didn’t make any sense.
“Something’s wrong, Captain,” Ashley called out to Jeryl, never taking her eyes from the viewscreen as she said it.
“I know,” he replied tersely. Turning to Mary, he issued another command. “Hail Crimson. I want to talk to their Captain before we jump out of here.”
With a simple nod, Mary went to work, and a few seconds later, Captain West’s semblance took over the previous image of the Udenar fleet on the viewscreen. Just like before, there was still that air of arrogance about him.
“Captain, I hope you’re not thinking of engaging that Udenar fleet,” Jeryl said, hoping to receive another arrogant reply from Captain West. That didn’t happen, though.
“We’re...still analyzing the situation,” he merely responded, and Jeryl immediately noticed that the Crimson’s captain wasn’t being truthful. If there was something Jeryl was proud of, it was his skill at reading people under pressure—something a dozen well-off New Washington businessmen with a hole burning in their pocket could attest to.
But this wasn’t a poker game. There were lives at stake here, and something very, very wrong was happening.
“Analyzing what situation? There are hundreds of ships coming toward you! Your fleet doesn’t stand a chance, Captain. Power up your FTL drives and get the hell out of here!”
“Thank you for telling me how to run my ship, Captain Montgomery,” Captain West replied, lowering his voice into a whisper. He was gritting his teeth so hard that Jeryl wouldn’t be surprised if the old man simply shattered his jaw. “Like I said before, we got this.”
Then, Captain West looked up with furrowed brows, as if he was reading something on his own viewscreen, and cursed something under his breath.
Without any warning at all, the line went dark, Captain West’s image replaced by mere darkness.
“What the hell happened?” Jeryl asked, turning to Mary. She was tapping away at her holographic keyboard, but nothing she did managed to bring the Confederation captain back online.
“I...I don’t know, sir. The line just went dead. They either shut off their comms links, or...I’m not sure, sir. I’ve tried hailing them again, but it’s as if they’re not there at all.”
“What the fuck?” Jeryl hissed, low enough to keep his anger hidden from the rest of his crew. What the hell was going on inside these Confederation’s ships? Why were they not moving and getting ready to engage their FTL drives?
“They must have a death wish,” Ashley whispered, and then went to Tira’s side. “Get us some visuals on them and put it up on the screen.”
Without a word, Tira tapped her keyboard twice and the CNC’s viewscreen lit up with a livestream of the nearby Confederation fleet. To say they were motionless was an understatement—the whole fleet seemed adrift in space, almost as if their engines had suddenly decided to take a leave of absence at the same time.
“Ferriero, what’s the ETA for the Udenar fleet?”
“They’re...one minute out, sir!”
“Shit. Still no response from them?”
“None, sir!” Mary replied, and Jeryl felt his heart jump inside his chest anxiously. He couldn’t abandon the Confederation fleet like this, especially when he didn’t know what was going on...but if he stayed, he’d be risking The Seeker and its crew.
“Sir, let me try something,” Tira suddenly said, jumping from her seat and eyeing Jeryl.
“Speak up.”
“I can try and run an analysis of their systems. Under normal circumstances we shouldn’t be doing this, as they could see that as hostile from our part...but that’s the only way for us to know what—”
“Permission granted. But work fast, Ensign Tira. The clock’s ticking.”
“I always work fast,” Tira said with a smile, and then sat back down on her chair, her fingers flying over her keyboard so fast that Jeryl could barely keep up. Usually, the Armada insisted on sending him green rookies, but it seemed they had finally listened to Jeryl’s pleas and had started sending him capable personnel.
“Thirty seconds!” Ferriero said, and Jeryl felt his mouth turn dry as he saw the red avalanche of Udenar ships on the viewscreen drawing closer. Soon enough, even The Seeker wouldn’t be able to jump out of the star system. There was no way Jeryl would attempt an FTL jump under heavy fire.
“Tira, give me something.”
“One second, sir, and I...got it!” She exclaimed, her face so close to the monitor that her nose almost touched it. “Their FTL drives seem to have been deactivated remotely!”
“So, you’re telling me that the Confederation fleet can’t make the jump?”
“That, well, huh...yes, sir.”
“Shit,” Jeryl muttered again. Why the hell had the Confederation deactivated the FTL drives on their own fleet? That didn’t make any sense. The only reason any Admiral worth his salt would deactivate the drives like that would be…
“POWER DOWN OUR FTL DRIVES!” Jeryl shouted, and every head in CNC turned to look at him. “Do it now,” he insisted, and Ferriero immediately went to work, no questions asked.
“What the hell’s going on?” Ashley asked, and Jeryl just gritted his teeth.
“FTL mines. They’re all around us,” Jeryl finally replied, watching as the Confederation fleet finally engaged their sub light engines and slowly started pulling back. That was the only way to escape a minefield like that; if a ship tried a jump into FTL with these mines around it, it was almost certain that the only place its crew would be jumping into would be the afterlife.
“Five seconds, sir!” Ferriero shouted, the urgency in his voice enough to make Jeryl stand up from his chair.
“Take us out of here, Ferriero, but do it carefully” he ordered, and the Lieutenant got to work right away. On the viewscreen, Jeryl could see the Udenar raiders showing in the distance, right behind the Confederation’s flagship. There were dozens of small raiders, all of them flying in close formation, and Jeryl could see the shape of a few old Tyreesian destroyers as well.
He had no idea how the Udenar had managed to get their hands on that much equipment. Even second-hand destroyers had to be expensive for a race that mostly lived out of piracy—but that didn’t matter much. If Jeryl was right, and if the space around them was littered with FTL mines, then that could only mean one thing: the Tyreesians were somehow involved in the situation.
Every officer inside CNC watched in horror as the Udenar started firing upon the slow-moving Confederation ships, the laser beams carving out large holes in their flagship hull. Long arms of fire escaped from those wounds on the fuselage, only to be choked out of existence by the vacuum of space.
“I’ve ran a scan of the area,” Tira announced. “You’re right, Captain, we’re surrounded by FTL mines. The previous fleet must have dropped them before they were destroyed.”
“Please tell me you have good news as well.” Jeryl asked Tira, not wanting to finish his sentence with ‘or else we’re fucked’.
“I do. Most of them are surrounding the Confederation fleet. One minute or so and we’ll be able to make the jump into FTL.”
“Good. I hope you’re as good at praying as you are at manning your workstation, Tira, because we’re gonna need some luck to get out of this alive.”
C’mon, c’mon, Jeryl repeated over and over again inside his head, counting each fraction of a second as The Seeker slowly moved out of the area covered by the FTL mines. They couldn’t take too long—soon enough, the Udenar would stop firing against the Confederation fleet and turn their attention toward The Seeker.
Thirty seconds passed, and then one minute...and that was enough for the Udenar to turn every single Confederation ship into a pile of floating junk, the metal from the ship’s hull charred and bent in different shapes as it suffered a non-stop barrage of enemy fire.
The Crimson flagship and its supporting ships tried to respond as hard as they could, downing a dozen of raiders, but they were no match for a fleet as huge as the one led by the Udenar.
“We’re clear, sir!” Tira shouted, and Jeryl could swear he almost heard everyone in CNC hold their breath.
“Ferriero, take us out of here!”
“FTL drives up and running and...here we go!” Ferriero announced fast, his voice cracking, and Jeryl sat back down as The Seeker left Galea’s system, the stars on the windscreen leaving a bright trail of light as the ship made the jump into FTL.
For a long moment, nobody said a word.
“They’re...dead.” Ashley finally said, still looking at the windscreen as if she was replaying the scene from seconds ago. “Just like that.”
“Yes. But there was nothing we could have done. If we had tried to help, we’d have suffered the same fate.”
“I know…” With that, Ashley turned around and walked toward Jeryl, lowering her voice as she approached him. “But how the hell do the Udenar have access to FTL mines? I seriously doubt the Tyreesians are selling that kind of artillery. We know that they only sell what they have no use for, so this doesn’t make any—”
“That’s because the Tyreesians are in on this,” Jeryl replied, using the same hushed tone as Ashley. “I have no idea what’s going on, but this isn’t about the Udenar taking over a farming colony to extract ore. This is big, Ash. Really fucking big.”
Jeryl
Bobbing his head to the left, Jeryl sidestepped the incoming punch and drove his right fist into the other man’s stomach. He allowed himself a grin and then took a step back.
“Still not falling, huh?”
“Never, sir,” Ferriero responded through his mouthpiece, visibly shaken from Jeryl’s punch but still maintaining his stance. Whatever could be said of Ferriero, the man sure could take a punch.
“Good, man.”
Without allowing Ferriero a moment’s rest, Jeryl barraged him with a flurry of punches—jab, left hook, and then a straight right. The navigation officer tried to keep his guard up, but he was no match for Jeryl’s fury.
Eventually, one of Jeryl’s punch broke through Ferriero’s raised arms and connected with his chin. The officer took two steps back, lost his balance, and then fell back on his ass. He spat out his mouthpiece, then looked up at his captain.
“One of these days, Captain, I’ll be the one standing over you,” he laughed, slowly getting back up on his feet. Jeryl helped him up, and then patted Ferriero on the shoulder.
“The only day you’ll stand over me like this...would be the day you’ll have to bury me six feet under the ground,” Jeryl said with a wink. “Because there’s no way I’m going to let you win if I’m still breathing.”
“Seriously now,” Ferriero continued, taking off his boxing gloves. “Is everything okay, Captain? There was quite a fury behind those punches.”
“Fury? I call that strength and skill, my friend,” Jeryl simply responded, even though he knew exactly why he had given Ferriero such a fierce fight. His head was swarming with thoughts of the Udenar, and memories of how the Confederation fleet went down without a fight.
On top of that, he couldn’t stop thinking about the Tyreesians. He thought they had learned how to stay put, but now he realized he couldn’t have been more wrong. Even if they kept to themselves and lurked in the shadows, that only meant they were plotting something.
Cunning bastards.
But what could their interest be in a farming colony such as Galea? What had they found there that made them equip a race like Udenar with their tech? They had even handed out FTL mines, something they had always been protective about.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Jeryl simply said, trying to push all these thoughts to the back of his mind. He climbed down from the boxing ring, and made his way out of The Seeker’s large gym facility.
The ring was a new addition to the facility (and there was some bureaucracy involved in setting the damn thing up), but Jeryl couldn’t be happier about it. There was no better way to let off some steam than a friendly fight. Jeryl wasn’t sure if every captain relaxed the way he did—by beating the shit out of his officers. But they seemed to like the challenge.
Especially Ferriero, who saw every sparring session with Jeryl as a personal challenge. The guy wanted to knock the captain flat on his ass, and he wouldn’t give up until he succeeded. But Ferriero always saw everything as a challenge. He rose through the ranks fast, and Jeryl knew that now Docherty was gone, Ferriero would be the one to take over as head of nav.
Finally standing under the hot running water, Jeryl allowed his body to relax. Every single muscle on his body was sore, and there were a few bruises on his chest, right on the spots where Ferriero had hit him. Jeryl had to give it to him—the guy was improving fast. If Jeryl wasn’t careful, the nav officer would soon knock him on his ass.
Eventually, Jeryl’s mind circled back to Galea. That damn colony’s name seemed to have been engraved on his brain with a scorching hot iron, and above the planet’s name was a monstrous question mark.
Jeryl simply couldn’t figure out what the Udenar (or the Tyreesians) had seen in a farming planet. It had to do with the extraction of something, since the Udenar were running a mining operation, after all.
But what could be so important that they had to protect the planet with massive fleets while keeping up appearances with a puppet governor?
“What are you looking for in there?” He whispered to himself, throwing his head back and allowing the water to fall straight onto his face. Around him, a mist of vapor was slowly settling, covering the room as it rose.
He didn’t believe the Tyreesians would go to such lengths to mine some precious mineral—he wasn’t even sure if they saw gold or silver as currency. That left only one option: whatever it was they needed to extract in Galea, it had to do with some kind of technology. Maybe they had developed a new alloy that needed a specific metal, and they were upgrading their fleet.
No, it can’t be that, Jeryl thought. If they needed to upgrade their fleet, they’d need massive amounts of whatever it is they’re mining. If they’re risking invading a Confederation colony this close to the Union border...it has be something extremely scarce.
But then, why use the Udenar? Plausible deniability? It could be, but something told Jeryl that it ran deeper than that. The Tyreesians were probably using the Udenar so that if anyone found out what was going on, they wouldn’t make the connection between what was being mined and what the Tyreesians were using it for.
There was no way around it—Jeryl would have to speak to the Admiral and tell him about his suspicions. What seemed like a simple problem was turning into a riddle...and that was a problem, because Jeryl couldn’t stand back when there was a riddle with his name stamped on it.
If the long years of the war hadn’t taught him the value of being cautious and respecting the hierarchy, he’d already be plotting some kind of rogue operation to figure out the whole thing by now.
His priority was to let Flynn know.
As if someone had read his thoughts, Jeryl heard his comm chirp. He glanced at it quickly and read the message on the small screen.
Admiral Flynn had reached out and wanted to talk with him.
“Quite the timing, Admiral,” he muttered.
Jeryl stepped out from the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He stood there for a moment, beads of water still trickling down his naked skin, and just stared at his folded uniform.
Being a captain wasn’t easy...but he wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.
Admiral Flynn
Blindsided by a right hook, Flynn once again wondered why he loved boxing so much. He spit out a glob of blood and returned with an uppercut.
I’m getting too old for this shit, he thought as pain seared through his left cheek.
He visited the same back alley gym three times a week since he was a kid, when he wasn’t stationed elsewhere. This morning, he needed a good workout to clear his head.
A notification from his tablet had awakened him before dawn. An encrypted message with an Armada seal blinked at him, and for a moment, all he could do was blink back while his eyes adjusted.
The only time he got an encrypted message was when it was an Armada Intelligence matter. He opened the message with his name, security clearance, and password. A rock formed in the pit of his stomach as he read.
Send The Seeker to gather intel. We’re now sure there is a threat to the Terran Union and the Galactic Council. We will contact you. Do not attempt to contact us.
Jeryl disobeyed a direct order and barely got out by the skin of his teeth. Now, they wanted him to go back in, and it had to be Flynn’s idea.
There was so much wrong with that and he didn’t know where to start. Jeryl was like a son to him—hell, Jeryl had even taken up boxing because of Flynn. Such an order was likely to get him killed, and Flynn would like nothing more than pretend he didn’t see it.
Once again, he had to remind himself that he couldn’t let personal feelings cloud his professional judgement. Of course Armada Intelligence would want more information after what happened. It was only logical to send Jeryl’s ship back in to get it.
A pounding always helped him think, so he threw on his clothes and headed straight for the gym. He regretted it now, as his cheek swelled and throbbed. The uppercut knocked the other man to the mat, affording him some satisfaction. It didn’t last long. Every part of his body was sore, making him cringe as he washed up and threw on his uniform.
The guard that normally waved him through held the gate when he saw the bruise.
“You okay, sir?” he asked with a frown.
“Fine. Just a rough workout,” Flynn smiled at the man’s concern.
The guard ran his eyes over the aircar, looking for signs of trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time an officer was kidnapped and forced to clear the security gate. He finally nodded and opened the gate, waving Flynn through.
Dangerous missions were Jeryl’s bread and butter. Flynn himself thought his talents were better served in Armada Intelligence, and now was as good as any to test that theory. He immediately felt guilty for that thought and mentally kicked himself, then acknowledged that it was true.
As selfish as it was, Jeryl’s success would inflate Flynn’s ego.
Flynn sat at his desk, chewing his nails. He reached for the power button on the slipstream and pulled his hand back several times. Straightening his shoulders, he let the nail-bitten hand rest on the desk and fired up the slipstream. He put on his sternest face as he waited.
Jeryl flinched in shock as he came into full view. “Whoa, what happened?”
“I know, Jeryl. I’ve seen myself in the mirror earlier, thanks.”
“Back to boxing these days?” Jeryl replied as his mouth curved into a slight smile.
“Yeah, I mean it’s the perfect way to let off some steam. And don’t be fooled by this bruise—I can assure you that I knocked out the other guy.”
Jeryl chuckled and shook his head. “I’m sure you did, sir.”
“Of course. Now, Jeryl…” Flynn started, his tone growing serious. “Was it really so difficult to obey my order? You’re lucky we both haven’t been court-martialed.”
Jeryl’s smile slowly faded, and he momentarily looked away from Flynn. “We didn’t have a choice, sir. And I’m fairly certain that the Tyreesians have something to do with this. They have to be mining for—”
“I believe you,” Flynn muttered. “There’s something happening that could spill over onto our territory.”
That was an understatement. The conflict had already spilled over, with improbable Udenar coming out in full battle mode to chase down a woman and her baby. Maybe his age jaded him, but he smelled a conspiracy.
Jeryl looked at him with wide eyes, clearly surprised that Flynn was finally seeing his side on the matter. “We can’t just walk away and pretend like everything’s fine, sir. There’s clearly something off here.”
“I agree. This stays between us. Go find us some intel we can use.”
“Wait—what?” Jeryl certainly expected to be ordered to get out of that sector and let the Human Confederation self-destruct on their own.
“This is strictly black ops. If there’s a threat to us, I want to know about it.”
“Admiral, I’m glad that we’re finally taking a step into this. But...this is too risky. Maybe there’s another way to—”
“There could be, but it will take a lot of time. And we certainly want to know what’s happening here as soon as we can. Now, come up with a plan and brief me before you go.”
“Sir, I—”
Flynn powered down the slipstream before Jeryl could continue his sentence and stood. He had preparations of his own to make. He picked up his tablet and composed an encrypted message.
Orders given, was all it read.
Tapping the send button, he hoped that he hadn’t just sent his best friend to his death on orders he didn’t agree with. If a war started or Jeryl died, Flynn would only be allowed to blame himself. Armada Intelligence would see to that.
He knew that Jeryl was apprehensive about them as well. Who could blame him? He might as well refuse this order like he did the last one, but Flynn didn’t think so. Flynn knew the order was ignored for a valid reason—Jeryl never did anything for the hell of it. Above all else, that man was too curious for his own good. That alone would drive him to sneak across the border. He would succeed.
Now he had to get his affairs in order in case anything went wrong. With any luck, he would only be reprimanded. More likely, he would be court-martialed and sentenced to prison.
Armada Intelligence always made sure their hands were clean. Flynn would be the only one to go down should The Seeker be destroyed. Worse, he would be forever known as one who sent Jeryl Montgomery to die on a whim. He accepted that and made sure his bank accounts were secure, his apartment taken care of, and a go-bag in case he decided to take vengeance.
Two hours later, the slipstream came to life.
“This is dangerous for all of us,” Jeryl said, his eyes reflecting his anxiety. “I’m putting everyone at risk. Again.”
“I know, Jeryl. But you stumbled on something and followed your instincts. Now we need to know exactly what we’re up against. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
Jeryl let out a long sigh and nodded. “I know, sir.”
“I’ve noticed that life-changing events revolve around you. It’s enough to make an old pragmatic like me believe in fate. I believe fate has chosen you.”
Jeryl shrugged. “I guess fate never gets tired of choosing me for things like this.”
Flynn smiled. “You can deny it all you want, but it’s true. You’re a shit storm magnet and you know it.”
Jeryl let out a slight chuckle and scratched his head. “I hope they put that on plaques and medals too. I’ll come up with a plan and send you the details.”
“Be as safe as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
Flynn powered down the slipstream with a sad smile. Jeryl always found new ways to surprise him.
Coming to another decision that could condemn him, Flynn made a copy of all the files on his tablet. If Jeryl’s mission ended in disaster, he would track down the anonymous Intelligence officer that gave the order and kill him slowly.
Ashley
“Flynn must have gone crazy.”
Taking his eyes off the hologram atop his workstation, Jeryl looked at Ashley and cocked an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I can’t believe he authorized this mission,” Ashley continued, her eyes still focused on the hologram of Galea’s star system. “An unsanctioned black-ops in Human Confederation territory? Don’t get me wrong, Jeryl...I like crossing the line as much as you do, but this isn’t like the Admiral.”
“High stakes...high risks,” Jeryl said with a shrug. Sighing heavily, he sank into his chair and closed his eyes; he rubbed them with his thumbs and threw his head back.
Ashley couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Jeryl this tired. He had been awake for close to 48 hours now, pouring over every single piece of information they had on the Udenar and Galea’s star system.
The Seeker’s top officers had been briefed on the mission, and all had contributed to the details of it, but the burden still fell on the captain’s shoulders. He was the one that had to make sure that every single move they did was a calculated one. Failure could mean more than his crew’s death—it could mean an all-out war between the Human Confederation and the Terran Union. And, hell, if there was something everyone was tired of...it was war.
Moreover, if the Tyreesians were really involved...well, that was a whole new can of words, just waiting to be opened.
“Let’s check the coordinates one more time,” Jeryl finally said, opening his eyes again and sitting straight on his chair. He tapped a few buttons on his workstation, zooming in on an asteroid belt close to Galea.
“Again? We just went over it, Jeryl,” she protested, and this time she was the one sinking down on one of the chairs in their private quarters. Ashley had been by his side throughout the whole time he’s awake. She was so tired that it almost seemed someone had been pouring concrete into her muscles. It felt as if they had gone over the plan a thousand times; and if it were up to Jeryl, they’d go over it a thousand more. “It’s no use going over it again.”
“I know. It’s just...we can’t fail, Ash.”
“We won’t fail,” she assured him, reaching across the workstation with both hands. She clasped Jeryl’s hands in hers, her thumbs brushing against his palms, and offered him a tired smile. “Look, we know the details. Every single detail. Hell, I can recite all of the coordinates from the top of my head.”
“I can’t,” he smiled back at her. “But then again, I’ve never been as good with numbers as you are, Ash.”
“And that’s exactly why I’m here with you. What would be of you without your gallant First Officer, Captain?”
“I can’t even imagine,” he laughed, squeezing Ashley’s hands for a second. It felt good to hear Jeryl laugh. More often than not, he was so preoccupied with The Seeker that he barely had the time to do that. She knew how deeply he cared about the ship and its crew, but sometimes she just wished he could turn the ‘I’m-the-Captain’ button off, even if just for a couple of minutes. She was his wife, and she wanted him to be her husband.
Anyone could be her captain...but only Jeryl could be her man.
“We got this, Jeryl,” she whispered, a smile still on her lips. “We’ll jump into Galea’s star system, close to the asteroid belt, and we’ll use that as cover. With some luck we’ll go undetected, and then it’s just a matter of getting a small shuttle or raider across Udenar lines. We’ll get some boots on the ground, and then we’ll figure this riddle out.”
“You make it sound so damn simple, Ash,” he sighed, and even his words seemed to be weighed down by worry.
“That’s because it’s a simple plan. The hard part is the execution,” she told him in a soothing voice. “But we’ve done the best planning we could do. It’s time to act on it.”
“You’re right,” he conceded, and then reached for one of the side buttons on his workstation, powering it down. The moment he did it, the hologram between them vanished. They sat there, looking into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity. “I’ve missed you, Ash,” Jeryl finally said.
“I’ve always been here,” she whispered, but she knew that wasn’t entirely true. Sure, Jeryl was so obsessed with running The Seeker that inevitably he had grown distant from her...but what had Ashley done to bridge that chasm between them? She had acted out and behaved like a spoiled kid. Instead of acting as her First Officer and wife, she had chosen to spend most of her time aboard one of the Hunters, preferring the loneliness of space to the company of her husband.
“And that’s where I want you, Ash—here with me.” He squeezed her hands tighter, his eyes never leaving hers. “I need you, Ash. Always.”
“Then…” she whispered softly, running her tongue between her lips and getting up from the chair. She went around the workstation, threw her arms around Jeryl’s neck and sat on his lap. “Why don’t you show me exactly how much you need me?”
Without saying a single word, he tangled his fingers on Ashley’s hair and pulled her close, crushing his lips against hers. To be kissed like that...how she had missed it!
Before she knew it, they were tearing their uniforms out of each other's bodies and stumbling their way across the room. When they finally landed on the bed, with Ashley pinned between the mattress and Jeryl’s body, he took a moment and stared into her eyes.
“I love you, Ash. You know that, don’t you?”
She took a moment to let his words sink in, the warmth of his skin on hers enough to make her forget about how tired she was, and only then did she reply.
“I do. I’ve always known…and I won’t forget it either…” She whispered, and then averted his gaze. She bit down on her lower lip, and then mustered the courage to look into his eyes again. “I love you too, Jeryl, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? About what?”
“I know I’ve...been acting differently. Ever since you came back as captain. And I’m sorry for that. I truly am. Out of all people, I should have known how hard it is to command a ship like The Seeker…and I simply haven’t been there for you.”
“Ash…” There was a smile on his lips as he pressed one finger over her lips. All words and apologies died in her throat, and then she simply surrendered both her body and her very soul to him. For a moment, time became nothing more than an abstract concept.
An hour later and they were lying in bed in silence, a thin sheet covering their naked bodies as they stared out into space. The captain’s private quarters had been built in a way that right over the place where the bed was, an outer fuselage panel could be moved sideways into a partition, allowing whoever was on the bed to have a view.
“It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”
“What is?”
“To be here, together...a million miles away from civilization, just the two of us among the stars,” she said, looking for his hand under the sheet. When she found it, she laced her fingers on his.
“It doesn’t matter where we are, Ash,” he told her, turning his head to look at her. “Whatever happens, I’ll always love you.”
“Whatever happens,” she repeated, and then drifted off to sleep, still holding his hand.
Jeryl
“Sir, permission to speak freely?”
“Granted.”
“That’s...that’s a suicide mission,” Jensen said, hesitantly shifting his weight from one feet to the other. He was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other Hunter pilots, and in his face was the same look of incredulity everyone seemed to share whenever Jeryl briefed them on the plan. It was a solid plan, Jeryl knew that, but it was also a risky one.
“It’s not a suicide mission, Jensen, and I don’t appreciate the term. It’s just a dangerous mission,” Jeryl replied, doing his best not to let his frustration show. “And that’s exactly why I’m asking for a volunteer and not assigning this mission. You’ll be flying without any kind of backup, and The Seeker won’t be able to help you if you’re spotted by the Udenar. I know all that, and I’m aware of the dangers involved. But we must do this.”
He couldn’t help but feel bad about the whole situation. If he could, he’d just pilot one of these damn Hunters down onto Galea’s surface, kick all the Udenar bastards in the face and head back to The Seeker in time for dinner. But, as things were, he simply couldn’t leave The Seeker without its captain...especially during a covert mission. As such, he had no choice but to delegate.
Delegation—now that was a word he had never liked, no matter how hard he tried. If Jeryl could, The Seeker would be a one man-show.
Allowing his words to sink in for a moment, Jeryl looked around the deck. The pilots and a few officers were all standing on the flight deck, but none of them seemed ready to step up and volunteer. Which was exactly what Jeryl feared, because that meant…
“I volunteer,” Ashley said, confirming Jeryl’s deepest fears. She took one step forward, her hands clasped behind her back. She was looking straight at Jeryl, but there was no defiance in her face. In fact, Jeryl was actually surprised she had taken this long to volunteer.
Before Jeryl could protest, Ashley continued to speak.
“I’m the best Hunter pilot The Seeker has, Captain. It has to be me.”
Jeryl swallowed down whatever harsh words were making their way up his throat, and then just nodded.
“Very well, Commander,” he said, each one of those words feeling like a thorn on his mouth. “We need one more.”
“Sir, if I may,” Tira started, taking one step forward and joining Ashley, “I’d like to volunteer.”
No fucking way, Jeryl thought. How the hell was he supposed to allow a rookie on such a dangerous mission? Tira was just an inexperienced kid, after all. Sure, she was probably one of the most promising officers in the whole ship—Jeryl knew about all the time she spent in the simulation room, and he had even watched her there sometimes. She also had kept her cool during their run-in with the Udenar, figuring out that the Confederation fleet had lost their FTL drives...which led to Jeryl realizing they were surrounded by FTL mines.
If it weren’t for Tira, The Seeker and its crew would be having a state funeral by now.
But acing simulation scenarios and keeping your cool inside the comfort of CNC...well, that’s extremely different from being down on the ground, completely cut off from any backup and nothing but your guts to fall back on.
“Officer Tira, I know you mean well, but—”
“You’re mistaken, Captain,” she said, her tone so confident and steady that it surprised Jeryl. “I don’t mean well. In fact, I don’t mean anything. I just want to do my job.”
“Your job, huh?” Jeryl whispered to himself, once more looking around the flight deck. Tira Avae, nothing more than a novice fresh out of the Academy, was volunteering to go on an extremely risky mission—a ‘suicide mission’, in Jensen’s words—while grown-ass men cowered in fear.
Well, he had to give her some merit: the kid had guts.
“Have you ever flown one of these things?” Ashley asked her, patting the door of her Hunter with one hand.
“No, but I’ve logged my fair share of hours on the simulator. I’m more than capable of being your second, ma’am,” Tira said, her voice not faltering once. Jeryl wasn’t sure if the girl was confident, delusional, or just batshit crazy.
Whatever it was, he was starting to like her.
“Well, that’s settled then,” Jeryl forced himself to say. The last thing he wanted was to send his wife down onto a planet overrun by the Udenar with a rookie as her only backup, but there was nothing he could do about that. Of course, knowing that the Tyreesian were probably lurking somewhere didn’t exactly ease his mind.
He had badgered Flynn about Galea, and now he had gotten what he wanted. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to pay a steep price for it.
“Alright, come here the two of you. As for the rest...dismissed,” he said, walking toward Ashley and Tira. “You understand that this is a covert operation, don’t you? The President of the Terran Union has no knowledge about it, and the higher-ups in the Armada will deny any involvement if this thing goes south. You’ll be on your own down there. You understand?”
“I do,” Tira said, her eyes never leaving the captain’s. The girl was smart enough to understand that Jeryl’s little speech was meant for her and her alone. And she didn’t even appear to mind one bit—she seemed to understand that she’d be seen as a novice until she proved herself, and Jeryl was sure the girl was eager to show the world what she was made of.
Once more, Jeryl couldn’t help but think of how much she reminded him of a younger version of him; fearless and brave beyond measure. Was he still that same guy? Or had the horrors of war changed him into someone—or something different? Someone more cautious, more calculating, and...colder. That was a question Jeryl wasn’t sure if knew the answer to.
“I won’t disappoint you, sir,” Tira added, and Jeryl smiled at her.
“I know,” he said. “Dismissed.”
He watched Tira walk away and rejoin the pilots and other officers, and then turned to Ashley. “Do you think this is a good idea? I’d prefer having someone more experienced down there with you.”
“Yeah, well...seems like all the experienced officers weren’t that really into it,” Ashley said with a smile and a shrug. She was so casual about it that it was almost as if she didn’t understand how dangerous her mission was.
But Jeryl knew that if there was someone aboard The Seeker who knew just exactly how dangerous their mission was, it had to be Ashley. She was the one that worked out all the details in the plan, ironing out whatever creases were in Jeryl’s initial draft.
“I’m serious, Ash. We have no idea what you might find out on Galea.”
“That’s exactly why I’m going in,” she said with a smile, and then turned on her heels and started walking out of the flight deck.
As he watched her leave, he couldn’t help but think about how every woman that served aboard The Seeker seemed to score so high in the batshit crazy scale.
Maybe that was the reason behind The Seeker’s fame and success: its badass women.
Tira
Tira stared at herself in the mirror.
Her hair was tied in a bun, and she already had her flight suit on. Her helmet was resting on the counter in front of her, the shape of a white thunder drawn on the curved black surface. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her helmet and walked out of the locker room, a confident skip to her step.
“You can do this, Tira,” she told herself as she made her way toward the flight deck, her heavy boots eerily echoing in the deserted corridors. By the time she got to the deck, Captain Montgomery and Commander Gavin were already waiting for her, a small team of flight engineers and mechanics assembled around Hunter 9.
“And there you are,” the captain greeted her, and Tira saluted him.
“At ease, Ensign,” he told her, an easy and comforting smile on his lips. Although his tone was a soft one, Tira wasn’t sure she liked it—what if he was merely being nice to her because he knew that the mission, as Jensen had so eloquently put it, was a suicide one?
No, snap out of it, she admonished herself. He’d never send his own wife to a certain death...or would he?
Captain Montgomery was, after all, known as the kind of guy that would do anything at the service of the Armada, including disrespecting his superiors and going against direct orders. Tira just hoped he wasn’t crazy enough to send his wife—and Tira as well—on a suicide run.
“Nervous?” Jeryl asked her. She immediately shook her head.
“Not at all, sir,” she replied, and it was the truth. Although there was some slight anxiety, she didn’t feel nervous. She had trained for this as hard as she could, and she felt she could handle anything the Udenar or the Tyreesian threw her way. Tira had a mission to perform, and she’d make sure she’d succeed at it...whatever the cost.
After all, she hadn’t managed to score a position on The Seeker just so she could die on some shitty planet. No, Galea would be just a stepping stone, a springboard of sorts. By the time she was finished with the mission, The Seeker’s captain would realize her potential and look at her as something other than a rookie. She’d make sure of it.
“Good,” Commander Gavin said, stepping between Tira and the captain. She reached for Tira and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll crush it.”
“We will.”
“Right,” the commander continued. “Did you review all the changes we’ve made to the Hunter?”
“I did, Commander,” Tira nodded, mentally checking off every single thing the engineers had changed in Hunter 9.
To make sure they wouldn’t be detected by the Udenar, stealth equipment had been installed on the small Hunter, and there was a frequency jammer as well, in case they were spotted. If that happened, they’d have some time to shoot down whoever had spotted them before they could communicate back to their base.
The co-pilot’s chair had also been adjusted, so that there was some space in the back—that allowed them to carry some equipment down onto the planet, instead of having to face potential hostiles with nothing but a side gun, a flight suit and a helmet. As far as Tira was concerned, a side gun was all she needed...if needed be, she’d just make her way through the Udenar using nothing but her fists. But if she didn’t need to rely on her fists, all the better. Tira didn’t want Commander Gavin to see how truly good she was.
And Tira was good. Really good.
“Ready?” Commander Gavin asked, and Tira nodded her assent. In silence, the two of them climbed up the ladder that lead to the Hunter’s cockpit. Then they put their helmets on and adjusted their seats so that they could reach the control panel easily.
“Try to stay away from the Udenar,” Jeryl said, looking up at them from the ground. “But if you come across any of those assholes, you know what you have to do...give ‘em hell.”
“We’ll give them seven different hells to consider,” the commander replied, then pressed a button on her panel. The cockpit’s cover slid down to protect Tira and her from the vacuum of space.
“Lift off,” Tira confirmed, checking on her dashboard as Commander Gavin turned the Hunter’s engine on, making it hover over the flight’s deck. Tira grabbed her controls tightly, and pressed her back hard against the seat as Ashley maneuvered the small raider out of the flight bay and across the hangar deck.
The Seeker was already in Confederation space, hiding behind the cover of an asteroid belt, and now it was Tira and Ashley’s responsibility to make it through the rest of the way and land on Galea.
Preliminary scans had given them some information on how the Udenar were patrolling Galea’s orbit, and so Tira was somewhat hopeful that the landing would be uneventful. She had no expectations, though—in her experience, whenever something could go wrong, it usually did.
Twenty seconds later and they were cruising through empty space, making their way toward Galea. They were a good two hours out, and the Hunter was going slower than it usually did. That was no wonder, since they had to sacrifice speed for more fuel capacity, another change the engineering crew did.
Still, it wasn’t that bad of a trade-off; even though Hunter 9 wasn’t as quick as it usually was, it sure was enough to face any rusted out Tyreesian raider the Udenar piloted.
Two hours passed remarkably fast. Despite Commander Gavin being Tira’s superior, she was approachable enough, and they split their time chit-chatting about their childhood and going over the operation’s plans. By the time they saw Galea in the distance, a green and blue orb that reminded them of Earth, Tira felt she knew the commander much better. Much like Tira, Ashley was a hard woman, one that didn’t know the meaning behind the words ‘give up’.
“Sensors?”
“Nothing so far,” Tira confirmed. As if on cue, four red dots appeared on her screen, right on the fringe of the sector her sensors could pick up. “Shit. I stand corrected, Commander—we got four hostiles.”
“Have they detected us?”
“I can’t say for sure, but their flight trajectory matches ours. I’d say so.”
“Are you running interference in their comms?”
“Yes,” Tira confirmed after checking her dashboard. “They won’t be able to transmit anything long-range...as long as they remain this close to us.”
“Let’s light ‘em up, then!” Ashley said, and Tira could feel the excitement in her commander’s voice. There was no fear nor nervousness. Sitting behind the controls of Hunter 9, Commander Ashley Gavin was at home.
I can imagine why, Tira thought to herself as she manned the weapons controls, this shit’s fun.
The four Udenar raiders she had detected previously were now right behind them; they were moving fast, but that didn’t matter.
“Hang on!” Ashley said, and then maneuvered the Hunter fast, forcing it to spin and gluing Tira’s stomach to her back. Before, they were moving away from the Udenar. Now, they were on a collision course with the four raiders.
“They’re coming in hot!” Tira shouted as the raiders opened fire, their laser beams missing the Hunter by just a few meters. Ashley didn’t even respond; she just kept her trajectory, positioning the Hunter right in front of one of the Udenar raiders.
“Target locked!”
Gritting her teeth, Tira opened fire. She aimed straight for the raider’s cockpit, and what happened next didn’t disappoint. The cockpit’s protective glass shattered in a fraction of a second, and then a ball of fire engulfed the whole raider and its pilot.
“One down, three to go,” Tira whispered as the raider she shot down drifted away, a bead of sweat rolling down her forehead.
“Hang tight,” Ashley warned Tira, and then changed the Hunter’s course once more, this time taking it in an arch toward the Udenar. The three hostile raiders were circling back to meet the Hunter, but Tira had the vantage point. Without even blinking, she locked her weapons on two of the raiders and fired away.
“Nice!” Ashley exclaimed as the two raiders exploded, but then she sank back into silence as the remaining raider started moving fast—and away from them. “The fucker is trying to get away!” Ashley bellowed as she turned the Hunter around to follow in pursuit.
By now, the raider had already gained some distance, and it was a big possibility that it could get out of range, which would mean it’d be able to communicate back to the base.
“I got this,” Tira whispered, more to herself than to Ashley. She narrowed her eyes into slits as she watched the small screen in front of her and focused on the vanishing thermal signature of the raider ahead. The moment her sensors were centered on that signature—something that didn’t last for more than a tenth of a second—Tira fired one of the torpedos.
“We’re too far. It’s impossible to lock on the—” Ashley started to say, but she never got to finish her sentence. “I’ll be damned,” she whispered as the torpedo reached the raider, blowing it up into a thousand shards of bent metal.
“Done,” Tira grinned. “Now let’s put this Hunter down. I need to stretch my legs.”
Tira
“How do I look?”
“Like a badass farmer,” Tira responded, patting the front of her ragged pants as she looked at Ashley. They were both wearing clothes similar to the ones Lydia had been wearing when they brought her aboard The Seeker, and they hoped that would be enough for them to blend with the crowd.
The duo landed Hunter 9 on a secluded spot out in the woods, and now they were facing a five-mile trek before they could reach Galea’s major settlement. After they dispatched the four Udenar raiders that had spotted them in orbit, getting down on the planet had been a piece of cake. Hunter 9 had been equipped with state-of-the-art stealth apparel, and there was no way the Udenar could seriously control a whole planet.
It didn’t even matter if the Tyreesians were backing them. There was no way in hell the Udenar would be able to coordinate a planet-wide defense grid. Although Tira had to admit, they weren’t doing that bad of a job. After all, they had been locking horns with The Seeker, not to mention that they had dispatched an entire Confederation fleet.
“Let’s get going,” Ashley said, hiding a side gun and a small rifle under her garb. They had elected to bring a mantle with them, just like a poncho, so that they could hide their guns underneath. According to Lydia, there shouldn’t be a problem, as a lot of Galeans used similar clothing.
The trek through the woods took them almost four hours, as the terrain was irregular and the vegetation was thick. Galea wasn’t heavily populated—in fact, it was just the opposite, and that meant that much of the planet remained untamed. Fortunately for Tira and Ashley, and as Lydia had told them, they had nothing to worry about. There were no major predators lurking in the woods, and none of the flora seemed to be poisonous.
After their uneventful trek, they finally reached what seemed like an industrial zone. The air was thick with smog, and the sky overhead seemed to be in a permanent grey mood. Old warehouses rose all around them, and aside from the distant rumble of an aircar engine, there was only silence.
“I thought Galea was a farming colony,” Tira said, looking back over her shoulder at Ashley. “These seem like industrial warehouses, or even factories.”
“Nope, they’re meant to store the crops,” Ashley corrected her, stopping to take a closer look at one of the larger warehouses, one so massive that three raiders could enter it side-by-side. “They look like industrial warehouses because…well, because the whole place looks like shit. There’s smoke everywhere, and it seems that these buildings have been abandoned. Besides, take a look around…even the vegetation around here seems to be turning grey.”
Ashley nudged a small patch of weeds growing through a crack in the pavement, then looked up at Tira. “I bet that if it weren’t for all the smog and pollution, this place would look entirely different.”
They had to walk ten minutes through the deserted area until they finally saw someone. It was a young man who couldn’t be older than eighteen, and he was piloting a farming transporter. Instead of crops, his shuttle was carrying what seemed like an immense amount of dirt.
He slowed down as they closed in, and Tira and Ashley eyed each-other before the shuttle finally stopped next to them. The young guy lowered the window of his transporter, and then looked down at them.
“You’re not from here,” he simply said, then looked from Tira to Ashley. “Rebels?”
“Not exactly,” Ashley replied. “But we’re friends.”
“I have no idea what that means, lady,” he said, his elbow resting on the door.
“That means we’re down here to take a closer look at what’s happening,” Ashley continued patiently. According to the brief Tira had received a few nights ago, it was a safe to assume that all humans down on Galea would be friendly to rebel parties. As far as they knew, the Udenar hadn’t managed to have anyone rat on their fellow human beings, and the rebel groups that were struggling (and failing miserably) to keep the fight going only managed to endure because of the population’s constant eagerness to help.
This transporter pilot, though, seemed more bored out of his mind than anything else. Still, Tira couldn’t help but notice his hollowed out cheekbones. The guy could be bored, but he was also hungry.
“Here,” Tira said, grabbing one the rations she had on her belt. She threw it at him, and saw the pilot’s eyes widen as he reached for the pack. He didn’t even say a word as he unwrapped it, and then proceeded to immediately devour the cold rations.
“Fuck, I was hungry,” he finally proclaimed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Where are you headed?” Ashley asked.
“I’ll be unloading this,” he pointed with his thumb to the back of the transporter, where a pile of dirt had been deposited. “Then I’m to return to the drilling site.”
“Is that far?”
“Nah, not really. Just a five-minute drive. If I shut the engines off, you’ll probably be able to hear the drills from here.”
“Any idea what they’re mining?” Tira asked, even though she knew it was very unlikely for the pilot to have any kind of reliable information.
“No fucking idea, lady,” he shrugged. “All I know is that I’m to deposit this at the sorting station, and then they’ll run an analysis of all this dirt. I’ve been doing this for weeks now, carrying dirt from a hundred different locations. They’re poking holes everywhere. I guess they’re looking for something specific. Whenever they find it—whatever it is—they bring the larger drills and remain there for a week or so. But I just carry dirt, ma’am.”
“Do they have a command center around, or anything of that sort?”
“Yeah, I guess, if you can call it that. They’ve taken over one of the warehouses close to the drilling site. There are a lot of shuttles coming in and out of there, and the area is restricted to humans…so I figure that’s where the bosses are.” He rolled his tongue as he said the word bosses, making it sound almost comical, even though the expression on his face was one of pure disgust.
“Can you tell us where to—”
“No need. Just follow the drilling sounds, and then you’ll see the big fences and all these bastards with rifles walking back and forth. If I were you, I wouldn’t go there. They’re trigger-happy, you know?” As if startled by something, he took a look at the dashboard of his transporter then cursed something under his breath. “Alright, thanks for the food, ladies. But I gotta get the fuck out of here. If I don’t deposit this shit in five, I’ll get the end of a whip for dinner,” he said, then revved up the engine and was gone before they could protest.
“A whip?”
“They’re old-fashioned, it seems,” Ashley said with a shrug, and the two of them started walking again, this time following the drilling sounds in the distance. Just like the transporter pilot had said, spotting the Udenar’s command center in the zone wasn’t difficult at all. They had fenced out a large area surrounding a massive warehouse, and armed guards were patrolling the area.
“How do you wanna play this?” Tira asked, and she could almost swear Ashley was patting the rifle under her poncho. But instead of suggesting they reveal themselves guns-blazing, Ashley took the more sensible approach.
“See those?” she said, pointing at one of the shuttles entering the fenced area through the gates. “We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.”
“You can’t possible mean—”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Ashley grinned, and then hurried down an alley between two decaying buildings. She pointed to a small shuttle around the block, and Tira watched as three Udenar in full combat gear stepped inside of it. The drilling sounds were loud, but Tira could still hear the Udenar revving the engine of their shuttle up.
“Let’s do it,” Ashley said as the shuttle rose off the ground a meter or so, and then broke into a run down the alley.
She’s fucking insane, Tira thought, but followed after her commander all the same. As they came closer to the shuttle, they both dived down and grabbed one of the exhaustion pipes that ran underneath its solid frame. They did it just in time, as the shuttle sped up and started making its way toward the fenced area.
Holding tight, Tira tried to lock her feet on the shuttle’s surface, praying as hard as she could for the Udenar not to fly the shuttle too high—if they did it, both her and Ashley would be discovered in a heartbeat. And if that happened…well, Tira really wasn’t looking forward to what would follow if that happened.
The gods were on her side, though; she heard as the gates opened to allow the passage of the shuttle, and the next second they were inside the fenced area. Before the Udenar parked their shuttle, the duo let go of the exhaustion pipes and jumped onto the floor, rolling on the pavement and instinctively looking for cover.
“Urark zak!” Someone said, and the voice sounded just like the blend of a pig’s grunt and a human coughing out his lungs. The owner of the voice was an Udenar wearing a uniform and clutching a laser rifle on his hand. His beady eyes were wide, and they widened even more as Ashley pressed the muzzle of her side gun under the Udenar’s chin.
“Shhh,” she merely said as Tira quickly scanned the place.
“There!” Tira pointed to a small building at the back of the fenced area. She had noticed all the small cooling devices mounted on the rooftop of the building, and that probably meant that the facility servers were housed there.
If they accessed the servers, they could steal all the information that was being relayed back and forth from this mining site…and with that, they’d be able to finally figure out what the hell was happening.
Making sure they kept out sight of anyone else, Ashley and Tira slowly led their Udenar prisoner toward the server building. Luckily for them, the only place that seemed well-manned was the outer perimeter. The inner one was almost deserted, aside from one or two distracted guards.
“Open it,” Tira ordered the Udenar as they stood before the door that led inside the server building. “You’re a fucking dumb idiot, aren’t you?” She sighed, and then grabbed inside her pocket and brought up a small translator device that had been preloaded with the barely useful Udenar language. “Open it,” she repeated, and the translator repeated the order back to the Udenar. He grunted something which the translator seemed not to comprehend, and Tira was about to repeat herself when Ashley hit the Udenar hard, the butt of her gun connecting with the back of his head.
“Screw that,” she whispered, and then knelt beside the unconscious Udenar, rummaging through his uniform. She finally found a safety card, and pressed it against the door’s panel. Miraculously, the panel turned green and they heard the door unlocking itself.
“Come,” Ashley told Tira as she dragged the Udenar’s unconscious body after her. “Let’s rob them blind.”
Without a word, Tira followed Ashley and shut the door behind her.
Jeryl
After Tira and Ashley had gotten to the Udenar’s command center, there had been nothing but silence.
Jeryl couldn’t help but play in his mind all the different scenarios where things could have gone wrong. What if they’ve been captured? What if they’ve gotten in a fire fight and someone got shot? What if, what if?
“Sir, we’re receiving a transmission from Commander Gavin,” Mary announced, and Jeryl jumped out from his chair and crossed the CNC, wanting to look at Mary’s screen himself.
“Put her through,” he said, but Mary shook her head.
“She isn’t trying to communicate, sir,” she explained. “She’s sending us a data packet.”
“A data packet? That was fast,” Jeryl whispered, watching as Mary started the data’s download, a bar on one of her screens indicating its progress. Judging by what Jeryl was seeing, Tira and Ashley had somehow managed to get their hands on a lot of information.
“Done!” Mary finally announced as the download bar reached its end. “Should I open it?”
“No, encrypt everything and restrict all access—for my eyes only.”
“Aye, Captain,” she nodded, then started tapping away at her holographic keyboard. “Commander Gavin is on the line now,” Mary continued, responding to a message on her screen and patching Ashley in.
“Finally,” Jeryl whispered. “Commander, what’s your status?”
“We’ve gotten inside the Udenar’s command center,” Ashley responded, her voice coming in clear despite all the static in the background. “We’ve located their servers, and we’ve downloaded and transmitted back all the information they have stored in here. Have you received it?”
“We did, Commander. You’ve done your job, now get back to us.”
“Roger that, Captain,” Ashley responded. “It’ll take us a few hours, but we’ll be there. Over and out.” With no ceremony, Ashley shut down the communication line, taking all the background static with her.
So far, so good—the two women were doing brilliantly, and now all that Jeryl had to do was sit on his ass for six to seven hours. He trusted Ashley’s capabilities, but he knew he’d be anxious for the next hours all the same; after all, it doesn’t matter how capable you are, when you have an entire invading army shooting at you. And if Ashley and Tira were discovered, that’d be the result.
It’ll be okay, he tried to convince himself, then turned on his heels and started walking back across the CNC. “Mary, you have the bridge. I’ll be in the ready-room,” he stated as he made his way toward the door at the end of the bridge. It slid open as it detected Jeryl (it’d only open for him), and The Seeker’s Captain strolled inside.
Jeryl sat in front of his private workstation which was a toned down version of everything he had at his disposal on CNC, and turned the console on. He started accessing the encrypted files Ashley had transmitted.
“Captain Jeryl Montgomery. Clearance code, JMTS81292,” he said, and the AI immediately started decrypting all the files for him as it detected his biometric signals and recognized his access code.
“Let’s see what we have,” Jeryl started, his eyes scanning everything he saw on the holographic projection of all the files. There seemed to be a lot of maps. Some were of the whole planet, others were of specific regions. Jeryl opened one of them, clicking his tongue as he saw the red dots sprinkled across Galea’s surface; presumably, these would be the spots where the Udenar wanted their drilling and mining to be done. But what exactly where they mining?
Jeryl put the maps aside and started opening what looked to him like reports. They were written in Udenar script, and Jeryl had to order the AI to provide a translation. The AI then projected the English translation atop the original Udenar script.
Most of what was in the reports was useless: a lot of updates about Galea’s population control, troops’ deployment, and patrols made on the star system. Jeryl went through more than two dozens of these reports. He didn’t want to stay idle while he waited for Ashley and Tira, so at least this made him feel as if he was getting something done.
Then, a specific sentence popped out of the screen.
No signs of X436.
That sentence seemed to appear in a few reports concerning specific locations, so Jeryl immediately made a search for X436, telling the AI to comb through all the data Ashley had sent.
Then, things got even more interesting as the computer showed reports that included both No signs of X436 and Traces of X436 found.
X436—that had to be it! But one question remained all the same: what the hell was it?
“Computer, connect me to the New Washington Admiralty. I want to speak with Admiral Flynn. Make it a secure line.”
“Contacting Admiral Flynn,” the AI replied dispassionately, and Jeryl drummed his fingers against his workstation as he waited. With some luck, Flynn could still be at his office.
“Glad to hear from you, Captain. Do we have any good news for me?”
“That depends,” Jeryl replied, leaning back on his chair as he stared at Flynn’s holographic projection. Despite being old enough to be Jeryl’s father, the rough Armada veteran still had an air of youth about him. “We successfully infiltrated the planet, and managed to steal all the information stored on some local servers. Now we’re just waiting on our operatives to come back from Galea, and we’ll leave the star system.”
“Got it. Hand me whatever information you have, Jeryl.”
“As we speak,” Jeryl nodded, and tapped a few keys on the holographic keyboard. “From what I’ve seen in there, they seem to be looking for something called X436. Does it ring any bell?”
“Unfortunately, it does,” Flynn sighed, pursing his lips tightly. “X436 is the codename the Tyreesians have used for the mineral they use on their teleporter technology. Armada Intelligence has been going crazy with that ever since the Tyreesians successfully managed to pull that tech off.”
“And why the Udenar? What’s their role in this?”
“Galea is too close to Union borders. I figure the Tyreesians would want someone as their scapegoat if things went south. Besides, no one will expect the Udenar to be on the lookout for some scarce mineral. They’re using smoke and mirrors to hide the fact that Galea has a lot of that mineral they’re looking for.”
“And what mineral is it?”
“I’m not sure, Jeryl. Human Confederation refer to it as Bachnian crystal, but I don’t think they’ve discovered its use on teleportation matters.”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
“Of course you haven’t, Jeryl,” the Admiral sighed again. “These are Intelligence matters, and you know how they always keep their cards close to their chest.”
“So…you’re escalating this to Intelligence?”
“I have to Jeryl. But I already know what they’ll want to do concerning Galea.” Flynn sighed again, almost as if pained him to continue. He rubbed his temples with his thumbs, then looked straight at Jeryl.
“Tell me.”
“They’ll want you to glass the whole colony, Jeryl.”
“What?! There’s no way I’m going to do that—there are thousands of civilians down there!” Jeryl said, balling both his hands into fists.
“And yet, that’s what Intelligence will want. And they’ll make it happen, Jeryl, mark my words. This isn’t the first time we’ve came across a colony out of Union space that had Bachnian crystals. As far as Intelligence is concerned, if we can’t mine it ourselves…no one should be able to do it. This is an arms-race, Jeryl, and Intelligence won’t allow anyone to figure out teleporter tech before the Union does. Even if that means destroying entire colonies.”
“This is madness…”
“I know, but my hands are tied. And soon, yours will be too. This is the frontline, Jeryl, and as far as Intelligence is concerned, this is a fire you need to put out. After that, your orders will come. Most I can do is buy you a day or two.”
“A day or two, huh? And then I’m to rain down destruction on Galea.”
“War isn’t easy, Captain.”
“We’re not at war.”
Flynn laughed grimly.
“We’re always at war.”
Jeryl
It was hard for him not to run.
Jeryl walked across the flight deck, making his way toward Hunter 9 as Ashley and Tira climbed down from the cockpit. The two women had gotten rid of their worker clothes, and had changed back to their flight suits. They seemed exhausted—Ashley more than Tira, which was surprising—but they seemed fine overall. Even though Jeryl knew that he shouldn’t be worried anymore, he still felt all the anxiety from waiting pulsing in his bloodstream.
Right now, all he wanted to do was take Ashley in his arms and forget about the whole galaxy for five minutes.
I should’ve never sent her down there, he thought to himself. As captain, he’d always have to make the tough calls…but why did those tough calls always seem to involve the life of his wife?
“Good job,” he greeted the two women as they saluted him. “You got it done without having to fire a single shot, I’m impressed. At ease,” he continued, smiling at them. “You’ve done a tremendous job. Now that you’re back, I’ve already informed Ferriero and…” Jeryl paused for a moment, conscious that he had almost used Docherty’s name, and only then continued. “We’ll be out of this star system soon. In the meantime, I want you to eat and get some rest.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tira replied with a grin on her face.
She’s a tough one. She likes winning more than anything else, Jeryl thought.
“Dismissed,” he finally said, nodding at them. Tira nodded back with that victorious grin still on her lips, and then strolled out of the flight deck, holding her helmet between her hip and her elbow.
“So, did we get anything useful?” Ashley asked Jeryl promptly, closing the distance between them and looking around to ensure they were alone. A few flight engineers and mechanics were still milling around, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the captain and his first officer.
“Yeah, you did,” Jeryl nodded, and then motioned Ashley to follow him. He started walking across the flight deck, making his way toward one of the elevators. “Apparently, the Udenar are mining some crystal used in teleporter tech. Bachnian crystals, specifically.”
“So…they’re actually working with the Tyreesians? That’s odd.”
“I wouldn’t say with…they’re probably working for the Tyreesians. If anyone found out what was going on at Galea, they’d want to deny any involvement. Moreover, nobody would associate the Udenar with teleporter tech. The Tyreesians really don’t want anyone to figure out how they do it. The way I see it, the Tyressians are probably just paying the Udenar to get this done without having to get their own hands dirty.”
“So, what now?”
“Now…” Jeryl paused, taking a deep breath as he tried to figure out the best way to tell Ashley about what they’d have to do. “I’ve already contacted Flynn, and he told me this falls under the Armada Intelligence umbrella. They’ve been knee-deep in trying to figure out teleporter tech, and…well, according to Flynn, they’ve been glassing whatever planet has these Bachnian crystals.”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense!”
“If the planet isn’t within Union’s territory, and if someone is already on track to figure out the crystal’s location and use, some covert operation will be mounted and the planet will be destroyed. Their logic is, if the Union can’t mine, study, and process it…then nobody else should. Intelligence wants to avoid anyone getting a leg up on the Union. We’ll develop that tech sooner or later, I guess…but Intelligence wants us to get there before the others do.”
“And, really, is glassing a whole colony the best thing they could come up with?”
“I know, Ash, but…soon enough, we’ll have to do it. If not us, the Armada will send someone else to do it. Flynn told me he could buy us a couple of days before presenting his findings to Intelligence, but I have no idea what we can do with that time.”
“We can’t do this, Jeryl…I was down there,” she said, waving her arm around as if she was pointing at a planet in the distance. “There are thousands of civilians, all of them half-starved as they work their way into an early grave. Is this what we do? Help them get inside that grave faster?”
Jeryl responded with a sullen silence. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, but what were his options? He stopped in front of the elevator, and waited as the doors slid into their partitions to allow them in.
“There’s gotta be something we can do,” Ashley insisted, and Jeryl pressed his back against the elevator’s wall and closed his eyes. He ran one hand through his hair, thinking back to the Earth-Sonali war and to the way he fought tooth and nail to make the Galactic Council a reality. He figured it out then, didn’t he? So why couldn’t he think of a solution for this right now?
Because I’m tired of making everything worse, a thought echoed inside his head, popping out of nowhere to torment him. Because that’s what always happens when you try to outsmart the rest of the galaxy, isn’t it?
“But what exactly can we do, Ashley? Going against Flynn’s orders is one thing, but to go against Armada Intelligence…they’d never allow that. If we refuse to glass Galea, they’ll bring in someone else to do it, and then they’ll make sure we just vanish. All of us.”
“Jeryl, look at me,” Ashley said softly, standing in front of him and then pressing her body against his. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stared at his wife’s face. She had a gentle smile on her lips, one that reminded him of better times. “We are The Seeker, and we always figure things out. So, trust me when I say it…we’ll figure it out. One way or another.”
Jeryl just let out a sigh and nodded. What could he say to that?
“We’ll figure it out.”
Ashley
“You’re right, he’s my everything,” Lydia said, cradling young James in her arms. He cooed happily, waving his little hands in the air as Lydia smiled down at him. She leaned in slowly, then gave him a peck on the forehead.
“Always loved that name…James,” Ashley said, smiling as she took in the scene. She was sitting next to Lydia’s bed with her legs folded, watching the moment between the mother and her child. She didn’t know exactly why she did it, but she had started visiting Lydia every day. There was something about her that just called out to Ashley.
“My grandfather was named James,” Lydia responded. “I never got to meet him, as he died really young. But the name stuck with me. It’s simple, I know, but I like it.”
“It’s perfect.”
“You like it too, don’t ya?” Lydia asked James, and he just squealed with delight, reaching for her hair with one tiny hand and grabbing a lock of it.
“By the way, Lydia, there’s something I must bring up.”
“Sure, anything.”
“Cassius Ojun, the Human Confederation Chancellor, wants to schedule a shuttle pickup for you. He wants to take you to Centralia, and I think he wants to meet you personally.” Ashley paused for a moment, allowing her words to sink in, and then continued. “But if you don’t want that, I think Jeryl and I can arrange something…might be we get some papers for you and James, and you’ll be able to stay in the Union.”
“Thank you, Ashley,” she responded, smiling patiently. There was something sad about her smile, but there was some wisdom in it as well. “I appreciate it, I really do. But there’s nothing like home, is there? I know life wasn’t perfect in Galea, but I’d like to go back one day…if that situation gets resolved, anyway.”
Ashley felt her heart tightening inside her chest, imagining how Lydia would react after The Seeker completed its mission and glassed her planet, but kept these thoughts to herself.
“But even if it has to be Centralia…I don’t mind. I grew up there, you know? Life wasn’t easy there, but…home is home. And if the Chancellor wants to meet us…well, maybe something good we’ll come out of it. If not, we’ll figure it out as we go along. Right, James?”
This time, little James didn’t coo or squeal. He just looked up right into his mother’s eyes, and smiled softly. For a moment, Ashley almost thought that even though the child couldn’t understand what his mother was saying, he could somehow understand her thoughts.
“As you wish, Lydia,” Ashley said gently, reaching for the woman and placing one hand on top of hers. “You’re a free woman.”
Maybe it’s better like this, Ashley thought. If we bring Lydia back, who knows what Armada Intelligence will do? She’s a non-Union civilian, and she has been on Galea…
“Still, I’m thankful for what you did. You saved our lives…if it weren’t for you...”
“Lydia,” Ashley whispered, softly squeezing the woman’s hand. “You saved yourself. You had the guts to escape the Udenar, and you put it all on the line. No matter what you might think, you were the one that did it.”
“I was just selfish. I left so many down there to die…but I didn’t want to risk it, you know? With James, I just…I just couldn’t stay there. Sure, we had friends, and even the rebel movement tried to help the ones that were worse off. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it—what if I die? Who will look after my son?”
“I know,” Ashley replied, but in truth, she really didn’t know. She didn’t have a son, and she had never been a mother. While she and Jeryl had talked about it, they had never made the decision to actually go for it.
Sure, they had lots of practice at making babies, but they never went the full mile. And deep down, Ashley ached for that; for quite some time now, she wanted to have someone in life who’d look up and call her ‘mother’. Someone who would give her a purpose in life…a purpose that didn’t involve a spaceship to commandeer and lives to gamble away with. A purpose that was about life, not about death.
“You’ll get there,” Lydia suddenly said, almost as if she could read Ashley’s thoughts. The Seeker’s first officer felt her blood rush to her cheeks, and she looked down at her feet to hide her embarrassment. “You’ll see.”
“Maybe,” Ashley replied, then tried to steer the conversation away from herself. “You never told us…how did you get that old shuttle? Stroke of luck?”
“No, not at all. A friend of ours had a farming operation, and he kept his old transport shuttles docked away from the town center. He never bothered to register them properly since he wasn’t using them anymore, so the Udenar missed it. He told the rebels about it, so they got the shuttle running, and told me where it was. They couldn’t do much more, you see? But what they did…it saved my life. Any of them could have taken the shuttle and escaped, but they gave it to me instead.”
“People there seem nice,” Ashley commented, but then regretted her words. Here she was, commenting on how nice Galeans were, when she knew that The Seeker was supposed to send them all on a first-class to hell in under 48 hours.
“They are. Maybe you could visit one day, if I ever manage to go back,” Lydia continued, and that just broke Ashley’s heart into two. How would she ever tell Lydia that everyone she had known on Galea was about to be murdered in cold-blood? “The planet’s beautiful. Woods as far as the eye can see, clear air…and even the crops are a sight to see. Fields of wheat that reach for the horizon. Centralia even sent a new fleet of transporters ships last year, just so they could haul the crops to the capital. When it comes to getting to their feet, the higher-ups don’t screw around—they even have the entire fleet run by a centralized AI and—”
“Wait, what?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m rambling,” Lydia laughed, then turned her attention to James, caressing his cheek with the back of her hand.
“Did you say centralized AI?”
“Yeah—for the most part, long-range transport shuttles are automated and run by a centralized AI. Keeps costs low.”
“Where’s that AI?”
“Each ship has an AI system, but when they’re down on the planet it all works in tandem with some kind of centralized AI. The ships receive their orders, and in a matter of a few hours they position themselves around all the locations where there are crops to be collected.”
Ashley didn’t even respond to Lydia. She just jumped out of her seat and ran out of the sickbay.
Maybe—just maybe—they had a chance to save the lives of all the civilians down on Galea.
Jeryl
“That is the most insane thing I’ve heard all year, Captain, I shit you not,” the man on the viewscreen replied, scratching the stubble on his chin.
“Well, that’s the only thing I can offer you, Mr. Ferguson,” Jeryl replied, waiting as the man taking over The Seeker’s CNC screen pondered on the two options Jeryl had just given him: to die, or to organize a revolution.
“Well, shit, if that’s the way it has to be…” Ferguson continued, taking an old ragged beanie hat from inside his jacket and placing it on his head. “Then you can count on me, Captain. Get me all the information via a secure channel, and then I’ll come back to you with all the details.”
Jeryl nodded, and Ferguson cut the comm link.
“Do you really think is going to work, Ash?” Jeryl asked, swiveling his chair around so that he could look at Ashley. The look on her face wasn’t a confident one, but at least it showed determination. Ashley’s idea had been exactly what they needed: a way out. But just like Ferguson had put it, it was a batshit crazy idea.
And Jeryl liked it.
“I don’t know, Jeryl, but we have to try,” she responded, and even managed to offer him a reassuring smile. Her words weren’t that encouraging, if Jeryl had to be honest about it, but he’d grab at anything by now. If going off the rails would give all these civilians on Galea a chance at survival, then Jeryl would do it.
“Captain, we’re receiving a data transmission from Galea,” Mary announced, and Jeryl nodded at her.
“Send back what we have. We need to be ready,” Jeryl ordered, and then pursed his lips as his mind wandered. Less than an hour ago Flynn had contacted him, telling him that Intelligence’s directives were for The Seeker to glass Galea. Time was a scarce asset, and Jeryl would have to move fast if he wanted his plan to succeed.
“Sir!” One of the security officers interrupted Jeryl’s train of thought, stopping right before the Captain’s chair and saluting him.
“Yes?”
“We have a tech on CNC. Says he was summoned here,” the security officer said.
“He was. Bring him in,” Jeryl ordered, and the security officer snapped his heels together and walked out of the CNC.
He returned half a minute later with a young tech in tow. The tech looked so young Jeryl doubted he’d even grow a stubble if lost on an abandoned colony, but that didn’t matter—as long as he knew what he was doing, that’d be fine.
“Sir!”
“At ease, Daniel,” Jeryl said, looking at his name plate. “I’ve heard that you worked on a transporter company back in New Washington?” He asked him, cutting to the chase.
“Yes, sir. Since I was fourteen. My father owned a transporter company, and we used to do these runs back-and-forth from Alsanar whenever it was crop season in there.”
“And the crop pick-ups, how did that work?”
“Centralized system, sir. Operated the system quite a few times.”
“Good, then take a look this,” Jeryl told him, putting up the information Ferguson had just sent The Seeker the information he had concerning Galea’s centralized AI. He put the schematics for the crop transport shuttles on his holographic screen. “Think you can operate it?”
“Yeah, I think so. Doesn’t look so different from the one we used.”
“Good. Then gear up, because you’re going to accompany a landing team.”
“Where to?”
“Galea,” Jeryl said, and the man’s face immediately turned white. Jeryl half-expected him to start babbling about how he wasn’t ready for the job, but the man just smiled out of the blue.
“No need, sir. I can operate the system remotely. If you’re suggesting we hijack a system like this, we just need the landing team to jack it in. From there, I can operate it remotely,” he said, and Jeryl could almost feel the tension leaving his body as he offered his suggestion.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, sir.”
“Then assemble a team of whatever techs you need, and be ready for it. First Officer Gavin will brief you later today on the details of the mission.”
“Yes, sir!” The man said, and then just marched out of CNC, a skip to his step. He sounded happy that the Captain himself had handed him an important mission—and even happier that he wouldn’t have to leave the ship in order to get it done. Jeryl would prefer for the tech to accompany the landing team, but all it took was one look at the guy to know that was a bad idea; he’d get in the way, end up getting shot, and ruin the whole damn mission. If operating the AI remotely was an option, then that would be Jeryl’s choice.
“Well, that was the only thing we needed,” Ashley said, lowering her voice so that the other officers couldn’t hear them. “If that guy Daniel can pull it off, then we’re set.”
“Have you assembled a team?”
“Yup. We’re all set. Tira’s going to be a part of it too. That girl can kick some serious ass. What about the Sonali diplomat?”
“He’s down,” Jeryl nodded. Convincing the Sonali to take part in high-stakes political maneuvers hadn’t been easy, but in the end they agreed. Jeryl had stopped the war between humans and Sonali, after all, and that was the least they could do. “It took some convincing, but I figured even the Sonali have a heart. Besides, I think they don’t mind sticking it to the Tyreesians and the Union at the same time.”
“And Flynn?”
“I haven’t told him. And I probably won’t tell him either. Intelligence doesn’t play around, and they might have even bugged his office just so they’re not blindsided. It’s better we keep this in house.”
“Agreed.”
“Well, fun times, huh?” Jeryl asked his wife, a mischievous smile on his lips.
“It’d be boring otherwise,” she smiled back.
Mentally going over the plan they had designed, Jeryl couldn’t stop one thought from crossing his mind.
Better alive and bored, than dead and glorious. Then, he looked around the CNC, watching as all his officers operated The Seeker, a flying weapon that had cost billions of credits.
Or, fuck it, maybe it’s the other way around.
Jeryl
“All set!”
Jeryl paced back and forth anxiously, watching as all the pilots took their positions inside the Hunters. He looked at Hunter 9 for a moment, then sighed as he watched Powers climb aboard; he knew how much Ashley loved her Hunter, but this time she had to give up the reigns of her killing machine—she had a different job to do.
“Well…” She started, coming up behind him. “See you on the other side, then?”
“No,” he corrected her. “But I’ll see you in my bed after we’re done.”
“Is that a promise, Captain?” she asked, a slight laugh bubbling up to her lips.
“You bet,” he smiled, trying to hide all the anxiety that was starting to creep in. Once more, he was sending Ashley on what most Admirals would consider a suicide mission, and she wasn’t even batting an eye. Jeryl couldn’t even say if he loved her for it, or if he hated himself for his callousness.
Perhaps it was a little bit of both.
Either way, none of that mattered, because there was no going back. According to the last briefing he had received, riots had already started all over Galea, and now they would have to move extremely fast. The plan was already in motion, and Jeryl wouldn’t allow indecisiveness to fuck it all up.
The first phase was a simple one. According to the plan he devised with Ferguson, one of the Galean rebel leaders, the rebel network on Galea would have to coordinate massive riots across all major towns and cities where the Udenar had set up shop – and that so all parts of the population concentrated on specific spots. After that, it’d be Jeryl’s job to lure most Udenar out of the planet as Ashley takes a landing party onto the surface.
The Udenar would be distracted with all the riots erupting across the planet, and then it’d only be a matter of gaining access to the transporter’s AI system. If all went well, and the rebel network coordinated things well enough, they’d be able to load up most civilians inside the transporters, allowing Jeryl to glass the planet with no major casualties.
Then, the fate of all these refugees would be in the hands of the Sonali.
Using all of his diplomatic clout with the Sonali, Jeryl had managed to convince them to accept all the refugees into their territory. They’d be set up on some distant farming colony, one that the Sonali didn’t really care about, while keeping everything under wraps. Jeryl didn’t want Armada Intelligence to have any ideas and decide to axe every single civilian involved in the Galea affair. It was preferable for them to think that all Galeans were dead, and that Jeryl was a murderous maniac that wouldn’t mind glassing a colony along with its inhabitants.
“Let’s do this,” Ashley finally said, slinging her rifle over her shoulder, and starting to make her way toward the shuttle. Her crew, Tira included, was already strapped in and waiting for her, every single member of the party armed to the teeth.
For a moment, Jeryl almost wished he could delegate his job as a captain and just get down on the damn planet along with the others. Watching the world through the scope of a laser rifle sure would be way easier than through a myriad of screens, sensors and scanners.
Pushing all those thoughts out from his head, Jeryl mentally ran through every single detail of the operation again as he made his way back to the CNC, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything.
At the CNC, all his officers were already manning their stations, ready to oversee the following phases of the operation—one that Jeryl had mentally called don’t-fuck-this-up.
“Alright, everyone,” he started, taking his seat. “We only have one shot at this, so let’s try and make sure we get it right.”
“Yes, sir,” everyone responded, and then they fell back into the usual hushed conversation that was a constant in any self-respecting CNC.
“We’re ready to jump, sir,” Ferriero said, and Jeryl gave him the go-ahead, his stomach in knots.
No turning back now, he thought, echoing his thoughts from before.
Two minutes later and they were in Galea’s orbit. Jeryl’s heart started drumming like a war drum.
“Hunters have been deployed, sir,” one of the ensigns replacing Tira announced, and Jeryl took a deep breath as he watched the holographic projection of Galea’s orbit, the blue dots representing the Hunters scattering in different directions.
The plan was simple: each hunter was towing a probe, and each probe carried long-range signal transmitters that had been modified by The Seeker’s engineers. The probes would be spread around the planet’s orbit, and they’d start broadcasting hundreds of different signals, all of them representing Armada ships.
If the Udenar bought that, their forces would be split as they fly around the planet aimlessly, trying to figure out where the hell the Union battleships are. With any luck, Galea would be evacuated by the time the Udenar figured it out.
Of course, The Seeker would have to deal with some of the Udenar forces anyway. In order to launch the shuttle carrying Ashley’s team (and make sure she got there fast), The Seeker had to jump very close to planet—and that meant Udenar raiders were probably coming toward them already.
“Hostiles detected, Sir!”
“Shuttle has been launched!”
“Probles deployed, the Hunters are circling back!”
Jeryl took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he processed the onslaught of information his officers were giving him. Slowly, he rose from his seat and calmly looked around the room, fully knowing that The Seeker was going to step into a battle where the odds weren’t exactly even.
If the Udenar realized that they were falling into a trap, all of their forces would be redirected to The Seeker, and that…well, that’d be game over.
“Not on my watch, assholes,” Jeryl mumbled as he watched the screens, dozens of blinking red dots making their way toward The Seeker.
“Bring it on.”
Ashley
Ashley looked at her team. Tira was as calm as could be. She actually looked excited as she flew the shuttle through Udenar defenses, trying to get them onto Galea.
Lout Sikevic, the big security officer, wasn’t doing so well. His face was pale, some sweat was beading on his forehead, and his knuckles were so white you could almost mistake them for being skinless.
Adam Cartagena, the other security officer to volunteer, was doing his best not to retch all over Lout, who sat next to him on the bench. His skinny frame became even skinnier sitting next to Lout’s massive muscles.
Stephanie Boatwright, an ensign assigned as a backup shuttle pilot, but with an extensive martial arts and weapons background, cried out a few times when Tira jerked the shuttle side to side, or when something exploded close by.
The other three, Joseph Stut, Henry Carter, and Billy Jaxon, were experienced foot soldiers assigned to The Seeker as maintenance personnel. They specialized in hull repairs and laser rifles. They were cracking jokes with one another as Tira bounced them left and right.
“Easy up there, Ensign, we’re supposed to make it down there without injuries or concussions,” Billy laughed. Tira responded with an exaggerated jerk to the right, bouncing Billy’s head on the shuttle walls. “Hey!” he yelled at her as he rubbed his head. Tira merely smiled, then made the shuttle do a barrel roll to avoid laser fire.
Flying in near the atmosphere was enough to make them feel the movements of the shuttle. This made for an interesting experience for everyone, especially as Ashley tried to push the comm button. Swearing under her breath, she finally managed to click on the connection to her Hunters. “Powers. Powers, come in.”
“Powers here.”
“Powers, you need to get these bastards off of us, or we’ll never make it down.”
“Ten seconds, Commander.”
“Make it seven.” She could hear Powers laugh as he ordered Mohamed Sanchez to clear the sky for them. Ashley counted to eight before Mohamed arrived, obliterating the three Bats that were chasing them down. “You’re late, Mohamed.”
“My apologies, Commander. I had to use the bathroom first.”
“Number two?”
“Diarrhea. Ma’am.”
“You’re a sick son of a bitch, Mohamed. Go take care of those bastards, will you?”
“As you wish.”
She clicked off the comm and held back the laughter, but not her smile. Her Hunters were really good at what they did and had learned to joke around with one another as they grew more comfortable with each other. They flew in Jasper and Francois’ honor, and had started to take on a bit of Francois’ personality when they did. He was always smiling, always trying to make someone laugh.
If you’re not happy, you bring down everyone around you. You must smile, always, it’s just happier that way, he used to say when someone was looking dour.
Tira flew the shuttle down towards the tiny capital of Galea where the central AI was located in the town hall. “Should be easy getting there,” Tira said as she threw the throttle down, adding even more speed. Three seconds later, they were dodging anti-aircraft fire from the surface.
“Did you say easy?” Billy yelled.
“Shut up, Billy!” Tira yelled back as she dodged a missile that exploded a second later. The ground was coming up fast, missiles faster, and the laser fire even faster than that. Tira dodged all but one. One laser blast caught their aft engine, sending them in a downward spiral. Tira and Ashley both pulled back on the yoke as hard as they could, trying to balance out the shuttle and pull it up out of its nosedive.
“Brace yourselves, we’re going to hit hard!” Ashley yelled as she tried to reroute power. They had about twelve seconds to fix this or they were going to create a decent-sized hole in the ground. Tira pulled on the controls, Ashley practically broke her console hitting buttons, and Stephanie screamed while Adam yelped. Just a few hundred feet above the ground with only a few seconds left, Ashley managed to reroute power to the aft engine and Tira was able to level them out. Everyone let out a deep breath, then shouted again as the shuttle was hit from below.
“Set this thing down or we’re gonna die.”
Tira shoved the controls forward, adding speed, then turned it hard to the left and slammed on the brakes. She dropped the shuttle down behind a few buildings, landing between two small warehouses.
“God damn, I think I got a frickin’ concussion, a whiplash, and bruises on top of bruises. Where the hell did you learn to fly, girl?” Billy laughed as they unbuckled.
Ashley cut in before Billy could open his mouth again. “Tone it down and cut the chatter. Where are we, Tira?”
“About five blocks ma’am. But the Udenar are overrunning the area. They know we’re here.”
“Got it. Load up everyone. Billy, since you like to run your mouth, you get to be on point. Lout, Henry, you two are up next. Then it’ll be you, Joseph and Stephanie. Adam, Tira and myself will bring up the rear. Stick close, but not too close. We don’t want to be caught all together.”
Ashley grabbed her gear, shouldered the pack Tira handed her, belted on her ammo belt loaded with grenades, and charged her laser rifle. Looking up, everyone was ready. Henry and Joseph were at the door, ready to open for Billy and Lout to head out. With a nod, they opened the shuttle doors and the eight of them started streaming out.
They could hear Udenar soldiers in the distance, but none were close by. “As little talking as possible, and keep it to a whisper if you do. Move out,” Ashley said in a low tone. Billy took the lead, Lout and Henry a few paces behind. Stephanie and Joseph counted to three, then started after, leaving Ashley with Tira and Adam at the shuttle.
Ashley counted to four, then motioned for them to head out. She could see Billy just ahead, motioning for Henry and Lout to follow him. They crossed a small street, staying low, and jogged past a small building.
Stephanie and Joseph crossed when the first three were at the midpoint of the building. Ashley stopped at the corner and glanced around it. Two streets down, a small patrol of Udenar looked their way. Jerking her head back, she motioned for the other two to get low. She mouthed the word patrol and held up four fingers, then used two fingers to point behind her.
Tira dropped to her belly and creeped to the corner, barely peaking around. She held her breath, then got up and whispered, “They’re looking the other way. We can make it if we’re quick.”
Ashley nodded and motioned for Tira to go first. Tira looked around the corner, then sprinted across the way, with Adam right behind her. Ashley hesitated for a moment, then ran toward the group. The others were at the end of the building, and Billy motioned for them to catch up.
“We got problems,” he whispered when the three of them caught up. “Two patrols around the corner, and they outfitted a local truck with a damn machine gun that’s pointed in our direction.”
Ashley looked around, not seeing anything that could help them, when Joseph tapped her shoulder.
“Stephanie and I can get up top. Stephanie on that building over there,” he said, pointing at the building behind them. “And me on top of this one. If I’m quiet enough, I’ll drop a grenade or two on them. If I hit it right, it’ll take most of them out and give you guys enough of a distraction to get across. Steph and I will catch up after.”
The building was only a little over twenty feet up, and there was a ladder leading up, but Ashley didn’t like it. However, she knew that there was no other way to get past.
Nodding her head, Stephanie ran off to the far building and started climbing. Joseph scrambled up the nearby ladder. Within seconds, both were on top of the buildings and Ashley could see the tip of Stephanie’s sniper rifle rest on the roof. Another three heartbeats went by before three explosions rocked the street.
Risking a quick look around the corner, Ashley could see what was left of the truck up in flames, and a few Udenar soldiers picking themselves off the ground. Four silent gunshots later, nothing moved except the flames of the fire.
“Move, move, move!” Ashley said with an urgent tone. The six of them ran by the destruction and made their way towards the Town Hall. With one block left, Joseph and Stephanie joined them.
Billy led them to the back of a small store across the street from the Town Hall, then motioned for them to stop. He headed for the corner and peaked around. A gun shot rang out and Billy dropped to the ground, his head almost gone.
“Fuck! Lout, Henry, Joseph, get to the corner and lay down cover fire. Stephanie, you and Adam get behind that truck over there and see if you can start picking them off. Tira, you’re with me.”
Ashley kicked the back door of the store and walked in, rifle at the ready. Tira came in half a pace behind her. Gunfire played outside as they made their way through display racks of clothing. The store was empty, and no one was inside. “They were waiting for us to get here. Dammit!”
“Ma’am...”
Tira pointed out the windows. Three Udenar soldiers were crouched down, looking as though they were ready to rush around the corner. Ashley looked at Tira and held up three fingers, then two. Tira nodded, took aim, and counted to zero in her head. They shot at the same time, each hitting a soldier in the head, then shot again, putting two holes in the one in the middle.
Rushing to the door, Ashley could see about ten Udenar grunts, the small brownish-green skinned ones with one large gray one yelling out orders to them. Ashley clicked on her comm. “Stephanie, do you see the big gray one?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“He’s the officer. Take him out.” She clicked over to Joseph. “Joseph, as soon as Stephanie takes out the officer, I want one of you to throw a few smoke grenades, create some cover.” She clicked off her comm and looked at Tira. She wondered how she had come to trust this girl so well, so quickly, but just knew that she did.
“As soon as the smoke grenades go off, we rush out here and shoot every last one of those bastards.”
Tira nodded at the same time that the gray one’s head exploded. Then the smoke grenades went off. They rushed out, rifles firing. From their right came Lout, Henry, and Joseph, each of them laying down heavy fire. The Udenar grunts that remained were cut down quickly. Ushering everyone into Town Hall and only waiting a few seconds for Adam and Stephanie, the group went inside.
“Jeryl?” Ashley said into her comm as she checked her map. The servers’ room, where the centralized AI operated from, was nearby.
“Status?”
“It’s ours.”
Jeryl
The human brain is a thing of brilliance.
But still, as Jeryl looked around CNC, it just annoyed the shit out of him. He couldn’t stop thinking about an old quote from Dalai Lama, an old spiritual leader from Earth’s Golden Age.
We may say prayers when are trying to solve problems we face, but it is up to us to put an end to violence and bring about peace. Creating peace is our responsibility. To pray for peace while still engaging in the causes that give rise to violence is contradictory.
Jeryl found it funny that he thought of that quote at a time like this. He had tried so hard to end the violent Earth-Sonali war and bring about peace, and yet here he was.
Still fighting, still at war.
They hadn’t been even able to make the proper repairs before jumping back into the fight. His ship and his crew were in serious danger. His wife was on the planet trying to gain control of the computers that ran the transport ships. His new head of nav was good, his whole nav crew was good…but Ferriero still needed more experience. Sure, Ferriero had Petty Officer MJ Montrose to assist him, as she had been learning under Docherty…but still, Jeryl was relying on two crew members that still needed more experience under their belt.
He looked around the bridge. Lieutenant Mary Taylor, an ebony powerhouse that drew everyone’s attention, was trying to monitor communications with the ten remaining Hunters, engineering, sickbay, and him. Her protégé, whom Jeryl had assigned despite Mary’s arguments, was monitoring the comms for Ashley’s team and the rest of the ship.
Ferriero, who Jeryl knew was an experienced nav officer and was more than capable for his job, was flying The Seeker as best as he could, doing everything he could to keep from getting surrounded by the four Udenar cruisers. He was doing good, but they were still taking damage.
He couldn’t even think of who his current security chief stand-in was, but he was sure that person was doing his job.
Actually, everyone’s doing their job well. They’re doing it even better than me, Jeryl thought to himself.
He felt like he was losing control. He was shouting out orders, helping his navigators see things that they might have missed, trying to point out possible weak points in the Udenar attack, but it seemed as though he was a simple bystander as he went through the motions.
The doors opened behind him and three more officers came onto the bridge. They were Daniel and his tech team, the ones that would take over the AI that controlled the transport ships on Galea. As soon as Ashley and her team got control of the computers, the three would jack into them remotely and send them to all the different places they were needed.
He was trying to save as many civilians and rebels as possible. His orders were to glass the planet, to obliterate the entire rock, to blast the thing with particle beams and torpedoes until there was nothing left of it.
He was trying to save the civilians, but there was going to be a lot of nature that was going to be destroyed and lost. Galea was home to flower that they still hadn’t found anywhere else in the galaxy, and it was going to be destroyed. Animals, vegetation, and everything that these people had put their hard work into for so long was going to be gone—just like that.
He directed Daniel and his team to the consoles designated for them. They logged in, brought up the screens they needed to keep track of the automated systems that reloaded the Hunters as they came in and out of the hangar, and brought up secondary, or tertiary, screens that would allow them to take over the AI for the transports.
“Captain! Shields are flickering out. Something’s wrong with the power grid!”
“Mary!”
“Engineering’s trying to figure it out sir, but they can’t find the reason.”
MJ glanced back, “Sir?”
“What is it MJ?”
“Sir, I have experience with this from when I was on the Washington. I can fix it!”
“What do you need to do?”
“I need to get down to Engineering, then into the primary power cycler and…”
“Do it!” Jeryl interrupted her. She jumped out of her seat and raced for the lift.
Jeryl jumped into her seat and took over the weapons systems. It had been a while since he had done this, but this was where he had started long ago when he was first on a ship. Controls had changed a lot since those days, but he knew the basics, and that was all that was needed at the moment.
It was weird—but not being in the Captain’s seat and not being in charge calmed him. He felt relaxed despite the adrenaline. He was relieved despite the insanity happening around him. He found himself focused despite the myriad of things that demanded his attention. It felt good to not be in charge—to be in control of just one thing. It felt damn good.
Mary’s voice killed that feeling. “Captain, I need you to see this.”
Jeryl got up and went to her station, and Mary pointed at her helper’s screen; he had managed to tap into Ashley’s HUD and had turned on her viewer.
They were in atmosphere but looked to be crashing.
Jeryl’s heart jumped into his throat—he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. Everything disappeared except for the screen. If anything happened to her, he didn’t know what he would do.
If that shuttle crashed, not only would the mission be a total waste, but the love of his life would be dead, or so badly wounded that she’d die before help got to her…
Jeryl shook the bad thoughts off from his head and forced himself to concentrate on what was going on. He could see Ashley’s fingers pounding furiously on her console, most likely trying to get their shuttle under control. Then, as the ground got closer and closer, the shuttle stopped dropping and changed direction. The display moved like she had just let out a deep breath and it swiveled to look at Tira, who was smiling as she flew the shuttle.
“Jesus, they’re both insane.”
Mary shook her head and chuckled slightly. “It’s like they’re both adrenaline junkies.”
“Yeah. How’s MJ doing with the shields?”
“She’s gotten them stable sir, but we’re dropping fast.”
Jeryl grunted and turned back to the viewscreen. One of the cruisers was down, three giant holes in its hull. Another was limping along with only one engine, but the other two were continuing their bombardment on The Seeker, staying as far away from one another as possible.
Two of the Hunters were destroyed, another was out of commission, and a fourth had lost one of its pilots. Out of the ten Hunters that had gone out, five were still fully operational while the other three had some level of damage.
On the bright side, of the two dozen raiders that had started the attack, only seven remained.
Jeryl went back to his chair and called up his screen. Shields were under thirty-five percent. They were dangerously low on torpedoes, and he had to save those for the planet. Both starboard side rail guns were gone.
“Ferriero, I got a stupid idea,” Jeryl said as he looked up from his screen.
Without taking his eyes from his screen, Ferriero turned his head slightly. “What’s your idea, sir?”
“Battering ram.”
That made Ferriero and everyone else on the CNC turn to look at Jeryl.
“Not an actual battering ram, but we floor it and rush one of the carriers as though we’re going to ram it, then break off at the last second, hitting it as hard as we can with as many of our laser cannons as possible, along with the particle cannon.”
Ferriero’s eyes lit up and he smiled, turning back to his screen. The security officer mumbled something under his breath.
Mary didn’t bother to hide her enthusiasm. “Goddamn craziest, dumbest idea I’ve heard in a while.”
Jeryl grinned and ordered Ferriero to do it. Just as he was shifting The Seeker to the right so they could use all of their left side guns, Jeryl heard Ashley through the comm.
“Jeryl?”
“Status?” He asked quickly.
“We got it.”
Jeryl turned to Daniel and his team. “Wait till she has the system under control. Then jack in and get those damn transports moving, and make sure you get as much on each transport as you can safely get.” He turned to Mary. “Tell them to get their asses back up here, then tell weapons to get ready to glass that rock.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
He thought back to that Dalai Lama quote again.
I guess I’ll just have to find a way to get peace for everyone later.
Jeryl
Two hundred thousand.
This was the number of civilians the rebels managed to pack up inside the transporters. It was a good number too, since it accounted for almost all of Galea’s population. It was also an advantage that Galea was a small farming colony, or else Jeryl would have never managed to pull it off.
“Give me some good news, Mary!” Jeryl shouted over the loud chatter, and Mary looked over her shoulder at him. She was sweating, trying to keep up with the barrage of information she was receiving, and her hair was plastered to her forehead. Still, the expression on her face told Jeryl that she did have some good news to give him.
“All transport shuttles have confirmed take-off!” Mary said, looking back at her screens.
“Yup, they’re en route to destination,” one of the techs manning the centralized AI system confirmed, still furiously typing on his holographic keyboard. “The Udenar have tried to remotely deny us access to the system, but we’re in luck—these assholes can’t code for shit! Sorry for the language, sir.”
“Screw being polite,” Jeryl said, allowing himself a smile. “This is about saving lives—and winning.”
“Aye, sir!”
“How much ‘til the shuttles hit orbit?”
“Two minutes, sir!” one of the Ensigns bellowed as the CNC rocked, another laser beam making its way past The Seeker’s weakened shields and hitting it in the hull.
I hope these two minutes go by fast, or else we’re fucked, Jeryl thought as he looked at the holographic projection of the battle.
The Hunters were flying around The Seeker like angry wasps, trying to protect it from the brunt of the Udenar assault, but Jeryl knew that they wouldn’t be able to keep that up for too long. The other Udenar fleets had already noticed they had fallen for a ruse, and they were already en route to join the fleet attacking The Seeker.
Once that happened, they wouldn’t even be able to escape. There was only one way for them to survive—and that was to glass the entire colony and pray to God that would be enough to make the Udenar scatter.
After all, with Galea destroyed, Jeryl doubted their Tyreesian overlords would still keep them on the payroll for services rendered—Tyreesians weren’t that forgiving. Sure, they could still use the Udenar after this, but Jeryl had no doubt in his mind that every single Udenar involved in a Galea fiasco would pay a hefty price for the failure.
“Shuttles have left the atmosphere, sir!” Ferriero announced. His voice was clipped, and despite doing a stellar job at replacing Docherty, Jeryl could tell the man was sweating bullets. His auxiliary nav officer, MJ, has just returned to her workstation from stabilizing The Seeker’s shields in Engineering.
“What about Commander Gavin’s shuttle?”
“Twenty seconds ‘til she’s out of range—then we’ll be able to strike without concern for the shuttle,” MJ offered, and Jeryl sat back down in his chair, mentally counting down the seconds.
He glanced at the battle’s holographic projection and gritted his teeth—it was chaos out there, shots being fired at The Seeker from every single direction while the Hunters tried to keep a tidal wave of raiders at bay.
Twenty-seconds almost seemed like twenty centuries.
“Commander Gavin has left the atmosphere,” Ferriero shouted, then continued so loud Jeryl was surprised he didn’t ruin his throat. “WE’RE FREE TO ENGAGE!”
“Then fire away,” Jeryl said coldly, gripping the armrests on his chair so tightly he could almost hear the metal bend under his fingers.
“Particle beams, fire!” Someone shouted, and it was almost as if time halted. Jeryl’s heart skipped a beat as the massive particle beams erupted from The Seeker’s particle cannons and made their way onto Galea’s surface. All the chatter inside the CNC died down as everyone turned their attention to the viewscreen. They watched as massive explosions ravaged the entire colony, like blisters taking over a dying man’s body.
“Torpedoes,” Jeryl cut through the silence, and his officers got to work, redirecting all their artillery from the Udenar fleet to Galea’s surface. The Udenar kept firing away, taking advantage as The Seeker focused on glassing the small colony.
“Activate the secondary probes!” Jeryl ordered, and then he simply prayed for the best.
Even though he knew the Udenar would probably scatter after Galea’s destruction, he had something else in store: he had another set of probes hidden away around the orbit, and they’d only be active when they were done with the planet. The probes will send a signal, passing as Armada battleships, and hopefully they’d scare the Udenar enough to allow The Seeker to jump into safety.
Jeryl wasn’t sure if the Udenar would fall for it again, but that was his last ace in the hole.
If the Udenar kept on firing, The Seeker was done.
For five long seconds that almost seemed to stretch into eternity, no one spoke. They just watched as the Udenar unleashed hell against The Seeker’s outer fuselage. Everyone held onto their workstations so hard that Jeryl almost expected someone to eventually rip one of the things out of the damn wall.
Then, the Udenar just stopped.
As fast as they had started their attack, they broke formation and scattered in different directions, like flies being swatted away from a carcass.
“We’re getting FTL signatures from their ships,” Ferriero said, the excitement in his voice palpable. He’d live to fight another day, and he couldn’t be more excited about it. “They’re going to jump! They’re going to leave!”
As he said it, the whole CNC erupted in cheer—officers stood up from their workstations and shouted as they and started clapping each other on their backs.
In any other situation, Jeryl would have ordered them to sit down and do their damn job. But in that moment, he saw himself standing as well and clapping Ferriero on the back.
“The Udenar are jumping!” Ferriero told him, his eyes on his sensor’s screen. “They’ve given up!”
“Where’s the shuttle?” Jeryl asked, not even bothering to spend another thought on the Udenar. The bastards were leaving, Galea was glassed as Armada Intelligence demanded, and the civilians were safe.
They had won the day.
“The shuttle’s landing on the flight deck, sir!”
“Then you have the bridge, Ferriero. Treat my ship right, or I’ll have your head,” Jeryl said, clapping him on the back once more.
“Captain? Where are you going?”
Jeryl just grinned at his nav officer.
“I made a promise to my wife, and I intend to keep it.”
Cassius
“How’s my girl?” Cassius asked, returning his daughter’s smile. They slipstreamed each other as often as they could, which wasn’t really often enough.
“Good, daddy. I’m getting straight As and we’re in the derby championship,” Sienna beamed.
“And Peyton?”
“She’s...fine,” Sienna said as she looked down.
“What is it?” Cassius knew she didn’t want to get her sister into trouble, so he pushed. “Talk to me, Sien.”
“She’s hanging around a wild crowd, dad. She never does her work, talks back, and gets into fights all the time.” Tears formed in her big brown eyes but refused to fall.
That would explain why she was never around to talk to him. Cassius hoped she would turn out better. He knew there would be some problems with both of them, but it was like they have become two extremes on opposite ends.
Sienna was so afraid of losing those she cared about and she did all she could to please everyone. Cassius’ adopted daughter, Peyton, decided she didn’t give a shit because everybody she cared about died at some point. At the rate she was going, she was doing her damned best to make sure she went before anyone else.
Cassius knew shipping them off to boarding school didn’t help her abandonment issues, but he had no choice. It was the best school in the Human Confederation, and security was airtight. Most diplomats sent their children there. He knew right when he was still Tribune that staying with him was not a safe option.
He prayed they never found out how he became Chancellor.
“Is she on drugs?” He was aware of a problem with the older kids and their homemade remedies for a quick buzz. Oh, god, don’t let her be on drugs already.
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.”
“Thanks for telling me, sweetie. Be good.”
“You too, dad. Love you.”
“Love you, kiddo,” Cassius said then powered down the slipstream.
Of course, he had already received progress reports on both girls. The only reason Peyton hadn’t been kicked out was because she was the Chancellor’s daughter. He just wanted to see if Sienna would tell him the truth. The last five times they had spoken, she kept her mouth shut.
If he knew his daughter, she waited until she was sure she couldn’t handle it herself before speaking up. She had this need to be her sister’s protector. If Peyton didn’t come around, Sienna would be dragged under with her.
Now what to do about Peyton? She needed to be straightened out, but how did he accomplish that from halfway across the system? He thought about putting her in a reform school, but didn’t want to traumatize her by separating her and Sienna.
Tapping his fingers on the desk, he came up with the solution. He hit the comm button.
“Donovan, set up a personal bodyguard for each of my daughters,” he ordered. “Cite the Udenar trouble as the reason.”
“Yes, sir,” Donovan, the chief of security, answered.
He had avoided that action until now, preferring for them to have a normal life as much as possible. Peyton was going to be pissed, but if it would keep her out of trouble, then he would do what he had to.
Sienna would take it in stride. Her biggest problem would be the distraction. She hated to be distracted when she was trying to do her schoolwork.
But he couldn’t worry about that now. It was enough to know that they were as safe as he could make them.
Cassius picked up his tablet and swiped through the geology reports he ordered. His geology teams were efficient, and they understood the need for secrecy, even if they didn’t know why.
The separate compounds that made up the Bachnian crystals were readily available on almost every planet in the Human Confederation. The problem was the way they combined through generations of incubation. So far, no one could replicate the process. They had just begun testing, so he had every confidence they would find a way soon.
Either way, tiny crystals had been found just beneath the topsoil on three planets in the Confederation space. Galea could have been “mysteriously” destroyed—Cassius knew exactly who was behind it—but that wouldn’t stop him.
He composed a blanket message to the geology teams on each planet.
Begin mining operations. Quietly.
The planets were on the other side of his territory, and he hoped to keep the Tyreesians from finding out about it. He had to act quickly, before the bastards sniffed them out.
The crystals were good for many things. They amplified and extended most power sources. That was valuable enough, but only one thing was worth taking over an entire planet.
A teleporter.
He regretted Galea’s loss, but Cassius has turned into the kind of man who doesn’t cry over spilt milk. All he could do was cut his losses and move on.
Within hours, an encrypted message came through his tablet.
Scans have detected a large reserve of the crystal. Harvesting will be complete within twenty-four hours.
Cassius smiled and poured himself a celebratory glass of whiskey. Though the Terran Union meddled beyond repair, he was sure to beat them in the production of a teleporter. He just had to figure out how to beat back the Tyreesians without attracting attention from the other planets.
Cassius had planned to use Lydia and her baby as poster fodder to rally the people against the Udenar. Since Crimson was destroyed before the shuttle could launch, she was still in the custody of the Terran Union. He’d get her later, but for now a press conference where he’d give a heartfelt speech about the tragic loss of the fleet would have to suffice. It’d serve to anger the people enough to be willing to fight against the Udenar and the Tyreesians if that time came. For now, though, he kept the Tyreesian connection under wraps.
He wanted his people pissed, not terrified.
“Admiral Hennesy, please report to my office,” he said into the comm.
“Right away, sir.”
Cassius poured two glasses of whiskey and waited.
The door slid open. Hennesy hesitated when he saw the whiskey sitting on the desk in front of his chair. He knew Cassius was about to ask him to do something else he wouldn’t like. He sat down and just looked from the glass to Cassius.
“Admiral. I need you to send our full forces to engage the Udenar,” he said. “Only leave a bare minimum for defense.”
“What if that’s what they're waiting for?” Hennesy grimaced and picked up his drink. After Galea’s destruction, the Udenar were probably on high alert, so the Admiral had a point on that. Still, this wasn’t the time to play safe—the Tyreesians had the Udenar scanning entire sectors, and there was no way Cassius would allow the bastards to take over another planet with Bachnian crystals.
“It’s not. Trust me.” Cassius picked up his own glass and downed it. “Engage them with all you’ve got, but the main objective does not leave this room.”
Hennesy sat forward, whiskey forgotten in his hand.
“The objective is to keep them away from these sectors,” Cassius brought the star map up on his tablet, highlighting the three most promising planets.
Hennesy took the tablet and studied it with confusion, “Why?”
“That is need to know, Admiral. Just keep them away from those planets. And be on the lookout for Tyreesian technology.”
Understanding spread over the Admiral’s face. “FTL mines. That’s why you ordered the FTLs shut down.”
“Yes. Not that it did any fucking good,” he muttered. Either way, the fleet had been doomed. The teleporter production would put the Human Confederation ahead of the game. Hopefully it would make up for the wasted lives in the long run.
“Do I share this with the Captains?”
“Tell them you suspect the Udenar either bought or stole the technology. Nothing more.”
“Yes, sir,” Hennesy finally gulped down his whiskey and set the glass on the desk, “Thank you for the drink.”
He stood with a scowl. He didn’t like being in the dark when it came to the fleet’s orders, especially after being forced to shut down the FTLs. Cassius understood, which was why he divulged the Tyreesian connection. That bit of information ensured the Admiral’s loyalty.
Cassius allowed himself a smirk as Hennesy walked out. They both knew he was a scheming asshole. Hennesy understood that he was offering up the entire fleet as bait for a cause he knew nothing about.
He would have to either be promoted or eliminated. Either way, Cassius didn’t care—he was walking down a very specific road, and he would do anything to ensure he’d get to his destination.
“Anything and everything…” he muttered, pouring himself another whiskey. “Every fucking thing.”
Jeryl
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“It has,” Jeryl replied, one hand on the balcony railing, the other holding a glass half-filled with some vintage red from New Sydney. From one of the suites on the top floor, they could see how New Sydney’s capital stretched for what seemed like forever, a never ending tapestry of high-rise condos sprinkled with casinos here and there.
Jeryl had acted on impulse when he made the reservation at The Oath—on one of the most expensive suites, especially—but he didn’t mind it. After everything that had happened in Galea and everything else before that, they needed to getaway. And what better place than The Oath, the place where they slept together for the first time?
Back then, they never though that a one-night thing would turn into marriage. But that’s how things go, more often than not—you get caught up in the tide, and next thing you know you’re surfing a wave for the rest of your life.
“Here.” Grabbing the bottle, Jeryl poured some red into Ashley’s glass. Then, turning his back to the New Sydney skyline, he laid down on the outdoor sofas. He couldn’t even remember the last time they had taken a vacation and, damn, it felt good.
In fact, he could get used to it. He could already imagine himself strolling inside Flynn’s office and quitting on the spot. Oh, it’d be priceless to see the Admiral’s face; maybe Jeryl could tell him that he had found a new calling in life: farming.
Yeah, that would go well, Jeryl thought, almost snorting. Then, he looked at Ashley; she was laying down on the couch right next to him, and she was sipping her wine while looking out into the horizon. Forget about Flynn, Jeryl mused. What would Ash think of that? Would she leave the Armada behind and start anew?
Smiling, Jeryl just pushed all these thoughts into a dark corner of his mind. What did that matter? Jeryl wasn’t about to leave The Seeker, and he doubted that Ashley wanted it. After devoting their entire lives to the Armada, how would they walk away from it all? Whether they liked it or not, they were born for it. And, hell, they were the best around. They had ended a five-year war, fought to make the Council a reality, and after all that, even figured out a way to save an entire planet’s population while keeping Armada Intelligence happy.
Yeah, I sure as hell deserve this drink, Jeryl thought, eyeing his bottle. Hell, maybe two of these.
“You think they’ll be okay?” Ashley asked him, and Jeryl sat up and looked at her.
“Who?”
“Lydia and her son,” she replied, never taking her eyes off from the horizon, almost as if she was gazing across the galaxy and looking straight into Centralia, the heart of the Confederation.
“They’ll be okay, I’m sure,” Jeryl merely said, lying back down again. “The Chancellor will probably take good care of them. Will probably parade them around a little bit for his gain, then set them up for life. Not a bad deal for a girl from a colony like Galea.”
“She seemed to like it.”
“Well, there are a lot more farming colonies in the galaxy, Ash. If she ever grows tired of Centralia, I figure she’ll be able to find a place to call home easily.”
“But is it worth it?”
“What is?” Now he was getting confused. What was Ashley even talking about? Maybe the wine was getting to her head.
“I mean, she has a son. Is it worth it, raising a kid in a galaxy like ours? Just look at what happened to Galea. And the Sonali War, and—”
“Where’s this coming from, Ash?”
It has to be the wine, Jeryl thought, but then he glanced at Ashley’s glass and realized that she hadn’t even started drinking it. And if there was something that Ashley enjoyed, it was New Sydney vintage red. Unless that meant…
“Holy shit,” Jeryl whispered, jumping out from his seat. He looked down at Ashley, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and then finally knelt in front of her.
“Don’t tell me that…that…” He didn’t even know how to say it. “Am I going to be a—”
“Yes,” she finally admitted, her lips showing a hesitant smile. “You’re going to be a father, Jeryl.”
“I…I don’t even know what to say,” he stammered, grabbing both her hands as he looked into her eyes.
“Just say something,” she asked of him, running her tongue over her dry lips. “Anything at all.”
“Well, let’s see if this helps then… Right now, I’m the happiest man in the whole galaxy, Ash,” he told her, and only when the words finally fell from between his lips did he realize that he was telling the truth.
I’m going to be a father, he told himself, that thought sounding as foreign as the first time he ever saw an alien spaceship. Except this time, he was happy about the unexpected—more than happy, he was ecstatic.
“You know what this calls for?” He asked her, suddenly going up to his feet.
“What?”
“A celebration.”
“I shouldn’t be drinking,” she hesitated, and he just grinned at her. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers and took her glass out of her hands, setting it down on the small table in front of them.
“I’m not talking about drinking,” he said, lowering his voice into a whisper, his eyes never leaving hers. “I had something else in mind.”
Finally, she got the message.
Moving slowly, she went up to her feet and turned on her heels. With her back turned to Jeryl, she strolled inside the bedroom and then looked back at him over her shoulder. Smiling, she grabbed one strap of her dress and pulled it down her arm, showing him one naked shoulder.
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Jeryl
“The Admiral will see you now,” Flynn’s secretary said, looking at Jeryl over the rim of her glasses. She had her hair tied up in a bun, and despite her advanced age, she still managed to look stern enough to make Jeryl sit on his chair without slouching. If she hadn’t followed a career as a secretary, Jeryl was sure that the woman would make a perfect headmaster in some uptight school.
“Thank you, Rose,” he said as he got up, buttoning the jacket of his uniform. As he strolled inside Flynn’s office, the Admiral immediately got up from his seat behind the desk and walked around it.
“And here he is, the Armada’s own troublemaker,” Flynn greeted him, shaking his hand firmly. “How are you holdin’ up, Jeryl?”
“I’m doing just fine, Admiral,” Jeryl said, unable to stop a smile from creeping up on his face. “One week in New Sydney and I’m a new man.”
“Yeah. I should go back there myself. I’m just afraid I won’t want to come back here again, you know? Gotta deal with all the pencil-pushers, every single day.”
“I don’t envy you,” Jeryl laughed, sitting down as Flynn went back behind his desk. “I prefer to be out there, if I’m being honest. I’ve had my fair share of pencil-pushers back when I was playing at Vice-Admiral.”
“You, Vice-Admiral? That was just a title, Jeryl. You spent half your time blowing shit up, and don’t even try to deny it,” Flynn laughed, his voice filling the whole office. “You were born to raise hell.”
“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t—but I sure as hell was born to get shit done.”
“That’s right, that’s right…but no medals this time, I’m afraid,” Flynn continued, his laughter from before vanishing as quickly as summer breeze. “Barely anyone knows of what happened in Galea, and that’s how things should continue.”
“Wasn’t expecting any medal. Nor wouldn’t I want one. As far as I’m concerned, Armada Intelligence can keep all their fucking medals.”
“No love lost for them, huh?”
“What do you think? The murder of more than two hundred thousand civilians barely merits a badge, wouldn’t you say?”
“You seem too happy for a man that just murdered an entire colony’s population, I gotta say,” Flynn said. Just like Jeryl predicted, Flynn didn’t have to know the details to figure out that Jeryl had pulled some kind of shady strategy to get out of an unwinnable situation. And, as far as The Seeker’s captain was concerned, there were no unwinnable situations—only situations you’d have to be more patient about. In the end, there was always a way out.
“What can I say, Admiral? I’m a happy man by nature.”
“No, you’re full of shit by nature, Jeryl,” Flynn laughed once more, this time even more heartily than before. “And you’re fine just like that. As far as I’m concerned, the Armada needs more men like you. And I’m not talking about having men like you serving as Captains, I’m talking about—”
“No, whatever it is, you can shelve it,” Jeryl cut Flynn short, waving him down. “I’m not looking to become Vice-Admiral again. Been there, done that.”
“Maybe not Vice-Admiral…but what about a position in Intelligence? God knows these soulless bastards need some fucking ethic in there.”
“They wouldn’t find it even if it bit them in the face. These guys play by no rules—legal, moral, or ethical. They play their own game, and they make up the rules. They respect nothing, and I don’t want to be a part of it.”
“You shouldn’t speak of them like that, you know? They have ears everywhere,” Flynn said, the expression on his face telling Jeryl that the old Admiral didn’t give a fuck if Intelligence officers were listening in to their conversation right now.
“I’ll try. I don’t want to be murdered in the middle of the night by some murderous operative.”
“They have a few of those, that much is true,” Flynn shrugged. “But it might be one of those murderous operatives that’ll solve this teleporter riddle.”
“How so?”
“Intelligence has been trying to develop teleporter tech with no success. They’re exploring…other alternatives.”
“Don’t tell me they’re planning on stealing it from the Tyreesians. No one would be crazy enough to attempt something like that.”
“You’re damn right,” Flynn laughed. “No One would do it.”
“Are you talking about—”
“Alright, alright. I’ve said enough,” Flynn cut Jeryl short, but that just served as confirmation. When Flynn said ‘no one’, what he really meant was ‘No One’—the Intelligence operative everyone simply dismissed as a legend. Beautiful, stronger than a small squad, and more capable than a whole battalion put together…and she only operated in the shadows.
Or so it was said. Jeryl didn’t even know if No One was in fact a she.
“Seriously now, Jeryl,” Flynn started again. “Reconsider. Your talents are being wasted as Captain of The Seeker. I know you love that ship as much as you love your wife, but I see bright things in your future.”
“Admiral, thank you for all the trust but…I don’t want bright things in my future,” Jeryl said, standing up from his chair and offering Flynn his hand. “The only things I want in my future are my ship, my wife…and my son.”
Flynn’s eyes widened in surprise, and Jeryl almost felt bad about the way he had said it. Flynn had never married, and he didn’t have any children to call his own.
“Congratulations then, Captain,” Flynn finally said, shaking Jeryl’s hand. “I wish you all the best. Truly.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
With that, Jeryl started walking out of Flynn’s office. He stopped dead on his tracks as Flynn called after him.
“Jeryl.”
“Admiral?”
“If you care about your wife and your son…I’d think about choosing another career.”
“Sir?”
“I know men like you. I was just like you. And as long as you have a uniform…there’ll always be another war to wage.”
Jeryl simply stood on the doorway for a long moment, Flynn’s words echoing inside his head, and then he just nodded.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, and then finally left for good.
There’ll always be another war to wage, Flynn’s words continued to echo inside his head, and Jeryl knew it was the truth.
The worst part was he knew he’d never be able to give up his uniform. Sighing, he allowed one last thought to cross his mind.
If war comes…so be it.
I’ll be ready.
The Ghost Fleet
Call of Command Book 4
A Pax Aeterna Novel
Copyright © 2018 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Prologue
All of the lights were flickering.
The corridor ahead of him was covered with shadows, the red glare of the alarm lights making it look as if it was awash in blood. Still, the stranger stepped out of the airlock and half a dozen men followed after him, all of them the kind of men that shouldn’t be aboard a Terran Union Spaceship.
Hardened men, every single one of them—and there was murder in their eyes.
And they all feared him.
“HALT!” a young man in an Armada uniform shouted from the end of the corridor. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and thick beads of sweat were dripping down his face. Even though he was more than forty feet away, the stranger could see the man’s hands trembling as he tried to keep his rifle steady.
How sad was it? An Armada man, shaking in his boots like that?
Without a word, the stranger simply strolled down the corridor, making his way toward the young Armada officer. His heavy footsteps echoed throughout the corridor, and with each step he took, the young officer’s eyes seem to widen more and more.
“H-HALT!” the officer tried to repeat, his voice cracking.
The stranger could almost smell the fear, its stench coming at him like fresh blood. Stopping right in front of the officer, the muzzle of the rifle pressed tight against his chest, the stranger looked down at the young man.
“Are you afraid?” he whispered, slowly reaching for the muzzle of the rifle. He curled his fingers around it, and then made the young man raise it up. Pressing the muzzle against his forehead, he repeated his question. “Are...you...afraid?”
“N-no.”
“You should be,” was the stranger’s quick reply. With that, he swatted the rifle out of the officer’s hands, and with his open right hand, he grabbed the young man by the head and pushed him back against the wall. The moment the man’s head hit the wall, the stranger let go of him. Like an empty paper bag, the man just collapsed on the floor, his open eyes now lifeless.
The stranger carried onward silently, his group of soulless mercenaries moving right behind him. They were just seven, but other groups were already boarding the ship as well, swarming it like wasps attacking a beehive.
They made their way through the maze of corridors without meeting anyone else, their heavy boots drumming an anxious song on the floor. In the distance, they heard shots being fired and cries of agony. The stranger didn’t care if the cries he was hearing belonged to his own men or to Armada officers—in the end, all men sounded the same.
“Here they come,” one of the men behind him whispered, as loud voices seemed to come their way. Reaching inside his overcoat, the stranger grabbed a small rifle and took a knee; the moment he saw shapes moving right at the end of the corridor, he opened fire. The bright particle beams connected with their targets, and the human shapes dancing in the flickering lights stopped moving, falling onto the floor in quick succession.
The stranger slung his rifle over his shoulder as he stood up and continued his silent march across the ship. Judging by what he had seen of the plants, the CNC shouldn’t be too far ahead. Just one more turn left and…
Standing in front of the large bolted door that led to the CNC were three security officers, all of them carrying heavy particle beam rifles. They immediately put their backs against the door and raised their rifles the moment they saw the stranger’s crew.
“Lower your weapons!” one of them shouted as the stranger stopped a few feet away from them, his rifle still slung over his shoulder. Slowly, he looked at each one of the three officers, gazing straight into their eyes.
“Lower yours.”
“LOWER YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS OR I’LL—”
The officer’s words died on his throat as particle beams erupted from behind the stranger, hitting the guard straight on the face. As the man collapsed on the floor, wisps of smoke left his burnt face. The other two officers suffered the same fate—one being hit on the chest, the other on the neck.
Feeling the stench of charred meat, the stranger looked over his right shoulder at one of his men, and then nodded back at the large door. The man quickly scurried toward the door, and kneeling down, retrieved a circular device from his bag. He pressed it against the door, made sure it stuck there, and then tapped a couple of buttons. The device lit up with a bright red light, and the man rushed behind the stranger.
“Sir, you should probably take a few steps back,” the man advised, but the stranger simply kept standing in front of the door, apparently oblivious to what the man said.
Two seconds later, a concentrated explosion blew the door open, shards of metal flying everywhere as the emergency system kicked in and opened the CNC doors.
The stranger narrowed his eyes into slits as the smoke cleared. With all the patience in the world, he grabbed his laser rifle and strolled inside the CNC. By now, his other men had already reached him, and there were close to thirty men behind him.
“Captain,” the stranger started, looking around the CNC and mentally making a headcount. Finally, his gaze settled on Captain Anders of the TUS Musashi. “If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience, I’d like you, and all of your officers, to surrender your weapons to my friends here.”
“You…No, it can’t be.”
Before the captain could move, the stranger closed the distance between the two of them and put his hand around the other man’s neck. He squeezed tight, bringing the captain down to his knees, and then bent over to look him in the eyes.
“Yes, it can,” the stranger whispered, his voice almost a growl. The captain’s eyes widened in panic, and he tried to grab at the stranger’s fingers as he started running out of air. Moving slowly, the stranger removed a handgun from his belt, placed it right between the captain’s eyes, and squeezed the trigger.
Panicked cries erupted all around the CNC, but the stranger wasn’t worried. They were all novices for the most part, rookies that hadn’t been in the War, and they would never dare make a move against a crew like his—not if they valued their lives.
With his face covered in blood, the stranger looked at the cowering Armada officers and smiled.
They were right to be afraid.
Chapter 1
Jeryl
“Fire!”
Jeryl leaned forward as he gripped the armrests of his chair and shouted orders.
“Fire!” he repeated, but his voice merely echoed across the empty CNC. All lights were off, and there was no one at the control stations. The command center was bathed in a red light, and in the distance, Jeryl could hear the klaxons sounding.
He slowly stood up and made his way toward the dark viewscreen. With the tap of a button, he brought it up to life. The screen was red, filled with the same light of the command center, almost as if blood was dripping across it.
The Seeker rocked under his feet, and even though Jeryl couldn’t see it, he knew that the ship was falling apart.
“Fire!” he said once more into the darkness, his body growing cold as the ship kept on rocking. Heavy beads of sweat pooled on his forehead, and he felt his uniform sticking to his skin uncomfortably.
Then, the klaxons started to fade as Jeryl started hearing a ticking sound.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
“For God’s sake, fire!” he pleaded—to whom, he didn't know. But there was no one to man the consoles, no one to obey his commands. Staggering, he made his way to the weapons control and pressed the operating panel over and over again. It didn’t lit up, and Jeryl knew that The Seeker was dying. Not exactly dying, but rotting.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
In the distance, he heard the wail of a baby.
“Ashley!”
He turned on his heels and ran out of the CNC, making his way through the deserted corridors of his ship. The baby kept on crying, and the ticking sound became even faster than before.
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.
“Time’s running out,” he said to himself, freezing on his tracks. “Time’s running out. Time’s—”
Jeryl sat up on the bed, his body covered in cold sweat. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and the sheet covering the lower half of his body was completely drenched.
“Fuck,” he muttered, swinging his legs off the bed and running one hand through his wet hair. Glancing to the side of the bed, he felt his heart sink as he noticed the emptiness there. Ashley was already up and running, even though it was still early morning.
In silence, he dragged himself to the bathroom of his hotel suite and stepped under the shower. He stood there for a long time, allowing his thoughts to run wild. When was the last time he had had such a nightmare?
After the Earth-Sonali War ended, Jeryl had been plagued by these kinds of nightmares. They repeated themselves each and every night, and each time it happened, he woke up covered in cold sweat. But eventually they went away, as slowly, he regained control of his own mind.
But now that Ashley was pregnant, he somehow felt his control slipping away again. Could he be The Seeker’s captain and a father? Could he keep putting his life on the line, over and over again, knowing that a new life depended on him and Ashley?
“Time’s running out,” he muttered ominously. In eight months or so, he’d be holding his newborn baby and...what then?
Trying to keep all those thoughts contained inside a dark corner of his mind, he stepped out of the shower and got dressed. He inspected himself in front of the full-body mirror, and nodded when he was finally satisfied with the crisp perfection of his uniform.
“Alright. Man up, Jeryl,” he ordered himself. He held his head up high, threw his shoulders back, and stepped out of the hotel room.
The morning sun was already peeking in the horizon, painting New Washington’s skies in a pinkish tone. The hotel’s corridors were still blanketed in deep silence, making the sound of Jeryl’s uniform boots echo as he stepped on the marble floor.
The aircar was already waiting for Jeryl in the rooftop. He nodded at the pilot and then settled himself in the back. Then, he took his tablet from inside his jacket and fired it up.
A few taps on the screen and he was already checking The Seeker’s status; few more hours for the last routine checks and the ship would be ready to go. Despite the confrontation with the Udenar in Galea’s orbit, The Seeker managed to get away without any major repairs being needed. One week was more than enough for the Armada’s engineers and mechanics to make it operational again.
“Impressive ship, ain’t it?” the pilot asked Jeryl, and the captain nodded with a smile, glancing out the aircar’s window. The shipyards were in New Washington’s outskirts, a sprawling jungle of hangar decks and massive docking stations.
For a moment, Jeryl thought of the billions and billions of credits the Union had to constantly pour into the Armada’s vaults. During the Earth-Sonali War, military spending ramped up at a breakneck speed, and that trend continued ever since. No small wonder, since humanity now had other races to contend with. Even though the Galactic Council was now a reality—and that, thanks to Jeryl—the galaxy still felt rough at the edges, peace as unstable as the core of a dying star.
And with the Tyreesians moving behind the scenes constantly, that peace felt frailer than ever before.
As the aircar began its descent toward the shipyard, Jeryl’s tablet chirped.
Incoming: Admiral Flynn, his tablet read.
Jeryl tapped the screen and opened his slipstream channel.
“Good morning, Captain,” the Admiral said.
Jeryl couldn’t help but notice the bags under Flynn’s bloodshot eyes. Did the man ever sleep? Despite his advancing age, it seemed like the Admiral had no intention of ever slowing down. Jeryl knew that the Armada was an all-consuming obsession for the old man.
And am I any different? he thought, his heart tightening as he thought of Ashley and the baby.
“Good morning, Admiral.”
“How are The Seeker’s repairs coming along?”
“The ship should be operational in a few hours, Admiral. I’m actually arriving at the—“
“Good, good,” Flynn cut him short. “Now turn that aircar around and meet me at the base. Something came up.”
“Something?”
“Yes, something,” Flynn nodded. “And it isn’t good. Get here fast. The top brass is meeting, and they don’t like to wait.”
With that, Flynn cut off the channel, his image disappearing before Jeryl’s eyes as if it was never there in the first place.
The top brass? What is it this time?
“Turn the aircar around,” Jeryl told the pilot.
“Sir?”
“I’m needed at the base.”
In the back of his mind, Jeryl could still hear the ticking of a clock.
Tick, tock, tick, tock—time’s running out.
Chapter 2
Jeryl
“Captain! Glad you could make it,” Admiral Gan sneered, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop as Jeryl walked inside the conference room.
Great, didn’t know this asshole was in New Washington, Jeryl thought.
“Admiral,” Jeryl nodded politely, even though he had never liked the man. Unlike Flynn, Admiral Gan was one of those pencil-pushers Jeryl had always despised, barking out orders while hiding in a plush office. Moreover, he was quick to reap any praise whenever one of his subordinates managed to do something well.
“Take a seat, Captain,” Flynn told him, waving his hand at the only empty seat on the table. There were six Admirals in the room, all of them with a tense look on their faces. “Time is of the matter.”
“Very well. What’s going on?”
“To put it simply, the Armada has ran into a problem,” one of the Admirals said, a burly fellow with a well-trimmed beard. “And if word got out, it’d be extremely embarrassing...not only for the Armada, but for the Union as well.”
Jeryl looked around the room and noticed that some of the Admirals were hesitant about the subject. Whatever it was, it had to do with a military failure of some sort.
“Before the...situation you faced, do you remember what The Seeker’s assignment was?” Flynn finally spoke up, careful not to address the Galea situation directly—the whole thing had been a covert operation, after all.
“Yes. We were assigned to escort convoys X-647 up to X-654. Military-grade apparel. A simple enough job.”
“Yes, a simple enough job,” Admiral Gan hissed. “Except your fellow captains weren’t really up to it. In fact—”
“What Admiral Gan means,” Flynn said, cutting Gan off, “is that our convoys run weren’t as secured as we expected them to be.”
“Pirates?”
“Very likely,” Flynn nodded, tapping a few buttons on the console in front of him. In the center of the table, a holographic map of a specific quadrant of the sector shaped up. “As you’re aware, The Seeker was supposed to escort a convoy of transport ships, all of them carrying military cargo, to the Edoris escort. Since your ship wasn’t available, we changed the plan and redistributed these escort assignments to other captains. Three of them were attacked.”
Jeryl stared at the holographic map, his gaze following the twelve blue dots travelling across it. Then, suddenly, the dots turned red and blinked twice—and disappeared.
“By whom?” Jeryl asked, not entirely sure of who’d be crazy enough to attack a transport convoy protected by a Union battleship. Some pirates were ballsy, but attacks on Armada ships were a rare occurrence. And, as far as Jeryl knew, no pirate crew had ever managed to board an Armada battleship. If they were dealing with pirates, they were pirates of a different caliber.
“We’re...not sure.”
“What do the reports say?”
“There are no reports,” Admiral Gan shifted on his seat, looking straight at Jeryl. “None of the crew on these three convoys made it back. All ships were captured. Vanished without a trace.”
“That’s...insane,” Jeryl whispered. “Pirates wouldn’t be able to—”
“We know that. But we’re going with the pirate theory, at least for now. If not, who else? As you can imagine, the government is hesitant to concede we might be dealing with some alien power hell-bent on putting their hands on our military arsenal.”
No wonder the whole Admiralty is embarrassed, Jeryl thought. If the media caught wind of the fact that the military was being robbed left and right—be it by pirates or some other power—the Union government would make some heads roll in the Armada’s top brass.
“So, what now?”
“Now, we want you to escort the next convoy leaving New Washington. Its departure is scheduled in about eight hours. I’ll take The Seeker will be ready by then?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Then get to it, Captain,” Flynn said. “And remember, we want this matter to be handled as quietly as possible. I’ll be leaving for the Edoris Station today as well, so we’ll rendezvous there. Make sure the convoy gets there safely. We trust you to handle any run-ins with the…pirates. Figure out who’s behind it, and capture them if possible.”
“I’m on it, sir,” Jeryl said with a nod, going up to his feet.
“And, Jeryl,” Flynn added before The Seeker’s captain left, “good luck.”
Chapter 3
Ashley
The new Hunters were truly a sight to behold, the latest in Armada engineering coming at a time when it was needed most. The old ones, after all, had taken a beating at the hands of the Udenar.
Ashley looked out on the flight deck from the observation platform and watched as the pilots carefully checked out their new machines.
“Makes you wish you were just a pilot, eh?” one of the mechanics said while carrying some replacement parts in from the deck’s storage room.
“Yeah, it does.” Ashley knew that as first officer, her duty was on the bridge. However, some things never changed. Even with her rank, and her delicate condition, she knew that there was nothing like sweeping through the darkened heavens and performing the delicate dance known as combat maneuvers.
“You want me to inform them you’re here?” the mechanic asked with a slight chuckle. As a specialist, he didn’t have to follow Armada traditions of announcing the presence of a senior officer, though it was common courtesy to at least ask.
“No. Let them have their fun, I’m happy just listening in.”
The mechanic left, whistling a small tune that quickly faded into the background as the pilots left their machines and retreated to a small holding area that they had turned into a makeshift clubhouse.
Ashley followed, taking care not to be spotted so as to not tempt them to change the topic.
“Yeah, right, Powers,” Tira said as she laughed. “You guys still have some growing up to do before you can measure up,” she continued, wearing a roguish grin that didn’t extend to her dark opal eyes.
Guillermo Martinez snorted, “I’d like to see you try. Remember the fight we got in at the last port? You got your ass whipped by a Sonali cleric, of all things.”
Ashley couldn’t help but smile. Since her ship was one of the first to get them straight from the Armada, she had taken a special interest in their development as officers and pilots. That bar brawl had been one of her favorite activity reports, especially considering how the cleric refused to press charges afterwards.
Powers Boothe shook his head, “Didn’t see that fist coming, rookie. I mean, he swung so fast it was like he teleported his fist right to your head. Heck, wouldn’t surprise me one bit if they could do it.”
“Who knows what’s coming down the pipe?” Tira replied. “I’m guessing the Armada have at least a couple of scientists looking to crack that teleporting nut. I wouldn’t be surprised if, soon enough, fighters and raiders start being equipped with that,” she continued, grabbing one of the tablets scattered across the table. “I mean, it should just be a matter of power allocation and proper positioning. Both of which, once they figure out the math...”
“Oh, don’t go professor on us, Tira!” Guillermo snapped, taking the tablet from her and looking over the figures. “Wow. That’s good.” He raised one eyebrow as he considered the figures on the screen, but then turned his gaze back to Tira. “Though it still doesn’t really matter. I mean, who would shell out that kind of money for raiders? Wouldn’t it be more useful for battleships?”
“Yes and no—think about it this way, we’re in a technology arms race. The one side develops something, the other side figures out how to do the same and some sort of countermeasure at the same time. The ability to teleport smaller ships would give everyone an edge. Sure, battleships teleporting into orbit would be nice. But just imagine hundreds of smaller ships popping in and out of existence all around you. Imagine the damage a single Hunter could do.”
Ashley smiled. True to the personnel report, Tira has proven herself to be an exemplary tactician. Not even her husband was able to suss out that little detail, and he had been on the ground floor for nearly every major military tech leap since the start of the Earth-Sonali War.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah... That’s good and all, but you were reduced to a nasty smear across the deck plating. Your science’s good, but sometimes it’s about the guts,” Guillermo said, glancing around the room.
Ashley barely had time to duck behind a shipping container; thankfully he didn’t notice her.
“I got that too,” Tira laughed.
“You’re a cocky one, aren’t ya?” Guillermo laughed back at her. “But when it comes to trading blows, that tactician brain of yours will do ya no good, ya know?”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Guillermo. I have no expectations as to what will happen, even while preparing for the usual. If I get into another fistfight with one of these Sonali assholes, I’ll make sure not to give the bastard a chance to swing first.”
“Not very sporting of you.”
“Sporting behavior is only good when you’re fighting for exercise. Tell me, did that Sonali look like he was just swinging for fun? Hell, it’s like battle. You win and dictate the terms, you can even set policy for what will work in the future. Like that swing—it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if some of the marines sitting at a table behind us start trying that move when they spar.”
Ashley had to bite her tongue. She knew that Tira was right, but it was almost ass-backwards when viewed in the context of history. Policy is often the correction for past mistakes, not success. More maneuvers had been named by the dead than the living.
Tira could be forgiven for that mistake, though. The last couple of years had seen the overturning of many things once taken for granted. Humanity went from being the only sentient race in the galaxy to being a major player in a Galactic Council. Success is quickly overtaking failure, and sometimes, creating new paradigms.
“Shit, Tira, you sure know how to talk,” Guillermo continued, yawning as if he was bored by their conversation. “But wouldn’t it be better if you could show us?”
“What do you mean?” Tira frowned.
“Simple,” Guillermo laughed, reaching inside his pocket and grabbing his wallet card. “I bet you one hundred credits you can’t take me on a fight. Let’s see how good you really are. Hell, let’s make it even more interesting. How about…if you win, we’ll do your ship maintenance for a week?” He smiled, leaning forward across the table.
There was silence for a few seconds. Then, Tira also leaned forward across the table to come face-to-face with Guillermo and said, “And if I lose?”
“Two weeks taking care of our ships,” Powers chipped in, barely containing a chuckle.
“It’s on,” Tira said, shaking Guillermo’s hand. She quickly stood up, and that was when she noticed Ashley.
“Commander!”
Ashley simply smiled and walked into the pilots’ view. “Afternoon, officers.” She looked straight at Tira. “I hope your little bet goes well. It would be a shame to lose to those louts.”
Tira saluted, “Of course, ma’am!”
Ashley motioned for Tira to follow and the two women walked a few feet away from the pilots. “Now, explain to me why you’re wagering with your health while we’re waiting on a new assignment? A skilled officer is like chicken’s teeth in these parts, especially one willing to work on this ship,” she whispered, a sinister glint in her eye.
Tira swallowed. “Respect, ma’am. They have to believe I’ll put myself on the line for them, so camaraderie is essential. Plus, I know I can beat them.”
Ashley nodded, “Good for you. You remind me of myself when I was younger—eager to be a part of a team, trying like hell to earn my salt. Just remember that the mission must come first. We’re here to serve the Union, not just to earn the praise of our fellow pilots and colleagues.”
“Yes, ma’am. May I ask a personal question?”
Ashley stopped and looked at Tira. Their paths had barely crossed since they had worked together during the Galea operation, but that had been enough for Ashley to know Tira was going to be one of the brightest up and comers. From ensign to officer in just a few weeks, Tira had a bright career ahead of her. “Sure, why not?”
“Why aren’t you taking one of Hunters for an inspection flight?”
Ashley sighed, “Captain’s orders. I’m to stay on The Seeker’s bridge at all times. Frankly, we’re running a small experiment here. Can a first officer keep working while pregnant?”
Tira’s eyes widened, “You’re expecting a child? How long?”
“I’m just a few weeks. We just found out a little while ago…and that’s why I’m still around. But keep it between us, alright? ” Ashley gave a small smile and sighed, “So, you know…would you be comfortable flying one of those things with a small passenger on board?”
Tira gave a sharp laugh, smiling back at Ashley. “I honestly don’t know. Having a family isn’t something I want to think about while on duty.”
“True. Would it surprise you to learn that I have been following all three of your performance records with great interest?”
“Ma’am, I’m honored.”
“Wait until you hear my suggestion first. I think you can take both Powers and Guillermo at the same time. Wipe that smile off their faces.” Ashley reached for her command tablet and loaded the orders app. “If you’re willing, I can make the sparring exercise official. That way, I won’t have to drag all of you in for a disciplinary hearing...”
“Yes! If you believe I can do it, I’ll gladly prove my worth,” Tira said, looking over her shoulder at her colleagues.
Something in her smile made Ashley shudder—Tira wasn’t even nervous; somehow, the young officer knew for certain that she could wipe the floor with two men that loved to brawl as much as they loved to pilot. Was is it just cockiness or something else?
Ashley typed in the new plan and authenticated the order. “Great. Kick their asses.”
Tira cracked her knuckles.
“Consider it done.”
Chapter 4
Tira
“I’ll give you one last chance to back out. There’s no shame in getting cold feet,” Tira remarked.
Guillermo and Powers, standing across from her on the flight deck, didn’t budge. Guillermo smirked at Tira’s offer, but beyond that they remained stone-faced. Tira responded with a shrug. The pilots were apparently itching for a fight, and Tira would give it to them if they couldn’t be convinced it was a bad idea. Besides, now that Ashley had made it official, it wasn’t like she could back out.
Not that she wanted to.
Tira cracked her knuckles as she prepared to throw down. She just wanted to get it over with. Getting attention or standing out above the crowd wasn’t her intent, but looking good in front of Ashley, the ship’s first officer, wasn’t exactly a bad thing.
I just want to do my job, she thought to herself, how did I get myself into something like this?
It was, of course, her tremendous physical acumen that drew both eyeballs and offers to fight. There was something that made people, particularly men, want to prove their mettle against Tira. She was a true specimen. Even though she didn’t seem all that impressive at first blush, her strength was greater than most men. Anybody who underestimated her for her appearances did so at their own risk. Rumors abounded that she had never been bested in a fight—sure, there was that encounter with the Sonali cleric...but truth be told, Tira just hadn’t wanted to crush the bastard’s skull and create a diplomatic conflict.
“You’re the one who needs to be worried,” Guillermo said.
“No, I don’t. In fact, I’ll take the two of you at once.”
“You’re shitting me,” Powers laughed, but Tira just kept looking straight at them. “Okay, whatever. It’s your ass on the line, you lunatic.”
Two against one—that was clearly enough to make the boys confident. Of course, Tira’s hand was so steady she could have poured a cup of tea without spilling a drop. There wasn’t an ounce of worry in her.
At least, not about the fight. Her only concern was drawing attention. She didn’t want to create an audience. Even now, she could feel Ashley just a few feet away, watching the events transpiring on the flight deck.
I don’t need anybody watching me do this, she lamented, regretting the way she had been drawn into the bet.
Tira felt like she had no choice but to fight. She wasn’t going to back down from a challenge. It wasn’t in her nature. She couldn’t have anybody calling her scared, claiming she had backed down. Plus, there was money on the line—Tira couldn’t resist the easy payday. One fight wasn’t going to kill anybody.
Well, as long as I’m careful, she thought.
“I just want to let you guys know what’s about to happen isn’t personal,” Tira said.
Guillermo laughed when he heard this.
“I’m not worried. There’s no way your bite is as bad as your bark.”
Now it was Tira’s turn to laugh.
“Oh, it’s worse. A lot worse.”
Not unlike in the days of the Old West, Tira stared down the pilots, who were shooting her daggers right back.
Tira looked around. Nobody seemed to be watching them aside from Ashley. This was a relief, as she didn’t feel like she had anything to prove. Once she had shut up these two flyboys, it could all be over…at least until the next foolish challenger stood up.
“I’m ready when you are,” Tira said, cracking her neck as she spoke.
She watched the two pilots look at each other before giving a knowing nod.
Powers turned back toward Tira and declared, “We’re ready. Just know we aren’t going to take it easy on you just because there are two of us.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Tira replied.
With that, the fight began. Powers was the more aggressive of the two men, as he ran right toward Tira, looking to strike. He came to her with a flying fist, which Tira dodged with ease. As Powers’s punch was zooming past her ear, Tira grabbed him by the skull. With her opponent unable to move, she struck him with a swift knee to the gut.
“Ooooof,” was the sound Powers made as all the air escaped his lungs.
With this, Guillermo joined the fray. He was built like a linebacker, and Tira assumed he wasn’t used to losing fights. He better get used to it pretty quickly, she joked to herself.
Guillermo’s arms were like tree trunks, and he approached Tira with his arms fully extended, ready to grab her and commence the pummeling.
While the bigger pilot may have been a near match with Tira for strength, he lacked the agility that his female counterpart had. She was able to bob and weave, which was clearly driving Guillermo insane.
“Hold still!” he shouted.
“I don’t think you know how a fight works,” Tira replied.
Suddenly, she felt a swift blow to the back of her thigh. Powers had kicked her in the leg from his prone position on the floor. This caused Tira to lose her balance, and she hit the ground with a thud. It took her a second to collect herself, but when she did she could see Guillermo preparing to deliver a massive stomp to her chest.
With tremendous reflexes, she threw her arms up and grabbed his boot. This kept it from making contact with her. Guillermo was continuing to try and deliver his blow with all his power, but Tira was just too strong for him. With a flick of her wrist she twisted Guillermo ankle, the momentum of the motion causing him to lose his balance and twist in the air as he tumbled.
Okay, time to put an end to this, she thought as she leapt back to her feet. Tira jumped on top of Guillermo and began throwing punches. The big man got his arms up to protect his face, but that meant his forearms were taking a beating. They were going to be sore and bruised by the time he headed to bed that night.
As she was throttling Guillermo with punches, Powers leapt on her back and began trying to choke her. This registered more as an annoyance than as a threat for Tira. She stood back up and reached behind her to grab Powers by the head. Getting a hold of her assailant, she was able to flip him over her shoulder, sending him crashing back to the floor.
“I think I’m tired of fighting two guys at once,” Tira said.
Powers clambered back up from the ground, but the second he stood back up Tira delivered a spinning heel kick to his face. The pilot let out a yelp of tremendous pain before collapsing backwards. He was clearly down for the count.
Tira allowed herself a smile, adding, “There, that’s better.”
Guillermo was back up from the ground now, shaking his arms in an attempt to get them to stop stinging. He put up his dukes, so Tira followed suit. One punch slipped by her defenses, smacking her in the face. It stung, to be sure, but she was only dazed temporarily.
“Not bad.”
“Thanks,” Guillermo replied.
It was the last word he got in during the fight. Tira responded with a lightning-fast punch of her own, and Guillermo didn’t see it coming. It connected dead square on his jaw, sending him backwards like he was hit with a two-by-four. She followed that up with a lunging kick to the gut and a leg sweep. Like his buddy Powers, Guillermo was now on the floor, and he wasn’t going to be getting back up.
“I think you boys have had enough,” Tira remarked.
With their silence, the pilots begrudgingly agreed. There was no joy, no sense of triumph for Tira. If there was anything she felt, it was relief. She looked down at her fallen foes.
They don’t even know I was taking it easy on them.
Once Guillermo and Powers had regained their senses and gotten to their feet, the time came for them to pay off the bet. It would certainly be the last time they underestimated Tira. She took their credits and thanked them for it, but the pilots didn’t respond. They didn’t want their loss being rubbed in their faces. The two of them had fought a solitary woman, and she wiped the floor with them.
I bet I’m not the only one who was glad nobody was watching this, Tira thought to herself.
Just as the credits were collected, she noticed Jeryl strolling into the flight deck.
“Captain,” she said, straightening her back and saluting him, the two pilots doing the same.
“Officer. How are you this afternoon?”
“I’m alright. Just got a workout in.”
She saw Jeryl look over at the two pilots, both of them looking worse for the wear.
“I can see that,” he replied, putting two and two together.
“Need anything, Captain?” Tira asked as Ashley walked up to them.
“I’m here to let you know that The Seeker is ready,” Jeryl said, now turning to his wife and first officer. “All the repairs have been finished.”
“That’s excellent news.”
“There’s more than that, though. We have a new assignment,” Jeryl remarked. “Let’s go—I’ll fill everyone in at the CNC.”
Following Jeryl and Ashley out of the flight deck, Tira couldn’t resist but look back over her shoulder at the two pilots.
“Thanks for the cash, boys. And take good care of my ship.”
Chapter 5
Jeryl
Jeryl’s eyes popped open and he frantically checked the time. It was still third watch. Somehow, their new assignment had him on edge. Even though none of the CNC officers had seemed particularly worried during Jeryl’s briefing of the mission’s details, he had a bad feeling about the whole thing.
Pushing his anxiety to the back of his mind, he glanced over his wife with a smile. She had kicked off her half of the blanket and lay spread-eagle with one leg hanging off the edge of the bed. That was a new habit she had developed since finding out she was pregnant. Apparently, it made one uncharacteristically hot. She had a sheen of perspiration coating her entire body. It dawned on him that was the ‘glow’ everyone talked about. The undershirt she slept in pushed halfway up her torso and her shorts twisting in a way that looked painful.
He couldn’t resist it. He rolled over and started tracing circles over her stomach. The tiny bump in her womb was barely noticeable, even exposed over the twisted waistband. He got so wrapped up in watching his fingers make wider and wider circles around her navel that he didn’t notice the change in her breathing nor when her eyes opened.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
He looked up at her beautiful sleepy smile. “Just thinking.”
“Hmm.” Ashley rolled over to face him. “I hope you’re thinking about letting me fly a couple more months.” She stretched her arm around his waist.
“I don’t think so, babe.”
“Don’t be an asshole. I’m not fragile yet.”
“Don’t argue with me. My mind is made up.”
Ashley let out a frustrated sigh and sat up.
“Don’t you trust me?” she asked. He knew she understood the decision, but the Hunters were her babies, too. She loved to fly, and she loved leading others into the fray. He wasn’t sure that she was entirely happy to carry his child, but then she snuggled into his arms. She was happy about the pregnancy, just not the changes that it forced upon her.
“Of course I do. It’s others I don’t trust. Would you send a ground marine to the front line, knowing she was pregnant?”
“No,” Ashley pouted, “Alright. You win.”
Jeryl smiled, but it was more like a grimace. Winning usually came with revenge of some kind.
“I’ll make it up to you.” He held out his hand.
Ashley relented. She took his hand and scooted down into his arms. “Are we ready for this?”
“Hell, no,” Jeryl laughed. “But we’ve been through war. How hard can a baby be?” He knew his words were bullshit, but he felt the urge to reassure her. She covered well, but she was more frightened than he was and he wanted nothing more than to protect her.
“If you say so.” She buried herself in his chest and began snoring softly.
Jeryl stayed awake a good hour, playing with her hair and listening to her snore, before drifting off himself, his mind making images dance before his eyes shut.
The entire crew were reduced to an infantile state. Diapered babies sat at the consoles and waddled around like they belonged there. This was perfectly normal to Jeryl as he walked onto the CNC, ready for battle.
“Lieutenant Tira. Report.” Jeryl looked at the baby at the security station. She didn’t have a tiny uniform, but he knew it was Tira.
Baby Tira cried. Jeryl automatically understood it as, “Weapons ready. We’ve got the green light to engage.”
“Fire at will.”
There was nothing on the viewscreen. None of the consoles were lit. Jeryl knew they fought the most dangerous enemy they had ever faced. Time.
Klaxons sounded. The ship rocked. The crew changed from infant to adults and back again. The sound of a thousand screaming infants mixed with the klaxons and everything spun.
The klaxons blared and the couple bolted up in unison. They looked at each other with the same startled expression. The alarm sounded twice more before Jeryl decided it wasn’t a dream.
He jumped out of bed and threw on his uniform. Ashley was faster as she pulled on the last boot and waited for him at the door. Jeryl grabbed their tablets and comms from the dresser and they ran into the corridor.
As foolish as that dream was, it bothered him for some reason. He would keep it to himself. Ashley would only laugh at him then use it for blackmail at the worst time.
Their assignment was to escort a convoy of fifteen armory ships to Edoris Station, the exact kind of ships that have been disappearing en route, filled to the max with state of the art weaponry. This time, Flynn sent Jeryl to ensure the weapons were delivered safely. A boring assignment, but it would be good to see Flynn again in a private manner. The old man always had good booze.
They had been stuck in deep space for days with no suspicious activity, which only meant Jeryl had plenty of time to worry about the pregnancy. Yes, he was happy about it, but the possibility of a complication weighed him down at the same time. Each time he tried to put it out of his mind, a new scenario popped into his brain. The latest was a sneak attack on her Hunter. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Report!” He barked before he stepped fully through the CNC’s doorway.
Ashley was already at her station. He followed and handed over her tablet and comm.
“Sir. Scanners show thirty shuttles surrounding us,” Tira answered, her fingers gliding over the console and a puzzled frown on her face.
“Shuttles?”
“Yes, sir. They jumped in without warning fifty-seven seconds ago.”
“Well, that’s different.” He touched the comm, “This is Captain Montgomery of TUS The Seeker. Respond.”
No response. One of the shuttles moved in around the first convoy ship. The rest followed until each ship had two shuttles staring at it. They didn’t look threatening by themselves. Normally, a shuttle would only transport a small crew from ship to planet, or ship to ship. Thirty of them grouped together was an ominous sight, however. It left a knot of dread in the pit of Jeryl’s stomach.
“Do they mean to board?” He could see that they did, but still didn’t quite understand. He half-thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.
“I think so, Captain,” Tira answered. She sounded just as puzzled.
“We can’t fire on them without hitting the convoy. Deploy the Hunters.”
That was how the previous armory ships disappeared. Send transport shuttles to board, take over navigations, and poof. It was cost effective and ingeniously simple.
“Yes, sir,” Ashley said to his back. Jeryl could hear the grin in her voice. At least she could live vicariously through her pilots.
There were twelve Hunters, but the invaders were only shuttles with almost no weapons to defend against ships made for combat. Ashley gave her orders and headed for the door.
“Commander Gavin,” Jeryl warned. Did she think she could just walk out because people were watching?
“Sir, I still command the Hunters. I need to help them lock and load.” Her eyes said he better give her this one.
“Carry on.” She was right. He couldn’t strip her of rank just because she was two months pregnant. He needed to pull his own head out of his ass before he got them all killed.
Ashley nodded and ran out of the CNC.
Jeryl turned back to the viewscreen, determined to hide his nervousness. He didn’t want to let Ashley out of his sight. Rational thought was supposed to disappear in the mother, not the father. Yet, here he was, wanting to shelter her from everything. She was going to kick his ass if he didn’t let up.
A shuttle moved in to board the first armory ship. The rest followed. Jeryl realized that was the commanding shuttle.
“Hunters, what’s your status?”
“Two minutes, sir,” Ashley answered.
“Make it one. Armory ship six-one-five has just been boarded.”
“Yes, sir!”
Jeryl watched the Hunters shoot toward the convoy thirty seconds later. Who else but his wife could shave a minute and a half off prep time?
Six more shuttles had begun boarding. Jeryl held his breath. He wasn’t used to being helpless on his own ship.
The Hunters dove in, guns blazing. Caught by surprise, eight shuttles erupted, but the others were quicker than they should have been. They darted back and forth to avoid most of the fire.
Jeryl understood. They had been enhanced specifically to board enemy ships. It was quite brilliant. They were the perfect size to hide in the shadows of the larger ships, ensuring the success of capturing the weapons cargo.
This was a well thought out operation. Jeryl wondered how long this had been planned, and who had the patience for it. A tactic he had never seen before, Jeryl couldn’t begin to guess.
“If possible, I want the six-one-five boarders alive and brought for questioning. There’s a commander in that group.”
“Yes, sir.”
Two Hunters rerouted to armory ship six-one-five and disappeared into the landing bay.
“Long range scans. Those shuttles are taking orders from someone. Find them!”
“Sir, we’ve been scanning. If there’s a ship, it’s beyond range.”
Shit. Who are these fuckers?
Chapter 6
Jeryl
“Ashley, nail those shuttles! Coordinate with the Hunters, be an extra set of eyes to keep their asses safe,” Jeryl said as Ashley rushed back to her station. Bringing his holographic panel up at his chair, he started going over The Seeker’s vitals. “Tira, send me all the info we can get on those shuttles.”
“Yes, Captain.” Tira’s fingers flashed on her holo-board, running every scan she could on the shuttles.
Jeryl looked up from his holo and could see the convoy being overrun. “Shit. Ferriero, can we get a clear shot on those shuttles?”
Pedro Ferriero, the head of navigations, swiveled his chair around and shrugged. “Some of them, sir, but it’s still really close. There’s still a slight chance we could hit the convoy instead.”
“Dammit. Make sure your aim is on point, and only fire when you have a clear shot. Ashley?”
Ashley turned to him. “These shuttles are fast. They were designed specifically for this. But the Hunters are trying.”
In the three to four seconds it took her to say those words, Jeryl marveled at her beauty and tenacity. He recovered quickly and answered her with a nod. She turned her back to him, flipped her personal comm back to her Hunter team, and started barking out orders. She had one of the petty officers stationed next to her bring up a screen that displayed each Hunter’s POV.
Jeryl moved his attention back to the main screen and his own holo. The convoy, fifteen transports strong, was being hounded by at least double that number in shuttles, several of which already connected or connecting to the armory ships. Like Ashley said, the shuttles had obviously been modified and changed to fit what these pirates needed them for.
Without looking in her direction, he called out to Lieutenant Mary Taylor, the communications officer. “Mary, keep in contact with the transports. I want to try to focus on the ones that are in the worst shape and coordinate their movements as we try to get the hell out of here.”
Mary nodded as Jeryl watched the Hunters. They put themselves into a V formation, with Powers at the head and Guillermo and Francesca Vizzenzi flanking.
With Ashley coordinating with her Hunters, Mary talking with the convoy, and Ferriero doing what he could to get the shuttles off the transports, Jeryl decided to look at the specs that Tira was feeding his holo. The shuttles looked vaguely familiar…then, he saw it.
Almost half of them were old Terran Union shuttles, while the others were an odd mixture of Tyreesian and Sonali ships. Each had been modified—hulls strengthened, thrusters replaced, some even had claw arms attached that would grab on to the transports. One of the shuttles also looked like it was a hodge-podge of parts and pieces put together.
They were coordinated, each move smooth and fast, flawless in execution. The shuttles that weren’t already attached were flying interference, forcing the transports to change directions.
Even though the shuttles weren’t as nimble, they were better armored and better armed. They were smart too. When the Hunters engaged, only one of the shuttles let a Hunter get behind them, while the others kept moving and changing directions. It looked like coordinated madness. None of the shuttles stayed near each other, yet they never strayed far from those connected.
They’re almost as good as Ashley’s pilots. They never leave each other, but they never get close enough to be caught together, Jeryl thought to himself. There’s got to be some way to…that’s it! They never leave each other, but they stay apart!
“Ashley!”
“What?”
“Have your Hunters focus their attention on one or two shuttles, but only for a few seconds. I want to see something.”
She looked confused but followed orders. “Powers, I want all of the Hunters to focus on the two shuttles in sector seven-one-three-point-six-five. Just do it, Powers!”
Jeryl watched as all of the Hunters backed off, came together in formation, then attacked the two shuttles in the bottom left corner of the main viewer. They were the two Sonali-type shuttles that were trying to attack the rear of the convoy.
The two shuttles separated, one up, one left, each with six Hunters chasing them. The other shuttles, the ones not attached or being chased, turned their attention to the convoy, leaving the two to fend for themselves.
“That’s it, that’s how we beat them. They’ve been trained to go after the convoy first, trusting each pilot to be good enough to get themselves out of trouble. That’s how we’ll take them down,” Jeryl said as he smiled.
Ashley nodded and began relaying orders to her Hunters.
“Sir?” Tira and Mary said at the same time.
“Mary?”
“We’ve lost two transports, sir. The shuttles that are docking are loaded with soldiers, at least a dozen each.”
“Understood. Tira?”
“Long range scanners show another ship inbound, can’t tell what it is yet.”
“Keep an eye on it. Mary, tell the other transports to scrape the two we lost. If they can scrape off those shuttles, the hole they make will kill everyone and the pilots won’t get the weaponry inside.”
“Sir?”
“Those transport crews are most likely dead already. These guys don’t take prisoners.”
Mary didn’t look happy, but she passed along the information. Looking at the screen, the Hunters were doing well. Six shuttles were already down, and three more were damaged enough that they were trying to escape. He saw one of the transports bring themselves against the hull of one of the lost ones, scraping the shuttle off, exposing the inside to the emptiness of space.
Then, the other ship came into view on the screen. It was still far away, but close enough to be noticed. “Any signs of who that belongs to?”
“No, sir. I can’t make out any markings on it yet.”
“Fine. Ferriero, how are we doing?”
“Better than a few minutes ago, Captain.”
“Keep it up.” Jeryl glanced at his holo. Two transports were lost, a third was about to be destroyed, another three had been breached. But, his Hunters were systematically destroying or damaging the other shuttles. Ferriero’s blasts kept the other six transports clean of shuttles, but they were getting more daring. It was like the pilots knew something.
“Son of a bitch!”
Jeryl, Mary, Ashley, and a few of the officers turned to look at Tira. Her fingers flew across her holo-board as she muttered curses under her breath. Shaking her head, she swiped her holo screen up to the main viewscreen and kept her fingers flying.
Jeryl looked at the viewscreen. It was a zoomed view at the ship coming their way. He felt his skin grow cold. The hair on his neck stood on end, and his brain felt like it stopped working. It took him a few moments to realize he wasn’t breathing. Forcing air into his lungs, he cursed quietly to himself. He knew that ship. He knew that ship real well.
It was the The Ghost.
That ship wasn’t supposed to exist anymore. It wasn’t supposed to be here…it wasn’t supposed to be on his screen. It had been destroyed in the Earth-Sonali war. He had watched it happen.
Towards the last year of the war, The Ghost and The Seeker had been sent to a space station deep in Sonali space. It had been a research center for the Sonali, a place where they were researching new chemicals and technology that would have pushed the advantage into their favor. It was supposed to be easy: two massive cruisers jump in, blast the hell out of a space station, and jump back out again.
It didn’t happen that way. They jumped in, but intel had been wrong. That space station was also a way-station, and a full convoy was sitting there. The Seeker and The Ghost took a pounding, parts flying off of both ships. The Ghost took the brunt of the damage, her captain somehow maneuvering her in the way of a few Sonali battlecruisers. The ship’s comms went down, the shields dropped, thrusters were blown off, and her fuselage was coming apart. There was nothing left of her.
It took every ounce of crazy Jeryl had to maneuver The Seeker enough to use the FTL drive and get the hell out of there. In the days it took The Seeker to get back to anywhere remotely safe, Jeryl mourned Kaine Reed, The Ghost’s captain. More than his fellow captain, Kaine had been Jeryl’s best friend in the Academy. Hell, Kaine was practically his brother and Jeryl looked up to the fool.
Kaine was from Intelligence, black-ops. He was one of the best agents that the higher-ups called on for the strangest and craziest missions they could think of. And he was good at what he did. Except war doesn’t care about how good you are. It’ll chew you up and spit you out.
No mercy, no nothing.
“This can't be happening,” Jeryl muttered to himself, his unblinking eyes focused on a spaceship that wasn't supposed to exist anymore.
But, here it was, a defunct battleship coming right at The Seeker, somehow salvaged and rebuilt. She looked just like she did when they first flew out, minus the markings. There were none, no markings at all, just a black and gray hull with a minimum number of lights.
Ashley broke him out of his reverie. “Is that the…that can’t be the…”
Trying to rub the goosebumps off of his arm, Jeryl nodded.
“It is. The Ghost is back.”
Chapter 7
Ashley
“We got this, guys. This is what you've been trained for. Just stay calm and do your job,” Ashley intoned from her workstation.
Though she had spoken these words, she wasn't entirely sure she believed them. Oh, she believed in the training that she and her fellow Hunter pilots had received. At the moment, she just wasn't sure that would be enough.
The Ghost, a relic from the Earth-Sonali War, wasn’t a simple Terran Union ship. Deployed more often than not behind enemy lines, it had been the bane of the Sonali. Ashley never thought she’d see her ever again…but here it was, menacing as always.
Glancing sideways at Jeryl, she wondered if he was alright; she knew that, in some way, he still blamed himself for abandoning The Ghost and its crew during that ill-conceived mission.
Focus, Ashley, she admonished herself, returning her gaze to the holo screen in front of her.
She was desperately trying to coordinate the Hunters as they and The Seeker kept being attacked by the hostile shuttle ships. But now, with The Ghost thrown into the mix, ratcheting up the tension...
No, Ashley thought to herself. I have to stay calm for the team.
“Francesca, watch your tail!”
“Roger that,” Francesca replied.
Ashley watched, as with some deft flying, Francesca was able to evade the bogey. She breathed a sigh of relief, but there was only a pinch of relief to be found. The Hunters had been doing well until The Ghost showed up; that had tilted the battle into the opponent’s favor once again.
We have to cripple The Ghost. It's our only chance, she thought. While The Seeker was doing its best, it was the Hunters that were the jewel of the fleet in Ashley's eyes. If the pilots did their job, maybe they could pull this off. It would take some tremendous coordination from Ashley, but it wasn’t impossible for a Hunter squadron to do some damage to a battleship.
“Guillermo, Powers, how are you doing out there?”
“I'm hanging in here, ma’am,” Guillermo noted.
“I'm taking fire out here, but I'm getting by,” Powers replied.
Ashley paused for a moment to figure out what to do next.
“Prepare for further instruction,” she intoned.
The pilots all acknowledged the message. Ashley looked over at Jeryl. To think that it wasn't all that long ago he and Ashley were in bed together, talking about babies and family. Now, they were both trying to save their ship and crew from a ship that belonged on a graveyard.
Jeryl was busy dealing out instructions of his own to try and keep hostile shuttles away from The Seeker. All the while, his eyes were on the The Ghost. Ashley had to turn her eyes away from Jeryl and back to the battle. She had to give her attention to the Hunters. She owed that to them.
“Do any of you think you can get in position to attack The Ghost?” Ashley asked.
“I think I have an opening,” Guillermo replied.
“Go for it. Everybody else, if you can try and get Guillermo's back. Make sure he's safe.”
The battle outside was pure chaos. Many of the armory ships had been boarded already, maybe even all of them at this point. The Seeker was still safe…but for how long? Ashley was quickly realizing that the Hunters weren't so much trying to stifle the enemy as they were protecting themselves. If they were able to keep The Seeker from being boarded, it would be a success.
“I've got the shot,” Guillermo called out.
Ashley watched as Guillermo made his move. The Hunter was flying toward The Ghost with real pace. Guillermo fired off a couple shots as Ashley held her breath. It didn't even make a dent. Ashley's heart sank.
“No luck,” Guillermo said.
“Okay. We'll regroup. Maybe we should try and protect the convoy. See if any of the ships have not been boarded yet. We might be able to still protect them,” Ashley replied.
Ashley felt like she was juggling 10 things at once. She was smart and capable, so it wasn’t above her abilities—it just took all her energy and effort, and being pregnant made that more difficult. You can't argue with your body. Ashley was going to fight on, though. It was the least she could do for her fellow pilots, and for Jeryl.
“I think it's too late for the convoy. Every ship seems to have been boarded,” she heard Powers report.
“Damn it!” Ashley seethed.
What were they going to do now? The Seeker was failing at its mission. They had been caught off guard by the boarding shuttles, and they weren't ready for The Ghost. The former black-ops battleship had already locked its weapons on The Seeker, keeping it under a barrage of particle beams. Soon enough, the shields would collapse, and what then?
The Seeker had just finished being repaired, and now it was under siege again. At least none of the Hunters had been taken down yet. The crew had lost too many pilots recently. They couldn't afford to lose another, especially with Ashley on the sidelines.
Ashley knew she had to fight through her frustrations to keep on coordinating the Hunters. It was a vitally important job, and she was the best person to handle it. However, the frustration was practically choking her at this point. It wasn't just that The Seeker and the Hunters were in bad shape, or the fact the convoy had been overtaken. No, it was something much more personal.
I should be out there, she thought to herself. I'm a pilot! A damn great pilot! I can fly a Hunter like nobody else here. If I was out there, things would be different.
She watched as her fellow pilots tried valiantly to fight off the shuttles as The Ghost loomed closer and closer. There was an ominous feeling in the air.
I should be fighting and leading. I'm no use to anybody here on the ship!
Deep down, she knew she was underselling her ability to lead from CNC. She was doing a fine job coordinating the Hunters, but it wasn't what she wanted to be doing. Though she was leading the way, she wanted to be doing it from inside a Hunter. Ashley wanted to lead from example, taking down shuttles and helping to save the convoy.
Unfortunately, that wasn't in the cards. She looked down at her belly. Her pregnancy wasn't really showing yet, but she could still tell. It was this baby that was keeping her grounded, or as grounded as one can be while flying through space.
Jeryl wasn't letting her fly as long as she was carrying his child. Ashley understood, but she could never truly accept his edict.
I can fly while pregnant, she assured herself. This is all unnecessary.
However, it was all a decided issue, at least in Jeryl's mind. Ashley wouldn’t be flying until she had her baby.
Ashley couldn't let her aggravation get the better of her, though. She had to do her best in the position she was in. Although she couldn't fight or fly, she could still lead.
“Let's make another run at The Ghost. It's our only chance,” she declared to the pilots.
“Roger that,” Powers replied.
The Hunters turned their attention to the former Intelligence ship. For a ship that had been through a war and presumably salvaged, it seemed like it was in good shape. It was certainly overwhelming The Seeker at the moment.
Ashley watched nervously as her fellow pilots made their move on The Ghost. Shots were fired one after another, but it still wasn't enough. Any damage was minimal. The Hunters weren't prepared to take down a ship like that. They could handle the boarding shuttles, although the sheer numbers game was still a problem. The shuttles plus The Ghost, though, were proving a terrifying team.
“Going on the offensive isn't working. We just need to protect ourselves. Keep The Seeker safe. If we remain safe, we can still potentially protect the convoy. The top priority is the safety of The Seeker,” Ashley declared.
The pilots took the command and positioned themselves around The Seeker, trying to take down boarding shuttles that were getting too close to the ship. They were having success, but the numbers were just so overwhelming, and The Ghost still loomed. It was carving a swath through space, firing particle beams in quick succession, and it seemed like nothing was going to stop it.
Ashley looked over at Jeryl once more. If you have any tricks up your sleeve, now would be the time, she thought as if though she was attempting to communicate telepathically with him. She turned her attention to the battle brewing outside.
In truth, it wasn't much of a battle anymore. The Seeker and its fleet were taking heavy fire. The convoy had been boarded. The Armada would not be pleased about this, but The Seeker and its crew would have to survive to be admonished for that. Any result was on the table at this point.
“Hang in there, guys. We can still do this!” Ashley exclaimed.
By now, she no longer believed it. The Seeker and the Hunters were being overpowered by the The Ghost. Nothing Ashley could do seemed to be helping.
If only I was out there, she thought once more.
Instead, she had to stay on CNC, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Chapter 8
Jeryl
“Keep fighting, everybody! This isn’t over yet!” Jeryl exclaimed over the chaos of the battle.
It was his duty as captain to keep up morale and to rally his crew, but he was worried that it would all be for naught. Things had been slowly devolving since the first moment the boarding shuttles suddenly appeared surrounding the transport convoy. The Seeker had been taken by surprise, and Jeryl couldn’t help but feel like he was at fault.
“We’re taking heavy fire,” he heard a voice call out from the deck.
Jeryl couldn’t be sure who it was, as his eyes were transfixed on what was happening in front of him. His Hunters were doing their best to fight off the boarding shuttles, but even they were having a hard time. Even though Ashley was helping to coordinate her fellow pilots, she could only do so much. She was a great pilot, but she wasn’t a miracle worker.
“What’s the status of the convoy?” Jeryl called out.
“Every ship has been boarded by the shuttles!”
Jeryl ran his hands through his hair. The unraveling of the situation continued apace.
We’re on our last legs here, he thought. What the fuck am I going to do?
He looked out at The Ghost, a ship whose arrival had unmoored him. Even now, Jeryl still couldn’t fully process what he was seeing. Kaine’s old ship was back from the dead. Jeryl wasn’t the only relic of the Earth-Sonali War in this battle, it seemed.
“Ashley, how are the Hunters?” he yelled.
“They’re keeping the boarding shuttles at bay, but they can’t make a dent in The Ghost.”
Of course they can’t, he lamented to himself. We weren’t ready for this.
Jeryl couldn’t help but wonder if he could have done something to prevent this. Though his attention was solely focused on the task at hand, on the back of his mind something was nagging at him. However, he realized it was only with the benefit of hindsight that he could ponder what could’ve been done. He had done nothing wrong, and all he could do now was try and make the best of a terrible situation.
Jeryl continued to bark out orders to his crew, all the while asking for updates as well. Through the fog of war, the captain remained calm and stoic. This was what made him so well-suited for the position, Admiral Flynn had once told him. Jeryl wasn’t so sure about that.
The battle waged on, but Jeryl could see where things were heading. The convoy was of no use. All of those ships had been rendered helpless by this attack, and the boarding shuttles had left the entire convoy in the hands of the pirates. The Seeker and its Hunters were trying their best, but they couldn’t go on the offensive. All they could do was try and protect themselves, but Jeryl could see the writing on the wall.
I’m losing control of this situation, and fast, he admitted to himself.
While his outwardly visage was still projecting confidence, inside, he realized that defeat was on the horizon. The arrival of the The Ghost had flipped the script on the battle, as it did so many times when Kaine helmed it during the Earth-Sonali War. Jeryl cursed the lucky pirate who had found the ship and salvaged it. He knew that The Ghost deserved a better fate than being a pirate ship.
“The Hunters can’t fight them off much longer!” Ashley exclaimed.
“I know, I know!” Jeryl replied, his frustration bubbling to the surface.
Jeryl was contemplating what to do next. Was there any way to save the convoy? Or was it a lost cause? He hated the idea of losing the transport ships. The whole point of the mission was for The Seeker to protect them as they carried their cargo. Clearly, they had failed. Disappointment filled Jeryl. However, he wasn’t able to stew in that disappointment very long.
Alarms began signaling the crew on the CNC, and in a moment it dawned on Jeryl what had happened.
“The Seeker is being boarded!” he yelled.
As the captain’s words rang out, it was all hands on deck to deal with the situation. Jeryl had to admit it was only a matter of time before this happened. The Seeker was outmanned and outgunned. The pirates were going to break through their defenses eventually. Getting on board the transport ships was one thing, but getting on The Seeker was a real coup for the pirates.
There were murmurs among crew members that clearly indicated a wave of fear and worry running through them, but Jeryl couldn’t allow himself to worry. He needed to take charge now more than ever. This was a bad situation, and he couldn’t let it get any worse.
If he dithered too long, The Seeker would find itself overtaken by pirates. He couldn’t allow his ship to be captured.
Whatever happens, The Seeker won’t be left in the hands of pirates.
Though he couldn’t stop the transport ships from being overtaken, there was still time to save his ship.
Jeryl knew his crew was looking to him for guidance. In his mind, there was only one avenue left to take.
“Prepare the ship for an FTL jump!”
“Are you sure?” Ashley asked.
Though Ashley was busy coordinating the Hunters, she had taken a second to act as a sounding board for Jeryl. He respected her, and she knew that, and she was just making sure the captain was thinking straight in all the chaos.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he said with total clarity.
Jeryl wasn’t happy about it, though. In truth, jumping to FTL was a move of desperation. If he thought they had any other option, he would have gone with it. An FTL jump would mean effectively abandoning the transport ships. No, he sure as hell wasn’t happy about that. Alas, the die had been cast. There was no saving the convoy. The pirates had secured all those ships. It didn’t do anybody any good for Jeryl to let The Seeker have the same fate.
As Ashley instructed the Hunter pilots to return to the ship immediately to prepare for the FTL jump, Jeryl made preparations of his own. There wasn’t a second to spare. The moment Jeryl was informed that the Hunters were back on the ship, he ordered the jump. A few seconds later and The Seeker popped out of existence, folding time and space as it made way to its new coordinates. Jeryl breathed a sigh of relief, and he wasn’t the only one. The Ghost was no longer looming over them. Of course, this also meant the transport ships were now left to defend for themselves.
“Is everybody okay?” Jeryl asked.
Before he could get any answers, though, he realized something was still amiss. It quickly became clear that the attempt to board The Seeker by the pirates had been at least partially successful.
“We’ve got enemies on the ship!”
Jeryl, having identified where the pirates were though the holographic ship’s map, sprang into action. The fight wasn’t over yet.
“Let the pilots and crew know that we have pirates on board that must be disposed of. Tell them to be on high alert. Ashley, you stay here.”
He knew she wouldn’t like being kept in the CNC, but he wasn’t about to let her get in harm’s way. Jeryl, weapon drawn, ran out the CNC doors and headed into the ship to find the pirates. Along the way, he was joined by the pilots, plus a handful of other crew members deft with weaponry. Things were calm, but tense. Then, the first shot rang out, a particle beam hitting the wall right behind Jeryl and leaving a mark.
“There’s over there!” Jeryl exclaimed as he ducked for cover.
He wasn’t sure how many pirates had made it on board. That wasn’t an important detail in the moment. All that mattered was that the crew kept shooting until the return fire stopped.
A shootout between The Seeker’s crew and the pirates, a ragged team of rough men wearing mismatched clothing, ensued. Gun blasts flew as the two sides exchanged volleys. Fortunately, Jeryl and his crew were well-versed in the art of combat, all thanks to the mandated hours in the ship's simulator. Their marksmanship greatly surpassed their pirate trespassers.
“I got one!” Powers exclaimed upon successfully hitting a pirate, his body now sprawled on the corridor ahead.
In time, a few more pirates fell, their cries and grunts of agony making Jeryl wince. He peered around the corner. He could see one pirate left standing. He steadied his trigger finger and got ready to make his move. With one smooth swoop, he swung his body out into the hall and shot. It was a dead-on hit. The pirate crumpled to the floor, dead.
“Is that the last of them?” Guillermo asked.
“I believe so. How is everybody? Was anybody shot?” Jeryl replied.
Fortunately, and perhaps miraculously, none of the crew had been hit. The pirates may have been good at taking a convoy by surprise, but their shooting left a little to be desired. Jeryl exhaled deeply. Things were calm once again.
He returned to the CNC where all eyes turned to him.
“The pirates are all dead. We’re safe,” he assured them.
There was some rejoicing on the crew, but Jeryl didn’t join them. He was glad The Seeker had avoided being captured, but he still couldn’t view the day as anything but a failure.
Their mission had been a failure.
Chapter 9
Admiral Flynn
“Admiral. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”
“How is your crew holding up?” Flynn asked.
“It was a rough experience, but we’re managing,” Jeryl replied, pursing his lips tightly. “What’s really important is where things go from here.”
Flynn didn’t say a word, but he certainly agreed. Something had gone amiss out there in the vast reaches of space. The Seeker had been put in charge of protecting a convoy of transport ships by the Armada. These ships had been finding themselves attacked by pirates, looted, and sometimes lost. This mission was supposed to bring an end to it.
That had not been the case. The Seeker and the convoy had found themselves under attack by total surprise. The transport ships had been lost, and Jeryl was only able to save The Seeker from a similar fate, thanks to an FTL jump. This was a black mark, and Flynn wanted to know what had happened. He needed to get to the bottom of this.
“I need to see the images of the battle,” Flynn remarked.
“Absolutely,” Jeryl replied.
The admiral looked up at the big screen in front of him as Jeryl patched in the recording. The Seeker and the convoy were making their way to Edoris station when suddenly they were inundated with boarding shuttles. It was a true swarm.
“Do you have any idea where those ships came from?” Flynn asked Jeryl.
“I’m afraid not. I was in my quarters when it happened, but by all accounts they were able to sneak up on us. Whoever they are, they’re good.”
Flynn was disheartened to hear it. Not because he blamed the captain for what happened on his ship, but because the idea that so many boarding shuttles could get the drop on a convoy led by somebody with the acumen of Jeryl was worrying. Sitting in silence, he continued to watch the battle unfold before him.
As he watched the Hunters battling with the boarding shuttles, another ship came into view on the screen. Flynn’s eyes were drawn toward the ship as it emerged. For a moment, his eyes were disbelieving. Then, he knew he couldn’t deny what he was seeing.
“Is that…The Ghost?”
“It is indeed,” Jeryl replied.
As The Ghost began looming over everything else on the screen, the admiral’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He never expected to see it again. Now, not only was he seeing it, he was watching it partake in a battle with The Seeker and an Armada convoy.
The Ghost's reputation proceeded it. It began its life as an Intelligence ship helmed by Captain Kaine Reed. Many, in fact most, didn’t even know it existed. The Ghost existed to perform covert operations for the Armada. Kaine took his ship behind enemy lines on numerous occasions during the Earth-Sonali War—the perfect operative commandeering the perfect ship.
The Ghost made dozens of excursions in secret, and during the process the Armada made a tremendous dent against the Sonali. It had been one of the greatest death dealers of the entire war. Few, if any, ships of the Armada were deadlier than The Ghost, and Kaine had been deeply revered for his acumen as a captain. That, of course, until someone got wind of a few covert operations and leaked it to the media. After that, the Armada simply allowed Kaine’s name to be dragged through the mud. Flynn didn’t care—he still admired the dead captain.
If only…Flynn thought to himself. If only Kaine hadn’t died during the war.
He still remembered the tales. The Ghost and The Seeker were both involved in a battle against the Sonali where The Ghost was destroyed and its captain was killed. Jeryl was able to escape physically, but in truth he had never escaped mentally.
The admiral looked over at Jeryl who was standing next to him, reliving the battle as the images unfolded before them.
Poor guy, Flynn thought, he still blames himself for Kaine’s death.
The admiral knew that Kaine and Jeryl had been like brothers. They were inseparable. Jeryl would likely never forgive himself. Flynn believed he was being too hard on himself, but there was no point on arguing the matter. Jeryl would never be convinced otherwise, – the man was that stubborn.
The two men finished watching the battle. The Ghost had completely changed the landscape of the scene. Once it arrived, The Seeker was at a clear disadvantage. The ship went into an FTL jump and the replay of the battle stopped. Both men stood silent. They needed time to process what they had seen. Not so much on the clash; after all, they both had seen plenty of battles. It was The Ghost that had shaken them up.
Flynn turned to Jeryl and asked, “So you were able to escape safely?”
“Yes. A few pirates were able to board us, but they were shot dead.”
“So you suffered no casualties? That’s fortunate.”
“That’s true, Admiral…but we did have to abandon the convoy.”
Flynn turned and paced across the floor, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Indeed, and it’s far from the first one that we’ve lost. However, at least you were able to find out what has been happening. We know that The Ghost is involved. It must’ve been salvaged by these pirates.”
“That is what I assumed,” Jeryl replied.
Flynn still couldn’t believe that The Ghost was, perhaps fittingly, back from the dead. To see the once-venerated Intelligence ship of the Armada being used to perform acts of piracy was sickening. However, that just made him even more determined to vanquish these pirates. The good name of the Ghost would not be sullied.
He turned and faced Jeryl with steely determination.
“One thing is for certain, Jeryl. The Armada is going to have to get to the bottom of this. We must absolutely figure this out and solve the problem.”
“I agree wholeheartedly, Admiral.”
Flynn turned toward the screen and put an image of the The Ghost back on it. It was chilling.
“It’s not merely a matter of protecting these transport ships. The fact that The Ghost is being used in these pirate operations is what makes this matter so pressing. We cannot have a TUS going around leading pirate raids, particularly when they’re directed toward the Armada.”
Jeryl strolled over next to Flynn and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, both of their eyes transfixed by the old Armada ship they were both deeply familiar with.
“It’s not just leading these operations…it’s succeeding,” Jeryl noted.
“Absolutely, Captain. The fact one of our own ships has been taken over by pirates and used to undermine us will frankly be taken as a sign of weakness by all other races. The Union can’t absolutely have that. It will be a black mark on all of us, not to mention a threat to our security.”
With that, Flynn looked over at Jeryl.
“Are you up for this?” he asked.
The subtext of this statement was clear if unspoken. The admiral wasn’t questioning Jeryl’s abilities as a captain. He knew that, under most circumstances, there was nobody who he trusted more. However, the fact that The Ghost was involved was a reason for concern. Would Jeryl’s remorse over Kaine’s death cloud his mind? He had enough trouble dealing with the events of the Earth-Sonali War that led to his friend’s demise as is, but having to face down Kaine’s old ship could be a step too far.
If it was, Jeryl wasn’t tipping his hand.
“I’m more than ready for this, sir.”
“Good. We need to get this situation under control as soon as possible. We need to find out what has happened to the The Ghost and who’s controlling it now. For the sake of the Union, we must settle this matter swiftly,” Flynn said with a nod.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” Jeryl replied. “No matter what, I’ll do it.”
One way or another, you’re going to have to, Flynn thought to himself. However, he didn’t relay these words to the captain.
“What’s the next move?” Jeryl asked.
Flynn thought for a moment, but realized this was not a time for rash decisions, noting, “I’m not sure yet. I need time to think it over. Once I have a plan, I’ll be sure to let you know. For now, you’re dismissed.”
Jeryl saluted the admiral, who returned the salute.
As the captain left, Flynn turned once more toward the images of the battle, and those of The Ghost.
I’m not going to let this be the end of your legacy, he vowed. Not on my watch.
Chapter 10
Ashley
Two days after landing at Edoris Station, Ashley finally convinced Jeryl to spend some time away from work. She managed to talk him into meeting her at Mikey’s, a local bar that served some fantastic Oriental food with a Hawaiian flare. The bar was quiet at the moment; only a few other patrons were there, enjoying each other’s company.
“Who are you waiting for, sweetheart?”
Ashley, who had been leaning against the bar and enjoying the quiet and the cool air conditioning, turned around and looked at the bartender. A tall, well-built young man with slicked-back hair and a well-kept goatee flashed her a smile as he refilled her peanut bowl.
Smiling back, she snagged a couple of peanuts and popped one in her mouth. “My husband is meeting me here in just a few.”
He hid his disappointment well as she ordered a whiskey and a beer for Jeryl and a refill of her soda. “Well, if you need anything, my name’s Leo and our cook tonight is Donnie. Anything you’re hungry for, he can make it.”
“Thanks.” She turned back around and waited for Jeryl. A few minutes passed, and Leo must have turned up the radio. An old, twentieth century guitar riff came on, and she recognized it as Clapton’s Crossfire. It brought back memories of her childhood, sitting with her father as he played old jazz, rock, or soul music as he taught her how to field dress a rifle: taking it apart, cleaning it, and putting it back together. Involuntarily, her hands started moving, just slightly, as if she were repeating her father’s actions.
“Field dressing a rifle, Commander?”
Breaking out of her reverie, Ashley looked up to see Tira standing next to her, smiling. Ashley tilted her head, indicating the music in the background. “The song brought back some memories of when I was younger. So, what brought you here tonight?” Looking past Tira, Ashley saw a few of the younger officers getting a table and motioning for her to join them.
Tira turned to them, smiled, and then looked back at Ashley. “We’re just having some fun out tonight. A couple of them want to drink me under the table, or at least see if they can. Honestly though, I was hoping the other bartender was working tonight,” she said as Leo came up to them. “Hey, Leo. Can I get three pitchers of beer and a dozen shots of the oldest scotch you got under the counter?”
“Sure thing. Start a tab?”
“Yeah, I’ll end up paying it with their money tonight, anyway.”
He walked away laughing, tossing a few glasses into the air, catching them, and putting them on a platter as he did.
“You were saying something about another bartender?”
Tira smiled an innocent and almost embarrassed smile. “Yeah, he’s a slightly older guy named Ralph. Don’t know why, but that man’s bald head draws me in like a moth to a flame.”
“Oh. My. God. You’re such a girl.”
Tira shot Ashley a look and they both burst out laughing. It felt good to laugh again, especially after losing the convoy to a ship that shouldn’t exist anymore. “Go, enjoy taking their money.”
“I will, ma’am. You enjoy your evening too. Captain should be here in a few minutes.” Tira saw Ashley’s confused look and added, “Saw him coming this way, then he got stopped by a couple of the station engineers. We passed him on the way over.”
Leo interrupted anything Ashley was going to say by setting down their drinks. Smiling at Ashley, Tira grabbed the tray and headed over to the corner where the other officers were waiting for her. She watched as they took the drinks, downing the shots, and laughing as one of the younger guys started coughing. The innocence and immortality of youth brought warm feelings as Ashley shook her head.
“And to think, we used to be that stupid,” Jeryl said as he kissed her on the cheek. “Hey, beautiful.”
Ashley looked at her husband and fell in love with him all over again. There was nothing special going on, he wasn’t dressed up nice, he wasn’t trying hard, he just…was. He was the kind of man that used cheesy lines that made her smile—and which, in turn, made him smile a genuine smile of enjoyment for the moment. “Hey, baby. Everything okay with the engineers you ran into?”
“Engi…how did…Tira?”
“Yep.”
He chuckled. “Things are good. They were just telling me how things were going and had a question on whether or not we wanted to convert one of the shuttle bays into a second flight deck for more Hunters.”
“What did you say?”
“It’s not up to me. I’d like a bigger fleet of Hunters, but it’s up to Flynn and the rest of the higher ups. Hey, let’s go to a table.” He picked up his drinks and took her to a corner table where they could see the whole bar. Waving Leo over, he ordered them both a cheeseburger with fries and barbecue sauce, Ashley’s choice of condiment for meat and bread.
“Speaking of Flynn, any word on what they want us to do next?” Ashley asked as she sipped at her soda. She was feeling a bit queasy, but the soda was helping.
“Not yet. I’m not completely sure what the plan is going to be, but I’m pretty sure we’re going to be precisely in the middle of it, and we probably won’t like it either.” He looked past Ashley and started laughing. Ashley turned around and saw that Tira was arm wrestling the others and making them look bad in the process. Their little corner was raucous, but not obnoxiously so. “They’re having too much fun—gotta love it.”
“Yeah. Are you okay? You look a little…distracted or something,” Ashley said with a concerned look.
“Huh?”
Ashley could tell that there was just too much going on in his mind. She reached across the table and took a hold of his hands. He flashed a sweet smile and tried to look in control. “Just…a lot on my mind. Guess I’m letting it show, huh?”
“A little. Hey, I love you, you know that, right?”
Jeryl squeezed Ashley’s hands. “Of course, baby. I love you too.” They let go of each other as Leo brought their food. “That was quick.”
Leo chuckled. “That’s Donnie’s specialty, he can get you a Thanksgiving dinner in less than thirty minutes, and it’ll be fully cooked with all the trimmings. Enjoy the food, guys.”
“This is good,” Ashley mumbled through a mouthful of fries. Jeryl laughed and poured some sauce on her plate for her. She nodded her thanks, picked up her cheeseburger, dipped it in the sauce and took a big bite of it. She moaned in pleasure and nodded appreciatively at her burger, taking another bite before finishing the first. A few minutes of later, Ashley washed down the last of her burger with her freshly refilled soda.
“Hey,” she said between swallows. “What are we gonna do?”
“About what?” Jeryl asked, taking a bite from his own burger.
“About the baby. And us? My belly’s gonna start showing soon, and…as cool as it is to be in space, do we really want a baby growing up out here?”
“Honestly? I’m thinking we retire after this.”
Ashley spat the few drops of soda she had just drank back into her glass. “What?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s like what you said. We get to travel the cosmos, see things that no one else gets to see, experience amazing things, even fly in crazy-ass ships,” he said with a little snicker in her direction. “But, the idea of trying to raise a family on a starship? I know some people might do it, but…as much as I love The Seeker, I love you and shmumkins more.”
She lifted her eyebrow as she gave him the look. “Shmumkins?”
“Well, don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet, so can’t give the baby a name.”
“But, shmumkins? You couldn’t go with ‘tiny’, or ‘rugrat’?”
“I was trying something different.”
“No kidding. You would really consider retiring?”
“If they don’t give us desk jobs back home.”
She was speechless. This man—this adorable man that stole her heart during an incredible weekend of sex and even more sex—loved being a Captain, loved his ship, and loved his job. He was willing to give it all up to be a family man tied down to a single planet and a single place. She got up from her chair, moved over next to him, grabbed his face, and kissed him passionately. The moment was perfect. Even when Tira and the other officers started whooping it up and cheering them on, it was perfect.
Then, Jeryl’s communicator went off. They broke their kiss very reluctantly. Jeryl looked at his comm, then showed it to Ashley.
It was from Flynn.
Chapter 11
Tira
For the first three minutes of being alone in the space shuttle, Tira found herself bedazzled by the many blinking lights. Space was cold, as was the shuttle. It sat on the deck of The Seeker, purring like a kitten and ready for flight.
Tira could see the flight deck from the pilot’s seat. Flight engineers scurried across the vast deck, carrying equipment from shuttle to shuttle. Some patrolling Hunters were just flying in through the main blast doors, which were wide open like a mammoth’s maw; the only thing keeping them from all being sucked out into the void of space was the shimmering containment field.
The crackle of the shuttle’s communicator brought Tira out of her reverie.
“We’re in orbit, Tira,” the slightly stifled voice said. “The Captain and the Commander are on their way to you.”
“Roger that,” Tira replied. “The shuttle is prepped and ready for departure. Over and out.”
Tira ran through her preflight checklist again with silent deftness. Her hands played across the multiple switches and buttons, never for once breaking in pattern. It was as though she had become one with the shuttle.
She knew she could fly the shuttle—and pretty much everything flyable—with her eyes closed. She was that good, which was why everyone aboard The Seeker liked her.
Tira nodded satisfyingly to herself—she was being efficient and she knew it.
The hiss of the shuttle door opening and a slight gust of wind escaping into the shuttle announced the entrance of Jeryl and Ashley.
“—not so sure it’s going to work,” Ashley was saying as they both strode up the ramp of the shuttle.
“We have to try,” Jeryl replied. “It’s either this or nothing.”
Ashley didn’t follow that response with an immediate comeback.
“Nothing doesn’t sound good,” she then replied a few seconds later.
Another hiss from behind informed Tira that the couple had cleared the entrance and the automated shuttle door had closed itself.
Tira was just about to stand up when Jeryl said, “Remain seated, Tira. Lift off when ready.”
This was all Jeryl said before he went back to conversing to Ashley. “Damn right it’s not. I don’t like it. I mean we practically hunted these guys from one corner of the galaxy to the other.”
Ashley’s voice came back with a little bit of frustration. Tira wasn’t sure if it was the subject of discourse that upset her, or the seat strap she was struggling with.
“Doesn’t sound fair that we should—help me with this damn thing,” Ashley said in an irritated voice.
“Hold on…” Jeryl replied.
Tira turned her attention back to the controls.
This mission Admiral Flynn had assigned them was supposed to be under wraps, so they couldn’t take a shuttle pilot. Thankfully, Tira was a damn good pilot. Ashley was herself, but she was pregnant.
“Shuttle One to Flight Command,” Tira said into her comms as she fired off the main engines. “Permission to take off.”
The familiar crackle of static followed before it cleared and the voice of the flight commander came through. “Permission granted, Shuttle One. Bring our Captain back in one piece.”
Tira indulged a soft chuckle. “Will do, Flight Commander. Shuttle One out.”
Tira cocked her head a little so she could see Ashley and Jeryl in her periphery. Jeryl had just finished strapping Ashley in and was now getting into his seat. From this angle, Tira looked at Ashley’s abdomen. Even though she knew the pregnancy was making things a bit tense between the couple, she couldn’t help but notice how at ease they were with each other. Had they come to terms with it?
Duty or family? Tira shivered at the choice. Duty or love? She wasn’t sure which she would choose. She had a compelling reason to choose duty, yet didn’t she have a duty to the ones she loved?
Tira began to observe Jeryl with a different eye. The legendary captain was faced with an impossible situation. She could see it tearing him up inside—she was very perceptible that way. Though Jeryl had faced many impossible situations before, this one was different. He wasn’t facing a rogue nation or trying to stop a civil war. He was facing…family.
The fact that he was conflicted by this softened Tira’s heart. She knew many captains who wouldn’t give two shits about family. Captain Montgomery was different.
Tira felt a slight frown come on her face. Different isn’t always good, she thought to herself.
“We’ve been cleared for takeoff, Captain,” Tira all but whispered, humbled by the two people with her in the shuttle.
Jeryl strapped himself right in, flashed Ashley a smile, and said, “Takeoff.”
Tira had the shuttle rocketing out the flight deck seconds later. The inertia dampener whined aloud as she performed a sharp ninety degrees drop to the planet beneath. The gravity generator compensated for the sudden drop, keeping everyone grounded.
The planet loomed before her, a giant dusty brown speck orbiting a type C nebula in the far reaches of the Union. There was little if any Terran Armada presence on the planet. It was one of those hideouts smugglers used to lay low or get killed in. It was called Smuggler’s Cave in the underworld, but in Terran Union database, it was known as Planet C4.
So goddamn insignificant it doesn’t even get a name, Tira observed as she piloted the shuttle through a narrow rocky gulley on the dark side of the planet. I guess no one wants to be known for naming a planet where some of the most heinous crimes are planned and executed.
A feeling of wariness sneaked up Tira’s spine as the gulley opened up to a massive valley, where a large city lay sprawling from edge to edge. It had all the whistles and bells of a modern city, twinkling with a thousand lights and billboards and neon signs, yet it was clothed in immorality and dipped in crime.
Smuggler’s Cave, death’s safe haven.
Tira ignored hails from the small space port nested in the center of the city and set the shuttle right in the back of a small ramshackle one-story building at the edge of the city.
As she powered down the shuttle and activated its security feature, she felt tension gripping her frame.
No one said anything while they armed themselves. They ensured that their weapons were well secreted before they left the shuttle and walked around the building, making a beeline for a small and dirty bar.
“Follow my cue,” Jeryl whispered to them. He led them into the seedy bar. Ashley followed, and Tira brought up the rear.
Tira’s eyes roamed the large, stuffy space, taking everything in and mapping it out in case things got…uncomfortable.
There was only one entry and one exit, both guarded by two bouncers. The exit led to the back of the building where their shuttle was parked. A tiny door in the corner concealed a stairwell leading upstairs.
The exit led to the back of the building where their shuttle was parked.
About fifty people were packed into the bar, all of whom looked deadly enough to make Tira uneasy. She might have defeated Powers and Guillermo the other day, but she wasn’t crazy enough to think she could enter a brawl inside this place.
They took up position at a table that was out of the way. No one paid them any heed.
Probably can’t think through the loud music, Tira thought.
A waiter came next to them to take their orders.
While Jeryl and Tira ordered scotch, Ashley ordered a glass of water.
As soon as the waiter left, trouble struck fast.
“What, too good to drink like the rest of us?” a voice boomed over their heads.
At first, they all kept quiet, unsure if the voice was meant for them. But then, a burly fellow shot up to his feet right at the table next to theirs. His chair crashed to the ground so hard that the entire bar was brought to a standstill.
The outrageously loud music suddenly ceased.
“Hey lady, I’m talking to you!” the burly man exclaimed.
They all glanced in his direction.
Uh oh, Tira thought.
Still, no one replied. Tira supposed they were too shocked to realize that they were being dragged into a fight.
The burly man took a step towards Ashley, and almost immediately, Tira and Jeryl were on their feet.
Tira was putting herself between the burly man and Ashley before she knew what she was doing.
“We don’t want any trouble, sir,” Tira heard herself say.
The burly man burst into laughter, and a few of his cronies joined him.
“Trouble?” he replied. “Well, trouble already found you, bitch!”
And then, he lashed out.
Tira was at fault, she knew it. She had underestimated him. He was fat—too fat for it to be considered legal. He was potbellied and had a lot of flabby fat coating his arms and legs; he wore shorts and a singlet. He certainly didn’t look like the athletic type, nor did he sound like one. He couldn’t possibly move fast enough.
Wrong!
The fist smashed into her right cheek, the force of impact throwing her to the side like she weighed nothing. She landed on another table, breaking it into pieces immediately.
Tira hung on the edge of consciousness, the following events sounding like a distant blur. Her vision swarmed and her mind tried to process the fiery pain lighting up her right side.
She moaned, the salty taste of blood stinging her tongue.
“Stay back, sir,” she heard Jeryl say along with the distinct click of a gun. “We don’t want to fight.”
Tira struggled with herself, pulling her body out of the wreck until she was on her knees. She swallowed hard as pain shot through her right leg which had borne the brunt of the impact.
“He has a gun!” the man bellowed in mock fear before he descended into another bout of laughter. His cronies laughed along.
Anger exploded in Tira’s belly. She threw herself to her feet. Like a rushing wall, a wave of nausea slammed into her.
Tira staggered back, reaching out for a purchase to steady herself, but instead landing her hand on another human being.
The man slapped her hand off. “Get your hand off me, you niffy little swine.”
Tira’s first instinct was to punch the man in the face, but she had a bigger fish to fry. She noticed that the burly fellow hadn’t taken another step in Ashley or Jeryl’s direction. She also saw that all eyes were on the unfolding situation. The waiter with the water and scotch was also hanging back, unsure of what to do.
The bouncers remained at their stations, though they watched with wariness.
Fine, Tira thought. I guess I’ll just have to stop them myself.
“Last warning, Fat Joe!” Tira yelled, drawing attention to her approach.
“What are you doing?” Jeryl whispered as she passed by him.
“Following your cue, sir,” she replied.
She crossed no man’s land and stood right in front of the burly man.
“Does it give you a kick, huh?” she whispered into his face. “Hitting women in the face?”
She could see the remark hitting home, with the smirk disappearing from his face.
“I’ll do it again and again, if that’s what it takes,” he retorted through clenched teeth.
Tira’s mock laughter echoed through the silence. “You can only try.”
She saw it before it came: the twitch of his right lips that heralded his left hand flying for her abdomen. She leaped out of the way, though not before landing her palm against his right cheek.
The clap of the slap carried through the entire room, a sweep of murmurs resulting and tracing itself from one side of the bar to the other. Fat Joe fell to his knees, momentarily dazed. His crew were now on their feet, just like Tira wanted it.
If we’re going to fight, might as well get it over with, Tira thought. She hoped as hell that the entire bar didn’t turn on them. As for five silly drunk customers, she was pretty confident they could handle it.
“That’s for hitting a woman,” Tira said in the silence that followed. “Apparently, your wench of a mother didn’t teach you that.”
Fat Joe screamed in rage and lurched in her direction, but Tira was ready. She sidestepped the attack, striking his right temple with her fist. The attack threw him off course and he barreled right into an adjacent table.
Tira dodged a punch from another assailant just in time. She followed through with a fist to the abdomen. The scrawny man went down, gasping for breath.
Tira retreated to Jeryl and Ashley, who was now standing, as the rest of the crew formed a loose circle around them. Fat Joe was recovering and cursing loudly. In the corner of her eyes, Tira could see some others standing to join the fight, and she was pretty sure they weren’t going to be fighting for her.
It was at times like this when Tira wished she could just say ‘Scotty, three to beam!’ like in the old stories.
All she could say now was ‘Shit!’
She wasn’t exactly afraid, but what good would come out of a situation like this?
Tira drew her weapon and aimed it at Fat Joe, while Ashley and Jeryl aimed elsewhere.
“There’s no way this is ending well,” Jeryl whispered.
Fat Joe was already standing by now. A trickle of blood had pulled out of his right nostril and was halfway to his upper lip. He didn’t look so good.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you,” he said, eyeing Tira.
At that moment, a shadow cordoned by a shaft of light fell on the man and a few of his crew.
“Enough!” a voice that Tira had never heard before said.
They all turned to see a man in the open doorway. He stood silhouetted by the flood of light from outlying buildings.
Tira noted the look of terror that appeared on Fat Joe.
“This is no concern of yours, pirate,” Fat Joe plucked up the courage to say.
The man walked right past Tira and company to the burly man. “They’re here to see me, Steve,” he said, loud enough for the rest of the bar to hear him. “So it’s all of my concern.”
“I didn’t know,” Steve a.k.a Fat Joe replied, anger bristling all over his body.
“Fuck off,” the man replied with a hiss.
Steve cowered at that command. He and his crew walked out of the bar within seconds.
Before long, the bar returned to its usual tempo: loud music, dancing people, and roving waiters. The man had doused the tension with a simple command, and Tira was enthralled.
Once they were back on their table with the new entrant sitting with them, Jeryl looked at Tira and Ashley and said, “Meet Jeremy Black, Captain of the White Silk.”
Chapter 12
Jeryl
“Thanks for the save, Jeremy,” Jeryl said after introducing Ashley and Tira to their contact.
Nodding at the ladies, Jeremy turned his attention to Jeryl, with an additional glance or two at Tira. “No problem, Captain. What set that off?”
Ashley answered as she grabbed the water the waiter had set down. “This.”
“A glass of water set Steve off?”
Jeremy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and grinning.
“Apparently,” Ashley replied with a shrug.
Shaking his head, Jeremy got the attention of the bartender and used three fingers to indicate his table. Then, he turned his attention to Tira. “And I’m guessing you needed to prove yourself the bigger person?”
Jeryl put his hand on Tira’s shoulder, keeping her in her seat. Jeremy was only playing with her, he didn’t need her to go off on their contact. “You mind if we get down to business?”
Jeremy nodded, showing only the slightest bit of disappointment. “What did you need?”
“Information, and maybe some help,” Jeryl said. The bartender came back, bringing three glasses and a bottle, as well as a small bucket of peanuts.
Jeremy handed out the glasses, popped the cork on the bottle, and poured Jeryl, Tira, and himself a three-quarter glass of what was inside. “I see…information.” He sipped at his drink, letting out a satisfied sigh after swallowing.
Jeryl sniffed his drink and sipped at it. It was the absolute best brandy he had ever tasted. “We need to know about...”
“The Ghost, right? The Union’s sword has come back to bite you all in the ass, huh?”
“So, you know?”
“I know a lot of things,” Jeremy shrugged. “But you shouldn’t be asking about The Ghost. Not yet. You should be asking about the Syndicate.”
“The Syndicate?” It didn’t make any sense. Was Jeremy implying that the Syndicate, one of the oldest criminal organizations, operating in both Confederation and Union space, was behind the attacks? They were cunning and ruthlessly efficient, and so they had always steered away from a conflict with the military. What had changed?
“The Syndicate,” Jeremy nodded. “A few months back, six, maybe seven, things started to change for them.”
“Change how, exactly?” Ashley asked as she cracked open a peanut.
Reaching over and grabbing a handful of nuts, Jeremy answered. “It started off a little small. A few members, lowly little lieutenants you could say, started disappearing. Their bodies would be found a few days or weeks later, badly beaten and mangled. After a few of them were found, some more powerful members vanished, and their crews began taking orders from someone else. About four months ago, the Syndicate had a new boss and they began running things differently, much more coordinated.” Jeremy popped a few peanuts in his mouth and added, “They’ve gotten deadlier as well. They leave people that they used to just intimidate bloody and broken. And they’ve started expanding their list of operations, as you know, graduating from punching civilians to shooting Armada captains.”
As Jeremy told them this, Jeryl was looking around the bar. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them.
Guess no one cares what happens here.
“Any idea who’s in charge now?” Jeryl asked, taking another sip of his drink.
Jeremy tossed a peanut in the air and caught it in his mouth, then shook his head. “No. We’re not sure who runs the show exactly. Some say he’s Tyreesian, some say he’s Sonali, no one knows. There are rumors that he could be Irivani, or even a Kurta reject.” He drained his glass and poured himself another one. “Personally, I couldn’t care less what he is, as long as he doesn’t get involved in my business. I just want to know who he is, so I know who I’m doing business with.”
Tira’s hand dropped to her laser pistol. “You work for the Syndicate?”
Shaking his head, Jeremy flashed her a smile. “No, I don’t work for the Syndicate. I have been known to do business with the Syndicate, but it’s usually so I get to keep my ship and stay on their good side. Trust me, sweetheart, you don’t want to have the Syndicate pissed off at you, not with their new power structure.”
Jeryl sat back and thought about what Jeremy said. It made sense, as most criminal organizations underwent a hostile takeover at times. Hell, Earth’s history was full of stories like that. But who was this new boss that had changed things so much?
“And what does this have to do with The Ghost?”
“The new boss…he’s The Ghost’s captain.”
All the blood drained from Jeryl’s face, and he could see Ashley’s face go pale as well. Tira simply sat there with her drink in her hand, her jaw dropped to the floor.
Jeremy chuckled half-heartedly. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’re surprised.”
The trio’s faces remained head blank, and Jeremy chuckled some more and downed another glass of brandy. Refilling his glass again, he sat back and watched them.
Jeryl’s mind raced. The Ghost. The ship that had almost destroyed them a few days ago, a ship that should have been destroyed years ago, was captained by the new leader of the Syndicate. It was one the most powerful ships in the galaxy, and now it was in the hands of the Syndicate…an organization that was raiding Terran convoys and stealing technology and weapons.
If The Ghost had been lost to the Sonali towards the end of the war, it made sense that the new captain was a Sonali—unless the Sonali had either sold it or left it to float in space and someone else commandeered it.
A chilling thought crossed Jeryl’s mind—if The Ghost had survived, which it had, what about the information left behind on its computer systems? That meant that the Syndicate now had access to Union files.
Jeremy’s smile faded, and he leaned forward. “This new boss is ruthless, and he delegates jobs out to his most trusted people. I happen to know one of those people.”
That brought Jeryl’s concentration back to the moment.
“That’s what we were hoping for. We were hoping you could get one of ours in for a meet-and-greet,” he said, looking at Tira.
Jeremy looked Tira up and down again and grimaced. “She’s too pretty.”
Tira coughed on her brandy. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat and stared daggers at Jeremy. “What do you mean ‘she’s too pretty’?”
“Think about it. Look around here. Do you see anyone, other than myself of course, that looks even half as good as you, or anyone at this table? No, no you don’t. I’ll tell you why. Working as a pirate, especially out here in the boondocks of space, isn’t the type of work for people that are pretty.”
“You do it.” 	“I’m different. I don’t get along well with organized authority, so I try to get along with disorganized authority instead.”
“That makes so little sense, I actually understood it,” Ashley said.
Tira wasn’t having it. “So how in the hell am I too pretty to be a pirate?”
Jeremy let out a massive sigh and shook his head. “You look like you’ve had a good life, and that you’re not screwed up enough to be down here with us losers.”
“Then we use that. I could say that people thought I was ‘too pretty’ to be taken seriously, so I’m leaving the Union. I can claim to have information they could use.”
Rubbing his chin, Jeremy stared at Tira for a second before turning to Jeryl. “You really think she could do it?”
“That’s why she’s here.”
“Fine. I know someone. There’s a delivery coming in tonight a few miles east of here. As a matter of fact, I think it’s from that convoy you lost.”
Jeryl’s eyes went wide. How did Jeremy know about that?
Jeremy smiled and held up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy, you’re dealing with a pirate, remember? Word travels fast in our circle. It only took a few hours for news of your convoy getting hit, and the infamous The Seeker being jacked up, to make the rounds.”
“Shit. As you were saying?”
“Yeah. A…let’s say, buddy of mine, is delivering those stolen weapons to a warehouse just east of here. Word has it that The Ghost’s captain is going to be there, overseeing the delivery.”
“Okay. You’re sure you can get her in?” Jeryl asked as he finished off his drink.
“As easy as walking into this bar, she just has to make sure that she’s convincing,” Jeremy answered, leaning back.
Tira leaned back in her chair, imitating Jeremy. “I think I can handle it.”
Jeremy chuckled. “Fine. Since it’s early and we have a few hours, how about we eat? This place doesn’t look clean, but they got some good food, if you don’t mind clogging an artery or three.”
They agreed to eat, letting Jeremy order for them. Jeryl ordered a beer and thought about what they had learned during the conversation.
The Ghost was now the lead ship in a criminal organization. Whoever was her captain had taken over the Syndicate with brute force, had access to The Ghost’s computers and hard drives, somehow knew when the convoys were running, and was doing everything within Union space. And now, he was about to send one of his own into the fray, not sure if she’d even be accepted into their ranks.
He knew Tira could handle herself, and that he’d be ready and waiting with a squad of soldiers to bail her out, but he was still worried. What if they got there late? What if he didn’t bring enough people? What if this was a trap and that Jeremy had gone bad? Too much was riding on this, but his contact said that Jeremy could be trusted. He was a good man, a bit unorthodox in his dealings, but that he could be trusted.
Jeryl shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had to take the risk and to use Tira in this way. Too much was riding on making sure that the Syndicate was stopped, or at least slowed down, and that the Union convoys weren’t hit anymore.
And, most of all, Jeryl didn’t want The Ghost in the hands of criminals.
Don’t worry, man, he thought to himself, his mind drifting to memories of Kaine, I’ll get your ship back.
Chapter 13
Tira
Tira looked from Jeremy to Jeryl with dread.
Is this a good idea? She wondered. But then a second later, she decided, Oh yeah, bring it on, with an inner grin.
The food was greasy and overcooked, but her three companions ate it like it was the best meal in the universe. Tira only picked at it—whatever—it was and decided she wasn’t hungry anyway.
Still fuming at the ‘too pretty’ remark, she spent the rest of the meal glaring at an oblivious Jeremy. He and Ashley were chatting about the baby and she had his full attention. Jeryl gave her sideways glances every once in a while—a warning to keep her temper, no doubt. She ignored those looks but knew he meant business if she screwed up. Taking a healthy swig, Tira turned her attention from Jeremy to the rest of the bar. It was her job to look out for trouble, after all.
She couldn’t help it. Her attention was drawn back to the pirate as she finally determined what grated on her so much. He was quick to smile and gush over Ashley’s pregnancy. He was friendly and charming.
It was an act and Tira wasn’t fooled. She had seen his type before. He came off as both charming and condescending, but underneath there was a layer of darkness. He wanted to be underestimated. Having used the same tactic, she would have recognized it right away if she hadn’t been seething over his flippant remarks. She now understood just how dangerous he was.
Loud drunken laughter filled the place, along with the occasional off-key belting of a song. Tira’s head spun. She drank while the others ate and put away more than both men. Shaking her intoxicated head, she stood.
“I’m just below hangover level. I better get some sleep before we do this,” she said and wandered off without giving them a chance to answer.
***
Dammit. For once, I wish I bruised easy, Tira thought as she stared in the mirror. Not a trace from last night’s fight remained. Jeremy was mostly right. She wasn’t beautiful by anyone’s standards, but her features were much too soft to be convincing.
She took a deep breath, stepped to the side, and slammed her face into the wall. Biting back the pain, she looked into the mirror.
Both eyes started to blacken, her nose pointed the wrong way, and blood ran down her chin from a split bottom lip.
Maybe I overdid it. Nah.
With one more deep breath to brace herself, she slammed both fists into the wall and winced as she watched her knuckles swell.
Once the pain subsided, she gave a satisfied nod and rushed out to meet the captain’s pet smuggler.
“You look like shit. It’s this way,” Jeremy said.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, you ass.” She hadn’t been quite below hangover level. That, combined with the self-inflicted injuries, made for a bad mood.
They took a right down a corridor that was lit with only auxiliary lights. They gave the ominous glow of a horror movie. It was the perfect stage for a double-cross.
“No monkey business,” Tira warned.
Jeremy chuckled, “You think I’ve come this far to make an enemy of Jeryl Montgomery?”
“You don’t seem the type to get roped into political maneuvers.” In fact, Tira pegged him for the kind who waited for the dust to settle so he could rob everybody.
“And you don’t seem the type to go undercover.”
“Oh? What type am I?” This should be good.
“Straight military. Guns out, ready to shoot anyone who gives you shit and beat answers out of anyone unwilling to talk.”
“Fair enough. I’ve done my share of that. Let’s just say I’m flexible.”
Jeremy shot her an incredulous look. He didn’t buy it. Tira scowled in irritation, She hated working with someone she didn’t know. Jeremy was quick to make assumptions about her as if they were old friends. Why did it bother her so much when that was the impression she wanted to leave with strangers? Although times had progressed, a woman in the military had to work twice as hard to prove herself. That was something this pretty boy would never understand.
She caught the way he deflected the conversation away from him.
Okay, so we don’t talk about you. That could be a fun challenge to work on later.
They rounded another dimly lit corner. Only small storage facilities lined this area and the auxiliary lights saved on power. The two had to bypass hundreds of those before they gave way to the large warehouses.
The place gave Tira the creeps. The more they walked, the more she felt eyes on her. Something was wrong here. She chalked it up to needless paranoia at first, but she trusted her gut.
A door on either side slid open. Two shadowed figures barreled out, knocking both of them down at once. Tira was on her feet in a lightning fast kick-up, ending in a left hook that slammed her attacker against the wall. Jeremy had risen to his knees and sucker punched his man in the groin. The guy groaned and doubled over, leaving him at perfect height for a straight punch to the nose. The attacker fell over, still groaning.
Movement behind Tira almost went unnoticed while she was distracted. She was too late and he kicked her behind the knee, making her drop to the floor again. He landed another kick to her stomach. The wind was knocked out of her and she retched. The figure of Jeremy flew over her as he tackled her assailant. She rolled the opposite direction and struggled to her feet, clutching her stomach. Two seconds later, she caught her breath and looked down. The first attacker had begun to stir. Tira gave him a kick to the head. He went still but kept breathing.
Dammit.
Panting, Jeremy and Tira looked at each other.
“What the fuck was that about?” Tira asked.
Jeremy shrugged, “Mugging, probably.”
Tira didn’t buy it. She saw the glimmer of recognition in his eyes. He not only knew who they were, but why they attacked.
He reached into the pockets of his leather jacket. When he pulled his hands out, he had what looked like a set of brass knuckles on each.
“Don’t you think we’ve done enough damage?” Tira looked at his hands incredulously.
“This is something different.”
Tira’s attacker was slumped against the wall. Jeremy pulled his hair, yanking his head forward. He gently tapped the base of the guy’s skull, who jerked slightly. Jeremy pulled away to move to the prone bastard on the floor, rolled him to his side, and did the same thing. Pushing a tiny button to power down the accessories, he put them back in his pocket and looked pointedly at Tira.
“They won’t remember us. No one knows about these but me.”
Tira held up her hand in surrender, “What do you think I am, a gossipy housewife?”
Jeremy studied her a second. Then, he nodded, deciding that she was telling the truth, and grabbed the first attacker. He dug him back into the storage unit. Tira took the hint and dragged the other man into the opposite storage unit.
“They’ll be out a while,” Jeremy affirmed.
They continued their trek to the warehouse sector.
“So, why don’t all your crew to get one of those nifty toys?” Tira asked to break the silence. She was more nervous than she would ever let on. If she wasn’t convincing, they would die.
“They were a prototype that never took off. I happened to get hold of the schematics. Call it an insurance policy.” He tilted his head, indicating the two unconscious men behind them.
“Obviously, they were there specifically for us. They’re gonna figure it out.”
“Yeah, but with a two-minute chunk of memory gone, they won’t know if they found us or something worse. All they know is they got their asses kicked.”
“Good point.”
They passed by endless rows of warehouse doors, and Jeremy stopped in front of one nestled a third of the way from the end, nearly invisible among all the others.
“This is it,” Jeremy said.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Tira said as she reached for the control panel.
Jeremy grabbed her hand, “Uh, no. You go in alone. Don’t touch that panel until I’m out of sight.”
“You slimy little toad.” Tira drew her fist back.
“They know me. If I bring a stranger in now, it’ll blow my cover. You find them on your own. It will be suspicious, but believable.”
“Yeah,” Tira dropped her fist, “You could’ve said that last night. Dick.”
“Aww, that’s no fun. You got this.” He punched her shoulder like she was one of the guys and turned away with a smug grin.
Tira stared as he walked away, wondering how she could admire his ass and want to kick it at the same time.
Chapter 14
Tira
Tira walked through the darkened entryway and smelled nothing but stale air, cigarette butts, and the stink of men that have gone too long without a shower.
The last one became even more apparent as the lights clicked on, revealing a small gathering of men that seemed to be as heavily armed as a landing party during an invasion.
“Well, hello fellas. I guess I’ve come to the right place.” She put on the closest thing to a grin she could, hoping that a bit of humor would convince at least one of the men to drop his gun.
“It depends, lady, on whether or not you’re nuts. Now, who the flying fuck are you?”
“Name’s Tira. Formerly from the Terran Armada. I heard you guys are looking for new recruits?”
A man walked over to her from the corner of the room. “It depends. We’ve been having trouble finding new recruits. Last batch included a rather bloody-minded bastard that took some of our higher ups with him.”
“Well, at least promotions are on the table. This is the Syndicate, right?” She took a step forward, hoping that her friendly tone would keep them at ease long enough to figure everything out.
“Yeah, that’s us. Though I think we are done with Armada spies at the moment... Kyle, Luke, take this lady out back and give her a true Syndicate send off.” The leader gave Tira a sad smile. “Shame, all the lovely ones tend to be the sort we have to shoot.”
Tira raised her hands, “Wait! I defected and have information your group needs! Just take me to whoever is in charge, I’ll prove it.”
A couple of the men chuckled, “Well, Ms. Tira, I’m sad to say we’ll have to pass on your offer.” The leader retorted.
One of the men sat on a chair next to Tira and poked her with his shotgun. “Oh come on, I’d love to hear what she has to say, at least in bed. Been awhile since you allowed us to bring in a hooker or two.”
“I’m no colonial tramp selling myself out for credits. Fuck me, lose my information. Shoot me, lose my information. You want to take that risk?” Tira glanced around the room. Six men, five of them visibly armed. The man in charge didn’t seem to carry anything, though that could just mean he had something hidden in a back pocket. Not the best odds in the galaxy, but far from the worst.
She looked at the man who wanted to bed her. “So—are you Luke or Kyle?”
He poked her in the ribs. “Kyle. And from where I’m sitting, your ass is better than anything you can offer.”
The leader looked at her, “Maybe it is time I let the men blow off some steam. Consider it punishment for dropping in uninvited. Afterwards, well, you can tell us what you know or get a bullet in the back of your head.”
Only Kyle kept his gun up. The rest put their weapons down on a small table and walked over to her. The leader turned to the exit. “What? Not going to join in?”
He snorted, “Sorry, I got a wife at home, hun.”
As he said it, the men looked at him. A foolish decision—for them, at least.
Tira grabbed Kyle’s shotgun and flipped it in her hand, “Damn, boy. You left the safety on.”
Fixing it, she blew the would-be rapist away and turned to the rest. “Well, come on. Who’s next?”
The remaining four men glanced at each other and spread out. Tira chuckled and said, “You guys aren’t as stupid as you look. Heads up—I took on bigger gangs than you and won.”
The group rushed to her, which is exactly what she wanted. She dropped to her knees and swung her legs out, taking the man immediately in front of her while aiming at the person behind. Two more down, though the one in front would be able to walk. Eventually.
The other two, however, tackled her before she had to opportunity to start another attack.
A couple of punches bounced off her head, causing stars to blossom in her eyes as she looked for a weakness. Then, she realized that the taller of the two men kept avoiding using his left arm.
She managed to reach out and grab it, leading to a gasp as the man fell off. “You bitch!” She screamed as she rolled out from under the other man.
“Sorry, but all’s fair in love and war...” The other man stood up. He was nearly a half meter taller than Tira, though that wasn’t as much of a problem as the slender shocker handgun he pulled out of his pocket.
It was one of the newest models, supposedly restricted to just military and special forces on missions. “Where the hell did you get that blaster?”
He smiled and aimed carefully. “We’ve been trying to tell you—your information is worthless.”
He aimed it at her and pulled the trigger—but there was nothing. The man smiled and said, “Friend or Foe targeting. The system thinks you are still Armada.”
The man who had his legs kicked out from under him grabbed another gun. It was too far for Tira to dodge. The game was up.
“Maybe the system is out of date. You think the Armada would allow one of those to go off grid and stay functioning?”
The two men laughed, “You think we’re that dumb?”
As the man reached for the trigger, the leader came back into the room, followed by another man. “Don’t fire!” The newcomer said. “You damned fool, an Armada officer shows up at our doorstep and you threaten to rape and kill her?”
The man with the military shocker blanched, “We’re just doing what we’re told. And the gun didn’t fire...”
“Of course it didn’t fire. These new prototypes need to be updated. If she just jumped ship then how would it have known?” He looked around the room. “I know the Armada trains good fighters but this is unreal. Punishment enough, don’t you say?” He looked at Tira with a small grin.
She looked at the man for a few moments. A couple of years older than her, though the lines around his eyes betrayed greater torments than she could ever fear to experience.
“Yeah. Good enough. Now, are you the man I need to speak with? Or did I have the damned luck to send him to hell?”
The man who left the room earlier chuckled. “In the Syndicate, everywhere is hell. Ever since he got in charge...”
Tira smiled inwardly. Finally, she had spotted the infamous captain that had everyone running ragged throughout known space.
She extended a hand, “It’s good to meet you, now tell me…do you have all your recruits go through such a rigorous audition?”
The Ghost’s captain grasped her hand and pulled her close. “Only the good ones...”
Letting Tira go, he turned to his lieutenant and said, “Well, so much for your guards. I did warn you about bringing in bastards who only like to drink, fight, and fuck... No sense of decorum. Get the bodies out of here and see to that man’s arm. This isn’t the first fight he lost because of it.”
Tira gave him a questioning look, which he repaid by pointing a finger at the ceiling. “I was watching the whole time. Now…let’s talk.”
Chapter 15
Tira
Tira was smart enough to allow the man lead the way up to the office. She hung back by a few yards, just enough space to react well to an attack. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone in the warehouse, and it was not just because it smelt like sewers in here.
Two of the cardinal rules of spyfare was to not trust and to not fuck anyone. Tira wasn’t about to trust a man who led a pack of idiots that had openly tried to rape her. She was glad that she was able to send some of them to damnation.
“I’m in,” Tira whispered softly. This was another reason why she kept a few yards of space between herself and the gang leader. She needed to communicate with Jeryl.
“Good work,” the voice replied in her ears softly. “Awaiting confirmation.”
The man suddenly turned around and appraised her from head to toe. Tira didn’t react instantly—to do so would’ve been to give herself away. She maintained her badass demeanor, allowing the sneer on the corner of her lips to spread.
“So,” she said, coming to a halt a yard away from him. “Why should I trust you?”
The man spread out his arms as though to show her his estate, which was really a dank, lowly lit warehouse with a litter of crates and the new addition of dead bodies.
“You have no reason to,” he replied. “Not yet, anyway.”
Then he smiled.
The man was tall with broad shoulders and large palms that appeared and felt calloused. His speech was so clean, she couldn’t help but detect imperial education in it. His demeanor was unlike the guards she’d encountered on the warehouse floor. He was calmer, more tactful, more in control.
His smile was fierce and intense, yet full of meaning. Tira felt uncomfortable. She felt as though he could see all the way right through her.
She shivered.
“Come on in,” the man said. “Wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”
Tira was about to rebuff the absurd idea, but the man wasn’t listening. He simply turned around and led her through a maze of corridors, and then stopped in front of what seemed to be nothing but a wall. A bright white line in the shape of a door appeared before her eyes. The new door slid open, revealing an immaculate office.
This time, the man didn’t lead her in. Rather, he gestured for her to go in.
Tira hesitated.
The man took note of her hesitation, yet he didn’t comment. He just stared at her, his eyes searching her action for meaning. She could see him draw conclusions, complex calculations running through his mind.
For the first time, Tira suspected that she might be well way in over her head.
“Getting cold feet?” he said finally.
Seconds later, Jeryl was speaking softly to her. To a limited degree, he could hear what transpired around her.
“If you feel threatened, Tira, say the word,” Jeryl whispered. “You don’t have to do this. There are other ways.”
Wrong, she replied in her mind. I have to.
Tira knew that this was the fastest way to get what they wanted. Jeremy had made that much clear to them.
Tira firmed up her resolve. She had a mission to do. She wasn’t alone. She had Jeryl in her ears. She was alright.
“Cold feet?” she retorted, letting a nonchalant tone filter into her words. “Hey, I came to you, remember?”
The man saw right through the charade, because he only shrugged and motioned for her to go in.
Tira walked into the office.
“Take a seat,” the man said as he headed to the small bar at the side. The door hissed to a close behind, and a soft click told Tira that she was locked in with what could be the most dangerous man on the planet.
Tira sat at the small desk by the window. It overlooked a vast loading field, where ships fly in to load up on whatever the warehouse stocked.
“Do you want a drink?” the man said, taking his seat at the desk. In his hand was an expensive bottle of wine, a wine opener, and two glass tumblers.
Tira didn’t reply immediately. She analyzed the man, searching for weaknesses and strengths. She could already feel that this meeting was going to end in a fight; there was something about the man that told her he was toying with her, like a cat playing with a frightened mouse. She wanted to be ready. The way she saw it, she could either stand her ground and fight, or she could escape through the window—if it wasn’t reinforced with carbonite, that is.
And damn it, she didn't have her weapon.
The man must have taken her silence for trepidation because he said, “If I wanted you dead, I’d kill you with my bare hands and not use something as merciful as poison.”
The man spoke these words with such force and impudence that she could see a swirl of deep-seethed rage and hatred in his eyes, such as could poison the soul. This was a man that was capable of unspeakable horrors. This was a man not to be crossed. And if everything she’d heard of the Syndicate leader was true, this could very well be the man.
Instantly, Tira was genuinely afraid.
The man arched an eyebrow at her, bringing her out of her thoughts.
She cleared her throat and said, “I’m not afraid of poison.”
Right, Tira, who isn’t? Tira upbraided herself for such a weak reply.
“Good,” the man said. “Because I would hate for us to start off on a path of mistrust and deceit.”
He poured them both a drink. He handed her a glass and held back the other. Tira’s first thought was to wait for him to drink first to be sure there was no poison. But then, she realized that the man was waiting for her to drink first as well.
He’s smart, Tira said to herself as she brought the glass to her lips. Maybe smarter than you.
Tira sipped the wine. The tangy taste of grapes filled her senses, opening up synapses in her brain almost immediately. The feeling was so good that she indulged herself by closing her eyes and relishing its richness.
When she opened her eyes, they were filmy with tears.
The man was smiling. He took a sip of his drink, calming Tira’s fears, and said, “Good, right?”
“Very good,” she confessed. She took a look at the bottle. It wasn’t branded.
“Oh, don’t worry about getting it,” he said, once he noted her quizzical look. “It’s a special formula. Doesn’t exist anywhere else in the galaxy.”
“Hmmm,” Tira replied, taking a full swig of the drink. The result was instant. She was besieged with a flood of euphoria. It was so strong that she wavered on her seat.
“Be careful, Tira,” he said, his voice sounding distant and hollowed out. “Wouldn’t want you passed out in my office. Those guards may very well come back and make good on their promise.”
Tira pulled herself together. She placed the glass on the table and fought the effect of the drink. She hadn’t drank enough to become completely useless. It was just that the drink carried a sharp kick with it.
Within minutes, the effect of the drink cleared up from her eyes. The man was now silently sipping his drink and observing her. There was the hint of a smile on his lips.
Tira couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew more than he was letting on.
Who are you, really?
Tira held his gaze in the silence for a complete one minute before she was unnerved and had to look away.
“So,” she said. “You know my name. What’s yours?”
The man took another sip of his drink, this time loudly hissing as he did. “That’s of no consequence at the moment,” he replied.
“Isn’t it?” she asked, a bit baffled. “I deserve to know who I’m dealing with. How else will I know you’re the leader of the Syndicate if I don’t know your name?”
The man leaned in on his desk. “And tell me, Ms. Tira, who is the leader of the Syndicate? What’s his name?”
His. So it’s a man. At least I pulled that out of you, you fucker.
Tira folded her arms and frowned. “I admit I don’t know who runs the Syndicate. But I’m not going to negotiate unless I talk with him. I want an assurance.”
The man appeared intrigued by her. He smiled again, leaning back on his chair. He looked away from her and observed his glass, taking in the almost imperceptible intricate design on its surface. Then, he plucked it off the table where it had been sitting for the past one minute, and brought it to his lips.
Before he took a sip, he glanced at her and said, ever so slowly, “Assurance?”
Tira knew she should match his carelessness for one of her own. It was the best tactic to employ in situations like this. However, she had already established that she just might be dealing with someone smarter than her. She had to think outside the box.
The quickest thing she could think of was to abandon her training.
Yeah, that’s definitely outside the box…Tira thought to herself. Like, a thousand yards away from the damn box. It couldn’t get more outside than that.
“Assurances that whatever deal we make would be honored across the Syndicate,” Tira said. A thought popped up in her head and she eyed the man. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. You might very well be a middle man. I know how cutthroat things can be in organizations like the Syndicate. You may want to milk me for information, only to present them as yours to the boss and then kill me.”
The man was silent for a while, mauling over what Tira had said. Tira felt an avalanche of reasons why she needed assurance bubbling on the tip of her tongue. But she practiced restraint. She didn’t want to appear desperate. It was bad enough that her cover was her real identity.
The man finally nodded. “I agree you require assurance.”
Silence.
Tira said, “So? Are you going to prove to me you’re the leader of the Syndicate, or point me in the direction of the boss? Or are you just going to stare at me all day?”
“You really want to join the Syndicate?” the man asked with that irritating smile on his lips.
Tira growled, feigning frustration. “Look, sir, I didn’t come here to joke around. If the guards I put a bullet through won’t convince you, then what will?”
The man shrugged, like a few dead men was nothing too serious.
“Men come a dime a dozen,” he said, reinforcing his action. “I have an army at my beck and call. A few dead dumbasses don’t mean a thing.”
“Then what does?” Tira shot back, realizing how the man had sneakily cornered the conversation and turned the table such that she was the one with a point to prove and not him.
Fuck!
“A simple reason why you defected from the Terran Armada,” he replied.
Tira opened her mouth to speak, but the man raised a finger, silencing her.
“Don’t lie to me, please,” he said. “I’ll know. Tell me everything. What unit where you operating in? What was your job description? Why did you leave? Why do you want to join the Syndicate? Don’t tell me anything you’re not comfortable telling me, in case I don’t turn out to be who you’re looking for.”
“Shit, man,” Tira gasped. “Just fucking tell me if you’re the leader of the Syndicate.”
The man shook his head. “The Syndicate isn’t some piss poor organization. There are safe guards. There are vetting procedures. We don’t want people infiltrating our ranks. Surely, a Terran Armada officer such as yourself understands this.”
Tira immediately picked up on the allusion and replied. “Former officer,” she said with an emphasis on ‘former’.
The man flashed her a knowing smile. “Forgive me. Former Terran Armada Officer.”
Tira drew in a lungful of breath and told a very compelling story. In the time he had asked the question and now, she had composed a very impressive dossier on the average Intelligence operative.
She had enough information to do so in such a way that was original and provable—there was no question he could ask that she couldn’t answer with her knowledge of the Terran Armada.
It was part of her training.
By the time she was done, she had both the man and herself convinced that she was a disgruntled, disillusioned and underpaid officer, who wanted out of the Armada and a quick way to make money.
“And what can you offer?”
“Flight paths,” she replied. “Flight plans. Coordinates. Secret projects. I have a whole stash of information that would benefit the Syndicate. I also have access codes, lots of them. Heck, I could probably get you into the Terran Armada Complex on New Washington or past any Armada blockade. I’m going to be a valuable member of the team, as long as I get paid and get rich while doing so.”
The man’s expression was impassive. Try as she did, Tira couldn’t read any emotion in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. Earlier, he appeared intrigued by her. Now, there was nothing.
“So it’s all about the money for you?”
Tira didn’t reply for a moment.
Wasn’t it all about the money for these folks? She questioned herself. She had grown to believe that people who resorted to crime, especially organized crime, did it just to make money.
A light came on in Tira’s mind and she suddenly saw how she could get the information she needed. She struck swiftly.
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” she asked. “Isn’t it why you run one of the most dangerous organizations in the galaxy? Isn’t it all about the money?”
“No,” he replied, his façade descending into rage. He tried to hide it, but Tira knew she had hit a nerve. “Money isn't everything.”
Gotcha!
Tira arched her eyebrow and put up an amused smile on her face. “So, you run the Syndicate, after all?”
The reaction was immediate. The man suddenly realized how Tira had played him. A look of surprise at her appeared on his face. Seconds later, it vanished, being replaced by an amused smile.
“Congratulations,” he said with a clap. “You found me. The question is, do I want you? Do I have need of what you want to offer?”
Fuck you, too, Tira didn’t voice out. She stood up and casually walked over to the window, taking care to put as much distance between herself and the man.
“I think the question is, how much am I willing to accept?” she replied.
“I don’t—”
“Before you go on,” she cut him off. “Please refill my glass. I want some more.”
Tira didn’t look back at the man, but she could feel his angered eyes bore holes in the back of her neck.
As soon as she heard the chink of glass, she whispered, “Confirmed.”
The response came a second later, “Roger. We’re moving in. Stand by.”
Tira knocked the window. It was reinforced carbonite, and she knew she would have to fight the man.
Back at her seat, she took the wine and sipped at it. The man never let his gaze waver. He was giving her one of those intense stares, like he was looking through her and into her soul.
“So does the leader of the Syndicate have a name?” Tira said. “Or should I just call you leader?”
The man didn’t have the opportunity to respond, because almost immediately, there was commotion outside on the warehouse floor. Loud reports of gunfire followed by shouts blasted into the office.
Tira watched the man, ready to fly across the desk for his neck.
She was dismayed when he didn’t look shocked, nor appear uneasy.
He didn’t even bat an eyelid.
All he did was smile at her.
Chapter 16
Jeryl
“Tira’s capable of handling this, right?” Ashley asked rhetorically.
Jeryl knew that it wasn’t an actual question. It was just her way of dealing with the situation at hand, a situation where she was standing on the sidelines, waiting.
“If anybody’s going to be just fine, it’s Tira,” Jeryl assured her anyway.
The captain was carefully monitoring the situation as best as he could from his vantage point. He and Ashley were far too recognizable to join Tira and Jeremy, the smuggler turned Intelligence operative, on their sojourn into Syndicate headquarters.
All we can do is wait, Jeryl thought to himself.
He was holed up in the seedy bar where they had their first rendezvous with Jeremy, as it was the only place on this planet where he felt confident hanging out for the time being. His group had already established themselves as not the kind of people you mess with, and Jeremy had put in a good word for them as well.
Of course, if they knew we were here to put pressure on the Syndicate, they might not be so accepting of our presence, he thought.
At least Jeryl was able to track where Tira was. It allowed him to follow the situation from afar. She also had her comm device on her, naturally, so if she needed to get a hold of Jeryl, she could. Jeryl was ready to jump in to help her if she needed it: he had an elite team of marksmen, soldiers, and pilots at his disposal. The captain had sent a message up to The Seeker to alert his crew to be ready for a firefight. If violence was necessary—and with the Syndicate, it probably would be—Jeryl and his team were prepared.
Moreover, if The Ghost’s captain was here...Jeryl would take the chance.
For now, though, he was playing the waiting game. He wasn’t happy about it, but at least Ashley was there to keep him calm. Her presence was always a welcome one, even if it increased his worry in other ways. Though she was a tremendous pilot and more than capable of handling herself, she was, in his mind, first and foremost the future mother of his child.
Nothing bad will ever happen to her again, he swore, I will lay down my own life before I let any harm come to her.
Jeryl looked up at Ashley.
“We know Tira got in the building and she hasn’t sent me any messages, so she’s safe for now. She knows how to handle herself, and if they haven’t killed her yet, they probably aren’t suspicious.”
“That’s such a grim way of looking at it,” Ashley replied.
“True, but this is a grim situation,” Jeryl countered.
He hoped that Tira was able to get in good with the crew—it was their best chance of stopping the raids on the transport ship convoys. The Armada needed it. He remembered Flynn’s words: The Union can’t have one of its own ships being used by pirates.
Jeryl also had to admit that this was a personal matter. It’s more than just the fact that his own ship had been attacked by these pirates. If not for a well-timed FTL jump, The Seeker could’ve been lost like so many ships before it. The fact that the Syndicate, and its new mysterious leader, were using the The Ghost in their raids made his blood boil.
It made him think of Kaine. One in a long line of friends he had lost during the war. No, friend wasn’t strong enough of a word. The two men were practically brothers. They were incredibly close when Kaine and his ship were lost in the Earth-Sonali War.
Now his ship belongs to the pirates, he thought. Kaine’s memory deserves better than that. I’m going to get The Ghost out of the Syndicate’s hands. I don’t care what it takes.
Fortunately, his own desires aligned with Admiral Flynn and the Armada. They were all on the same page. Now, if Tira was able to infiltrate the Syndicate, the next step in the plan would start.
So he waited, his comm device clutched in his hand. He was able to follow everything that had been happening, and it would hopefully only be a matter of time.
Jeryl and Ashley waited patiently. Tira had been in her location for a little while at this point. She had to be in the Syndicate’s warehouse. Who was she meeting with? How much progress was she making? Jeryl wanted the answers to these questions as soon as possible. The waiting was getting to him. It was time to take the next step.
“I’m going to contact the ship and ask for my team to be sent down.”
“Are you sure?” Ashley replied.
Jeryl nodded, adding, “If things take a turn for the worst, we wouldn’t want to lose a second. I’m going to bring the team down now. Then we’ll approach Tira’s location and wait for her to contact me.”
“If you feel that is the best plan of action...then let’s do it,” Ashley responded.
Jeryl, comm device already in hand, called up to The Seeker.
“Send the team down in a shuttle. If we find our target, we’re going to attack once I get confirmation from Tira.”
The message was received, and in short order, a shuttle was sent down to the planet. Jeryl and Ashley took their leave, and they headed toward the rendezvous point, a piece of open ground close to the warehouse . The captain watched the shuttle arrive and went to greet it. His team, including the Hunter pilots, piled out of the ship. They all carried tactical gear and top-of-the-line rifles.
“Captain,” Powers said with a salute.
“I’m glad you’re all here. I have Tira’s location. We’ll head over there now, but be careful. We don’t want to lose the element of surprise,” Jeryl instructed his crew.
Everybody, except Ashley whose pregnancy left her omitted from a possible fight, began heading toward Tira’s location. As they made their way toward the outskirts of the town, they found themselves standing outside a non-descript, decrepit warehouse.
This must be the place, Jeryl thought.
“Secure the perimeter,” he declared, and his team followed his commands.
There were a few different entrance points to the warehouse, and he wanted to be sure they were all covered. Jeryl didn’t want anybody being able to escape. Suddenly, a message came over the comm device.
It was from Tira.
“Confirmed,” she said quietly.
Finally, a lucky break.
He acknowledged Tira and ran his tongue over his dry lips.
He had hoped that they’d be able to get inside the Syndicate and try and work their way up to finding the leader. To find out the leader was here, though, meant they could possibly take out the entire organization in one fell swoop. This made the plan clear. They needed to storm the building.
“The leader of the Syndicate is inside the warehouse. Prepare to storm the building and come out firing on my command.”
The team acknowledged the plan and waited patiently for the go ahead.
This is for Kaine, Jeryl thought, and then he gave the go signal to storm the complex.
Jeryl led a few of his men through one of the doors. He kicked it in and was immediately faced down by Syndicate men. He fired a shot, hitting one of them in the arm. As the man groaned and fell to the floor, his rag-tag group of criminals scattered. Their presence was known, and Jeryl could hear gunshots elsewhere in the building. This was a real firefight now.
Jeryl and his team were at a disadvantage. This was a Syndicate building, after all. They knew their way around it. The Seeker’s crew had never been here. They had to be on their guard, but they also had to find their way to Tira...and that as fast as possible.
“Just keep pressing forward! Watch your ass and keep your gun drawn!” Jeryl yelled out at his crew.
As the team made their way further into the building, Jeryl suddenly heard a gunshot ring out. A particle beam hit the wall a mere foot or so from his head.
“We’re under fire!”
Jeryl and his squad ducked behind a collection of wood crates that were stacked in the hallway. The captain poked his head out to assess the situation. There were five Syndicate members, guns drawn, pinning Jeryl down.
“There are five of them. We have to be careful to make it out of this,” he declared.
The shots were raining down on The Seeker’s team.
Fuck, he thought, we’re easy pickings if we don’t move.
He took a deep breath, and ducked out from behind the crates, staying low to the ground. With swiftness, he lined up a shot and pulled the trigger.
It was a direct hit.
You’re close, I can feel it, he thought as he took down another Syndicate member. The Ghost’s new captain was somewhere on the building, and Jeryl was eager to meet him and have him in chains.
If he didn’t shoot him first, that was.
Chapter 17
Jeryl
After dropping the remaining three Syndicate members, they darted into a room at the end of the corridor.
Jeryl glanced over his shoulder to see how his team was doing. Less than two minutes inside the building, and they already had a body count. Not bad, but he knew that the challenge was only going to ratchet up before he got to Tira and the bastard in charge of the Syndicate.
“Weapon status?”
“We’re good to go here, sir,” Powers said, glancing at the charge level of his rifle. “I just hope Tira will stay safe until we get to her.”
Jeryl smiled, trying to hide his own anxiety.
He checked Tira’s vitals and location once more through the control tablet he had on his wrist.
“She’s fine.” He glanced at the rest of the team and they all gave him thumbs up; they were ready to go. “Okay, men, standard formation. Powers will lay suppression fire and I will enter the room and neutralize the targets. The rest of you, follow twenty seconds behind and secure our rear. By the numbers, people.”
Powers crouched down and made his way to the open door. Once there, he angled his gun inside and started shooting off concentrated stunning blasts. Jeryl took the opportunity and darted into the room.
One of the three men that were guarding the room had collapsed on the floor, his hands clutching at his chest, right where a suppression blast had hit him. Jeryl quickly turned his gun on the other person in the room and pulled the trigger. The man went down, collapsing like a marionette with its strings cut.
As his squad stormed in, particle beams crisscrossed the room, hitting the Syndicate bastards in quick succession. Turning on his heels, Jeryl swept the room through the scope of his rifle. With no hostiles in sight, he finally lowered it.
Quickly looking around the room, his gaze fell on a bolted door. He walked over to it as the rest the team entered and secured the stunned criminal. “What do you think of this, Powers?”
Powers plugged in a mobile terminal into the door’s locking mechanism and whistled. “They have some high-end security in this joint. Combination voice, DNA, and blood flow sensors. Can’t bypass them. What do we do?”
Jeryl looked at the prisoner and sighed. “I guess it’s time for 20 Questions.” He walked over to the prisoner and kicked him in the gut. “Wake up, sunshine. Time to do your patriotic duty and help bring your buddies to justice.”
The man stirred feebly, finally slowly focusing his eyes. “Fuck off, you bastard. I don’t need to do anything for you Arnada assholes.”
“Well, at least we know he can talk,” one of the assault team members said, suppressing a laugh.
Powers switched the setting of his pistol to below stun, a nasty little feature good for a swift jolt but nothing more. “We need your help opening a door. I hate to sound trite, but we can make this very uncomfortable for you.”
He knelt beside the prisoner and pressed the pistol to the man’s temple.
Jeryl knelt down on his other side and said, “Please don’t make them do this. For my sake, if nothing else. I do hate filling out the paperwork that comes with using excessive force.” He gave the poor fool a wicked grin and continued, “Now, I’m going to walk to the door. If you don’t agree to help by the time I get there, I’ll just let my buddy do his job. He so loves his gun…”
The other men took a couple steps back, making sure they couldn’t be tied to what was about to happen. After all, torture wasn’t the kind of hobby the Armada looked favorably upon.
Jeryl took his time walking forward, ensuring that the prisoner could see each deliberate step and occasionally glancing over his shoulder with a sad grimace. Right before he touched the door handle he heard the prisoner call out, “All right! I’ll do it, they don’t pay me enough for this shit, anyway.”
Powers dragged the man up from the floor and pushed him to the doorway, “Be quick about it. You screw with us, and there won’t be a body left to find.” He undid the man’s bindings and stepped back.
The prisoner leaned close to the sensor lock and put his finger on the thumbprint, while whispering something unintelligible. The mechanism clicked and the door swiftly pulled back, revealing an empty passage to the back of the warehouse. “There are no more locked doors from here. Can I go?”
Jeryl looked at Powers who lifted his pistol, still set to stun, and fired. The man dropped, unconscious. “Goodnight, buddy.”
Jeryl stepped through the doorway, looking out for more men as he led the team into the back of the building. There were several darkened rooms branching off, but he kept checking the screen on his wrist to ensure he was on the right path.
“Captain, there a few hostiles moving toward your location,” his comm crackled, and he tightened the grip on his rifle, the anxiety he felt over Tira increasing tenfold.
They were taking too long to get to her.
Hang tight, kid. We’re coming.
Chapter 18
Jeryl
Jeryl led his team down the narrow walkway that led to the private office of the Syndicate leader. Having followed Tira’s incursion from start to now, he had a pretty good idea where it was. He could also see her position like a beeping dot on his command ops console screen.
“Warehouse floor secure, captain,” a voice came over their secure comm channel. Jeryl recognized the voice belonging to the beta team leader, the team tasked with securing the warehouse’s main floor.
Outside the warehouse, a firefight was still going on. Flashes of light could be seen through the dirt-blurred high windows.
All resistance should’ve ended by now, Jeryl thought, worry snaking up his throat.
“Zeta team, what’s your status?” Jeryl asked as he came to the door. He raised a right fist, commanding his team of seven soldiers to halt.
They silently obeyed, not one of them making a sound to give away their position.
“There are a few guards making their way to the warehouse, like I said,” the zeta team leader replied. “But we’re taking care of them as we speak.”
There was a brief pause of static.
“It’s nothing, sir,” the zeta team leader continued. “The warehouse is secure from external threats.”
“Roger that,” Jeryl said.
He looked at the small control tablet strapped to his right wrist; it showed him limited information, including mission parameters, which hadn’t changed: Rescue Tira and capture the Syndicate leader.
Jeryl was worried because he hadn’t heard from Tira since she had given them confirmation. Also, her position in the room behind the door hadn’t changed. Even with the loud reports of their weapons, she hadn’t moved. She had shown no sign of a struggle.
Was she dead?
No, her vitals are strong, Jeryl tried to convince himself.
“Be ready to move once I get this door opened,” Jeryl whispered to his commando team. He only caught the nod of the operative directly behind him.
The light in the warehouse hadn’t improved since they stormed the building. If anything, some misplaced shots had taken out a few light bots.
Jeryl nodded at Powers and he moved in quickly, kneeling by the door. He tapped a button on the device and ran the hacking program and waved his right arm over the door. On the screen of the device, it showed that the device was establishing a connection with the door’s computer interface.
Once the connection was established, a series of options popped up. Powers tapped the one that said ‘open’.
The moment he did it, Jeryl grabbed his assault rifle and fell into an attack position. His weapon rested against his right shoulder, his right eye looking into the rifle’s scope. The weapon was dead straight, aimed at the wall.
“Ready, guys,” Jeryl whispered. He was satisfied when he heard their grips tightening around their weapons.
“Try not to hit Tira.”
A white line like the shape of a door appeared on the wall. A hiss followed as the door slid away, revealing a small office and two figures sitting calmly on opposite sides of a desk.
Jeryl barreled into the office just in time to see the two figures move. If Jeryl hadn’t been there, he would’ve doubted that humans could move at such speed. It was as though they were held in a state of trance, waiting for the inevitable, which was Jeryl’s entrance.
Tira was fast—impossibly fast. She flew across the desk, her hands reaching for a choke hold. The man on the other side, whose face was hidden by shadows resulting from poor lighting, slapped her hands like it was a noisome fly.
Tira was thrown off balance and landed at the side of the desk. She rolled away just in time to escape the man’s big foot coming down on her face.
Then, the man shot to his feet. Unfortunately, Tira was still on the floor, and the man’s right leg plowed into her abdomen, sending her into the air and crashing against the wall.
“Stop!” Jeryl boomed, aiming at the man.
But then the man flicked his right hand and a small pistol appeared out of nowhere. Worst of, it was aimed at Jeryl.
Jeryl dove out of the way as the weapon rocked back in recoil. The loud report of the gun shook the room. He landed inside the room, performed a roll, and came up to his knees, his gun aiming at the man. Beside him, a commando fell to the ground, dead.
Jeryl didn’t waste time looking. As soon as his aim settled on the man, the arrangement had changed.
The man had his left arm around Tira’s neck and his right hand aiming a gun at her head. He had retreated to the very corner of the room, where the light was all but inexistent. He used Tira as a body shield so effectively that Jeryl couldn’t get a decent shot.
Tira grunted at the tightness of the arm around her neck.
The rest of the commando team poured into the office, taking up strategic positions. They all aimed at the two figures in the corner of the room.
“Hold your fire!” Jeryl commanded. “Do not fire under any circumstance!”
He didn’t want any commando getting ideas and shooting at the Syndicate leader just because he felt he could do so without hitting Tira. He wasn’t going to take any chances whatsoever.
Tira’s life above the mission.
“Come any closer,” the man said, “and she dies.”
Tira yelped as the man’s arm around her neck tightened.
That voice…I’ve heard that voice…a very long time ago.
Jeryl knew the man, he just didn’t know from where.
“Don’t hurt her,” Jeryl said. “We don’t want any trouble. We just want to talk.”
“Really?” the voice replied. “I guess the Armada enjoys talking with guns then, rather than with lips.”
The commandos in the room became antsy. Jeryl noticed it in the way they steadied their weapons and tightened their grips.
“Stay calm, boys,” Jeryl ordered them. The situation was volatile enough. One misstep could lead to a bloodbath and Tira’s death.
Jeryl took one look at the dead commando right in the entryway. Jeryl didn’t know all of them by name. But he knew that the downed commando’s team member knew him, his family, and his entire history. Jeryl knew enough to know that the remaining commandos were grieving more than he did.
And they were only humans. They would want revenge...after all, the murderer was standing right in front of them, severely outmanned and outgunned.
Can I trust them to retain perspective?
Jeryl knew the answer was no. Commandos were jarheads. They were muscles. They needed a leader, they needed someone to think for them. But when their emotions got the best of them, they could become unpredictable.
“We had to ensure we weren’t walking into a trap,” Jeryl replied.
“You were sure,” the man replied. “After all, weren’t you the one who sent this lovely agent, Tira, to come scout me out, Captain Jeryl Montgomery?”
Jeryl instantly felt terror strike him to his core. His mind froze as painful memories flashed across his eyes. He felt his aim fall lax and his rifle falter until it was pointed to the ground.
No, it can’t be. It’s not true. It’s not him.
“No…” Jeryl whispered, ignoring the strange looks his men were giving him.
“Everything alright, boss?” one of them asked in a whisper.
“How could he be?” the man said in reply. Obviously, he had heard the commando’s response. “Would you be, if you saw a ghost?”
And then the figure stepped into the light. Tira was right in the arm of the man Jeryl had thought was long dead. A man Jeryl had mourned. A man Jeryl had looked up to. A man Jeryl had loved. A man Jeryl had considered as a brother.
Kaine.
“No, it can’t be…” Jeryl said, shaking his head.
“Ah, but it is,” Kaine replied with a bright smile. Tira’s eyes were widened in shock. Her face was already turning pale from the limited oxygen flowing to her brain. She would pass out any moment soon if Kaine kept the pressure on her neck.
“You’re dead,” Jeryl said. “We lost you during the Earth-Sonali War. You can’t be here. You can’t be commanding The Ghost.”
Kaine smiled even more broadly. “But I am. You see, I had to keep the façade of my death to pursue my purposes.”
Jeryl was still in shock. “You’re the Syndicate leader? How is that possible?”
Kaine shook his head and rolled his eye, letting out a sigh of exasperation while at it. “Are you still this slow, Jeryl? All these years of commanding The Seeker hasn’t made you any sharper?”
Jeryl felt the sting of the insult and was crippled by it. Naturally, he would’ve rebuffed the insult—maybe even bragged a bit. But this was no ordinary fellow. This was Kaine, the captain of The Ghost.
“Well, if you must know, I infiltrated their ranks,” he replied. “I killed their bosses. I took over. Simple enough?”
“But that would mean…”
“Yes,” Kaine said. “Yes, it means I’m still in command of the The Ghost.”
“But why?” Jeryl asked.
“Why?” Kaine replied with a burst of anger. Then, with a sudden motion, he aimed his weapon at the nearest commando.
The commandos started screaming for him to drop his aim or get cut down.
“Everyone, stop!” Jeryl boomed, shooting to his feet and putting himself between the commandos and Kaine and Tira. His gun was hanging by his side, his hands preoccupied with pointing for both parties to drop their aims.
“Sir, I say we take our shot!” called one commando.
“I second that, sir,” replied another.
“The fucker killed one of our own!”
“He deserves what’s coming his way!”
“Not at the cost of one of our own,” Jeryl responded.
He immediately knew he was on the verge of a rebellion, if not a mutiny. He had to think fast.
“What are you going to do, now, Jeryl?” Kaine asked.
Jeryl couldn’t have missed the amusement in his voice. This was a game to him. He was playing Jeryl. Probably had been playing him from the very beginning. But what was his end goal?
What do you seek, Kaine? Why all the cloak and dagger?
Kaine’s aim jumped to Jeryl.
“Don’t shoot!” Jeryl commanded his team, knowing fully well that Kaine wasn’t going to kill him.
Not now, at least.
Jeryl may not be as smart as Kaine, but he knew that Kaine needed to get out of here alive. He couldn’t do that by killing Jeryl in the midst of six highly armed, high trained, highly enraged elite commandos.
“You want to know why?” Kaine said as his features turned to stone. “Tell them to step outside and let’s have ourselves a nice, little conversation.”
Jeryl held Kaine’s gaze. Then, his eyes dropped to the weapon that was pointed at his heart.
In the space of a heartbeat, Jeryl had his rifle up. He noticed the flinch in Kaine’s aim as the action caught him by surprise.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Jeryl,” Kaine barked, tightening his arm around Tira ever so slightly. At this point, Tira’s eyes were turning glassy. Her groans were almost silent.
Jeryl kept his aim steady on Kaine’s head when he said, “Leave us alone.”
The men began to complain, but Jeryl silenced them with a bark.“That’s an order!”
They grumbled some more before they cautiously retreated out of the room, taking their fallen with them. The door hissed to a close moments later, leaving Jeryl locked in the room with Kaine and Tira.
“Bold,” Kaine commented. “I would’ve never thought you capable.”
Jeryl ignored the comment. “Why are you doing this?”
“Which one?” Kaine asked, a nonchalance to his voice. “Attacking Armada convoys or trying to strangle Tira to death?”
Jeryl ignored the man again and said, “I thought we were friends.”
He must have hit the mark, because he watched the smirk vanish from the man’s face. What remained was a mixture of rage and deep-seethed hurt.
“Friends?” Kaine muttered. “You call us friends? We were brothers.”
“Yes, we were,” Jeryl answered.
“Right until you left me for dead,” Kaine added.
“What?” Jeryl breathed, feeling the air thin in the room. “I did what?”
Kaine laughed out loud, but it wasn’t the kind of laughter that was filled with mirth. It was one of sadness and sorrow.
“Your hope for a successful mission is almost insulting,” Kaine said. “If I knew where and when to attack Terran Armada convoys, don't you think I'm capable of knowing when the Armada is trying to infiltrate my ranks?”
Jeryl didn’t reply. He was still stuck at the ‘left me for dead’ part.
“You must take me for an idiot,” Kaine said.
No. Just dangerous, Jeryl didn’t say.
“I knew The Seeker’s mission even before it arrived at the Smuggler’s Cave,” Kaine revealed. “I know about your little meeting with Mr. Black, that scheming Intelligence puppet, I know it all. I knew the moment Tira walked into the warehouse that she was the spy you had sent. How stupid do you think me?”
Jeryl’s face hardened. He brought his breathing under control and let his anger course through his veins.
Kaine is the enemy, he told himself. The Kaine you knew is gone. He died in battle during the Earth-Sonali War. The one standing before you is an apparition. A ghost.
“I have you surrounded,” Jeryl said. “There are at least twenty commandos in and around this building. If you succeed in killing Tira and me, you won’t escape the commandos waiting outside that door, nor the ones on the main floor, nor the ones outside. And The Seeker’s weapons are currently trained on this warehouse. You have nowhere to run or hide.”
Jeryl noticed the lack of a reaction at the mention of these facts. What are you up to, Kaine?
“If you knew all the things you said you knew,” Jeryl continued, “then why did you play right into our trap?”
“Did I?” Kaine asked with a smirk.
Something about the way he said it made Jeryl extremely wary. Right then, he knew he had missed something vital.
Kaine was almost the smartest person Jeryl knew—or know. If he was here now, it was because he wanted to be. But why? What was his game plan? What were his motives?
“I don’t have time for your mind games, Kaine,” Jeryl said. “Why are you here?”
“Because I wanted to see you face to face, Jeryl” Kaine replied without the least bit humor in his voice.
Jeryl felt the frown crawl up his face. The instinctual response was to tighten his grip around his weapon.
“Why?” Jeryl asked, even though he had an inkling.
“Because I want payback,” Kaine said. “You abandoned me. Left me for dead. And I almost died, Jeryl...almost. But I'm back, and you know what they say...”
He smiled, a hint of malice in his eyes. “Payback's a bitch.”
Chapter 19
Jeryl
“I don't blame you, though,” Kaine said, grimacing. “I’ve spent a while thinking about that day and about what you must’ve seen, what you must’ve been thinking, what you must’ve been feeling, and why you left, leaving me and what was left of my crew to die.”
He held up a hand to forestall anything Jeryl might say. “No, no, I’m not really blaming you. If our situations had been reversed, and I had seen what you had seen, I would’ve left too. The difference is that, unlike you, I wouldn’t have forgotten about my brother.”
Jeryl opened his mouth to say that he didn’t forget Kaine, but the man cut him off again and yelled at him. “No! You do not get to talk. See, while you were busy brokering peace, and creating your beloved Council, I was being tortured. I was trying not to die, I was trying to find a way home.”
Kaine paused for a moment, a pained expression painted on his face.
“But like I was trying to say, if situations were reversed, I would’ve left as well—but I wouldn’t have forgotten you. I would’ve spoken to the Sonali, tried to find out where you were. It would’ve been a simple conversation too. ‘Hey, Sonali guys that we’re now at peace with…do you remember when two Union ships showed up at that research space station and your people fucked them up? Would you mind telling us if there were any survivors, or maybe where you left the ship, or even the bodies of the people on board?’ See? Easy conversation. And yet…”
Kaine tightened his grip around Tira even more.
“Oh, no, no sweetheart, you don’t get to pass out on me yet. I need you breathing and choking so my little brother here will stay put,” he told Tira, as he smiled mischievously at Jeryl.
“Anyway, you, dear Jeryl, went about your business, becoming so famous and all. So famous that you buried my memories and moved on with your life. And, now you’re here, looking at me like you just found out your wife got pregnant by your ‘dead’ best friend instead of by you. Yeah, I know about Ashley, just like I know so many other things. But, with your little side project here, and how you haven’t hit this yet...and you looking like you want to break my face as well as bore me to death with idle threats, I say we stop talking and I’ll remind you why you were never able to last in our sparring sessions.”
Kaine threw Tira to the side, bouncing her against a nearby wall, and pointed his gun at Jeryl. He pulled the trigger, barely missing as Jeryl ducked.
Son of a bitch. Jeryl rushed toward Kaine, trying to tackle him.
Kaine sidestepped him easily and Jeryl’s head exploded in pain as Kaine’s elbow connected with his upper neck, knocking him to his knees. Fighting back waves of nausea, Jeryl tried to regain his feet, moving just enough to have one of Kaine's kicks glance off of his ribs, rolling him away.
“Oh, come on! Have you really gotten this bad at fighting?”
Jeryl gingerly got to his feet. Even though it was a glancing blow, he was finding it hard to breathe without pain. Without saying a word, he merely waved for Kaine to bring it. Kaine shrugged, and slowly approached.
Five seconds into this fight and I’m already getting my ass kicked. Great, Jeryl thought as he got into a fighting stance.
Jeryl feinted with his right, then kicked with his left, catching Kaine in the leg. As Kaine stepped back, Jeryl pushed his advantage with a right hook, catching Kaine in the jaw. Jeryl felt a slight twinge of pleasure as Kaine spat out blood, but the pleasure vanished quickly as The Ghost's captain started to laugh.
“Nice…you usually feint left, then come right. You went different this time. Either you’ve learned, or you’re processing again. Heh.” Kaine leaned against the table, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you know why I’ve taken over the Syndicate and gone after Union supplies? It’s more than just a revenge plan, you know? The Union has the best stuff and the Syndicate was the easiest way for me to get it all.” He rushed toward Jeryl, throwing jabs and hooks, forcing Jeryl back.
Jeryl put his arms in front of his face, letting his forearms absorb the blows, waiting for an opening. Then he kicked out, forcing Kaine to take a step back, and threw an open-handed punch, catching Kaine on the nose. Kaine let out a howl and grabbed his nose, stepping back. Jeryl tackled Kaine and wrestled him over onto his stomach, wrenching his arm behind his back.
“Give up!” Jeryl said as he pulled up on Kaine’s arm. “There is no way that—”
Kaine pushed up hard, flipping Jeryl over. He grabbed Jeryl’s leg and wrenched it sideways. Jeryl felt a tearing sensation in his knee and screamed.
“There’s no way—hold on a minute,” Kaine started to say.
Jeryl watched him rub his shoulder as he walked over to Tira, who was trying her best to stand. “She's a tough one, isn't she? I'm surprised she's still conscious.”
Kaine reached down, picking Tira up and helping her stand, then punched her once—twice—three times in the face before letting her fall.
“You know something, Jeryl?” he said, glancing back at his friend. Then, he kicked Tira in the stomach, making her scream and cough up blood. She curled up into a ball as he started kicking her more, emphasizing his words with each kick. “You. Were. Always. A. Chump.”
Something came over Jeryl—a rage he didn’t know he had.
Ignoring his knee, he let out a roar and charged at Kaine, catching him by surprise. His fists flew, catching Kaine in the shoulders, the arms, the chest, the torso, the head—anywhere Kaine wasn’t blocking. Then, just as he thought he was starting to win, Kaine caught him in the throat with a quick chop.
Jeryl reeled and choked—he never saw Kaine coming.
Kaine landed a devastating kick to Jeryl’s chest. He could feel a rib or two crack as the air whooshed from his lungs. Kaine then used a combination of several different kicks and strikes to push Jeryl against a wall, finally making him drop to his knees.
As Jeryl fell to his knees, Kaine spun around, bringing his right foot in a powerful arc that was aimed for Jeryl’s head. He brought his arm up to block, but he was too slow. His hand got in the way of the kick and he felt bones snap in his hand and wrist. Screaming in pain and frustration, Jeryl struggled to fend off Kaine as he grabbed his arm. Kaine put Jeryl into an arm bar and began pulling, trying to dislocate the shoulder.
Jeryl could feel the tendons stretch as the ball joint of the arm scraped against the socket of his shoulder.
Just as his shoulder was yanked out of socket with a sickeningly wet pop, the door burst open and his people rushed in. Moving fast, Kaine released Jeryl, rolled under the table and quickly tossed a smoke grenade.
Keeping his eyes open and fighting to stay conscious, Jeryl saw a rectangular burst of light on the other side of the room. Some of the smoke dissipated enough for Jeryl to see Kaine standing in an open doorway.
Kaine spread his arms out and smiled, tilting his head slightly.
Then he was gone.
Powers and one of the commandos were gently picking Tira up from the ground as the world began to grow dark. The last thing he saw was one of his people dropping down in front of him and his mouth moving, as if to ask if he was alright.
Jeryl tried to answer, but the darkness was too strong.
His eyes fluttered shut, the last thought on his mind being how his brother had become his enemy.
Chapter 20
Jeryl
“A broken left arm, three broken ribs, a cracked sternum, a bruised liver and a damaged kidney,” Dr. Mahesh Rigsang said, who was reading off the report from his medical tablet. He had a dismayed look on his face, glancing over at Jeryl as if to ask how one man could have that much problems.
“And one nasty headache,” Jeryl mumbled, half on the verge of losing consciousness.
Mahesh made a face. “Let’s not forget that.”
“On the whole, I’m fine,” Jeryl said, attempting to lighten the doctor’s foul mood. He knew Mahesh didn’t appreciate whenever Jeryl showed up to the sickbay so battered. It hadn’t happened in a while, though, but then now and again it happened.
Mahesh was of the opinion that Jeryl should know better than to get into a fight that he wasn’t going to win.
You’re a captain, not a fighter, he would say.
“This is serious, Jeryl,” Mahesh said.
Mahesh grabbed a vial from the tray beside him and inserted it into a hypodermic needle. He injected the content into Jeryl’s broken arm, making Jeryl wince in protest.
Mahesh had done most of the patching up, while the scanner analyzed Jeryl’s body. He was pretty sure of what was wrong the moment Jeryl limped into the sickbay; he just needed to be sure there wasn’t anything he had missed, like an internal bleeding. Those pesky little things could be silent killers.
“What was that?” Jeryl asked with suspicion. “I hope it’s not—”
“It’s not a sedative, if that’s what you’re worried about, Jeryl,” Mahesh said. “It’s a pain killer mixed with some other substances to speed up the wound and bone healing.”
Jeryl felt elated. He couldn’t see himself stuck in the sickbay, while Kaine was out there, wreaking havoc on the Union. He had to get back out there as soon as possible.
“Don’t look so happy,” Mahesh said, noting the look on Jeryl’s face. “I might not be ordering your left arm be put in a cast, but that doesn’t mean you can have full use of it today or even tomorrow.”
“I need to get back out there, doc,” Jeryl grumbled.
“No, you don’t,” Mahesh replied. “You need to rest. You need time for the drugs to work on your body.”
“There’s no time,” Jeryl mumbled, angry.
It was so goddamn upsetting to be disabled like this. Every time he tried to move his body—especially his left arm—it sent flames of pain everywhere. And to think Kaine had bested him, in spite of the firepower and commandos he’d had at his disposal.
Jeryl knew he would’ve been submerged in a sea of shame, if he wasn’t already burning in a hell of pain.
Mahesh eyed him one more time and ignored his comment. He turned his attention back to the tablet, which was actively connected to the bed upon which Jeryl laid in.
The bed was a fully automated equipment with an inbuilt scanner and vitals monitor. Three bots, which were its peripheries, hovered about, performing scans and updating the AI that monitored Jeryl’s situation.
I’m a sitting duck here, Jeryl thought. I’ve got to get back. Kaine could be anywhere!
Jeryl groaned under the overwhelming pressure of the pain. He forced his mind to tear through the veil of pain as he put his arms underneath his body and pushed upwards on the bed. Dots danced around in his eyes as he tried to get all the way up to a sitting position on the stretcher.
“You need to remain still, captain,” Mahesh said, putting a firm palm on Jeryl’s right shoulder and pressing him back down.
Jeryl succumbed to the pressure, but landed hard on the bed, his left arm slamming against the edge of the bed.
A sharp jolt of pain lanced through his entire left side. A scream erupted from Jeryl’s throat, though he had enough dignity to cut it off at his tongue. This didn’t prevent the darkness from exploding at the corners of his vision and roaming inwards until he was grabbed by the clutches of unconsciousness.
***
There was silence.
There was complete darkness all around, yet Jeryl was aware of his surroundings. He felt like a disembodied entity wandering a vast darkness. It was like space, except without the stars and the cold.
Suddenly, there was an explosion of pain in his chest, where his heart would’ve been—had he had a body.
Then, there were voices. Familiar voices. They were contending about an issue, but it was too distant for Jeryl to make sense of what was being said.
A split second later, their voices were as clear as a cloudless afternoon sky. The voices echoed though, yet this didn’t take away from the hurt and anger and pain and shock that pulsed through him like a steady stream of electricity through a high tension cable.
No, it can’t be.
Ah, but it is.
“Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends?”
“We were brothers…right until you left me for dead.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because I want you to pay back for leaving me for dead!”
A sudden dread filled Jeryl’s entirety, leading him to let loose a shrill wail.
“Jeryl!” boomed a sharp voice in his mind.
***
Jeryl woke with a start. He jerked his head around, searching for Kaine, feeling the man’s essence hovering around him like a black cloud. There was no one there except Mahesh, who sat on a chair in the corner of the walled-off section, reading from his tab.
Mahesh looked at him with curiosity.
Jeryl swallowed hard, his shirt clinging to his cold, wet skin.
“How long have I been out?” he asked, rising to a sitting position. It didn’t hurt so badly now, though he could still feel aches pretty much all over his body. His left arm might not have been hurting as bad, but it sure as hell was still aflame, though dully.
“About three hours,” Mahesh replied. “You hit your arm pretty hard. The pain sent you under. Good thing, too.”
Jeryl threw a glare at him.
Mahesh stood his ground. “You were being an impossible patient. You needed the rest. While you were under, I had the time to redress your wounds and patch you up some more.”
Jeryl sighed aloud. He tried moving his left arm. He could feel pain like pinpricks erupt all over his arm. He immediately stopped lest he send himself under for another three hours.
Both men remained silent for a few moments.
Mahesh placed his tablet on a table next to his chair.
“Don’t you have other patients to attend to, doc?” Jeryl said before the doctor had the chance to speak.
“They’re all being attended to quite well, captain,” Mahesh replied. “What’s with Kaine, anyhow? You kept muttering his name while you were unconscious. I don’t know why his name sounds so familiar.” Mahesh looked to be deep in thought. “Didn’t you use to work with him or something?”
Jeryl knew he shouldn’t be divulging operational secrets to the doctor, but it was Mahesh, after all. What harm could he do? Perhaps, who was he going to tell? The nurse?
“We didn’t work together per se,” Jeryl corrected. “He was captain of the The Ghost during the Earth-Sonali War.”
Jeryl went on to explain the close relationship he had shared with Kaine. Memories danced in his mind like rotten shadows.
“He’s perhaps the only one who knows me in and out,” Jeryl ended saying. “He knows all my fears. He knows all my secrets. He knows everything about me.”
“If he’s dead, how is he attacking Armada convoys?” Mahesh asked.
“That’s what I’m still trying to believe,” Jeryl said. “I mean, I watched him die. I watched his ship go down.”
As Jeryl recalled the event of Kaine’s death, his hands began to tremble. In some distant part of his mind, he could hear the screams in the CNC as The Seeker went toe-to-toe with Sonali cruisers. He could hear himself bark out bearings to the navigations officer and commanding the tactical officer to fire. He could hear himself gasp as a terrible explosion rocked the ship. He could feel the cold silence that descended on the ship, when everyone realized that the explosion hadn’t been aboard The Seeker, but that The Ghost had burst into flames.
“Did you actually see his body, Jeryl?” Mahesh asked, bringing Jeryl’s mind to the present.
Jeryl glanced at his hands. They were still shaking terribly. He’d been traumatized for days after the event. Kaine had been like his counterweight. He had been like Jeryl’s anchor to the world of moral righteousness amidst the overwhelmingly insane world of war and senseless brutality—when they had to do what they had to do to survive the Sonali’s merciless onslaught.
“No,” he answered. “But his ship...it was falling apart. The fuselage was coming off, there were explosions all over it. Nobody could’ve survive that. Nobody.”
“Well, seems like Kaine did,” Mahesh said. “He’s alive and he kicked your ass. He commands one of the most powerful starships ever made by the Terran Armada, and he heads one of the most dangerous crime organizations in the galaxy.”
“Right,” Jeryl grumbled. “Like I don’t know that.”
“I don’t know how I’m going to defeat someone like him,” Jeryl thought out loud.
The room was momentarily filled with silence.
“Did you leave him for dead?” Mahesh suddenly asked, his dubious voice cutting through the silence like a careless butcher cuts through meat.
Jeryl looked away from Mahesh, blinking away the tears that were beginning to pool in his eyes. He glanced up at the immaculate, white ceiling as though to ward off the guilt that was now tightening his throat.
“Honestly, doc, I don’t know,” he replied. “It’s a question I’ve kept asking myself since the warehouse.”
Did I really abandon him?
Chapter 21
Flynn
Admiral Flynn marched down the halls of The Seeker en route to the sickbay. He had been told upon arrival that Jeryl was currently recuperating from his failed raid on one of the Syndicate’s warehouse.
“Kaine,” he hissed softly to himself. “This is madness.”
Things had gotten so hectic for Flynn and the Armada that he was talking to himself out of stress.
Soon, though, he would be able to talk to Jeryl. He had read the reports, but he needed to hear it from the captain himself. If what was reported was true, these were dark times for the galaxy.
Flynn entered the sickbay with purpose. He froze on his tracks the moment he saw Jeryl, his whole body bruised.
“My God,” he whispered.
He turned to Mahesh.
“How is he?”
“He’ll be fine once he mends. Nothing that time won’t heal,” the doctor replied.
The admiral looked back over at Jeryl. He certainly seemed worse for the wear, but Flynn knew how tough the captain was. He would try and get back on his feet as soon as possible.
The man won’t rest until this whole thing is over, Flynn thought.
“Can you give us a moment, Mahesh?”
“Absolutely, Admiral.”
The doctor exited the sickbay, but not before looking back at Jeryl over his shoulder one final time. As Flynn sat on a chair by the side of Jeryl’s bed, the captain forced his eyes open.
“Admiral…what brings you all the way down to The Seeker?” Jeryl asked, his voice frail.
“I didn’t want to talk over things over the slipstream. We can’t risk it right now. I mean, if we’re dealing with Kaine…we can’t be too careful,” Flynn replied.
The captain sat up, groaning every step of the way.
“Don’t strain yourself,” the admiral warned him.
Jeryl dismissed the concern with a wave of his hand, adding, “I’ll be fine. I’ve been in worse shape.”
“Maybe, but you’ve also never had to deal with somebody like Kaine,” Flynn countered.
The two men sat in silence for a moment. The gravity of the situation was almost too much to bear. Finally, the admiral spoke.
“Is it true? Is everything I heard true?”
With a heavy sigh, Jeryl confirmed Flynn’s worst fears.
“It’s all true. I was there. I saw Kaine with my own eyes. I saw the hatred in his eyes. I saw him hold a gun to Tira’s head. Hell, we fought. He’s the reason I’m in this bed right now. Kaine’s alive, Admiral, and he wants revenge on all of us…especially me.”
Flynn closed his eyes, reeling from Jeryl’s words. When was the last time he had seen Kaine? The Sonali war still raged on, and Kaine was the most brilliant captain in the whole fleet at the time. When The Ghost went down with its captain, Flynn knew they had lost one of the Armada’s best assets.
“If we’re going up against Kaine, we’re in trouble. Deep trouble. No wonder the pirates were having so much success taking transport ships. If Kaine’s involved, that might only be the beginning,” he said.
“I know,” Jeryl replied, looking straight ahead at the wall, almost as if he didn’t want to look into Flynn’s eyes
If Kaine’s truly back, Flynn thought, we’re truly fucked.
Kaine Reed was the most dangerous operative the Armada had during the war. Hell, he may have been the best operative either side had. The missions he ran as captain of The Ghost were the most dangerous assignments the Armada had, but he came out successful almost every time. Thousands, if not millions, of Sonali had died at Kaine’s hands.
Even though Flynn was reticent to heap too much praise upon Kaine for his lethality, there was simply no denying it—the man was a force of nature, a god when it came to the battlefield.
That was what made the current reality so concerning. Kaine was even probably on par with No One. He did that without nanites, either, a man born to excel in battle. Incredibly smart, extremely cunning, and utterly ruthless. The kind of things you respect when he’s on your side, but the things you dread when he’s not.
Flynn still remembered Kaine’s ‘funeral’, a private ceremony barely anyone attended. The man was, after all, part of the Intelligence division of the Armada. But then, a few months later, some of the operations he was part of made their way to the media. Flynn tried to stop it, but Kaine’s name was dragged through the mud. Painted as a war criminal by the media, the Armada simply excused itself and pretended Kaine had gone rogue. The man was dead after all...what was the harm in throwing him under the bus?
“Admiral?”
“I’m here, Jeryl. Just trying to process the gravity of the situation. Knowing that Kaine is alive, and that he has The Ghost at his disposal...well, I don’t need to tell you how dangerous that can be for us,” Flynn replied.
Jeryl nodded solemnly. They were both profoundly aware of what Kaine was capable of. Deep down, Flynn wasn’t entirely sure that they would be able to stop him and the Syndicate. The Seeker was a fine ship, one of many the Union had at their disposal. However, The Ghost was a Union ship once upon a time, and with Kaine Reed, it had a tremendously accomplished individual leading it.
The admiral continued to voice his concerns, noting, “The man knows us very well, and he knows the inner workings of our organization. He’s familiar with The Seeker, and he sure as hell knows how to get around your Hunters.”
“Sure,” Jeryl replied. “But on the flipside of that, we also know a lot about him and The Ghost. That goes both ways. I know it’s Kaine we’re dealing with, but I don’t care, Admiral. I’m not going to let him steamroll us this easily.”
“Happy to hear it,” Flynn said. “But, still, what are his goals? He might want revenge, but there has to be more.
He must have some plan beyond simply robbing transport ships and taking them under his control. If he’s selling the cargo, who is selling it to? Who is he working with?”
“You mean besides the Syndicate?”
“Yes. There’s something bigger going on. These aren’t mere thugs we’re dealing with. Besides...I think we may have a mole,” the admiral reluctantly admitted.
How else could Kaine know the transport routes? How could he know exactly when and how to strike? There was someone inside the Armada feeding him that information. Either that, or whoever was buying the weapons off Kaine had planted the mole. Either way, it was a dangerous situation.
Jeryl winced as he closed the fist of his injured hand. He was trying to fight through the pain, perhaps hoping that he could acclimate himself to the feeling and press on.
“I know,” he said.
Glad that he and Captain Montgomery were on the same page, Flynn looked around the room and checked the door to make sure nobody was standing out. At this point, he felt like he couldn’t be too careful. Believing the coast to be clear, he learned in closer to Jeryl.
“Alright, so it seems that we have a mole. That certainly complicates matters. However, that just means we have to be careful. We still have to move forward. The most important thing right now is figuring out who Kaine’s working with...and then putting The Ghost and its fleet on the scrapyard.”
Jeryl seemed reinvigorated by the admiral’s words. He was clearly itching to get started. Even if he was beaten up physically, he was still the same courageous and intelligent leader he’d always been.
“So, we need a plan,” the captain said.
“Yes. We need to think of a new way to handle this situation. Kaine has gotten the better of us every step of the way. Now that we know who we’re dealing with, though, we won’t let that happen again,” Flynn replied.
Jeryl gave the admiral a mischievous smile. There was already something brewing within the captain’s mind.
“I think I have something.”
Chapter 22
Ashley
So much for not doing anything dangerous, Ashley thought as she checked the small shuttle’s dashboard sensors.
Jeryl was barely out of the sickbay when the orders came down to prepare for this operation. Of course, since they were going after Kaine, it was imperative that the very best on hand piloted the shuttles used to lure in someone as dangerous as The Ghost's captain. Jeryl protested at first, but this time, Ashley managed to convince him otherwise—just as long as she kept out of harm's way.
The convoy, comprised of a few shuttles and transport ships, had left The Seeker just a few hours earlier, hoping that the distance between them and the nearest Armada ship would tempt The Ghost and its ancillary ships to drop in for an easy snatch and grab.
The mission was designed to be simple enough: plop the convoy in the middle of an uninhabited system for routine checks, and just wait for the pirates to come calling. The difficult bit was making sure that no one knew it was a complete setup.
“Attention, fleet captains. Check the status of your cargo now. Relay all outgoing communications through my terminal for approval before sending to Armada Command,” Ashley said, touching the communications grid.
She glanced at her assistant, a young man fresh from the Academy, and smiled. “I know this is your first mission. Just relax, all we’re doing is taking some supplies needed to New Washington’s shipyards.”
She felt a bit guilty over lying to the man, but it was an essential part of the ruse. Somehow, Kaine had managed to infiltrate the Armada without alerting the usual array of counter Intelligence systems.
Then again, the man happened to be one of the few capable of giving No One a run for her money...
“Man the consoles for a second. I’ll check the cargo reports in the back.”
The shuttles were simple two compartment ships, a small cabin in the front with constant artificial gravity, and a large storage bay that could be held in microgravity to make moving goods between ships easier. That little trick was key to making this work—after all, who would want to open a box filled with small items in zero-g? The mess would be atrocious and fixing it would be next to impossible.
The other ships only had empty boxes, but this ship had one thing guaranteed to draw The Ghost in: high-end weaponry with energy traces that could be picked up by even the most basic of scanners.
Ashley went to the box closest to the door and opened it. Inside was a simple masking unit concealing the materials. All it took was a simple push of a button, and they were glowing brighter than the star located in the center of the system. Any sensor would be able to pick it up fast.
When Ashley returned to the shuttle deck, she smiled at the young pilot. “Thanks. Anything interesting?”
He shook his head. “A group of ships is approaching the system. They’re sending out standard identification codes—apparently a trade convoy en route to Sonali Prime.”
She sat down and laughed. “I think that may be a fib, but let’s just wait...”
The two watched as the convoy entered the system. If they were simple merchants, they wouldn’t drop to sub-light speed.
But then, a voice came through the shuttle’s comm.
“The Seeker, this is Convoy Mission. We’re under attack. I repeat, we’re currently under attack.”
Chapter 23
Jeryl
“Alright, our ghost fleet has appeared,” Jeryl proclaimed to his crew. “The battle has begun.”
The captain was in the CNC, and he had just gotten word from Ashley about the fleet’s appearance. This was all part of the plan, of course. Jeryl and his ship were waiting alongside an Armada attack fleet out of sight. Ashley was leading a transport convoy of bait ships, and the goal was to bring on an attack by the fleet of boarding shuttles, and then wait for The Ghost to reveal itself.
“What do we do now, Captain?” an officer on the deck asked.
Jeryl didn’t respond immediately. He was too busy keeping an eye on the action unfolding nearby. He wanted to make sure the time was right. This was a key element of success in battle, and Jeryl knew that a fight was about to happen. The captain wanted the fleet to feel like this was just another mission. He was also hoping The Ghost would appear.
After all, that was the whole point of the plan.
The Armada wanted The Ghost…and they wanted Kaine.
C’mon Kaine, show your face, Jeryl thought to himself.
Jeryl had been baffled the first time he had seen his old friend. He had been surprised, and that surprise almost led to him meeting his demise...and he still bore the damage from that fight.
But this time, it would be Jeryl who would be pulling off the surprise. Now that he knew Kaine was alive, Jeryl was prepared to do whatever was necessary to bring him to justice.
The Ghost hadn’t appeared yet, but The Seeker couldn’t wait any longer.
We have to get in there, Jeryl decided. We have to get the drop on the fleet.
“Prepare to drop in!” he exclaimed.
Jeryl took the helm of the ship himself. He was going to lead The Seeker into battle. This was his fight, and he wasn’t going to leave anybody else bearing the responsibility of what happened. The crew steeled themselves for joining the skirmish.
The captain sent a message down to the flight deck where his pilots were waiting.
“Pilots, man the Hunters. Prepare to be deployed.”
“Roger that, Captain,” Powers responded in kind.
With his own ship and the Hunters prepared, Jeryl turned his attention to the attack fleet alongside him.
“We’re entering the battle. Follow my lead,” he instructed them.
Once the captain got confirmation from all the other ships in the fleet, he knew there was no turning back. Even though the transport ships were empty, that didn’t mean the pilots were out of harm’s way. The ships could still be taken by the pirates, and their crews could still be hurt. Ashley was down there as well, and Jeryl wasn’t about to risk her safety. No matter what.
I hope they aren’t expecting us.
His worries were valid. As he and Admiral Flynn had discussed, there seemed to be a mole in the Armada. That was the reason Jeryl’s plan had been tightly guarded. Flynn and Jeryl didn’t want anybody to know about it unless it was necessary. They still didn’t know who they could trust.
I guess we’re about to find out if the secret is out.
“Here we go,” the captain muttered to himself.
With that, he dropped into the chaos. Boarding shuttles were surrounding the convoy. Some of the transport ships were being boarded already. The Seeker led the attack fleet into battle, each ship helmed by the brightest Armada captains. They had put a great team together.
Would it be enough, though? Could they stop the The Ghost? In order for that to happen, Jeryl would have to outmaneuver Kaine, and that...that wasn’t an easy thing.
I never thought I’d have to do this, he thought. Sure, he and Kaine had been competitive back in the day, but they were always on the same side. They had fought alongside each other during the Earth-Sonali War. The Seeker and The Ghost were both decorated Union ships. Now Captain Reed had essentially risen from the dead, and he had revenge in his mind.
“Deploy the Hunters!” Jeryl commanded.
He watched as the Hunters emerged from The Seeker’s flight deck. The ships, in impeccable formation, swooped down on the shuttles that were busy boarding the decoy transport convoy. From Jeryl’s perspective, the Hunters, led by Powers, seemed to take the boarding shuttles by surprise. They peppered the shuttles with shots, dealing extensive damage in one pass. The captain, from his vantage point in The Seeker, watched as one of the shuttles exploded from the blasts. In fact, all five ships appeared to be rendered non-functioning from one sweep.
“Ashley, can you hear me?” Jeryl radioed down.
“Yes, I can hear you.”
“How are you hanging in there? How is the convoy?”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me. The Hunters really seem to have hit their mark—not that I’m surprised. I just wish I could’ve been right there alongside them, leading the way.”
“You’re doing a great job in your current role. Just be careful down there. The attack fleet is ready for this. Keep me updated on what you’re seeing.”
Though Jeryl was part of the battle, he had a different perspective up in The Seeker than what Ashley had. The same went for the pilots of the Hunters. Communication was key for coordinating the whole thing, as space fights could easily descend into confusion.
Jeryl knew that The Ghost fleet, led by Kaine, would be on the same page. The Armada’s attack fleet couldn’t afford to have any mistake on their end. That would be the end of it.
Although the Hunters had managed to cripple some of the attacking shuttles, others were already preparing to return fire. A true fight was on now.
Jeryl shot a message down to the pilots in the Hunters. “You aren’t going to have the element of surprise anymore. Stay on your toes.”
“No problem, Captain. We’re ready for whatever they have to fish out,” Guillermo replied.
“Let’s kick some Syndicate ass!” Francesca added.
Jeryl turned his attention to the rest of the ships in the attack fleet now.
“Let’s spread out and attack. Don’t give the enemy an exit. Keep an eye out for the The Ghost as well. That’s the real reason we’re here.”
Confirmation was received from the other ships in the fleet, and they began to take their positions in the battle.
As the space fight began, the Armada had the clear advantage. It appeared that their surprise had, in fact, stayed a surprise. The Hunters stayed close to the convoy, protecting those ships from being boarded, and ostensibly protecting Ashley’s shuttle as well. Jeryl was pleased with the attack fleet the Armada had provided him with. They were certainly holding up their end of the bargain.
Suddenly, Jeryl felt a jolt. The Seeker had been hit.
“Damage report!” he yelled.
“We seem to be fine, Captain. It was only a glancing blow,” Mary Taylor, the communications officer, informed him.
“Don’t let it happen again!” Jeryl replied.
The captain surveyed the landscape, looking for the perpetrator of the shot. He noticed a couple of boarding shuttles flying nearby. Even if one of them hadn’t been the shooter, they were still the enemy. Jeryl maneuvered the ship into position. Though the shuttles were smaller and swifter, Jeryl was deft at the controls of his ship.
With tremendous skill, he locked in on one of the shuttles. He ordered the shot to be taken, and the particle cannons fired.
It was dead on, and the shuttle immediately began plunging into the inky darkness of space. Jeryl turned his attention to the remaining ship and ordered more rounds to be fired. Only one of them hit, but it did a little damage. The shuttle was struggling to continue flying. Two blasts later, and the shuttle was finally destroyed.
Jeryl didn’t have any time to revel in his success, with Ashley’s tense voice coming at him.
“Captain, are you seeing this?”
Jeryl turned his attention from the shuttles he had just destroyed to the main viewscreen.
“I am,” he said succinctly.
The Ghost.
It had finally emerged from the darkness to join the fray. This was the plan, of course, but Jeryl still felt a tinge of concern in the back of his mind.
“We’re engaging The Ghost in battle. Remember, Captain Kaine Reed is commanding the ship. He’s extremely capable—and extremely dangerous,” he told the fleet, the Hunters, and his crew.
Though the Armada’s fleet had been succeeding, the mood had changed considerably.
If The Seeker wasn’t able to take down The Ghost, none of this would matter.
Alright, old friend, let’s fight.
Chapter 24
Jeryl
The Ghost’s appearance was nothing short of ghostly. The darkly-lit vessel with gray hulls and zero markings lanced through the field of battle like a colossal whale, oblivious to the Hunters diving left and right out of the way. There was a deadly grace to it, which caused Jeryl to pause and just stare.
The tempo of the battle seemed to slow down. Everyone was enthralled by the destroyed ship that has come back to life—as if the dead were coming back to life.
And then The Ghost began to fire.
“Evasive maneuvers!” Jeryl blurted, out of habit.
A second later, he realized he was the one at the navigations station. He twisted the controller, sending The Seeker into an unholy dive. As the vessel trembled terribly at the exertion and the CNC officers tumbled through the air, Jeryl fought the wave of fear that rippled through his mind.
Suddenly, the open channel descended into chaos. Everyone was talking at the same time. The pilots were jittered by The Ghost, while the boarding shuttles of The Ghost Fleet seemed to have rallied around their flagship, emboldened by the Vessel of Death itself.
Shit! What next?
“We’re taking heavy fire!” one pilot screamed through the comm, and then was silenced by a heavy explosion.
“We lost him,” shouted Guillermo. “We fucking lost—”
“I’ve got enemy bogey on my six!” another pilot cut through the chatter. His voice carried a definite terrified edge, such that made Jeryl shiver, even as he brought The Seeker around.
“I can’t shake him off!” the pilot continued.
Jeryl felt his skin crawl with a coldness.
That’s just a kid in there, he thought at the voice.
BOOM!
The screen flared yet again as another Hunter was raptured in a sphere of fire and debris. Another pilot gone.
“We need an attack plan, Captain!” Ashley cut through the haze that was forming in Jeryl’s mind. “Kaine is laying waste to our forces. We need to do something.”
We are doing something, Jeryl wanted to shout back. We’re fighting!
But even as he romanticized about that, he knew that Kaine and The Ghost’s presence had left him mentally incapacitated.
Jeryl’s first mistake was to have taken control of the helm, when Ferriero, the navigations officer who was especially skilled, was well capable of flying the ship into battle. Also, by slaving the weapons control to the navigations console, he had relieved Adachi Tomoe, the tactical officer of duty.
Jeryl had two highly trained officers standing by and practically useless.
What commander leaves two of his best officers out of a dog fight? Yours truly, apparently. Fuck!
Jeryl was beginning to realize that he had let his fear of Kaine control him. The assumption was that Kaine was helming The Ghost—but what proof did he have of that?
It was all his almost arrogant notion that Kaine thought him worth a dime to personally want to finish him off.
Shit!
Jeryl needed to stop thinking like a pilot and start thinking like a fleet commander. But he wasn’t about to relieve the weapons and tactical consoles. He didn’t want to seem unstable to his CNC crew.
“All Hunters fall back and regroup around The Seeker,” Jeryl commanded.
“Roger that, Captain,” Powers replied.
“All fleet vessels, arrow formation,” Jeryl said. “We’re going to punch a hole through The Ghost fleet. Their strength is in their tight formation. I want to keep them scattered and uncoordinated.”
“Divide and conquer, eh?” one of the captains in the fleet asked.
“Damn right,” Jeryl replied.
Jeryl saw on the main viewscreen that his orders were being executed with finesse. The Hunters were falling back with grace and taking outlying boarding vessels down as they did. Until now, none of the transport vessels had been successfully boarded, and Ashley had skillfully led the convoy to a defensive position behind the Armada fleet.
“Fleet report!” Jeryl said.
“We’ve lost a third of our Hunters, sir,” a reply came.
“The Seeker’s, or the Armada fleet’s combined?” Jeryl asked.
“The Seeker’s, sir” replied Adachi, who was monitoring the battle from a secondary tactical console in the CNC. “We have a few damaged starships, but none has been destroyed. The Ghost fleet has taken a minor beating, but they’re still strong.”
“In other words, we haven’t achieved anything?” Jeryl asked.
Adachi was wise enough not to reply.
“Powers,”
“Sir.”
“I want you to lead the Hunters’ squadrons on a shoot and run swoop as the fleet punches through The Ghost fleet’s formation,” Jeryl said. “Don’t stick around for a dogfight.”
“You want us to play the ghost, sir?” Powers replied, a hint of humor in his voice.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” Jeryl said. “Might as well turn the sides.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Powers replied. “Powers out.”
“Fleet, prepare to attack on my cue!”
One by one, each captain replied with an affirmative.
Jeryl threw the controller forward. The Seeker leaped into motion, its sub light engine roaring against the sudden move.
Ahead, The Ghost fleet approached, a cacophony of starships and boarding shuttles. It looked like a motley mix, yet Jeryl knew it was infinitely deadly and powerful. But was it powerful enough to take down an Armada attack fleet?
Convoys were one thing. Attack fleets were another.
I guess we’re about to find out.
The element of surprise was gone. They were left with tactics, fire power and good old battle luck.
“We’re in position, sir,” Powers said. “Ready to swoop in.”
Jeryl noticed that the entire Hunters had divided themselves into two teams, one at each verge of the Fleet’s formation—high up and ready to come down hard.
Good.
At the center of 'the Ghost fleet' was the needle-like monstrosity. It was so sleek that its motion betrayed the eyes. One would wonder if it was actually moving.
Jeryl had pored over The Ghost’s schematics to ensure he was familiar with the ship’s design, because looking at it through space made it hard to tell where what was—be it the CNC, the engine room, the life support systems, and so on.
It was ghostly that way, so dark and ethereal that it could’ve very well been a black hole, sucking into itself all light and life.
“Sir, we’re being hailed by The Ghost,” Mary Taylor exclaimed.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Jeryl muttered to himself.
“All weapons fire!” he boomed a second later.
The Armada attack fleet, which had formed into the shape of an arrow, met The Ghost fleet head on. The Seeker maintained its knife-like approach, tearing through the forward defensive vessels like paper.
Explosions filled the void of space, metamorphosing into a spray of expanding balls of orange fire and showers of miniaturized halls, from one corner of the space battle to another.
Screaming of orders and yells of terror filled the open comm channel as the Hunters started their attack dives.
For a moment, everything descended into complete chaos. Jeryl maintained his forward motion, cutting through the clutter of ships until he was face-to-face with The Ghost.
Dive, his mind screamed at him.
No! Jeryl replied back. This ends today!
But that’s not the mission! his mind screamed back.
“Captain, you have to dive!” Ashley’s voice came through the comm channel.
Jeryl didn’t see it until it was too late.
To the aft of The Seeker were three enemy starships swooping down on him. Jeryl’s eyes widened as he recognized the move—it was a move he and Kaine had designed and perfected during the Earth-Sonali War. It was the perfect trap, one that Jeryl had been too blind to see.
“The Kaijer Offensive…” he muttered, utterly awestruck. “Kaine, you fucking bastard.”
“Retreat!” Jeryl bellowed. “All vessels, retreat!”
But it was too late. He had led the entire fleet into a trap. He thought he had knifed right through The Ghost fleet’s formation, whereas The Ghost fleet had actually lured them into a zone of death and had covered up their exit.
The three ships let it rip on the Armada fleet.
Jeryl threw The Seeker into a starboard dive, sending everyone that wasn’t tightly strapped in into the air. Jeryl’s safety straps jerked under the strain as he was thrown forward, the engines’ roar drowning the whine of the artificial gravity.
A sudden explosion rocked The Seeker, sending it into an uncontrolled spin. Instantly, they lost power, as well as their antigravity field.
Someone screamed in the CNC. Smoke wafted into Jeryl’s nostrils just as there was a sharp spark of electric power somewhere behind.
“Engine room!” Jeryl shouted, wrestling with the controller to restrain the ship’s dangerous spin. He could hear the deep groan of the ship’s hull. It could come apart under such high magnitude stress
“We’re doing all we can, sir,” the chief engineer replied via the comms. “But we were hit badly. We lost all engines.”
“I need to steady the ship!” Jeryl complained.
“You’ll ha—to do—out the engi—”
The comm system was failing.
“Sir, you may not have the engines but you’re already moving,” a calm voice said behind him.
Jeryl looked over his shoulder to see Ferriero standing behind him. There was a gash across his forehead. Coagulated blood had formed a crusty seal across the gash, reducing bleeding to a slow trickle. He didn’t seem aware of the injury.
“…use the movement to control the ship,” Ferriero was saying.
Jeryl heaved a sigh and got up. “You have the control, Ferriero.”
Jeryl retreated to the familiar Captain’s chair. Settling into it gave him a feel of power he didn’t know he’d lost, trying to pilot the ship.
As he felt for the arm controls, Jeryl never took his eyes off the main viewscreen. In a matter of seconds, Ferriero had canceled out the spin and steadied the ship. The Seeker was now drifting lifeless in the heart of The Ghost fleet’s formation.
The zone of death, as Jeryl had suggested to Kaine years ago.
Most of the Armada attack fleet had limped out of the zone of death and were now retreating to the edge of the system.
“We’re sitting ducks here, sir!” Adachi exclaimed, who had returned to the main tactical console now that Ferriero had unslaved it.
“What are your orders, sir?”
“We’re trapped,” Jeryl said. “We’ve lost our engines and most of our power. We’re flying dark. There’s only one thing left to do…”
“Sir, scanners show that boarding shuttles are converging on our positions,” said Dr. Taft Lannigan, the science officer.
Jeryl didn’t miss the hint of a question in the Dr. Lannigan’s voice—why would Kaine want to board us, when he has just decimated a chunk of our fleet?
Because he wants to capture The Seeker.
“He’s not going to fire on us,” Jeryl said to Dr. Lannigan. “Computer, establish a ship-wide broadcast.”
“Complying…” the computer’s reply came. “Proceed, Captain.”
“Crew of The Seeker, listen up,” Jeryl said. “We have a few minutes before we’re boarded by the enemy. We’ve been bested. We’ve lost. There’s no shame in running, as long as we’re going to live to fight another day.
“And that is what I want you to do. Live. So we can fight again tomorrow.”
Jeryl paused to take a look at his CNC crew. Most of them looked at him with wide-eyes. He had never given this speech, even during the Earth-Sonali War. They always stuck with The Seeker to the very end, and all the time came out on top.
But this is different. This is Kaine.
“Abandon ship,” Jeryl said. “That’s an order.”
That’s the order.
Chapter 25
Ashley
Ashley threw her shuttle to the right, avoiding a blast from one of Kaine’s shuttles.
What the hell are we going to do? They’re tearing through us like we’re nothing, she thought to herself. How in the hell did Kaine manage to train his people so well, so fast?
She dodged another blast, returning fire and gaining slight satisfaction as she saw her target careen into a nearby shuttle, putting a hole in both ships.
But as she looked around, she realized—just as Jeryl must have—that this was a lost cause. Somehow, someway, the Armada was losing. Three of her Hunters were gone, not just down, but gone.
Henderson, Sano, Joshua—all gone. Sano had just gotten married a few weeks before, Joshua just found out he was going to be a father, and Henderson just got promoted—and now, they were all dead.
Kaine had outsmarted them again. He had known where the convoys were going to be. He had known Tira was a spy. He had known Jeryl was coming for him, and had beaten Jeryl badly for it.
Dodging another round of fire in a shuttle that had shitty maneuverability, Ashley did her best to get back to The Seeker with the rest of her Hunters. Then, the fleet came together in a V formation and charged, knifing through the enemy.
The Seeker headed the charge, flying directly for The Ghost. Jeryl wanted to end this. He wanted to put a stop to Kaine and the Syndicate, and he knew The Seeker was capable of taking down The Ghost.
Then Ashley saw the trap. Kaine had his ghost fleet line up and act a certain way, drawing Jeryl and the Armada fleet in. She saw The Ghost staring down The Seeker as three other ships came in from the aft side. Jeryl must’ve not seen them, as he was still making a bee-line for Kaine.
She clicked on her comm, “Captain, you have to dive!”
She watched as The Seeker dove to get away—but things were too late. It only took a few seconds before Jeryl sounded the retreat. Ashley’s shuttle took a shot to the starboard side, but it was a glancing blow. Her concentration shifted to her own survival and she forced the shuttle into maneuvers it wasn’t built for.
Nowhere near as agile as a Hunter, her shuttle was still better at moving than the Syndicate’s shuttles, and better shielded too. That’s what saved her ass. If she didn’t have the shields that she had, that last shot would’ve torn a hole in her hull, sucking her lifeless body out into space.
Dodging and weaving as best as she could, she called out to Powers to get a shuttle off her tail. As soon as she was clear, she blasted another shuttle before risking a glance back at The Seeker.
It was dead in the water, so to speak. She could see the engines were dark, and it was drifting aimlessly through the fracas. Within seconds, she could see escape pods blasting out of her hull.
Eyes wide and breath coming in short bursts, Ashley’s mind raced. The Seeker had lost, and Jeryl had ordered his people to abandon ship. That had never happened. No matter how bad things had gotten before, they always found a way, even if it was just a way to get away.
They must’ve lost the engines, Ashley tried to convince herself. Jeryl would never have abandoned ship unless it was completely hopeless. I need to get to him!
She changed direction, blasting another shuttle out of her way. Syndicate shuttles were already attaching themselves to The Seeker. She could picture Syndicate soldiers rushing aboard, sweeping the halls, making their way to engineering and the CNC.
If anyone was left on board, they’d be mowed down—it was doubtful that Kaine would be willing to take prisoners. Her mind told her there was nothing she could do, but her heart sent her racing for The Seeker anyway. She had to know about Jeryl.
Then, without warning, her shuttle changed direction and her engines shut down. She was left to drift away from The Seeker, drift away from the danger.
“No! No, no, no—God fucking dammit!” she screamed, tears falling down her face, as she pounded her fist on her console. She left her chair and headed to the back of the shuttle. There was an emergency porthole used to connect to another vessel if there was no way to dock at the back. It was hard to see through, but she was able to see enough.
Union ships were blinking out, their FTL drives engaged and taking them away from the destruction. The Ghost was floating just above The Seeker, waiting as the four shuttles that had docked with her disconnected and made room for six other shuttles.
The six new shuttles connected themselves to The Seeker with a variety of robotic arms, then engaged their engines and began pushing The Seeker away. Within seconds, The Seeker was gone, followed by the Syndicate fleet. The Ghost was the last to leave, waiting an agonizing minute before vanishing into the vast emptiness of space.
What do I do? What do any of us do? How the hell do we beat Kaine? How do we fight a ghost of a man that commands a ghost of a ship? Ashley panicked, her tears continuing to flow down her cheeks.
She forced herself to slow down her breathing. She needed to calm down for the baby. A heightened level of stress wasn’t going to be good. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind as best as she could.
Not everything was lost. They had a plan, after all.
However, what was not part of the plan was shutting down Ashley’s shuttle. Her jackass husband, in all his wisdom, had forced her away and shut her down so she couldn’t chase after them. She wasn’t going to chase him—she wasn’t that damn stupid. She was just going to make it look like she was going to try something. But no, her husband had to rig her shuttle to shut down.
She ranted and raved, screamed and yelled, and cursed in whatever language she could think of for several minutes before power returned to the engines. “Asshole. Fucking asshole. I married a complete moron of an asshole. I’m pregnant with the kid of a moron of an idiot of a dumbass of an asshole!” Her breath was ragged, her heart was racing, and then she fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.
She tried to stop her mind from spinning into pure madness, but it wasn't easy. What if Jeryl died? She would be a widow and her child would be fatherless.
“Please live through this, Jeryl. Please don’t die,” she said through hacking sobs.
Ashley forced herself to stop panicking. She managed to regain control of herself, wiping her face clean with the arm of a space suit and standing up slowly.
Then, she returned to the pilot chair.
“This is shuttle Seeker Two, I repeat, this is shuttle Seeker Two. Does anyone copy?”
“Shuttle Seeker Two, this is TUS The Revenge, we read you.”
“Come get me, Revenge. We need to find out where they took my fucking ship.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The Revenge blinked into view a second later. Within a minute, Ashley was docked and leaving the shuttle, a security team and doctor ready to escort her to the CNC.
You're fucking dead, Kaine, she promised. Nobody fucks with my family.
Chapter 26
Jeryl
This better work, for fuck’s sake, Jeryl thought.
The compartment was barely large enough to fit the platoon of commandos. There was no extra room to maneuver and hardly room to breathe—not that he wanted to. The air was foul. It stank of sweat and unbrushed teeth. The ship’s climate control helped, but the temperature was rising with so many bodies crammed together. Body heat intensified the smells and threatened to gag him. The only thing that kept him from puking was the thought of adding that smell on top of the others.
The crew had difficulty staying still and quiet. Jeryl wished he could inject them with a sedative just for a little while. That would make his job so much easier.
He wanted everyone to think he abandoned ship, so he gave his commandos orders to meet in front of a barely used storage compartment. Engineering rigged the control panel so that it was useless and rerouted it to Jeryl’s tablet. Those that truly knew him, or at least studied his movements, wouldn’t be fooled so easily. Hopefully, the invaders were idiots. In stories, the bad guys usually were, but it didn’t work that way in real life.
The original plan was to outsmart The Ghost in battle, but in case they failed, Jeryl and Flynn had devised Plan B. A reckless suicide mission that would take Jeryl and a small commando squad into the heart of the Syndicate.
He flinched every time one of the commandos shifted. They were getting restless. Even he was getting more nervous than usual. It wasn’t really about the dark sardine can, it was the waiting. The longer they waited, the more he wondered if his plan was a futile suicide mission.
“The ghost—he’s here,” someone whispered frantically in the back.
Well, no shit, Jeryl thought. He assumed the commando was talking about The Ghost. Maybe the pressure was getting to him. It was damn near getting to Jeryl, and none of them had half the experience he did.
“He’s here. He’s telling me how we’re gonna die.”
“Who?” another commando whispered.
“The ghost. Can’t you hear it?”
There was a hesitation, as if all of them held their breath to listen for this ghost.
“Shut it!” Jeryl hissed.
He’s lost his damn mind.
He was talking about an actual ghost. He picked the commandos according to their training. Deep inside, he knew that training and real life were different. This guy probably had some buried claustrophobia issues that they failed to uncover. Jeryl understood, but this was the worst time for someone to face their fears. If they lived, he would talk to Flynn about upping the stakes at the Academy. That wouldn’t weed out all the crazies, but it would help.
“We’re gonna die. Then I’ll be the ghost. I’ll be the ghost. I’ll be the ghost,” the whispering turned to muttering, rising an octave each time.
“Someone shut him the fuck up!” Jeryl had to raise his voice over the commando’s.
Jeryl winced when he heard a muffled thump followed by the sound of a body crumpling to the floor. Well, there was no other choice. Too much depended on this operation’s success.
“Done, Captain,” a commando whispered.
He felt bad for the poor bastard, but he would be discharged as soon as this assignment was over.
It seemed the rest of them relaxed as well. Panic was contagious, and even Jeryl felt his heart pounding a little faster with every whisper.
“Secure him so he doesn’t blow it when it’s time to move,”
“Yes, sir,” he tried and failed to be quiet as he trussed his colleague about.
“Bound and gagged, sir,”
“Let’s just hope he stays unconscious,” Jeryl muttered.
That was a fiasco, but it did serve as a slight distraction against the monotony. Now that things were settled, the smells invaded his nose again. He wished with all his might that the fuckers that took over would get to the Syndicate headquarters already.
They used that time to prepare themselves. Jeryl closed his eyes and did his best to still his mind, which tried constantly to return to his wife. Was Ashley okay? Would she forgive him for disabling the shuttle? Was she in pain? He cursed himself for not being with her. She and the baby should be his first priority, but...service to the Terran Union would always hold that title. She knew that and loved him anyway.
He shook his head in an attempt to drive out those thoughts. They would have to wait. Instead, he concentrated on listening for any noise outside. If the plan worked, they could overpower the Syndicate thugs and send the coordinates to Flynn.
There were random clangs and scrapes outside. Jeryl held his breath. Someone was tinkering with the control panel right in front of them. They paid attention. The malfunction should’ve only shown if they ran a specific diagnostic. Jeryl had hoped it would go unnoticed.
Apparently, it didn’t. All he could do was hope that Engineering did a job and repairing the panel would be impossible. At least, until they docked at headquarters and got the right parts.
The sound of a spark from the panel followed by loud cursing made Jeryl smile. His Engineering team was the best. He made a mental note to commend them for a job well done.
The sound of the invader punching the wall made him want to giggle. He contained himself and it was quiet again. Jeryl could only assume the asshole had walked away.
He dozed a bit, his eyes popping open when a poke to the arm woke him.
“Good morning, Captain,” one of the commandos whispered with a smile in his voice.
“Oh shit. How long was I out?”
“About an hour.”
“Did I snore?”
“No, but you farted.”
Snickers rolled across the compartment. Jeryl glowered, not that anyone could see.
What an immature thing to say.
Then, he realized that they had been stuck down there for a while. They were just trying to find some humor in a situation that would otherwise drive all of them batshit crazy. Why not a good laugh over a stupid fart joke?
Okay, that was a little funny, Jeryl admitted and allowed himself a small chuckle. It was mostly for the others’ benefit, to let them know everything was going to be okay. He could already feel the tension drain from the compartment.
The Seeker shuffled and lurched at bit in a barely recognizable sign of docking. The movement was slow and easy. It had a permanent feel to Jeryl and his instincts told him they had arrived.
Jeryl squared his shoulders and welcomed the burst of adrenaline that surged through his body. He was anxious to bust out of that fucking compartment and take down the Syndicate.
“Ready, crew. Weapons out,” he whispered.
The sound of the platoon sliding out their weapons was ominous but satisfying.
Jeryl slipped his tablet half out of its pocket and hit the icon.
The compartment door slid open.
Chapter 27
Jeryl
They stormed out of their hidden compartment. Jeryl was at the forefront, his assault rifle’s butt knitted gently with his right shoulder blade. The muzzle was at eye level, aimed forwards.
They came into a large empty corridor on the Engineering deck. The corridor wound around the entire deck like a huge snake coiling around a prey. There was no telling where Kaine’s people were.
“Stay alert,” Jeryl whispered to his men. “These guys could be—”
Before he could finish his statement, a man came whistling around the bend, bouncing—or more like skipping—along like he owned the place.
Wrong move, pal.
Jeryl saw the man skid to a halt, shock painted across his face. Then, he saw the man’s head jerk violently to the side and a hole appearing on his forehead right before he saw the flash of a muzzle beside him.
The man collapsed to the ground, dead.
And then the alarms went off.
Jeryl started moving again, allowing his weapon to lead him. They all moved at a fast pace, looking at the world through the scopes of their rifles.
Kaine’s men started filtering into the corridor. They were all cut down as Jeryl proceeded with his men to Engineering.
As they got closer to the main entrance, more men found their way into their path. The sharp blare of the sirens drowned their screams as they were shot in the head or chest.
They turned the final bend and came to a final stretch of corridor leading to a double door. As they approached, the alarms went silent.
Jeryl paused, his team stopping right behind him. He looked around. He knew this place like the back of his hand—it was his ship after all. The corridor had progressively narrowed along the way, although it could barely be noticed.
Jeryl couldn’t sense any present danger. The corridor was spartan. The lights were a dull red, signifying some sort of emergency mode or low energy mode. Jeryl was still not sure how Kaine had been able to pilot The Seeker here.
The last Jeryl checked, Kaine’s ships had damaged The Seeker’s engines and left her drifting through space, lifeless.
“What’s the problem, boss?” asked the nearest commando.
“Something’s off,” Jeryl replied, eyeing the door ahead.
“You think he knows we’re the ones here?”
Jeryl glanced over his shoulder at the soldier. He was a sincere looking young man with a clean shaven face and a dreamy expression in his eyes. He was fitted tightly with combat fatigues, and weapons hung from the many compartments on his attire.
“Soldier, he knows we’re here,” Jeryl replied. “I’m wondering if he knows why.”
Jeryl took a few steps towards the doors. “I’m also wondering if he’s set a trap behind these doors.”
The doors were made of the same material used to make the hull. It was completely impenetrable. It could withstand a blast, except of course a torpedo—but that would just blow out this entire section of the ship, so no sense using that inside the ship.
There were no see-through windows or tiny portals that they could use to see what was behind the doors, just a thickly armored door.
Jeryl was about to take the final steps that would put him within reach of the door and cause the systems to open the door automatically, when he heard the door click. It had been locked.
“What do you suppose to achieve, Jeryl?” a voice boomed over the external comm speakers.
Jeryl ignored the voice and said to his men, “The door is locked. I need it opened now.”
A scrawny looking soldier scurried out from the back of the platoon of commandos and ran to the front. He was carrying some sort of computer device. It was a medium-sized black box with a screen, a keyboard, a stub for an antenna and a wiry aspect.
The tech specialist knelt down beside the door and revealed a small, hidden circuit compartment on the wall that Jeryl didn’t know even existed. He went on to connect his device to the circuitry and began his hack into the program.
Jeryl may have waved his arm console at Kaine’s private office in Smuggler’s Cave to open its door, but this was no office door. This was a standard military facility door. A wave of the hand wasn’t enough. Getting into the circuitry was essential.
“Done,” the tech specialist mumbled just as there was a click and a sharp hiss. The doors slid apart.
They barreled into the Engineering room. Jeryl made a beeline for the main computer systems ahead, while he commanded the rest to barricade the door and stand guard. As he suspected would happen, Kaine’s people began to pour in minutes after they broke into Engineering, guns blazing.
“Keep them off me for a second!” Jeryl groaned aloud, falling to his knees to make himself a smaller target.
He accessed the ship’s systems and then ran a pinpointing algorithm to get his exact location.
The screens were large enough for everyone in the room to see, including the enemy soldiers that were trying to destroy them.
A motion to the right caught Jeryl’s attention. He fell backwards and dodged a spray of particle beams, raising his gun in that direction. More beams whizzed past his head as Jeryl saw that an enemy combatant had somehow snuck past the small ring his men had formed around him. Jeryl didn’t blink twice before he squeezed the trigger.
The advancing fighter rocked backward with a sharp force, the beam tearing through his upper torso. The man crashed to the ground to the amazement of the nearest soldiers.
“Sorry, boss!” one called out.
“Just keep your eyes peeled,” Jeryl boomed.
One problem with the room was that there were too many entrances. And since the computers were at the center of the room, they were too exposed. But it was something they had expected. It was something they had planned for.
Jeryl threw himself back at the computer just in time for the screen to flicker and change to show a space station orbiting a blue and green planet.
“Earth?” someone whispered amidst the rat-a-tat of gunfire.
“No, not Earth,” Jeryl replied, his voice almost as weak. He was marveling at the beauty of the planet on the screen. He saw The Ghost fleet arrayed in all its majesty around the station. The Ghost itself was docked with the station, as was The Seeker.
Then underneath the image, a series of numbers rolled out. Coordinates.
Jeryl was about to relay the information back to the fleet, when the image flickered and dissolved to show a smirking face.
Kaine.
Jeryl felt his cheek burn with anger. Almost immediately, he noticed the silence that followed. Kaine’s men were no longer attacking.
“You’ve been a bad boy, Jeryl Montgomery,” Kaine said in a condescending voice.
From Kaine’s surrounding, Jeryl could tell the man was still on a ship. He wasn’t sure if it was The Seeker or The Ghost.
“Trying to call for help?” Kaine said. “Hiding in your own ship?” The man shook his head in disapproval. “Parlor tricks, Jeryl? How low can you go?”
Jeryl felt his palms ball into a fist. “I’m going to take you down,” he whispered. “Even if it’s the last thing I do.”
Kaine seemed to draw himself up to his full length. “The last thing you'll do is be captured. I’ve called off my forces for only one reason. Surrender.”
Jeryl sneered.
“I have Engineering surrounded,” Kaine said. “I have more men than you have ammo and they’re trooping into The Seeker from the space station as we speak. You’re far away from home. No one knows where you are, and you’ll die if you don’t do as I say.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Kaine glared at Jeryl. Then he nodded. “Very well.”
The screen flickered off. The computer systems died out immediately after.
Jeryl whirled around in search for the tech specialist. When he saw the scrawny man, he marched towards him.
“He’s cut all power to the engineering from the CNC,” Jeryl said. “He’s either there—or he’s got some of his people there. Did you get the coordinates?”
Jeryl had ordered the tech specialist to program the coordinates into a storage device as soon as they appeared on the screen, in the event that something happened and they lost the data from the computer systems.
The man nodded and pulled out a small rectangular disc. “I’ve already programmed the coordinates into this disc as per your command.”
“Good,” Jeryl said.
All his men had inched towards him, closing ranks. Their backs were still to him, while they kept an eye out for any Syndicate thug.
Jeryl took the disc. “The only place I can send this information from is my office adjacent to the CNC. He won’t be able to cut the power going there.”
“And if he’s cut off all communication, it wouldn’t affect the one there since it runs on a self-sustaining, independent system,” the tech specialist said.
“To the ready room, then!” one commando said chirpily.
“No,” Jeryl said. “I’m going alone. You guys will only attract his attention. He may shoot us out of the sky when he realizes what we’re up to.”
“You need to go alone, then,” the tech specialist said.
“And you all need to surrender,” Jeryl said.
They began to grumble.
Jeryl had to speak over their voices. “You can't keep on fighting. If you surrender, you at least have a chance to escape by determining the terms of your surrender.”
The comms crackled to life. “Last chance, Jeryl!”
Jeryl led his team to a set of steps that led to a gangway. There was an access way there that led into the bulkhead. Jeryl knew his way to his office from there.
“We surrender!” Jeryl blurted out.
Kaine only laughed through the comms. “Typical. Tell your men to stand down. We’re coming in.”
Jeryl turned to his men. “Spread out. Stand down. If they ask, tell them I ran off into the hallway and commanded you not to follow.”
Jeryl didn’t need to speak again. They nodded and began to spread out. Jeryl opened the access way, crawled into the small tunnel, and closed the access way behind him.
He found it difficult, crawling through the small space with an assault rifle, so he abandoned the weapon soon enough.
He was already in another section of the ship, when he faintly heard the sound of yells. Kaine’s men were now storming Engineering.
Jeryl found a ladder and climbed about three decks up before he had to crawl some more to find a connecting ladder.
These spaces had been made for Engineering staff to fix problems within the ship's bowels, especially when the elevators were damaged. It was also meant to give them easy access to the parts of the ship that were too embedded in the hull to be accessed from outside the bulkhead.
Once Jeryl found the ladder he was looking for, he climbed all the way up to the CNC level. He crawled for a few more minutes before he found a red door leading down. He opened it and gently dropped into his private office.
“Computer, lockdown this office,” Jeryl whispered the moment his feet touched the ground.
He could hear voices in the CNC—and he could hear one familiar voice.
So he’s here, after all?
“Complying…” the computer said aloud, oblivious to Jeryl’s need for stealth. Jeryl flinched.
Jeryl heard the voices cease for a moment. He was sure they’d heard the computer.
Then suddenly, the open access way above slammed shut and the door clicked locked. A metal barrier threw itself into place behind the door, blocking it from view.
“Office in lockdown,” the computer said.
“Establish emergency priority communication with the fleet,” Jeryl said. He ran to his seat and inserted the small disc into the workstation. “Send them all this information.”
“Complying…”
There was a loud explosion and a terrible trembling ahead that drew Jeryl’s attention. The metal door had been wrangled into a gnarled form. Jeryl ducked just as there was another explosion and the metal door cascaded into the office.
The door smashed into the desk, destroying it along with the disc. Smoke fogged the air.
Jeryl raised his hands up in surrender before beginning to rise to his feet. The desk had borne the brunt of the impact and stopped the metal door from crushing him to pieces.
Just as Kaine walked into the office, a handgun pointed at Jeryl.
“Information sent, receipt acknowledged,” the computer said.
Jeryl breathed a soft sigh of relief.
Kaine’s face was a terrifying mask of rage.
“You just killed your entire crew,” he breathed.
Chapter 28
Jeryl
Kaine stepped through the mangled doorway into Jeryl’s office, a sardonic grin painted across his face as he stared down Jeryl. “How does it feel knowing you just signed their death warrants?”
Jeryl stepped from around his desk, spreading his arms wide. “Like you would throw away your only bargaining chip. I think you know what I just sent out…” He walked over to a liquor cabinet and tapped in an access code. “You want anything to drink while we wait for the Armada task force?”
“They won’t be as much help as you think. When was the last time you looked outside?”
Jeryl tapped the display and pulled up one of the external monitors. It showed a hub of activity, not just of human pirates but of Tyreesian mercenaries quickly moving ill-gotten goods between ships.
“You think I wouldn’t have made some friends out here?” Kaine said.
Jeryl poured himself a small shot of whiskey and downed it. “So this is what you’ve been up to. Not only have you broken your oath, you’ve betrayed humanity. What did they offer you?”
A small part of his mind knew that taking the shot was one hell of a risk, but it had the desired effect. Kaine looked a little off foot, not knowing exactly what gave him the confidence to be drinking now, of all times.
They stared at each other for a time that seemed to stretch to eternity.
“That’s a long story. Though you know as well as I that I didn’t betray the Armada. You bastards betrayed me. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
He pulled out two hunting knives out of his jacket and tossed one to Jeryl. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? I guess all that’s left is for us to finish this.”
Jeryl looked at the blade. A number was inscribed in the hilt, and he quickly recognized that it was the year Kaine graduated from the Academy. A simple implement, common among men of a certain caliber. He held it up to the light and inspected the fine-honed edge. “You took care of this? If I were you, I wouldn’t keep anything from my old life.”
“Consider it a parting gift before I send you to your grave.” Kaine darted forwards, slashing madly in the hope of putting to grass the man standing in the way of his plans.
Jeryl blocked the blade and kicked, sending Kaine reeling backward into the wall. “Why are you so damned set on fighting? There’s nothing you can do—even with your thugs. The Tyreesians won’t risk a war over a bunch of pirates, and you know we’ll be coming down hard. Just give up.”
Kaine dropped the knife and chuckled. “You know, I was about to ask you to do the same thing.” He clenched his fist and a jolt of electricity shot out of the blade in Jeryl’s hand. “Now that I have your attention…”
Jeryl collapsed on the ground, immobilized by the dirty trick. His body froze, his muscles not obeying his desire to get up, to fight, to save himself and his ship. Kaine quickly dragged the captain to the desk, handcuffing him to one of the legs. Then, he holstered the blade he had given Jeryl and sat down next to him.
“I hope you don’t mind. I wouldn’t have lived as long as I have by playing fair. Now, I got a couple of questions. What resources will the Armada be bringing to this fight? How many ships? Which captains?”
Jeryl looked at Kaine silently, wishing that the old saying about looks being deadly wasn’t true. “Why the hell do you think I’d tell you that? It is not like you have much leverage.”
Kaine twisted the blade in his hands, causing a beam of reflected light to arc around the room like a lighthouse on a dark winter’s night. “Don’t I? My men have your crew surrounded, in custody. Your ship is mine and you’re not exactly free to move around.”
He slid the blade gently against Jeryl’s face, not deep enough to cut but just enough to leave a slender white line across his cheek and jaw. “I can do whatever I want with you. Think about it—I’ll finally be able to give you the fucking punishment you and the whole fucking Armada deserves.”
He stood and walked behind the desk. Tapping the terminal, he accessed the inbox and smiled. “Wow. They’re not holding back…Of course, that just means that I’ll have to make sure they learn not to mess with The Ghost or my men.”
He tapped his collar. “Attention fleet. We’re expecting company; defensive crews, get into position.”
Kaine looked at his prisoner and smiled. “I’ll finish you off in a second. Don’t you fucking dare move now.”
He exited the room, leaving Jeryl stuck by the desk.
As the man’s footsteps receded, Jeryl looked around him for anything that could be used to break the chain. A small piece of metal from the door was barely within reach from his feet. It took nearly every ounce of strength, but he eventually managed to get his foot on it and drag it close enough.
It took some time, but he was able to grab the piece and wedge it into the simple lock. The handcuffs, like most restraints throughout the galaxy, were meant to just hinder, not permanently restrain, so the mechanism simply needed something in the hole to unhook.
As he stood up, the terminal beeped—the Armada was approaching the system.
Well, it looks like I have some work to do, Jeryl thought, reaching into the desk drawer and looking for a pistol. He swore and went to the doorway after realizing that the weapon wasn’t there.
The bridge was a buzz of activity, as pirates struggled to gain control over all the systems while preparing for an imminent attack. Kaine himself was sitting in the captain’s chair, looking over the systems with a vaguely amused expression.
Two of the pirates, an older man and a young woman, spotted him and pulled their guns. “No need to shoot—it’s not like I’d be able to do much,” he said, holding his hands up and walking towards Kaine.
“How’d you fucking get out of those cuffs?” Kaine asked, pulling his own gun.
“Oh, you know…spend enough time as a married man, and you’ll pick up a few tricks,” the woman with her gun pointed at him laughed, and Kaine glared at her.
Jeryl walked over to the guest booth and sat down. “I just figured you guys would like to know that the Armada task force is about to enter the system. This would be a good time to prepare to surrender—or you’ll be pretty much dust in the stellar wind by the end of the day.”
Kaine walked over, pressing the gun against Jeryl’s head. “So will you and your crew, unless they do what I say.”
Jeryl laughed, swatting away the barrel. “You know the procedure—it’s either you submit or die. They’re not going to be that concerned about us. After all, we failed by not bringing you in first.” He stretched his arms. “So it’s your choice—fight and die...or surrender and have the possibility of a normal life after spending a stint of it in a Union prison.”
Alarms started blaring throughout the bridge. The pirate in front of the tracking station looked up. “Shit! Montgomery isn’t lying. There have to be dozens of ships coming in. No way we can beat them all, boss!”
Kaine’s response was as swift as it was merciless. He took one knife out of one his jacket's pockets and threw it hard. The man dropped dead on the ground.
“I take it you don’t like pessimism by your subordinates? Or it is common sense?” Jeryl asked with a faint smile.
“Jeryl...when will you learn?” Kaine asked him softly.
Then, a barrel connected with Jeryl's head, turning the world to black as ships flooded the area surrounding the pirate’s space station.
Before he passed out, he felt his body being dragged towards the bridge’s hatch.
“I’m taking this bastard back to the station,” Jeryl barely heard Kaine saying. “We should be able to hold off the Armada there. Order all forces to take defense postures and make sure I get back safely!”
Chapter 29
Ashley
Ashley strode into the CNC of the TUS The Manila, and headed straight for the captain’s chair. Not to sit in it of course, but to be right where the orders come from.
The CNC was a scene of controlled chaos, as all CNCs are just before a big battle. A big battle Ashley was pretty damn sure they wouldn’t win. And to think her fucking moron of a husband was in harm’s way just made her heart ache all the more.
Can we keep doing this?
“Lieutenant, how many minutes ‘til we come out of FTL?” the captain asked.
The navigations officer was scrunched over his console. His shoulders were hunched as if it had somewhat caved in on itself. Ashley wasn’t sure if it was the strain of their impending space battle, or if this was the officer’s natural physique.
Why the fuck do I even care about that? Ashley thought to herself, her face contorting in a frown.
“Less than two minutes, Captain,” the officer replied.
“Relay that information to all ships,” the captain commanded, turning his head toward the communications officer.
“Aye, Captain,” the short lady said, focusing her attention on her work station.
“Weapons hot,” the captain said. “Battle stations, everyone. And bring our alert level to red.”
“Roger that, sir,” the tactical officer replied.
There was an instant change in the CNC. The lights turned a shade of red and battle coordinates popped up on the screen, which itself was outlined in a hue of red.
“Report!” Ashley said out of turn. She was too damn antsy to follow protocol. Also, being married to Jeryl, the leader of the attack fleet, had its perks.
The Manila’s captain glanced at her. He looked a bit surprised to see Ashley on the CNC. He looked around for help, but there was no one ranking high enough to talk to Ashley the way she needed to be spoken to.
“Ma’am, should you be here?” he asked, a little stutter in his voice.
Ashley rolled her eyes. “Did he put you up to this?”
“No,” the captain replied, immediately getting her meaning. “I’m just concerned. Captain Montgomery’s orders were implicit in the action he took in disabling your shuttle. I don’t think he’d want—”
“Your duty is not to anticipate my husband,” Ashley cut the captain off. Even as she did it, she cringed in her skin. She shouldn’t be talking to a higher ranking officer like this, especially not in front of his junior staff. But she was past protocol.
What she couldn’t get past through was the nagging feeling in the edges of her consciousness that she was a hair’s breadth away from being a widow.
The captain sighed. “Ma’am, please…”
This was when Ashley knew she’d have to pull rank. She knew just what to do.
“Captain,” Ashley said, cutting the man off again. In the corner of her eyes, she could see some of the officers stop what they were doing to stare.
“Jeryl and I personally put this attack fleet together,” Ashley began. “I selected you and your crew. Captain Montgomery is the commander of this attack fleet, and I, as his First Officer, am second in command. Battle field promotion according to the Armada’s by-laws…”
Ashley could see the anger brimming in the Captain’s eyes. But she was didn’t care about that.
“Commander,” the captain said firmly. “You don’t need to quote Armada by-laws for me. I read them far before you were even in the Academy.”
The insult hung in the air for a few moments. Ashley blinked, not sure why her tongue had somehow clung to the roof of her mouth.
The captain’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Commander Gavin. I understand that Jeryl is in harm’s way. But so is the commando team he’s with. Putting yourself in a situation where Jeryl would have to worry about you is dangerous—both for him and us.”
“I never said I wanted to go out there,” Ashley observed.
The captain eyed her. “As if that’s not in the works.”
Ashley smiled. “True.”
Then she became serious. “I can’t sit idly by while my husband’s fate is determined by others. I’m pregnant, not disabled. I can help”
The captain was about to protest, but Ashley continued speaking.
“And perhaps, I’m not so far along,” she said. “Heck, I don’t think the baby has developed legs or hands yet, in fact.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” the man asked, his right eyebrow arched.
“It’s supposed to make you see my desperation,” Ashley said. “My resolve. It’s supposed to make you see that I’m ready to do whatever is necessary for Jeryl.”
“Is there supposed to be a threat in there somewhere?”
Ashley appreciated the fact that the captain had made that statement with a smile on his face.
“I wouldn’t dare,” was all she said in reply.
The captain heaved a sigh. “The attack fleet is in formation. Jeryl sent us the coordinates about half an hour ago, while we were receiving you from The Revenge.”
“And we’re headed there now?” Ashley said, her eyes jumping to the screen.
Overlaid on the view of FTL space—a continuously collapsing vortex of dark matter and streaks of electricity—was the battle screen, showing how many vessels were in the attack fleet. It also showed the estimated strength of The Ghost fleet, which Ashley thought was a little bit too conservative.
She could also see the positions of the different starships in the attack fleet, as well as the position of the Syndicate space station in relation to major Armada bases nearby.
“Have we informed Flynn of our progress?” Ashley asked.
“Is he sending backup?”
“Yes and maybe,” the captain replied.
“Why ‘maybe’?” Ashley asked.
“We’re trying to keep this as secret as possible,” the captain said.
Ashley immediately remembered that not too many officers knew of Kaine. It would be a public spectacle if details of their current mission got out. This was bound to happen if they reached out to uncleared Armada bases for help.
“So Admiral Flynn isn’t sure if he’s going to be ordering those star bases to send in reinforcements— aside from the ones that are already coming,” the captain said.
That gave Ashley a little bit of hope. She had seen the way The Ghost fleet had all but decimated the Armada attack fleet. If they stood a fighting chance this time, they needed more firepower.
“Coming into the system now, sir,” the navigation officer said.
The Armada attack fleet dropped out of FTL. They were about a hundred kilometers away from the space station—a distance they could cover in less than ten minutes at sub light drive.
They were too far to see The Ghost fleet on their view screen, but their scanners could pick up each and every ship in the fleet quite easily. Ashley saw that The Seeker and The Ghost were both docked on the orbiting space station.
“Attack formation,” the captain commanded.
“All ships, attack formation,” the communications officer relayed.
At about the same time, the tactical officer said, “Attack formation, aye sir!”
The fleet spread out from behind The Manila, forming into the shape of a boomerang on the view screen.
“Eight minutes to target,” the tactical officer said.
“Get the Hunters ready,” the captain added to the chorus of voices. “I want them swarming that installation the moment we get within range.”
“Aye Captain,” the communications officer replied. “Relaying to the Squadron Leader.”
“Who’s going to lead the Hunters?” Ashley asked. “You’ll need someone really experienced to make a difference in this fight.”
“We have someone, Commander,” the captain said halfheartedly. “Thanks. Now, if you would find yourself a place to sit and strap in, things are going to get a bit rough here.”
“I need a Hunter,” Ashley said abruptly.
She saw the man flinch in his chair as she said that.
“Commander…”
“Look, we can stand here and argue about this, which by the way I’ll win and you’d have wasted ten minutes of your time—or you could take advantage of my skills and put me in a Hunter.”
“If Jeryl found out that I agreed to this and something goes wrong, he’ll never forgive me,”
“If something does go wrong, honey, there won’t be a Jeryl to not forgive you,” Ashley said.
The Captain turned to look at her. Ashley kept her gaze steady. She’d meant what she had said.
Kaine had all he wanted. He had The Seeker. He had Jeryl. There was nothing preventing him from blasting the Armada attack fleet right out of space.
“Do it,” the captain said.
Ashley nodded, turned, and strode out of the CNC.
Chapter 30
Tira
Tira flew the shuttle as though it was a Hunter. She banked left and right, yanked on the stick to spin away from laser blasts, and lit up as many Syndicate shuttles as she could. Those that weren’t destroyed by her were left severely damaged.
Tira, and the rest of her eight-man fireteam, were doing their best to make a bee-line for the Syndicate HQ, a giant space station that looked like an old Terran station, retrofitted for the space pirates. It was a massive station, looking like four wheels connected by a large axle, with each wheel spinning in alternate directions.
Tyreesian and pirate shuttles were like little ants, scurrying between the station and other ships, trying to get the hell out of there now that Armada ships had arrived.
Tira was flying with purpose. Somewhere during the course of losing The Seeker and getting picked up by The Manila, Tira had come to a realization of who she was and what she was feeling. She hadn’t had much in the way of family growing up, or at least not what was stereotypically called family.
She really was too pretty to be taken seriously, or at least too cute. That’s what one of her professors had called her, the cute cadet. She had taken it as a compliment at first, but it wasn’t meant to be, not if you knew the professor.
When he had said the word ‘cute’, he had meant it in a defamatory way, like Tira wasn’t meant to be anything but that.
When she found out about this, it hurt her in ways she didn’t think she could be hurt. She had always prided herself on being strong-minded and strong-willed, so how could some old, codgy, well-past-his-prime professor hurt her with a simple phrase?
She had connected to the people around her. She had let them into her life, and come to like them and feel comfortable around them, especially the captain and his wife.
Tira had—for the first time that she could remember—felt scared for someone else when Ashley had been left behind in her shuttle. She had known that Jeryl was going to make sure Ashley didn’t try to chase him, but she still had felt a pang of fear and worry when Ashley’s shuttle didn’t arrive at the rendezvous coordinates. That worry went away, and multiplied exponentially at the same time, when Ashley’s voice came in over comms requesting pickup.
Ashley had become a dear, dear friend to her. She was happy for her pregnancy, and was even daydreaming of being ‘Auntie Tira’ sometimes. The thought of playing with the baby made her smile as she swung the shuttle around a pair of pirate vessels, sending blasts raking across their bows. One of her team who was sitting next to her shook his head, mistaking her smile. She didn't care.
Ashley was important to her, and so was Jeryl. He was unlike any other captain she had ever researched, or worked with, or read about. There were other captains that cared for their people, laughed with them, ate with them, even died for them, but something about Jeryl set him apart. There was just something about how he took care of his people that stirred something within her.
She respected him like no other person, even looked up to him. There was nothing romantic in her thoughts, at least her conscious thoughts. It was merely respect. Yes, she loved him, but loved him as a crew member loves their captain, as a friend loves a friend, as a sister loves a brother. She told herself that this was the type of person that would make the various galaxies better.
Which, of course, was a problem. A big fucking problem.
“Ma’am, we have a clear line for the station.”
Tira pushed the shuttle hard and fast that it began to shake. She was pushing the shuttle beyond its natural capabilities, trying to get to the station as quick as possible. She had to save Jeryl—his baby would need its father.
“Ma’am?”
Ignoring her co-pilot, she yanked the shuttle to and fro, avoiding enemy fire and near collisions. Then, as a panel fell off the side wall, they were at the station, landing in a nearby hangar. At least six other shuttles were docking at the same time, one of them in the same hangar. She wasn’t going to be alone.
They rushed off the shuttle, guns ready.
“Sam! Get me a schematic!”
“Got it. There’s three possible locations for the bridge, ma’am.”
“Three?”
“No one really knows what the hell this thing looks like inside. Apparently, the old leaders of the Syndicate kept switching the locations of the bridge…new leader, new bridge.”
“Shit. Closest one?”
“Four decks below us.”
Kaine wouldn’t keep the bridge he was using that close to the cargo area, would he?
She didn’t want to waste time, but they had to find Jeryl and Kaine. “Down we go. Hey, you! Yes, you!” she yelled to the other team leader. “Bridge, four decks down, let’s take it out.”
The team leader, a large dark-skinned man, nodded and motioned for his team to follow. Tira led them out a side door and into the outer passage. It was sort of disorienting being in that hall, since it constantly curved to the right. They had no clear line of sight farther than fifteen feet.
Ten feet from the door, Syndicate soldiers came running down the hall. Tira dove to the ground, firing at the nearest soldier, feeling a perverted sense of pleasure from hearing him scream as his knee exploded. A brief fire fight ensued, which was easily won by the Armada. The Syndicate soldiers had been running too fast to slow down, and they were caught by a quick burst of gun fire. Only two of the nine soldiers managed to fire back, and both missed their targets.
Motioning with her left hand, Tira led the way at a slow jog, rifle at the ready. Ten yards further around the outer hall, they turned down a hallway towards the central shaft. In regular intervals down the hall were small chutes with a fireman pole in it.
Every other shaft, she and Tua, the other team leader that she had decided was definitely from Earth’s Hawaii, sent two soldiers down, with orders to drop four decks and secure the hallway. She and Tua ran to the center shaft itself and called for the lift. When it arrived, Tira leaned in, pressed the button for four decks down, then stepped out. Backtracking ten feet, she and Tua slid down the shaft, the Hawaiian man leading the way.
They left the shaft four decks lower and stepped into the middle of a firefight that was quickly becoming desperate for her people. Using her fingers to show Tua she was counting, she counted to five, then dove into the hallway, firing. Tua dove after her, tossing a flash grenade, then grabbing, setting, and tossing a stun grenade before she hit the ground, rolling.
The two quick booms, one right after the other, set Syndicate soldiers screaming in pain. Tira could see several Syndicate soldiers with their hands at their eyes as she rushed down the hall, while several more were convulsing on the ground.
With deadly efficiency, she and Tua ran through them. Tira shoot the ones on her right, while Tua focused on the ones on the left. Their people ran up behind them, finishing off the pirates that were missed.
Knowing that the firefight hadn't been quiet and that there was no way that they had any sort of surprise left on their side, Tira blasted the bridge door controls, forcing them open. She ran through the gun fire that greeted her, blasting away. Four pirates later, the now defunct bridge was theirs. Only one of their own had fallen.
“Shit. Sam!” Tira called out. “Sam!”
“Sorry, ma’am. Sam was the one hit. Right in the heart, ma’am. He never felt anything,” Jessie, the only other female in her fireteam, told her. Tira could see Jessie fighting back tears: Sam was her cousin.
“I’m sorry, Jessie. We’ll take care of the bastard responsible, I promise.”
Jessie looked up, a slight smirk on her lips as she wiped her eyes. Nodding, she punched up a holo of the station on her wrist computer. “As you can see, the other two possibilities are above us. If I was Kaine, ma’am, I’d actually pick the location in the center. It’s closest to the hangar bays and the thickest armor.”
Looking at the holo and counting the decks with her eyes, Tira nodded. “Tua! We got some climbing to do, the bridge we want is twelve decks up. Tag team or divide and conquer?”
Tua’s deep baritone voice rumbled from his barrel-sized chest. “Tag team. Better odds.” He flexed, whether purposefully or by sheer habit, but his left arm split his uniform, exposing a hint of a tattoo on his bicep.
If this had been a more peaceful time, Tira would take him on.
“Okay, tag team it is,” she said, flashing Tua a smile. Then, she turned to Jessie. “Find us a way up.”
Chapter 31
Jeryl
The space station’s command and control center hugged the inner rim, far from the docks and easily-destroyed windows circling the habitation and relaxation sections. Like most deep space vessels, it was built with comfort in mind. After all, if you were stuck running a de facto colony for years at a time, why not at least make it a pleasant experience?
Despite that, Kaine didn't seem to care for any of the CNC's comfort. In fact, the way he paced back and forth between consoles made it look as if he were operating in a spartan station. Adding to that effect, a tall exoskeleton armor was propped up in one of the corners—one of the prototypes he had managed to steal during his previous raids.
Jeryl slowly regained consciousness, strapped to a lounge chair with full view of the information displays. The battle wasn’t going well for Kaine; soldiers were flooding in the docking ring, and dozens of temporary docks were blasted in the station’s rings.
Jeryl licked his lips and mumbled, “Kaine…isn’t this enough? Save your men’s lives and tell them to surrender.”
Kaine tapped his collar every time something new flashed across one of the screens. “Beta team—move on to the attack team on Deck 3. Delta, secure the armory. Alpha, pull back—you’ve lost the docks.”
Then, he glanced at Jeryl and snarled. “Those thugs are worthless. I can replace them on any of a hundred colonies in the Union and beyond. If they die, they die.” He pulled up an outside camera and directed it at one of the Hunters darting around the station. “Not like you don’t have skin in the game. You know who’s piloting that?”
Jeryl stared at it for a few moments, watching as it darted around the ever-increasing field of broken ships, spent missile casings and dead flesh—until he recognized a maneuver.
It was something he knew Ashley was especially fond of, an attack not in the books but one guaranteed to leave her opponents with a black eye. “She wouldn’t…”
Kaine nodded. “Yup. I already sent in the order while you were still out. She won’t make it here alive.” He walked over and undid the captain’s bindings. “There’s nowhere for you to go. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”
“Tell me, Kaine. Is any of this worth it? Is there a goal behind all of this death and destruction? Or do you just want to watch the galaxy burn? ” Jeryl walked over to the screens and watched as Ashley’s Hunter destroyed another enemy fighter.
“Can’t it be both?” Kaine replied, zooming in on Ashley’s Hunter as it dodged a round of missiles fired by the station’s defense platform.
“The Kaine I knew understood that you can’t act on feelings. Makes for lousy plans—and even worse, causality reports,” Jeryl retorted, placing his hand on the screen, “Shit, I didn’t want her to do this…If she—and the baby is hurt, I’ll make sure your death is slow.”
“A concerned father. Lovely,” Kaine said with a bark of laughter. “Talk about running on emotion. I knew she had to be a fool to marry you, and this proves it!” He walked beside Jeryl and put his hand on the captain’s shoulder, “But I won’t call off the concentrated fire order. She made her choice.”
Jeryl elbowed Kaine and grabbed his shirt, “You fucking bastard! Why are you doing this? I would have understood if you appeared from an alley and shot me, or planted a bomb on my ship, but causing a fucking war that might drag other races into the line of fire? The Tyreesians won’t hesitate to jump in if they think they can get an advantage…”
He pushed Kaine against the wall.
“Is that your end goal? To thrust us back into war?”
Moving fast, Kaine headbutted Jeryl, forcing him to take a few disoriented steps back. Then he tapped his collar.
“Understood. All units fall back, evacuate if you can. I’ll be joining you shortly.” He looked at Jeryl with dead eyes as he stood up. “That would’ve left you with everything you had built. I don't want you to play hero in a war again, Jeryl. No, you need to be punished with something a bit worse than death and war, I’m afraid.”
Kaine went and sat down at the terminal. “Curious. I honestly thought I’d win this… After all, who would send a fleet like this to deal with some pirates?”
“You should’ve known we would pull out all the stops once your named cropped up. It didn’t help that you decided to infiltrate the Armada, Kaine. Really stupid move,” Jeryl answered, walking over to the exoskeleton armor, its figure menacing and imposing. “Speaking about stupid moves—shouldn’t this be in your fighter’s hands? Kind of a waste up here.”
Kaine snorted and pulled out a shock gun. “You’ll see.”
Then, he pulled the trigger.
Pain shot through Jeryl’s body, lighting every nerve in his limbs on fire as everything from breath to thought became impossible from moment to moment. Jeryl collapsed on the ground, mind blinded by the surge of electrons flowing from the simple device in his old friend and now mortal enemy’s hand.
While he laid on the ground and gasped for air as his body slowly regained control, he felt electricity explode in his spine again.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you. The shocker will activate whenever you move,” Kaine said, setting the weapon down on the console and then walking over to him. “I wouldn’t want you to die just yet. No, you need to see the price of betrayal.”
“You can still stop this. Just one order, tell them to stop,” Jeryl said, slowly twitching and dragging the cord connected to the shocker.
“Apologies, I thought you heard me. I already told them to pull back. You see, the only murders committed after this will be done by me.”
He activated the exoskeleton armor and started getting into it, the plates slowly adjusting to Kaine's body. “By the way—your wife is on board. I think I’ll give her a nice blast when she walks in the door, and then step on you.”
While Kaine got into the suit, Jeryl yanked hard on the cord. The pain was nearly unbearable, but he knew that this was his one chance. After a few seconds, the control stick was at his fingertips.
Chapter 32
Jeryl
“I hope your men are ready. I know I am,” Kaine said, a calm but disturbing smile on his lips.
Jeryl didn’t respond—he didn’t want to dignify the taunt with an answer.
In his exoskeleton suit, Kaine was a hulking presence. He was primed for a fight, and all Jeryl could do was hope the Armada’s soldiers were up to the challenge.
Lying there injured, Jeryl felt as helpless as he ever had. Even though he had managed to rip the cord of the shocker out, he still felt electricity twitching under his muscles.
Groaning, he tried to move. He could already hear the Armada soldiers approaching. Kaine kept on smiling; it was one of the most sadistic smiles Jeryl could ever remember seeing.
Then the faceplate came down, hiding Kaine’s smile.
It can’t end like this, Jeryl thought to himself.
The fighting men and women of the Armada were right outside the CNC of the station now.
Kaine’s fists, covered in exo-armor, were clenched.
It didn’t matter how many people were out there. They didn’t stand a chance.
Kaine is the most cunning and ruthless fighter I’ve ever known, Jeryl thought. They aren’t going to be able to stop him.
The door to the CNC flew open. There were more Armada soldiers standing outside the door than could ever manage to fit through it. They were going to have to wait to pile in, which Kaine probably knew. It was all happening like he intended it to happen.
“Disperse! You’re sitting ducks!” Jeryl exclaimed, trying to save the soldiers before it was too late.
His voice was drowned out in the chaos.
Jeryl could see the first soldiers, guns drawn, entering the room. They saw Kaine in his exo—armor, one of the most sophisticated pieces of tech in the galaxy, for the first time. Unfortunately for them, they wouldn’t have very long to soak it all in.
Kaine rushed toward the soldiers, feeling invincible thanks to his armor. Though the soldiers had their guns drawn, Kaine was on them before they could make a move. He raised his fist, cocked it, and with all his might punched one of the men right in the breastplate.
The force of the blow was so powerful that Jeryl could even feel its reverberations. The sounds of bones breaking filled the CNC. The soldier who had taken the punch went flying back; he traveled with such force that he served as a bowling ball, making the Armada’s crew topple like dominoes.
The punched soldier was clearly dead; nobody could survive a blow like that.
Kaine grabbed the guns out of the hands of two of the soldiers and tossed them aside. He grabbed one of them by the throat and swung him around to smash him into another soldier. The second man fell to the ground, stunned. The first soldier wasn’t as lucky. Kaine clinched his hand around his throat tighter and tighter.
It wasn’t long until his windpipe was crushed.
I’ve got to get out of here, Jeryl thought.
He needed to get out of the fray, to remove himself from the line of fire. Though he was injured, he managed to duck behind a console. He peeked over it to keep an eye on the fight. Maybe the Armada would get lucky.
But what are the odds of that?
Jeryl watched from his helpless vantage point as Kaine continued to mow down Armada soldiers. Despite wearing a hefty suit of armor, Kaine was moving quickly and efficiently. His fighting skills were impeccable. Even though the soldiers were armed with rifles, most of them weren’t even able to get off a shot. Part of the problem was that the soldiers in the back couldn’t fire any shots at Kaine without running the risk of hitting one of their fellow Armada men.
However, even the soldiers who were able to squeeze off a shot couldn’t pierce the exo—armor.
After that, they quickly met their fate. The armor seemed to give Kaine the strength of ten men put together—ten men with metals fists to boot. Jeryl saw Kaine deliver deadly blows and choke the life out of the Armada soldiers, crushing them like one would crash snails under the heel of a combat boot. All the while, he seemed to not even be breaking a sweat.
“You think this is impressive? You haven’t seen anything yet!” Kaine exclaimed.
Suddenly, Jeryl saw two mounted guns pop out from the exo-armor’s shoulders. Kaine took a step back, feeling confident the Armada men wouldn’t be able to hurt him even with their guns, and began shooting. The soldiers began to fall one by one, the bullets’ cases tumbling at Kaine’s feet as the loud noise of his mounted guns drowned out the cries of agony. They were being mowed down with impunity.
Jeryl just watched as it happened. What else could he do?
Kaine continued to riddle the Armada soldiers with shots. How many had died? 15? 20? 30? Jeryl couldn’t keep count. All he could do was watch in horror.
“Dear God,” he murmured to himself.
Finally, the shooting stopped. He must’ve run out of ammo, Jeryl surmised. At this point, there were no more than a dozen soldiers left. Kaine advanced on them. Clearly, he wasn’t going to stop until every soldier was dead at his feet.
“Fuck, fuck...I have to do something. What the fuck do I do?” Jeryl groaned in anguish.
Yes, he was injured. Yes, Kaine was decked out in exo-armor. However, he knew that he couldn’t sit there and let Kaine win. There had to be something he could do.
Jeryl turned toward a gun strewn on the floor. He slowly made his way over to grab it. I have to get close, he thought. There has to be a weakness in the armor.
All Jeryl had to do was find a place the armor wasn’t covering. Perhaps he could surprise Kaine from behind and shoot him in the neck. It seemed like he might be able to wedge the gun in there, between two plates. He stalked Kaine, who was preoccupied with the soldiers. Surprise was necessary. Without it, he had no chance.
Kaine was busy finishing off the last of the Armada soldiers. At this point, it was barely even registering with Jeryl. Maybe he could finish off Kaine before all the soldiers died.
If I can just save one life…
As Jeryl reached Kaine, all the soldiers were down.
“YOU BASTARD!” Jeryl bellowed, and with all the quickness he could muster, he wrapped his arm around Kaine’s neck. He maneuvered his gun into place, but Kaine whipped around at the same time.
The gun fired into the armor.
Kaine merely groaned before turning around.
He grabbed Jeryl by the top of his head and tossed him to the ground. Stunned, Jeryl watched as Kaine strode toward him, almost taunting him.
“You shouldn’t have left me to die.”
Jeryl didn’t respond. He was in too much pain. Kaine got down on one knee and wrapped his hand around Jeryl’s throat. He could feel the life being squeezed out of him. He knew that, if Kaine wanted, he could’ve killed him in an instant. The only reason for Jeryl still being alive was Kaine’s desire to make him suffer. He wanted to take his time.
“Farewell, old friend,” Kaine hissed.
Jeryl was close to passing out. He knew he was about to die. His life began to pass before his eyes.
He saw Ashley, pregnant with his child.
He saw her smile, her half-naked body pressed against his in bed.
I’ll never get to see my child grow up.
I’ll never get to meet him.
Ashley and I will never have a future together—the future we dreamed of.
We could’ve done so much.
It would’ve been beautiful.
He could see himself taking his kid everywhere, showing the child the wonders of the universe. He could see himself and Ashley growing old together; wrinkles and all.
That wasn’t going to happen anymore. Jeryl felt like he had only a few breaths left. He looked into Kaine’s vicious eyes.
He could have never imagined he’d die at the hands of a man he once viewed as a brother. A man he loved.
In what he assumed were his final moments, regret overcame him.
I could’ve made different choices. Why did I choose a life like this? Why didn’t I get out when I had the chance? I didn’t have to be a soldier. I didn’t have to be a captain. As soon as Ashley got pregnant, I should’ve retired.
I shouldn’t be here.
I brought this on myself.
At this point, Jeryl didn’t even have the strength to think anymore.
The lights were growing dim. He couldn’t breathe.
This was the end.
I’m sorry, Ashley.
I’m so sorry.
Chapter 33
Tira
Tira led her and Tua’s teams down a hallway across from the one they had used to get onto the wrong bridge. There were three shafts in this hallway with ladders. They couldn’t trust the lifts—those were almost guaranteed to be death traps.
The ladder shafts weren’t going to be much safer, and they were definitely much slower, but she hoped that the Syndicate was thinking the Armada troops would use the lifts to save energy, time, and effort.
Fifteen soldiers, broke into three teams of five, climbing up the ladders as fast as they could. The plan was to climb two decks, then rest for fifteen seconds, getting their breath back. They didn’t want to tire themselves out by climbing twelve decks all at once.
It was a good plan, for two sets of floors. Four decks up, back on the same level as the hangar bay they had landed on, they encountered resistance. They were surrounded, pirates pouring into the hallway from the central shaft, while about ten more held the connection to the outer ring. Making a calculated decision—an extremely risky and potentially suicidal one—Tira ordered her teams to charge the outer ring hallway, ignoring those behind them.
They rushed down the hallway, Tira and Tua leading the charge and Jessie’s rifle firing just past Tira’s left arm. They had managed to catch the Syndicate by surprise, and six of the pirates went down. Getting within an arm’s length, Tira tackled one of the pirates, cracking his skull on the floor. Tua took down two more, while Jessie continuously kicked the fourth.
The rest of their team, ten in total, raced past them around the corners, particle beams trailing behind them. Tira dragged Jessie around the corner and gave her an ‘are you insane’ look, and then she brought her rifle up.
She peeked around the corner and fired once—twice—three times, hitting three targets.
With a silent sorry that was meant only for Tira, Jessie kneeled down next to her and fired, hitting one pirate in the hand.
Pulling back behind the corner, Tira looked at Tua. “We need to go up. Any other teams nearby?”
Tua turned to one of his people, someone that looked remarkably like him, and said something in a language she didn’t recognize. The smaller version checked his wrist computer and tapped on his communicator. As Tira, Tua, Jessie, and another kept firing down the hall, the smaller version of Tua spoke quickly, then let out a grunt as he turned off his comm.
“Four teams converging on the central CNC in one minute. Two teams coming our way now, six on the eight decks between us and the central CNC.”
Tua grunted as a particle beam hit the wall next to his head. “Thank you, lil’ brod.” Firing off a shot, he looked at Tira. “You catch that, lil sista?”
Yeah, she would have to look Tua up after this was all done—his voice was spectacular to listen to. “I got it. Can you handle this?”
Tua nodded.
“Good. Jessie, you’re with me. We’re going up.”
“Ma’am!” Jessie fired off a few more shots, then followed Tira around the outer hall. They passed the two teams, giving them a quick recap of the situation and receiving information about what decks were still being fought for. They received confirmation that it was the central CNC they needed to get to. Nodding their thanks, Tira and Jessie made their way to the nearest lift.
Jessie didn’t question anything, she just followed Tira silently. Tira was worried about her. There was a distinct change in Jessie’s demeanor since Sam was killed. She was normally laid back and easy going, even in a firefight.
This version of Jessie was showing a level of determination that concerned Tira. Jessie was the one to crack jokes to keep everyone loose, but now she was glaring at everything. All Tira could do was keep going and hope to help Jessie out of her funk after things were done.
They entered the lift and went up. As the doors opened, they entered a realm of chaos.
Kaine was in an exo-armor, something Tira had never seen an Armada soldier wear. He was engaged in a very one-sided episode of hand-to-hand combat with almost two dozen Armada soldiers.
“There’s the bastard responsible for Sam. Let’s kill the fucker,” Jessie growled, catching Tira by surprise. Jessie walked out of the lift, heading straight for Kaine. Tira raced after her, grabbing her by the shoulder and stopping her.
“What the hell is wrong with you? That exoskeleton suit is virtually impenetrable. Look at what he’s doing to them.”
It was horrific. Kaine was manhandling the Armada soldiers, grabbing them, flinging them around, choking them, using them as clubs, and firing at them. Dead bodies already littered the hall, several with crushed ribcages, one with a skull crushed beyond recognition of anything human.
Then, Tira was able to see Jeryl, trying to make his way behind Kaine. He was moving slowly, gingerly, then it hit Tira…Jeryl was injured.
Suddenly, something happened inside her. She felt a pang of fear and rage. Fear for Jeryl’s well-being, and rage at Kaine for hurting her friend.
She let Jessie go and began to raise her rifle; then, when Kaine stepped back, he said something over his shoulder to Jeryl and had two shoulder guns pop up.
Tira grabbed Jessie and dove to the side as Kaine let loose. Hundreds of rounds rained through the hallway, accompanied by screams of pain, death, and fear. Looking back, streaks of light lit up the hall as bodies fell.
Tira crawled over to the hall and looked when the guns finally stopped.
Jeryl jumped onto Kaine’s back, bringing his gun into position.
Yes! Shoot that bastard in the head, Tira thought.
But Kaine was too fast. His arm flew over his head, grabbing Jeryl and causing the gun to move, firing off into the armor. Kaine flipped Jeryl off of him, throwing him across the CNC’s floor.
Then, Kaine walked over and grabbed Jeryl’s throat.
He’s choking him. How the hell do I save him?
Jessie rose to her feet and ran past Tira. Tira went to get up, but slipped in some blood, falling to a knee. Tira quickly got to her feet and tried to chase the young soldier—but thanks to the slip, Jessie was already too far ahead for Tira to stop her.
Jessie took her rifle into both hands and slammed the butt of it into the back of Kaine’s head, forcing him to loosen his grip on Jeryl with a grunt of pain. Reaching around, he caught Jessie by the head, her face in the palm of his exo-armored hand.
Tira stumbled through the bodies in the hall, trying to get to Jessie and Jeryl.
Then, as she got onto the CNC, Jessie let out a deafening scream. Blood was flowing from her ears as Kaine continued to squeeze.
“LET HER GO!”
Kaine turned toward Tira and laughed. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, but it wasn’t enough. Jessie’s head crumbled in a sickening crunch and squish, blood and brain-matter oozing over Kaine’s fingers. Tira screamed in rage and jumped, landing a well-placed kick to Kaine’s shoulder. She then punched him twice in the head, her firsts carrying the strength of battering rams. “YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
Tira could feel the rage rushing through her bloodstream. She grabbed Kaine by his faceplate and squeezed tight. Her fingers hurt, but she knew that the faceplate would eventually give out under her strength.
She could see Jeryl struggling to stay conscious .
“It’s over, Kaine,” she whispered. “I can beat your exo-armor, and your people are losing. Give it up.”
Kaine laughed. Then, moving fast, he brought one arm up and punched Tira in the face as hard as he could. She went flying to the side, crashing against one of the CNC walls.
Jumping up, he took two steps to his left and quickly pushed three buttons. The dispassionate computer’s voice came over the speakers. “Warning—self-destruct sequence initiated. Self-destruct sequence initiated.”
Kaine’s laughter became louder. “You think I don’t know who you are, Tira Avae? You have a choice to make, sweetheart, stop me or save your dear captain. Go ahead, try to get him off the station, you don’t have enough time.”
You think I don’t know who you are, Tira Avae? His words echoed inside her head like thunder, but Tira didn't have the time to stop and think.
His laughter mocked her as she grabbed Jeryl’s nearly-unconscious body and carried him off the CNC. Clicking on her comm, she told Tua to get off the station as they reached the lift.
She punched the lift’s wall in impatience, swearing that the lift was slower than anything else in the history of mankind. The lift stopped, and as the door opened, Tira looked out with her rifle at the ready. Nothing was there, so she lowered her rifle then picked up Jeryl, helping him to his feet. His legs almost buckled, and she was forced to help him stand for a few moments before he was able to stand on his own.
“We need to go!”
Jeryl’s voice croaked back. “Lead the way.”
Chapter 34
Tira
Tira dragged Jeryl into a large passageway that writhed around the entire space station like a rogue vine around a tree’s trunk.
It was as if they had walked into chaos.
“Down!” Tira bellowed, leaping into the air and crashing into Jeryl just as particle beams sliced through the air. They both crashed into a bulkhead that jutted into the corridor like a mistake.
“There’s too many of them!” Tira yelled, peering around the bulkhead. She could see seven of Kaine’s men, taking up strategic positions all the way down to the point where the hallway cornered out of view.
The hallway was lined with a transparent glass, through which they could see the ongoing space battle. It was total chaos, Hunters flying around, shuttles exploding and starships barreling into other starships.
Shit! Tira thought as she saw a Hunter pilot get shot in the engines. The Hunter lost control and began plunging straight for the space station’s glass.
“Fuck!” Tira blurted, instinctively throwing herself over Jeryl, whatever good that would do.
In her periphery, she saw the Hunter crash into the space station’s shield and get incinerated upon contact. The impact, however, caused the entire corridor to flare with a bright white light and the entire section to tremble like an earthquake.
Tira took advantage of this and bolted into the open. She rolled across the hallway, aimed, and fired. She switched aim and fired again. She leapt back into the safety of the bulkhead, just as two out of the seven men fell to the ground, dead.
“Give me a weapon,” Jeryl suddenly said.
His hoarse voice was like a shock to her. She glanced at him. His skin was ghostly white.
That can’t be good, she thought.
His eyes almost looked like the eyes of the dead. There was still a five finger imprint on his neck, which had metamorphosed into a nasty reddish black bruise.
Tira performed her assessment in the twinkle of an eye and concluded that she couldn’t trust him with a weapon.
At that moment, she sensed a presence. The soldiers across the hallway were still firing in her direction, but there was someone else approaching as well. Tira knew this tactics. Suppression fire tactics.
She sneered softly. Child’s play.
When she was sure that the approaching soldier was within reach, she swiftly bent out of the cover. She saw the soldier—a lanky, wide-eyed man with a Tyreesian shocker rifle and a face full of scars.
Tira quickly aimed.
The soldier paused for a moment, stricken with terror as he saw her.
“Die, motherfucker!” she roared and fired off a series of bullets. She pulled back into the cover less than a second after.
“Tira, we can’t keep doing this,” Jeryl managed to say. His breathing was so labored, Tira feared for him.
“Sorry, Captain, but you don’t look to be in such a good shape,” she said.
Tira looked at him one more time. Jeryl’s eyes were glassy, and he was having difficulty keeping his head straight. His hands were lax at his sides, his fingers spread out like as one with paralysis.
Tira hunched instinctively as a particle beam flash cut through the bulkhead before her. The soldiers were closer.
“You don't have a choice,” Jeryl said with a smile on his face. “This space station will explode any moment from now.”
Tira leaped up to a squat and fired randomly into the hallway. As she was doing this, she swept the path to the bend ahead, taking note of every soldier between her and her prize. Then she bent down just as the soldiers began returning fire.
Tira pulled out a pistol from her holster and handed Jeryl the weapon, butt first. Jeryl gripped the weapon, checking its balance in his hands and smiling.
“Now, let’s kill these guys and get off this damn space station,” Jeryl said.
“I have an idea. A crazy one,” Tira replied.
Jeryl groaned as he pulled himself off the bulkhead and squatted with Tira.
“Four bogeys remaining,” she said. “Three by view glass and one by the wall. I’ll take the three by the view glass, while you take the one by the wall. They are about ten yards out. Got it?”
Jeryl looked at her blankly for a few seconds. It seemed as though he was having problems understanding her assessment. But then he nodded and looked ahead.
“Got it,” he said.
Tira kept her gaze on him for a while. Don’t fuck this up, sir, she didn’t dare to say.
“What’s your idea?” Jeryl asked, “And stop looking at me like I’m going to do something stupid.”
Tira smirked. “Sorry, sir.” She glanced at the transparent view glass to the left through which they could see the raging battle.
“If we could get one of the enemy’s shuttle to crash on this side of the space station, the flare could give us—”
“A flash bang effect,” Jeryl said. “Good. Do it.”
Tira brought her wrist device to her mouth. “Powers, come in.”
“Go for Powers,” a strained voice replied. “Fuck!” There was an attending explosion that lingered.
“Powers?”
“Still here, Tira,” he said.
“We’re on the south side of the space station, in the hallway where there’s a transparent view glass,” Tira spat. “Can you see it?”
The question hung in the air for a minute before Powers replied.
“Roger that. I see four bogeys advancing to your position,” he replied calmly. “How can I help?”
“Tell him to fire a torpedo on the bogey’s position instead,” Jeryl muttered. “He couldn’t get a shuttle to crash directly into the space station at this angle.”
Tira nodded and relayed the captain’s instruction to Powers.
“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “The station’s shield is already weak.”
“Do it, Powers,” Tira said.
“Roger that,” Powers said. “Hold on to something. Wait—sorry, there’s nothing to hold on to.” Then he laughed and the line went dead.
Fucking retard, Tira thought with a little smile.
In the chaos of the space battle, Tira saw a Hunter pull out of the dogfight, make a high turn, and begin to descend towards their side of the space station.
“Get ready, sir,” Tira said. “You have the one of the right, while I have the three on the left. Shut your eyes, sir. And move out on—”
“Tira, stop worrying about me, will you?” Jeryl snapped. “I’m well able to hold my own.”
“Sorry—”
The torpedo struck the space ship, rocking it to its root. The flare this time was more intense, the sound splitting ears.
Tira and Jeryl shot out of the bulkhead’s protection at the same time. Tira threw herself towards the nearest soldier, smacking his forehead with her weapon and knocking him out cold. Before he collapsed to the ground, she grabbed him, and used him as a body shield. Then she shot the remaining two dead center in their heads.
Tira finished off the soldier on her hand, then she turned to see if Jeryl needed help. She saw Jeryl looking back at her, standing over the dead body of the fourth bogey, who now had a hole through his head.
Jeryl smiled and said, “See, I told…”
And he collapsed.
Tira ran to him and caught him before he hit the ground. “Were you hit?” she asked immediately, checking his body for signs of bleeding.
“No,” Jeryl said, “just still tired.”
“Well, we need to get out of here.”
“The Seeker...”
“The Seeker's safe, Captain,” she told him, looking out as the hulking shape of The Seeker freed itself of the station, another battleship towing it out.
Tira helped Jeryl down the corridor. At the point where the corridor cornered, they paused, bringing their guns to bear. Once they saw that the other part of the hallway was deserted, they hobbled the rest of the way until they got to an escape pod.
It was a small section that looked some kind of outgrowth from outside the space station, but was in fact an escape pod.
Tira operated the controls, opening the doors. Jeryl helped himself in, while Tira followed. The moment she entered, the door opposite the pod opened up, and a contingent of soldiers poured in.
Tira had the advantage of surprise, which she took quite well. She fired off a few rounds, right after she tapped the eject button.
Three soldiers fell dead as the escape pod slid shut and shot off into space. Tira, who wasn’t strapped in, was forced into the back of the vessel, smacking her head against the surface.
Almost immediately, they were struck from the side by debris from the space station. The impact caused the engine to explode, throwing them into an uncontrolled spin.
“Shit!” Tira said, fighting the pain in her head that threatened to send her into unconsciousness. She reached for the seat opposite Jeryl and strapped herself in.
“What happened?” Jeryl said.
“We lost our engine. We’re still within orbit of the space station.”
“If it explodes…” Jeryl started.
“We go with it,” Tira said. She brought her wrist device to her mouth and said, “Mayday. Mayday. This is Tira, I’m with Captain Montgomery. We’ve lost engine power. We need help.”
“I copy you, Tira,” a familiar voice said. “Hunter to your six.”
Tira glanced at Jeryl, whose eyes had widened in shock.
“It’s Commander Gavin, sir,” Tira said, stating the obvious.
Almost immediately, they felt a sharp tug as a Hunter fixed an electromagnetic latch on the escape pod and began moving them to safety.
Just a few seconds later and the station exploded in a glorious flash of yellow and orange. They watched it happen through the tiny port in the escape pod. The hulking station imploded, fire tongues licking at the fuselage, and every ship in the vicinity was either caught in the explosion or the shock wave.
“Rest in pieces, motherfucker,” Tira said, Kaine's image floating in her mind.
Chapter 35
Jeryl
The hall echoed with the dull footsteps of officers.
Jeryl sat with Ashley by his side. They were both dressed smartly in the military white of command officers of the Terran Armada. Waiting on a bench adjacent to the main entrance into the briefing room, they looked at each other and smiled.
The waiting hall was huge with a vaunted ceiling. The ground had been painted with imagery of the beauty of space, making it look as it it were filled with twinkling stars and famous Armada starships.
Closer to the center of the great hall—which was really a large hallway—were paintings of The Ghost and The Seeker side by side. Two champions of the Earth-Sonali War. Even the Phantom or Firestorm didn’t come close to what they did to ensure humanity’s survival and eventual victory.
Jeryl didn’t know how solemn he had become until Ashley put her hand on his.
“I know how you feel,” she whispered, briefly looking up at the officers passing by.
Jeryl shook his head. How could you possibly know?
“Kaine was the most dedicated captain I knew,” Jeryl said. “He taught me a lot. I’m a decent enough captain because...because of him.”
Jeryl paused and examined The Ghost’s image on the ground. Even in the stream of sunlight from the high windows that washed the entire ground in a golden flood, The Ghost’s outline still had that ghostly feel. The artist had been able to capture its needle-like appearance, its darkly innards and the general stealthy feel.
In contrast, The Seeker was a hulking vessel. Bulky, huge, almost graceless and ready to battle. Near the twin vessels was another set of two vessels: Phantom and FireStorm, both of which were large and sleek. It was as though the engineers took the best of The Seeker and The Ghost and mashed them up to make superior vessels.
Jeryl only hoped that these vessels had superior captains.
“I know what it’s like to have your whole world turned upside down,” Ashley said. “I mean, look at me. I felt the same way when I discovered I was pregnant.”
Jeryl looked at his wife, her statement catching his attention. She was as beautiful as the day he had first met her—the real her, not the stereotyped executive officer that washes out of the Academy.
Weary stripes lined her forehead. Her eyes were a bit sunken in their sockets. Her cheeks were puffy. However, the paleness of her skin betrayed the stress she’d had to endure these past few days and weeks.
His eyes dropped to her abdomen. Her uniform had blotted any sign of a pregnancy. He could tell she was still getting used to the idea. Heck, he was still getting used to the idea.
Jeryl smiled at his wife and said, “How are you holding up?”
Ashley shrugged. She can be defensive when it came to the pregnancy and how it affected her work.
“I’m doing just fine,” she replied.
Jeryl nodded, closing his eyes for a moment and kneading his temple. “It’s been crazy these past few days, hasn’t it?”
Ashley gave a short laughter.
“More than crazy,” she replied. “You gave us more reason to worry during this mission than during the Earth-Sonali War.”
“That is so not true,” Jeryl replied amidst a wave of laughter.
“Honestly, Jeryl,” she replied, her face straight. She tried say something, but when Jeryl looked into her eyes, she held her tongue.
“I want what’s best for you and our child,” Jeryl said. “I just don’t know how to do that and be a captain.”
“I know,” Ashley replied.
There was a short, sweet silence between the two. Jeryl wished it would stretch for another few minutes, because for the first time since The Ghost fleet debacle, he was enjoying the warmth of his wife’s presence.
Ashley leaned into Jeryl and planted a kiss on his right cheek.
“I love you, Captain Montgomery,” she whispered into his ears. “Never forget that.”
Jeryl was about to reply, when an ensign marched out of the briefing room. He snapped into a salute and Jeryl saluted back.
“Captain Jeryl Montgomery,” he said officiously.
“Yes?” Jeryl replied.
“The Admirals are ready to see you.”
Jeryl squeezed his wife’s hands. They both shared a smile before he followed the ensign through a door. The door led into a hallway that ended in a small antechamber where two other ensigns operated workstations.
“Through that door, sir,” the ensign who’d come to fetch him said.
Without a word, Jeryl walked into the briefing room.
Among the Admirals in the session were the commander of the Terran Armada, the commander of the Terran Armada Intelligence, the Director of the TAIOC and Admiral Flynn.
All parties concerned had already received a full briefing packet before now, so Jeryl simply summarized what he had sent to them. There weren’t many questions to be asked, except some clarifications on how deeply Kaine was in league with the Tyreesians. After these clarifications, they discussed how they would react to the Tyreesians’ machinations.
About an hour and a half after Jeryl walked into the briefing room, he walked back out into the great hall. Ashley was still waiting for him when he emerged.
“How did it go?” she said, standing up to meet him.
Jeryl shrugged. “As bland as it could’ve gone.”
“That’s odd,” she commented, the hint of a smile appearing on her lips. “There’s usually someone to blame for something even when missions go according to plan.”
Jeryl smiled. “It wouldn’t be the Armada if no one blamed anyone.”
They walked out of the complex laughing at their own joke. Their shuttle from The Seeker waited on the ground level air park.
“Take us to the Armada memorial,” Jeryl commanded the moment they were both seated and strapped in.
“Aye, sir,” replied the ensign at the control.
The shuttle lifted off into the air and dove south into the heart of the city.
When they landed at the memorial, there was a staff waiting to escort them to Kaine’s resting place. The pleasant middle-aged woman told them what they could and couldn’t do before she left them to it.
Jeryl stood over Kaine’s headstone in a paralyzing wonder. Ashley stood by his side quietly. It was one of the things he loved about her. She knew when silence was preferred. She knew when to talk. She knew him so well that he could trust her to do the right thing. This was why he knew she would do the right thing for their baby and family.
Thing is, can I do the right thing? Can I trust myself to do what’s right for our child?
“He died. Years ago.”
“What?” Ashley croaked, suddenly surprised.
Jeryl continued immediately, “I know he went down with the station, but that wasn't Kaine. That wasn't the man I knew. The man I called brother died all those years ago...the one that in league with the Tyreesians, the one who rose against his own race—that one is nothing but a murderous traitor.”
Jeryl said that last bit with so much venom that it unsettled him. He didn’t know how deeply affected by Kaine’s actions he still was.
Ashley began to rub his back gently and soothingly, reassuring him.
“I guess in a way, I’m still mourning him,” Jeryl said. “The one I called my friend is truly gone. What came after him was a monster.”
Jeryl turned and took his wife’s hands.
“If such a thing can happen to Kaine, of all people,” Jeryl started, “how much less me?”
“Don’t, Jeryl,” Ashley said. “Don’t compare yourself to that monster.”
Jeryl nodded. He looked away for a moment.
“What I’m saying is this,” he continued, staring at her passionately. “I don’t want to become what Kaine has become. If it can happen to Kaine, it can happen to even the best of us. What if I lost you? What if I lost our baby?”
Ashely remained silent, holding his hands and his gaze with a steadfast strength.
“I think that...maybe it’s time to step down from my role as captain,” he continued. “It’s no longer just me and you. There’s a third one coming, and he requires all of our time and dedication. I don’t see that happening if I’m still commanding The Seeker.”
“Are you sure about that?” Ashley said, her eyes brimming with hope.
“I mean, we don’t have to leave the Armada,” Jeryl said. “They’ll still need our help.”
“True,” Ashley replied. “We have a few more patrol assignments. After that, we could hang our hats.”
“Settle down for an office position on Earth or New Washington,” Jeryl said.
“Or one of the Union’s more beautiful worlds,” she said.
“Right,” Jeryl said. “No more crazy antics. No more wild missions. No more putting our lives on the line. We have a family to worry about.”
With a smile on her face, Ashley agreed. “Yes.”
And then they kissed.
Family, Jeryl thought, that's what matters now.
Ahead of them, a new life awaited.
Chapter 36
Cassius
Cassius took a huge bite of the specialty pasta that had just arrived. It was from his favorite restaurant, and he only allowed himself to indulge once every two months. His tablet dinged at him and he set the fork down with an annoyed grunt.
This better be good, he thought as he wiped his hands and picked up the tablet.
It was the encrypted message he had been waiting for.
The pasta would have to wait. He looked at it with longing before decrypting the message.
Operation complete. Meet at the designated location, was all it read.
Cassius smiled in triumph. The son of a bitch made it. The plan had been ambitious at best, a suicide trap at worst. He only held a tenuous hope for success, and fully expected failure.
The message was exalting. He wanted to run out to the meeting place right away. He half-stood, then sat down in disappointment. The meeting wasn’t until 0230. Cassius poured himself a celebratory whisky, the food now forgotten.
Unable to sleep, Cassius shook his security detail early and drove around Fairdale. His old stomping grounds brought back memories of growing up poor and in the clutches of the local gang, the Rolands.
The Rolands still ran the place, for the price of his Chancellorship. When he was young and half-starved, he never imagined he would make deals like that. He was naive and righteous. He had no idea how things worked in the real world.
He held that view until his wife and son were killed by a manufactured plague.
That incident was covered up quickly, and Cassius was forced to do questionable things to ensure the future of his two daughters. Fairdale had come a long way since those days. Each house and apartment had the basic requirements now, and he had instituted a food program. No one on his planet would ever starve again. That alone was worth it.
He pulled into the shipyard and killed the lights. It was the middle of the night and thanks to his crime boss brother, the security lights and cameras were ‘on the fritz’. This was where the Rolands conducted their shadier business deals. Francis Ojun declared it off limits for the night at Cassius’s request.
The brothers had almost become enemies in Cassius’s early days of politics. Cassius had dreamed of cleaning up the organized crime that held his family figurative prisoners for so many years. Instead of aiding the poor that the government didn’t give a rat’s ass about, they extorted them further. Luckily, Francis changed most of that when he took over. While they still had their illegal operations, he used the excess profit to help those in need. He also gave a lot of hard working people legitimate jobs. Upon reflection, Cassius realized the gang leader had turned out more noble than the Chancellor.
I regret nothing, he lied to himself.
Bored with cruising, Cassius arrived early. The person he was set to meet wasn’t there yet, so he was left in the silent darkness. The shipyard gave him the creeps. It was ominous enough in the daylight, but the cargo containers that littered the place cast nighttime shadows that looked like monsters ready to ambush the unwary.
The fact that the Rolands had dumped more than one corpse there didn’t help.
He stayed in the locked car, content to drink his coffee until he saw headlights pull up beside him. He unlocked the passenger door as a shadowy figure lumbered toward it. He got in and made himself comfortable. Cassius relocked the doors.
“Glad you made it back. Did anyone see you?” Cassius asked. It was vital that no one could connect them.
“Nah. It doesn’t matter here anyway. No one knows who I am.”
“Good point. Did everything go according to plan?”
“Down to my second fake death,” Kaine Reed grinned.
Cassius opened his mouth to speak, when an urgent beep came from his console.
“Shit, we gotta move,” he muttered and started the car.
“Why?” Kaine tensed up and drew his gun.
“Calm down. My security team is too close. I gotta ditch them again.”
“You talk about being seen, and now we have to run from your own security?”
“You got a better idea?”
“No.” Kaine sat back and sulked.
Cassius maneuvered the aircar out of the shipyard and lifted off. He preferred driving on the ground, but flight was quicker and more flexible. He expertly weaved around buildings in figure eight patterns, doubling back, forward and sideways. He had disabled the car’s tracker, but his men were good. It was only a matter of time before they found his hiding place. Once he was sure he lost them, he set the car down in a forgotten alley and killed the engine.
“So, how are you going to explain this?” Kaine asked in amusement.
“I dreamt of my mother and wanted to cruise the old neighborhood.”
“Nice touch.”
“Thanks,” he said sarcastically. He couldn’t believe that he just used his dead mother to cover a plot. That was a new low, even for him. There was nothing he could do about it now. He had been waiting long enough to hear about the operation.
“So? Any problems?”
“Nope. The whole thing got blamed on the Tyreesians,” Kaine gloated.
The Tyreesians were dumb and aggressive—the perfect scapegoats. As long as the Terran Union looked at them, Cassius was free to manipulate the future as he saw fit.
“Good work, Captain.”
“I got the Terran Armada running around like chickens with their heads cut off. And they think they’ve won,” Kaine slapped his knee as if that were the funniest thing he ever heard, “And Jeryl Montgomery can kiss my ass.”
For a man like Kaine, the juvenile remark took Cassius by surprise.
“Don’t let your personal vendetta get in the way of our objectives,” he warned.
“Don’t worry, Chancellor. They go hand in hand.”
Yes, they did. That was the reason Cassius had chosen a worm-like Kaine to begin with. Someone who had a turbulent history with the Terran Armada would be more loyal than some random band of mercenaries. So far, his instincts were correct. One misstep could send the man over the edge, but Cassius was prepared for that.
“How did you get out of there?” he asked, eager for a daring tale of escape. He spent way too much time in a stuffy office.
“With style,” Kaine said but wouldn’t elaborate. A man as slippery as Kaine needed his secrets and guarded them ferociously. He got the job done, and that was what mattered.
But, dammit, Cassius wanted details.
“Good god, man. Give me something!” he demanded.
Kaine tapped his chin, pretending to think, “Here’s something,” he paused dramatically. “Montgomery’s wife and first officer, Ashley Gavin.”
“What about her?” He was losing patience with The Ghost’s captain. The man was a facetious prick.
“She’s pregnant and still on duty.”
“What the hell has that got to do with anything we’ve planned?”
Sure he would get nothing more, Cassius started the car. They were halfway to the shipyard before Kaine answered.
“Nothing. Just something that could be useful if the need arises.”
Cassius said nothing and landed beside Kaine’s car.
“Don't think of yourself as a valiant knight, Chancellor. You roll in the mud just like the rest of us,” Kaine said and then jumped out, slamming the door before Cassius could respond.
As much as Cassius hated to admit it, the captain was right. But if rolling the mud was what it took to achieve his goals, then Cassius would gladly do it.
Over and over again.
Homefront
Shadow Agent Chronicles Book 1
A Pax Aeterna Novel
Copyright © 2017 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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No-One
The alleyway between the twin fifty-story buildings facing the lab provides cover for me. The three-lane road cutting the space between the twin towers and the lab stretches through the heart of the Industrial Estate, which is the commercial and political heart of Sonali Prime. As such, the road is heavily trafficked by cars, Sonali and a sprinkle of humans and other species.
On Sonali Prime, there are still primitive land-based vehicles, like rovers and bikes, which are used for short distances travels. These primitive vehicles are also used by the poor. Poverty is as much a problem on Sonali Prime as it is on Earth. You’d think a government that could send its people to the stars would extinguish poverty as it went into space. But no, that’s not the case here.
It’s late in the afternoon, and I’m standing closer to the structure on the left, my eyes kept peeled on the two-story building that houses the research lab I’m going to be sharing with the xenoarchaeologist, Gresh.
For the past few days that I’ve been on Sonali Prime, establishing my presence and cover, I’ve been going over the information we have on Gresh. All it says is that he is a renowned xenoarchaeologist who publicly supports the Origin Movement, which is dubbed Anti-Ascension in some quarters. Today, I’m going to meet him for the first time and get a feel of who he really is and not just what his dossier says.
I find the Origin Movement to be a very fitting name. Aside from the fact that it’s a cool way to address Gresh and his fellow free-thinking Sonali friends, it also hints at the reason for the whole ruckus that engulfed Sonali Prime since the “Arrival of Terrans”, an issue for which I’ve been sent to the Sonali homeworld to spy on them.
I scoff in my hiding spot. I know I haven’t been exactly as efficient as I was during the war against the Sonali. Believe me; no one knows that better than I do. Nevertheless, I don’t see how sending me to this fucking boring mission is a good use of my skills. I should be at the front of the Galactic Council formation, collecting information concerning just how powerful Tyreesian Collectives’ matter transportation technology is, and not watching some scientists that don’t want to go through puberty.
I squint my eyes in mild disgust, before pushing the thought out of my mind. A good agent doesn’t let her emotions get in her way. I may not like my current babysitting mission, but I shouldn’t let that affect my opinion of Gresh. Otherwise, it would influence the way I speak to him, as well as my actions, and maybe—just maybe—even blow my cover.
I’ve decided to get the job done here on Sonali Prime. Gather all the information the Armada Intelligence Service could ever need. Prove to those bastards that I haven’t lost my edge. Then right before they want to make their way into their good favors again, I’ll stick it to them hard. I am not called No. 1 in Armada Intelligence for no reason.
I know I could’ve fought the assignment. I just didn’t. Not now. A good solider knows when to fight and when to bow down. The war is a long one. I don’t have to win every goddamn battle as long as the war is won. I am very patient…Oh, and I never forget. Never…
“Who goes there!” bursts a thick voice behind me.
I freeze for a moment, my mind running the possibilities. Who could be behind me? How did they sneak up on me? Is he an assassin? If he’s an assassin, why give away his position?
I slightly push away from the side of the building and inch towards the center of the alleyway, so the light from the road covers my form by flooding the Sonali’s eyes.
“Who are you and what are you doing hiding here?” the voice asks, getting closer by the second.
I hear the Sonali’s footsteps as he approaches.
I don’t respond. I’m wearing an atmospheric regulator on my face—even though I don’t really need it. The nanites coursing through my veins can help me breathe, along with a host of other things it can do. But no one knows I have them. And I really don’t see the need of letting the whole world (or worlds…) know, ergo an atmospheric regulator, which I use to hide my face.
Now, if I speak, the Sonali behind me, which I am assuming is security, will have a record of my voice which they can run through a voice analyzer. They may come up empty since I’ve not had my true voice recorded by the Sonali security department. They would have my voice recorded as a cop assailant with what I’m about to do to this Sonali. I can live with that—I wouldn’t be a great spy if I couldn’t. But it’ll be like living in a tent filled with flies. It’ll be a damn inconvenience.
Of course, I’ll choose ease over inconvenience, every time. But that’s not what you’ll see in the holovids. In the vids, the lady spy would turn and say a cool line, and then maybe the Sonali gets off a round, which she so conveniently dodges before pulling out her weapon and getting off a shot that drills a hole in the middle of the Sonali’s eye.
“Turn around!” yells the Sonali.
I turn around. I know the light will still hide my face, so why resist?
The Sonali, however, is visible for me to see. From his uniform, I confirm that he’s a security personnel. Probably patrol. I look through the Spartan alleyway all the way to the end, which is about the length of a block. I see a hovering security air car. I blink my right eye, mentally calling the scanning control of my nanites. The world turns a very bright orange hue in my right eye and a grid overcast upon it.
The Sonali before me appears as a deep red. There are also deep reds all over the place, signifying other life forms. But there’s none in the car. I blink my right eye again, canceling the scanning protocol.
The world is normal again.
The Sonali police officer is alone. I’m sure he was flying by when he spotted me leaning nefariously on the side of the building.
“You’re wearing a regulator,” he says. “So, you’re an alien.” Then with a twist in tone from confrontational to sheer hate. “You must be a Terran, for your stature. A female, I would guess.”
I notice he hasn’t pulled out his weapon yet. He doesn’t see me as a threat. I almost scoff at his colossal misjudgment.
“Are you here to bomb the towers?” he continues, taking a step towards me with each word. “Is that your mission?”
When he’s within range, I mentally call up my voice modifier.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I say in a transmogrified voice.
The slits on this Sonali widened impossibly, and I see raw fear pass through his eyes as I jab against his throat and have him grabbing his neck and gasping for air. I slam my booted foot into his right knee, hearing the bone crack and feeling the muscle tear.
The Sonali screams and collapses to the ground.
Still gasping for air, he grabs his communicator. “Officer under attack. Assailant is a suspected, female alien wearing an atmospheric regulator.”
I knock him out with a punch smack in the head.
I pull up to my full height.
“That ought to teach you not to mess with a girl,” I say in my transmogrified voice. “We Drupadi women are tough as old boots.”
I’m not a Drupadi, and neither am I disguised as a Drupadi. But the operators at the Sonali Security Ops Center who are still listening in through the cop’s active comm unit don’t know that. They’ll probably now be recording the “suspected female alien wearing an atmospheric regulator” as Drupadi
Soon, they’ll dispatch a retinue of cops to begin canvassing the area. I can’t have them searching for a Terran when I’m going to be in the opposite building from the crime scene.
It appears that attacking a cop in Sonali is a grave crime as it is on Earth or New Washington. I want them to narrow their search to the Drupadi, who number in the hundreds on Sonali Prime, especially the Capital Grid. That way, when they come into the lab on the other side of the road scanning, they’ll overlook a little ol’ Terran like me.
Better the Drupadi than the Terrans.
Oh, and I have nothing against the Drupadi. I’m just putting to practice what I learned in Evasive Techniques class back at the “non-existent” Terran spy academy.
I dust off my jumpsuit for no reason, other than the dramatic feeling I’m having. Then I walk across the road up to the two-story building. It looks really old and out of place in the whole futuristic line up along the road. For one, it’s the only building in the area that’s less than ten stories in the air. Also, it looks like it’s made out of very dark red brick and mortar. Up on the first floor are huge panes of glass that are blurred by what appears to be dust and dirt, like you’d find in an abandoned warehouse off in a remote colony.
There are small stone steps that lead up to an old-fashioned swinging door. I walk up to it and knock politely. I feel an urge to scan the building, but I don’t. I don’t know if I’m currently being scanned by the security operatives within the lab. I won’t be caught if I’m not actively using my nanites.
I knock again.
“Come in, please!” comes a very light and thin voice.
I grip the handle, pull it down, and push the door inwards. I walk into a musty hallway. Light from outside falls into the hallway, lighting up a path that reveals floating dust particles. The rug is brown and visibly sandy.
I look around, to the doors on the left and right, and conclude that this is an abandoned building. So much for security operatives.
“Up here!” comes the same childlike voice.
I wonder if he’s Gresh’s son or relative. But why would he be speaking with such assertiveness in his voice?
I close the door behind and make my way up the stairs on the right. I walk into a wide, open space with shelves upon shelves of books, artifacts of all forms and kinds on stands and tables that are well articulated. At the center is a cluster of equipment and about three workstations with computers. Workstations are arranged in a concentric pattern around the cluster of equipment.
A manly Sonali figure is standing over some archeological dig up on a table to the left side, near the panes of glass. He has a book in his hands, and he’s engrossed in what he’s reading by the dim lights from the panes.
I clear my throat as I approach him.
He looks up at me only when I’m within range. He blinks at me for a while as though he has no idea why I’m here. Then he smiles, revealing a perfect set of white teeth that are almost gorgeous.
“I’m Gresh,” he says, sticking out a right hand for a handshake. “You must be the xenoarchaeologist expert from New Washington?”
I take his hand and nod with a smile, which he can see through my transparent breather.
“I’m Rosaline,” I say, telling him my alias. “I’m excited to work with you.”
The Sonali only chuckles innocently.
I really am babysitting, aren’t I?
No-One
“Hold on, one second,” Gresh says in his frail voice. He returns to scanning the book he has in his hands against the ever-dimming sunlight through the dirty glass windows paneling of the entire upper area of the building.
He leaves me to stand awkwardly beside him, wondering how a male of any species could have such an undeveloped voice. I’ve never seen it in any of the many worlds I’ve been to. Of course, I was told that though Gresh was past the age for Ascension, he had chosen to postpone it.
Based on what I’ve read on my mission files, The Ascension is indeed a big deal on the Sonali culture. Even though every Sonali is born with a gender, by the age of 18 in Terran years, they’re supposed to attend a ceremony—The Ascension—and have their genders switched. I read that this is also the only way for a Sonali to become fertile.
So based on this Sonali physiology, Gresh should have become a woman by now. The fact that he has not gone through Ascension means that his body continued to develop as a male. But it made him a sterile male, not a fertile woman.
I don’t know why Gresh postponed it for himself, though I have my speculations. Maybe, it was as a result of the war efforts. Maybe he just wasn’t in town when he arrived the age.
Or, maybe he just wasn’t up to doing it.
So, yeah, I know I’m essentially meeting a highly intelligent adult in the body of a teenager—as per Sonali standards. Even though his body mass has built up with time and he has muscles like any other Sonali male his age would have, I suspect some parts of his physiology remain unchanged, his voice for one. Unlike the cop I shanghaied in the alley away across the street from the building.
Now, that one has a manly voice.
I take a few steps away from the Sonali scientist and scan the room again.
The top floor is the main lab, while the ground below is unused. The top floor is partitioned into two halves by the stairwell. On the left half of the lab is where most of the equipment and books are, while the right half consists mostly of tables with archeological dig ups of stunning sizes and complexity.
There is also some kind of reddish X-ray light flooding that particular area of the lab. I suspect it is to preserve the artifacts. Come to think of it, the air here is clean and dry.
I don’t hear any air conditioners, but I suspect there is one working on this floor. I also suspect there’s a miniature shield technology that shields the top floor from the lower level or any leak or cracks in the building to prevent the atmosphere here from being contaminated.
On the left side of the floor, shelves are arranged in rows like in a library, with wide enough walkways between one another.
The shelves take up most of the space towards the wall. The cluster of equipment occupies the center of the space between the shelves and the partition. Some of these equipment have stands of their own, while the rest are arranged on metal tables. There are three workstations, forming a perfect circle around the cluster of equipment.
I see that the computers are hooked to a central processing device that’s connected to a network system. I follow the hardline that leads away to the opposite wall from where we are, climbs all the way up and exits the building through the wall. I suspect there’s some dish above.
I’m tempted to install my nanites in the computers to suck out all the information I need for my mission. But I decide against doing that so early. I have time, I tell myself. I’m patient. If I’m going to be working with Gresh, he’s certainly going to give me access to his computers. Then I can install my nanites and get all the information I need. Hell, that’ll be over kill. I could just take it with a media storage.
I feel a friendly slap on my ass before I hear Gresh talk.
“So, you’re the Terran who wants to study Sonali archaeology,” Gresh said walking past me.
I’m startled by his invasiveness, though mildly charmed by his smile.
I follow him to his work station, which is switched off. He sits in the chair and motions for me to draw the chair of the other workstation close for a chat.
I look at the contraption. It looks like a large swivel chair, only that there are no rollers and the flat base looks welded into the ground. I glance back at my blue-skinned, alien friend for an explanation.
“Don’t worry. It’ll lift,” he says. He has a half smile on his face the whole time.
I shrug. I take hold of it and immediately feel its sturdiness. When I try to heft it off the floor, it comes away with extreme ease. Now it’s floating in the air. I notice a small antigravity engine installed beneath the chair.
I pull the chair to Gresh and set it down opposite from him. I take my seat. My breathing becomes raspy through the breather. Through the transparent faceplate, I watch the Sonali as he observes me. He’s relaxed in his brown and white lab coat, sitting in the chair like a very old, very wizened mad professor.
“Why Sonali?” he asks.
I know he can read my expressions through the faceplate, so I fall into my practiced spy mode. I flash a confused look, though I’m anything but confused.
“I didn’t know this was going to be an interview,” I say, “I was informed by my Embassy that this was going to be peer-to-peer experimental research.”
The Sonali shrugged, his eyes boring holes in my mind and telling me: answer the damn question.
I sigh audibly.
“Well, I’m very curious about Sonali culture,” I say, spilling my rehearsed line. “I am especially interested in learning about the historical context of your culture and hopefully find a link to the Precursors.”
The Sonali’s slits extend, revealing surprise.
“You believe in the Precursors?” he asks.
I nod.
I say, “I believe that we are all descended from the Precursors—a once vast and extremely powerful galactic civilization that disintegrated into what we now have. Most people call me crazy for believing this, but I know there’s something in the Sonali culture, especially the Ascension thing, that can reveal more information about the Precursors.”
The Sonali says, “Ms. Rosaline. Though I appreciate your brilliance and your interest in our culture, I will not have you come in here and insult a tradition that pre-exists your species.”
I frown, even though this conversation is going exactly where I want it to go.
“How so?” I say.
“The Ascension is not a thing,” he says, grimacing as he speaks the last word. “It’s a sacred tradition in my world. You will give it the respect that it deserves.”
I lean back in my chair.
“But you people don’t give it the respect it deserves,” I say in a mild, non-confrontational tone. “Why would you expect us and other races to give it the respect that you claim it deserves, when y’all want to tear it down?”
The Sonali’s face turn a very deep shade of blue. I wonder if he’s blushing…or is it blue-shing?
The Sonali looks away for a time. This is how I know the rendering is coming.
“Before the end of the war, we were at peace within our borders,” he says. “But soon after the war, we realized that some of the traditions we held were just plain stupid. Having worked with other species and had the opportunity to study some of your ways, we realized that we had been put in bondage by the very same people who swore to protect us. We tried dialogue, but it quickly came to light that we would have to become more…physical with our demands.”
I say, “Now that you mentioned it, there are a lot of people who believe that this madness originated from us Terrans who, and I quote, ‘are so used to rebelling against their culture, changing the way we do things every now and then.’ They believe they have to fight this insurrection.”
Gresh makes a face.
I catch this expression of disgust and arch an eyebrow. “You disagree?”
He says, “With the notion that this is an insurrection, yes. We all should have a right to determine what we want to do with our bodies. No, this is not on insurrection. This is a mass revelation. We have come to the revelation that we have been under a spell for so long, and that spell has to be broken. If it takes violence, then so be it.”
“Would you go to war for this belief?” I ask. “Are you ready to take up arms to fight the present government?” I feel the thrums of excitement. This is juicy intelligence information.
Gresh doesn’t reply immediately. He has this hardened, determined look in his eyes, and I already know his answer. I begin to see potentials…potentials for the Armada Intelligence Service. The question is, how do I exploit it?
Gresh says, “Do you know the age of Ascension?”
“Eighteen?” I try.
He nods. “Many people believe that we are all pre-Ascension teenagers who don’t know anything. They think we all aren’t even adults and yet so far all we’ve done it foment so much strife and troubles within Sonali Prime. I tell you, that’s all propaganda against the Origin Movement.”
“But you are way past the Ascension age,” I say, “So there must be many more like you.”
He smiles. “Indeed. It doesn’t take astrophysics to figure that out. Look, the truth is we are gaining ground, which makes the Pro-Ascension government scared. Do you know how many Sonali ascended in the last ceremony?”
I shake my head. This is exactly the information I’m looking for.
“About two million,” he says.
“That’s a pretty large number to say you’re gaining grounds,” I say.
But from his look, I can see that I’m wrong.
“Do you know the normal range of numbers?” he asks.
I don’t reply.
“Between 2.5 million and 3 million,” he says. “They come from all across Sonali space. Now, we have only ten thousand coming. This is a clear sign that our voices are being heard. Everywhere in Sonali space, people are crying out to have the right to decide for themselves the kind of life they want to lead. I believe they should be given a chance…I believe they are getting bolder by refusing the mandatory ceremony.”
His wrist device quips. “Sorry, I have to take this,” he says, then taps the watch.
A small holographic projection of another Sonali’s upper body appears above the watch’s surface.
“Speak,” Gresh says.
“We are almost beginning,” he says. “You are supposed to be here.”
“I will be in a couple of minutes,” Gresh replies, then he cuts the call.
He looks up at me.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this short,” he says. “We’ll pick up from where we left off tomorrow morning.”
Then he takes off his lab coat, revealing a smart casual wear of a shirt and pants. He grabs a coat and leads me downstairs and out of the lab, where a police officer is waiting for us.
Gresh
I start to become overwhelmed with morbid thoughts the moment I see the police officer at my door. My first thought is that the Pro-Ascensionists have sent him. Is he here to kill me? Have we made so much noise that now they are willing to set Sonali Prime on fire with civil war?
“If you try anything, know that the consequences will be grave,” I say in my meanest, deadliest voice.
I glance at the pretty Terran woman. She appears surprised at the cop, but more so at me. I know she wouldn’t understand.
The police officer is a little thrown off balance by my statement, retreating a few steps away from me and placing his hand on his holster. Rosaline’s hands go up instinctively, while mine remain down in defiance. If he’s going to kill me, I will not give him the satisfaction of killing a coward. He’ll have to kill me while I stand for our cause.
“State your name, sir,” the police officer says.
This catches me off-guard. I blink again, confused.
“I said state your name and occupation, sir,” the male says.
I look around. This is when I notice the other cops in the vicinity, talking to people on the streets and knocking on houses.
With a confused frown I realize that there must have been some kind of incident. This is why the cop is at my door.
I swallow hard, feeling blood rush to my cheek out of embarrassment.
“My name is Gresh,” I say. “I am a xenoarchaeologist with the scholar caste. You can verify my credentials…”
“I know who you are, sir,” the cop says, relaxing. “You thought I wanted to kill you?”
“Would that be a stretch of imagination, officer?” I say.
“We don’t harm unarmed civilians, sir,” he replies. “The law strictly forbids it.”
“Yes, but the law also allows for us to choose the kind of life we want,” I reply. “We have a freedom to determine what we become and hence should not have to bow to an archaic, defiling ceremony.”
“Look, sir, I’m just here doing my job,” he says. “I don’t want to get into an argument with a professor. I have no hopes of winning.” He then points at Rosaline.
“Who’s the alien?” he says.
“This is Rosaline,” I reply, motioning to the woman, who has now dropped her hands. “She’s a xenoarchaeologist like me. She’s Terran.”
The officer nods, pulling his handheld scanning device and scanning the lady for her morphology. After confirming my statement, he looks up at her.
“You’re from the Embassy?” he asks.
“Yes,” Rosaline says. “I came here to work with the good doctor in studying some of his archaeological dig ups.”
The officer nods again as though he understands half of what Rosaline has said.
“Well, we received a distress call from just opposite your building,” the officer begins. “Some Drupadi female suspect assaulted a police officer. We are trying to find her and bring her to justice.”
“There’s no Drupadi in my lab,” I say. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a meeting to catch.”
“You mean a rally?” the office quips.
I shrug and walk away, leaving Rosaline and the officer behind. I am well sure that Rosaline will be able to find her way back to the Embassy or wherever they have her kept. The sun is already setting rapidly, and sunlight is dwindling. The atmosphere has become gusty. Though the air above is alive with zipping air cars, the ground is becoming lonelier and lonelier.
Since the Industrial Layout, where the rally is scheduled to hold in another ten minutes is not far from my office, I decided to walk there, instead of using an air car.
It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to my destination. The closer I get, the more I am joined by many more of my compatriots headed toward the protest point.
The Industrial Layout is at the center of the Industrial Estate. It is a massive expanse of green land, built park-style. Wonderful statues and fountains are dotting the landscape. It stands as a one hundred percent natural garden in the midst of the skyscrapers and highly computerized and modernistic surroundings that form a hedge around it.
The idea was simple. In spite of our advancements in technology, at heart, we still appreciate and depend on nature.
The layout is in the shape of a triangle. The protesters have gathered at an edge of the triangle. We number in the multiplied hundreds.
I push my way through the teeming crowd of Pro-Ascension oldies until I am by the small stage that has been erected. Here, I meet with some of the leaders of the Origin Movement. I nod at them as I take my place by the corner of the small stage.
Though this is a Pro-Ascension propagandist rally, our people have come in force and are chanting and yelling. Some have banners; others have placards. Some are wearing masks and others are hoisting flags in the air. As I look at these people, I feel a rush of solidarity and pride. We are doing what many said could not be done. We are changing the face of Sonali politics. We will be heard, or we will die trying.
Every Sonali is born into this world with a particular gender. They are also born sterile. To remedy this, an ancient ceremony was initiated eons ago to change the gender of the child when he gets to eighteen years of age. This change then makes the Sonali fertile, and the necessary sex organ begins to develop.
Well, this is all we are taught about the Ascension. We were told that if we didn’t ascend, we would remain infertile. We would not reproduce, and hence we could go extinct.
I believe this is just one of the lies the Pro-Ascension groups has paraded for years. They have so long played on our fear and our survival instincts to put us under subjugation. But, no more. We are taking a stand. And our demands are simple. Scrap the mandatory nature of the ascension program. Give every male and female the choice they deserve, instead of imposing a gender on a person.
I was born male. I love being a male. I wouldn’t want to be female. But the Ascension protocol demands that I change into a female. This is a violation of my fundamental right as a member of the Sonali Scholar caste. Why is it hard for people to understand it?
“Glad you could make it early,” whispers a voice beside me.
I smile, without looking at my friend and compatriot in the Origin Movement, Dr. Danish. Dr. Danish is also a xenoarchaeologist. He was born female but wanted to be male. He ascended of his own free will and not because of the faulty requirements of our present culture. In this case, the ceremony favored him. Nevertheless, Dr. Danish has always been of the opinion that every Sonali has the right to choose the life he or she wants and not to have it chosen for him or her.
In fact, it is Dr. Danish that introduced me to the Origin Movement.
“Hear me, hear me!” roars a voice from the platform.
Soon, silence sweeps across the massive crowd. I look and see that the expansive Industrial Layout has been filled up. I can see the surrounding skyscrapers agog with activities as people are scrambling to the topmost levels to get a good look at the grounds and the crowds. The cops, which have been sent to ensure the rally/protest is peaceful, have imposed a no-fly zone across the layout for the duration of the protest.
Floodlights have been mounted, and the grounds are well lit. I can’t be more proud to be standing at the forefront of such a vast movement. My heart races with excitement and anticipation. This is the protest, I hope, that tips the scale in our favor. This is the protest, I hope, that finally leads to the ceremony being abrogated.
I hope this because a lot of the grassroots supporters of Pro-Ascension are all present as this is a Pro-Ascension rally. But with our staged protest, maybe we can tilt the scales and have all these Pro-Ascension people cross-carpet to the Origin Movement. If we can achieve that, we have won, I have no doubt. We’ll next be talking about a referendum and so on.
The man on the stage is a high ranking member of the military caste. His name is Noble Marshal Yanik. This is the first time he’s going to be publicly speaking in support of the Ascension Ceremony.
“There are fewer rights in any civilization that are more fundamental than the right of life, love, and self-determination,” the soldier starts. “From the Terrans to the Nakra to the Drupadi. Even the blood-thirsty Tyreesians. These species all understand that every people should have the right to decide their fate. But I ask you this: what choices would you afford when you are extinct?”
The crowd goes wild with cheers and chants that are unprecedentedly high.
“I agree with our Anti-Ascension brothers and sisters that we cannot be that species that choses to hang on to illegal, unconstitutional practices founded on baseless fears that restrict our freedom of choice. In fact, I can boldly say that we refuse to be that species that subjects its citizenry to ancient and cruel procedures that subjugate their fundamental Sonali rights. BUT, the Ascension Ceremony is NOT one of those laws! It is not!”
The soldier pumps his fist into the air. The crowd goes wild again. I feel an urge to grab my ears, but I resist it. I also feel an urge to shut down the crowd. Dr. Dannish had told me not to earlier. I am supposed to remain passive if I am standing with the leaders of the Origin Movement—it is supposed to be some sort of symbol of our resolve. I hold myself in.
The next time the soldier speaks, he raises his voice in an impassioned shout, while fisting the air at the end of each sentence: “We refuse to be bullied by these so-called freedom of choice Sonali that want to destroy our civilization! We refuse to sit by and watch as a bunch of uncut, untrained children lead us off the map of the galaxy. We must stand for the traditional values that made our society great. That made our race reach for the stars!”
The Pro-Ascensionists are cheering wildly as I shake my head in sorrow.
“We who are Sonali must do our duty as Sonali! We who wish to raise the glory of our race must do our part for the good of our fellow Sonali! We refuse to allow our rights to be taken away from us by foreign, alien pollutants that fuel this Origin movement. And we very well refuse…”
Abrupt silence.
I hear a sharp gurgle sound like someone is choking from a liquid. Then a scream in the crowd. Utter silence, which is almost beautiful. Shock pierces through my heart as I see the terror in the eyes of those in the front. I swivel on my heels to look at the stage. Lying on the floor is a now dead Noble Marshal Yanik, an incendiary projectile hole right through his head.
Then, pandemonium lets loose.
No-One
The Terran Embassy in Sonali Prime occupies a large parcel of land on the Leadership Estate. It’s a massive, featureless block of a building, standing next to the Senate Building of the Sonali Combine. It was erected the year the truce was signed between the Sonali and Terrans in a bid to prevent further conflict and ensure continued dialogue.
Despite of its lackluster outlook, the five story tall building is surrounded by lush greenery and an expansive car space. There is a small space port behind the building, which is reserved for Embassy staff.
The Embassy is guarded by Armada Marines and staffed with the usual complement of officers, a lot of which are spies. I am to serve as the Station Chief here on Sonali Prime—this being the first day that I am setting foot in the Embassy.
Being the Station Chief of the Sonali Prime Embassy is one of the premium posts an agent can ever want. But I’m not just an agent. I miss flying around the galaxy fomenting trouble for our enemies. I miss the rush of adrenaline. The passion. The terror. I miss living on the edge, not knowing what was to come.
I miss all that action. Now, I’m stuck to sit behind a desk and report on the Sonali cultural shift and boring identity crises. Armada Intelligence has turned me into a fucking reporter. What’s worse is I even have to report to the Ambassador, Esteban Asis.
My air car taxi drops me off at the main entrance of the embassy and flies off. The embassy has its own atmosphere that makes it possible for Terrans to breath without a portable atmospheric regulator. It’s like a miniature city, with tiny streets and sections. This makes it such that the officers don’t need to leave the embassy too often. This also makes the Marines’ jobs easier but the spies’ jobs harder, because the people who often leave the embassy can be construed as spies.
This is one reason for my cover as a xenoarchaeologist. No one would look twice if I left the embassy too often. Also, no one would think it weird that I had an apartment in the Residential Estate, since the Leadership Estate was so damn far from the Industrial Estate.
All around the grounds are people moving about. There are also Marines stationed outside the embassy, who are geared to the teeth with weapons and a lighter version of the breathing apparatus on my face. I walk up to the door, which is like a hatch. You enter from one side, the hatch cycles the air, then you exit on the other side in an atmosphere much like earth’s.
“I.D,” mutters the marine by the closest entrance to me. It is entrance IV, which is one of the nine entrances that are spread around the walls of the fortress like building.
I pull out my credentials as a xenoarchaeologist. I don’t trust anyone here with my true identity, except if they are Armada Intelligence and know who I am or the Ambassador, who already knows who I am and what my mission here is.
The marine cross checks my credentials against the database, using a small handheld device.
“It says here you have an apartment in the Residential Estate,” the marine says.
I nod.
“So what are you doing here?” the marine asks. His eyes are featureless, his face devoid of emotions. I can’t read his expression.
“The last time I checked, coming to my embassy isn’t a crime,” I say.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” says the marine, “it’s just that I don’t see that you have any appointment scheduled for today. I have to ask the purpose of your visit.”
“I’m here to see the ambassador,” I say. “He’s expecting me.”
“Not according to his itinerary,” the marine replies, looking down at his device and scanning the readout.
“It says he has an intelligence briefing in about three minutes with the station chief,” the marine replies.
I sigh and almost tell the fucking turd that I was the station chief. Instead, I flash that sweet, dainty smile that guys are so hopelessly used to falling for.
“Why don’t you call the ambassador’s office,” I say sweetly. “I’m sure there’s been a mix up somewhere. But I’m supposed to brief the ambassador on my success.”
The marine is uncertain for a moment. Then he taps his badge, which doubles as a comm unit, and says, “Sargent Wiley to base. Please confirm a special meeting with the ambassador…”
After a slight pause, he says, “Ms. Rosaline the xenoarchaeologist.”
There is a longer pause. After this the man nods and his hands comes off his comm unit.
He stands away from the hatch which comes alive with a hum and blinking lights.
“You’ve been cleared to enter,” he says. “There was a mix up, I guess. You are supposed to be meeting with the ambassador not the station chief.”
Of course, you retard! I wanted to say. But somehow I know I can’t do that and still retain my cover, so I just shut my mouth.
“Thank you, sir,” I say in my sweet, feminine voice; then I walk into the hatch. The air cycles for one minute, before the hatch opens up to a small lobby with a single female behind a desk.
She looks up at me the moment I approach her.
“Ms. Rosaline, your appointment with the ambassador starts in a few seconds,” she says. She points to the elevator to the right. I notice that this is the only exit out of the small, compartmentalized lobby.
“Take that elevator to the last level,” she says, “the ambassador’s secretary is waiting to take you to the ambassador’s office for the meeting.”
I don’t even reply. I walk straight to the elevator and ride it all the way to the fifth floor. I exit into a small, cool hallway.
The secretary, Violet, is waiting for me in the hallway. When she sees me, she sighs.
“You don’t have to wear that in here,” she says.
Violet and I have some history. We met at a party and hit it off. After a very brief relationship, we decided to remain friends. In fact, she has passed some interesting tidbits of information to me from time to time. We agents need well-placed friends, so I am careful to cultivate our friendship.
“I know that.” It takes me a full minute to disable the breather and pull it off. My brown hair is let loose and falls to my shoulder.
I take a deep pull of the fresh, cool air. I instantly feel relieved.
Violet smiles, nods, and says, “Follow me.”
The hallway at the topmost level forms the outermost part of the building. It is well decorated with framed pictures of past presidents of the Terran Union. The light here is soft and a little subdued to give everyone who comes in a safe and relaxed feeling.
I know better. The real world is anything but safe and relaxing.
We turn three corners and come to a small door. She leads me into a small reception and a larger double door.
She motions to the door and says, “He’s waiting for you.”
“Thanks,” I reply and walk into the ambassador’s office.
The first thing I take note of is the size of the office. It’s impossibly large and spacious—although a lot of the space isn’t being used. The ambassador is sitting on a large desk all the way at the other side of the office. The ground is carpeted with a blue rug with a massive insignia of the Terran Union in the middle. The office is mildly lit up.
“Ah, welcome to our little corner of the universe. Come closer, Ms. Grayson,” says the ambassador, calling me by my real name. “Or should I say Number One?”
I walk the distance to his desk. I pass by tables with accolades in unabashed display to my sides.
“Call me whatever you want to call me, Mr. Esteban Asis,” I say, “but I’m not here to fight or to make enemies.”
“That’s not what your report says,” he says, scanning a folder with a few sheets of paper.
I scoff. “Ambassador, believe me, if you ever got a hold of my real file, you wouldn’t live so long.”
There was silence.
I watch as fear bled into the man’s eyes, quickly followed by rage, and then reason.
“You have a report for me?”
I nod.
“As you already know, I am here to basically learn all I can about the Origin Movement and the cultural strife that’s currently gaining attraction in Sonali Prime and to find out how we can take advantage of it.”
The ambassador nods. “I was briefed on that. What have you been able to do so far?”
“I’ve been able to insert myself into the population,” I say. “I’ve been able to establish contact with Gresh, who is one of the lead members of the Origin Movement. I am going to be working with him for the duration of this meeting. I hope to convert him to spy for us.”
“That’s impossible,” the ambassador says. “No agent has ever successfully converted a responsible, high ranking alien, such as Gresh, to spy for the Terran Union.”
I sneer at him. “I’m not just anybody, ambassador.”
My wrist communication device goes off. I tap the device, and a message flashes across the tiny screen: speaker at the protest sniped.
My blood runs cold.
“I’ve got to go,” I say, “something has happened.” Just as I start to leave, the ambassador rises to his feet.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I have to go,” is all I tell him before I turn my back and head for the door.
The ambassador slams his fists into his desk and says, “I am your commanding officer and the ambassador of the Terran Union here in Sonali Prime. I demand that you tell me what the fuck is happening!”
He glares at me with enormous rage.
Maybe he doesn’t realize that my last mission was to take down a coven of space pirates single-handedly. That one of them knocked my blaster out of my hand, and I had to take a bite out of his neck to bleed him out.
A pompous ambassador huffing and puffing at me?
I laugh at him and walk out.
Fucking prick.
No-One
I make my way out of Ambassador Asis’ office, leaving him to rage for a while. Violet has undoubtedly heard some if not most of our exchange (what secretary doesn’t listen in, electronically if not in person?), but she says nothing as I breeze out of the office suite and into the hatch, though I do flip a wink at her. Asis is a pro; he’ll get over it. I immediately forget them both—I’ve got to get to that park before the rally boils over.
Outside the hatch I saunter past the marine, not forgetting to roll my hips just a little. I’m sure he’ll know I’m taunting him, which amuses me.
I affix my breather to my face and step out of the door. I’ve got to get to the Industrial Layout as quickly as I can to assess the situation. I’m quivering with tension, longing to break into a run, but I dare not.
There’s a simple reason why: if I were suddenly to vanish in front of the cameras that I know are watching everyone who comes and goes from the Embassy, it would raise suspicions in certain circles about my true mission here. I can’t afford for that to happen.
Once out of the building, I pick up my pace a little, but not more than what I would be doing if I were, say, late to another meeting. I know from doing my research that there is a small “dead” space on the side of this building where there is no camera. There’s also an emergency door there. To potential watchers, it will (I hope) look as though I changed my mind about something and ducked back inside that place.
Thin, I know; but better than disappearing in front of the cameras.
And disappear I do from normal senses—because now I can break into a run. My enhancements have given me the ability to far exceed normal human physical capabilities, which includes being able to move so quickly that I am a little more than a blur.
The Industrial Estate, where the Layout is situated, is all the way on the other side of town. If I were to take a cab at this time of day, even an air cab, it would take at least ten minutes to get there. Triple that time for a surface vehicle, and make it nearly an hour if I were walking.
But I am running at top speed—and less than a minute later I am skidding to a halt at the outskirts of the park, screened a topiary of quivering baneberry hedges trimmed into the shapes of cavorting elephants.
I’m running only slightly faster than normal as I thread through the crowd, which is still reacting in panic to the assassination. Law enforcement officers are just beginning to impose order. Most of the onlookers, fearing more gunfire, are pouring out of the park. Some of them are shouting and gesturing at officers who, hoping no doubt for witnesses, are trying to prevent them from leaving. Others, who appear calmer, are apparently giving statements. Less than four standard minutes have passed since the shooting.
I’ve slowed down from my superfast run, then I hear the whine of shield projectors: the cops have cloaked the park with an energy barrier. No one will get in or out now. I’m fortunate I got here when I did—moments later and I’d be stuck outside. Of course, these damn fools should have thrown up the barriers as soon as Yanik was shot. This delay will cost someone their head.
I grind my teeth in frustration. There are plenty of Terrans who wouldn’t mind seeing other Sonali shot dead, no matter what their political affiliation is. No doubt there was foot-dragging in getting that force screen powered on—someone with a political grudge is taking their time. Even so, there will be memos sent and a scapegoat will be found.
The crowd calms down a little as they hear the projectors come on-line. A person moving at a normal walking pace can get through a protective field, but no projectiles or energy bolts can penetrate it. They know they’re safe from further assaults.
That doesn’t make them any happier, I’m sure; because now their attention will turn to finding someone to blame. There are more Pro-Ascension people here than Origin Movement members, and the people are going to suspect, rightly or wrongly, that it was an Origin Movement sympathizer who shot Yanik.
That’s why I’m here—to protect Gresh and all prominent representatives of the Origin Movement from any potential violence.
I find him soon enough—he’s still by the stage, looking around angrily. There are some other Sonali with him: Origin Movement leaders. I recognize them from the photos and vids in their dossiers. The cops with them won’t let me get too close. They don’t know that I could bowl them aside as easily as if they were balloons, but I’m not about to do that right now.
Gresh and his colleagues are furious. They’ve just seen a leader assassinated in front of their eyes—it doesn’t matter what side. It also doesn’t take a genius to know that the Origin Movement people are going to take serious heat for a man as widely known as Yanik having been killed at their gathering, whether he opposed them or not. The man was a war hero.
Gresh’s eyes go wide at the sight of me. “I didn’t realize you would be here, Ms. Rosaline.”
The other Sonali eye me with varying degrees of incomprehension or hostility. Ignoring their stares, I say, with a smile, “I had a little free time, so I decided I’d stop by the rally. I am interested in your culture, you know.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“You are a Terran,” says one of Gresh’s companions, an imperious-looking fellow. “Scholar, do you normally associate with our...” He frowns. “Former enemies?”
I guess if there’s one thing the Sonali factions can agree on, it’s that Terrans are anathema. That’s okay with me, as long as they don’t start fighting with each other.
Gresh turns a darker shade of blue. “Ms. Rosaline is a scholar among her people, sir. Some of her research dovetails with mine. Our relationship is mutually beneficial.”
The imperious one sniffs, a surprisingly human response. The other members of Gresh’s retinue mutter to each other. Again, I ignore them. “What happened here, Gresh?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. All I can say is that Noble Marshal Yanik is dead, shot with a projectile weapon.” He gestures to the buildings surrounding the park. “Someone from one of those places shot him!”
I see that he is in shock, and I feel sorry for him. In the very short time I have known him, I’ve found Scholar Gresh to be a good man, if a little boring—like many scientists. Yanik’s death will not help his movement. I’m fairly well-versed in Sonali politics, and I know that the leaders of their homeworld will use this tragedy as a wedge to drive members of the Origin movement further from the Sonali mainstream.
One thing I know for sure is that people are getting increasingly agitated. As a Terran, I stand out amid this sea of blue faces. I’m attracting more attention with each passing minute. Maybe it wasn’t such a bright idea to give into my impulse to make sure Gresh was okay. He’s safe enough here with his people, inside the shield and guarded by police officers.
Now one of the rally organizers has grabbed the microphone. “Do you want to know who is responsible for Noble Marshal Yanik’s death?” The crowd roars its assent.
“Uh-oh,” I mutter. This situation is about to go pear-shaped.
“I’ll tell you who—the Terrans, that’s who! They have nothing to lose and everything to gain from pitting us against each other!”
Gresh wheels and gives me a stricken look. I know he doesn’t believe that, but plenty of others will—and aside from the cops, I’m the only Terran in view.
This isn’t good. Sonali with determined looks are moving in my direction. They are getting themselves all worked up. If I were a normal person, I probably wouldn’t have a chance.
But I’m not.
Without a word to Gresh, I simply take off and pour on speed. The area inside the force shield isn’t very big; I’m trapped inside. I can circumnavigate it in mere instants, but I use that to my advantage. I allow myself to be seen here, then there, then over there—and when I stop running, screened by a stand of boxwood, I am near enough to the edge of the field that I can walk slowly through it while behind me, people mill around in confusion after hearing multiple reports of my exact location.
Shaking a little, I leave the area at a normal pace while more officers pour in toward the site of the Noble Marshal’s murder.
I am not having a good day.
No-One
One way my day could improve would be if I can find the bastard who shot Noble Marshal Yanik. Now that I’m safely out of the park, I find that people are so upset that no one is paying any attention to me. That’s good; It means I can take off at a run again.
There’s little question that the shot came from one of the nearby buildings. Some of these can, of course, be eliminated at once: the ones behind the stage, for example, and immediately to the sides. I saw the corpse, and the entrance wound was in the front of Yanik’s skull. That means I can safely rule out three-quarters of the buildings surrounding the park, leaving me with four possibilities, each one about seven stories high.
Once I am out of sight of the officers, I speed up again and begin searching for clues as to the sniper’s location. Motive will come later, but I don’t think there will be much difficulty in figuring it out.
The buildings I’m targeting are mostly residential, though there are some offices. Ignoring the commercial structures, for the time being, I concentrate on the apartments. They’re not locked down yet, but soon they will be. At top speed, I can search an entire structure in less than a minute.
I’m a little disconcerted to discover that there are two or three teams of strategic police officers making for the same edifices as I am. Well, they can’t all be idiots, I suppose; but I want to find the shooter before they do. We Terrans need to score all the points we can with the Sonali.
I zip into the first apartment complex. There are people in the lobby, but I can avoid them easily enough. Taking the stairs, I gradually wind my way through the structure’s upper floors; the shot had to come from high enough to avoid hitting other people in the park, which means the shooter had to be firing from at least three stories up, leaving me only four to search. Locked doors mean nothing to me; I can vibrate my hand so fast that it addles the locking mechanism. Those that are stubborn fall to my little lock-pick kit, which includes, along with its mechanical tools, some sweet little electronic gadgets that can override any power lock on the market. The Sonali never use chains, thank heavens.
I canvas the apartments for about five minutes. Nothing suspicious in any of them. I might have missed something, but I’m willing to bet that I didn’t. My senses are acute enough that I would scent any traces of cordite or gunpowder.
On to the next apartment block. I’m beginning to think that I might be wasting my time—but that’s a self-defeating idea, and I kick it out of my head. I will find this asshole.
I have an equally bad luck in the second building, so I race to the third. And there I have the worse luck, because the cops are in this one, swarming through it like angry ants at a doll’s picnic. One bit of good fortune is that they are starting on the ground floor and working their way up. Thanks, guys, I think as I flash past them.
In a fifth floor hallway, I catch a very faint whiff of...something. It’s a little acrid, not quite like any propellant familiar to me, but I’m certain it’s a kind of gunpowder. Now I really pour on the speed, because I can hear cops charging up the stairs.
Outside one door in particular, the scent becomes sharper. I slow down to regular speed, sure that I have tracked my quarry to his lair.
I listen at the door. Can’t hear a thing; he might be in there, but probably not. Why would he linger? He’d done the deed, so he must have fled. Still, I want a look in there. I try the door handle. Unlocked.
“Good on me,” I mutter, opening the door.
I have a straight view into the living room, which overlooks the park. There on the floor is a high-powered rifle; looks military grade. I am about to step in for a closer look when a hand grips my upper arm and turns me around, none too gently.
“Who the hell are you?” the cop demands, releasing me. Two others hulk behind him in the hall. None of them looks friendly. That’s okay; I am in no mood for a party myself.
I play innocent. “I was coming to visit a friend when I heard something,” I say.
They aren’t having it. “A Terran? Visiting a Sonali?”
“Um, we went to school together?” Pretty weak, but it’s all I can think of at the moment.
“What’s your friend’s name?” one of the other cops growls, taking out his scanner.
“Gresh.”
“Gresh, as in the Origin Movement, huh? Just stand still for a second, Miss.”
“Listen, I hear something in there, officers!”
“We’ll take a look,” says the first cop while the second one scans me.
“Hey,” says Cop #2. “I’m not getting a reading from her.”
“I thought you had that thing fixed, Darrish.”
“I did!” Cop #2 points the scanner at #3 and gets a reading. “See? Working fine.”
Meanwhile, Cop #1 is looking inside the apartment and spots the weapon. “All right,” he says to me, “I’m detaining you on suspicion.”
“Suspicion of what, officer?” I ask, still trying to sound innocent. I don’t think it’s working.
“Never mind that now,” he replies. “Let’s see some ID.”
They are not going to like my Terran Embassy identification, and frankly, I’m not going to show it to them. It’s bad enough that I’m a Terran, but a semi-official? Who can’t be scanned? “Suspicion” is right.
“Pretty interesting that you don’t show up on the scanner,” says Cop #1. He’s not bad-looking for a Sonali, I guess, but still not my type. I like ‘em human.
“I have no idea what could be wrong,” I say.
“Of course you don’t,” he says and grabs me again.
“Hey, hands off,” I say, struggling to push him away. I could throw him down the corridor, but I don’t want to tip my hand. Plus. I want a closer look inside the apartment, but I don’t think I’m going to get it. I stare into the room, committing what I see to memory. I don’t need to notice everything that’s in there; my brain will make a record that I can access later through some mild self-hypnosis. With any luck, I’ll even be able to tell the make and model of the rifle. I think there’s a cartridge on the floor, but before I can give it a closer scrutiny, the cops are manhandling me.
“Look, officers, I don’t want to cause any trouble here—”
Cop #3 laughs. “Good thing for you that you feel that way.”
It will be easy enough for me to make a break for freedom, but if they don’t release my arms, someone might get hurt. I don’t want to cause any injury to these guys.
“Let me show you my ID,” I say. “It’s in my pocket.”
“I’ll get it for you,” says #2, reaching for my skintight jumpsuit. It’s so tight it’s almost painted on me.
Yeah, no—not gonna happen, Mr. Gropey.
I shift into high gear, and it’s as if the scene suddenly freezes. The cops are moving so slowly now, relative to me, that they look like they are standing still. They won’t be able to see me as I run away, but it’s possible their shoulder cams will give me away. So before I go, I simply pluck the little devices off their uniforms and take them with me.
Moments later I am outside the building. I can’t slow down because there are cops all over the place. Fortunately, my hapless trio hadn’t figured they needed backup yet. It’ll be a few more seconds—maybe ten—before they can give the alarm, and by then I’ll be a kilometer away from here.
I toss the cameras in a trash receptacle as I fly by, and head out toward the street. The sooner I can get back to familiar territory, the better off I will be. I’ll need an alibi, but there’s time to figure that out.
I didn’t get a good look at the scene as I wanted, but I trust my memory enhancements to supply me with what I need.
The day is marginally better, but it still won’t win any prizes in the “I Love My Life” sweepstakes.
No-One
As I sit behind my desk at the Embassy, I take a moment to catch my breath.
That was close.
I need to be careful if I want to keep my cover intact. Now that I'm safely out of reach, it's time for me to find out what the police on Sonali Prime actually know.
I pick up the illegal communications scanner device I hid inside a case full of diagnostic digging tools. My hope was that if it was discovered, I could claim it was a type of sonar device for digging. While it's true it’s a contraband on most worlds; it's also equally true that devices like this are not hard to come by on the black market.
For what I do, they are standard issue when it comes to undetectable surveillance. The one I have doubles as a scrambler, should the need arise. I roll through the static until I get the police channel loud and clear.
I catch the middle of a log report for the weapon.
"Preliminary forensics report concerning rifle found at presumed sniper location. Weapon is a Terran EM rifle. Item appears to be without modifications; however, there is a dent in the eye scope. It is unclear what caused this damage.
“It could be that the assailant dropped the gun in his or her haste to escape and the impact from the fall caused the damage. Weapon appears to otherwise be in working order. More tests need to be done regarding ballistics and DNA detection."
I switch the scanner off and mull over all the facts I just heard. Obviously ballistics still needs to confirm that this was the weapon used in the assassination, but frankly, I don't need to wait for that report. I know this is the weapon the assailant fired, no questions asked.
What's bugging me is that the weapon used is a Terran weapon.
My gut tells me that no matter what DNA comes back (if any) on that gun, there's no way in hell a Terran was the murderer.
Tensions may be high, and animosity still exists; however, there is little to no reason for a Terran to stick his or her nose in this bit of Sonali politics. If anything a disgruntled Terran should be more than happy to sit back and watch the fight.
The thing I keep coming back to is the bit about the dented scope. I close my eyes for a moment picturing how it all went down.
My mind's eye creates a figure holding the rifle, peering through the scope and bam—the kill shot. I replay this a couple of times, letting the figure drop the rifle and high tail it out of there.
But I'm not buying it. If you have the balls to shoot a person dead, then it seems unlikely you just drop and run.
Plus, no sniper worth his or her salt just drops their gun. No way. Your gun is your baby. If you do have to abandon it, you rest it down gently.
Suddenly two things click in my head.
First, the person who did this left the weapon on purpose so it would point at Terran treachery.
Or—the shooter dented the scope when they fired the weapon because they were not familiar with the recoil from a Terran sniper rifle.
And the only assassin that would be unfamiliar with a Terran weapon would be a non-Terran.
An alien.
Like a Sonali.
My mind starts going ninety miles a minute as I realize that I’ll need to look for a single Sonali. The shooter. And he or she will lead me to whoever is behind all of it.
Now all I need to do is narrow it down to one suspect—out of the whole of Sonali Prime.
I need more information, or I'm going to be on a wild goose chase. I have an idea where I might get some clues.
I stand up and get ready to leave.
It’s time to resume my role as the mild-mannered xenoarchaeologist. I can't help but smirk at the thought of me as "mild-mannered".
During the war, we had a lot of downtime in between ops when we were behind enemy lines. One of the things we used to do was watch the vids of an old 20th Century reruns of an entertainment segment called Superman. Alien royalty masquerading as a mild-mannered journalist within what was then the United States of America. It was a show full of hope for humanity, before the dark years of the Third World War and Post-Atomic Horror.
Sometimes I wish I could leap tall buildings in a single bound (though admittedly, with my nanites, I get about as close as humanly possible to that), or have an x-ray vision.
Thinking about vision reminds me that the main (if not only) clue I have to who is behind the assassination of Yanik is the dent in the rifle scope. I sigh because having that as my one piece of evidence seems kind of flimsy; in addition, I'm still gritting my teeth over the fact that I didn't get to actually see the scope up close. I'm relying on second-hand information, which is not the way I like to do things at all.
I do allow myself a moment of smugness, however, when I think about Ambassador Asis. By now I'm sure he's been informed of the assassination (though not by me, I grin at the memory of me sauntering out of his office), but I'm sure even if the details are handed to him on a silver platter he would still have his head up his ass. So while I don't have a lot of clues, at least I have a clue. Which is definitely more than I can say for ol’ Esteban. No wonder he's behind a desk.
So, I ask myself, what am I going to do with this one clue?
Time to do some hunting. Alone. That’s how I like to do things.
I inhale deeply…conjuring my daintier alter ego, Rosaline. I make sure my mask is on tight. It doesn't hide much of my face—it's see-through, but it still feels like I'm putting a costume. Except that like Clark Kent from the pre-war vids, I can never truly hide behind my persona.
He was always Superman lurking behind those window pane glasses.
Me? I'm a wolf in a sheep's clothing. You can see it in my eyes.
I know how to hunt.
I know how to kill.
And something tells me I'll be doing both of it very soon.
My day might be looking up, after all.
Gresh
As a Sonali, I do not feel that the need to express my apprehension regarding the future of the Origin movement openly to my Terran colleague; however, given her curious nature, I doubt I will be able to duck her inquiries for long.
I find myself amused more than annoyed by this possibility. As a member of the Scholar Caste, it is always refreshing to find another, particularly from other species, that shares my passion for knowledge. I never guessed that Terrans place the same value on scholarly pursuit as we do.
So when Rosaline walks into my office, I smile at her.
She finds a place to sit. The room is filling up quickly. Unfortunately, I notice more than a handful of my brethren looking at her with disapproving glances.
While I understand where this prejudice comes from, I fail to see how they can so quickly assign it to her—to a Terran that is obviously not a threat and is just incredibly interested in our culture and way of life.
If anything, the death of Yankin should make us band together—Terran, Sonali and any others that share our Origin goals. We need numbers to fight this insufferable dictatorship over our lives. The more fighting we do within our own ranks, the weaker we will become.
Looking around at all of the young Sonali, some of them years away from Ascension, I worry that in their youthful exuberance they are geared up to fight.
As final members find seats, I address the gathering.
"Friends, we are gathered here to discuss how we should proceed given the heinous murder of spokesperson Yanik. While we may not have agreed with him, at this point, we also need to protect our movement as we move forward."
"Gresh, how can you speak of moving forward when his murderer has not even been brought to justice?" says one of the members. Several other members murmur in agreement.
"Friends, an investigation is underway by Sonali police forces and the Terrans-"
"Terrans! Gresh, how can we trust a Terran? All they speak of are lies! The weapon found was a Terran weapon. They killed Yanik!" The room is suddenly filled with shouts of "Justice for Yanik!" and “Driving us apart!” More faces turn toward Rosaline. She's a perfect target for all this anger and frustration. I glance at her face trying to see if she's getting worried, but reading Terran emotions is difficult.
She looks wary, but not afraid. She's calm, not too comfortable, but certainly more relaxed than I would be were our positions reversed. She catches my eye, gives a little nod like she's reassuring me! Terrans, I'm not sure I will ever understand their emotional range.
Rosaline is fine for now. I need to get my Sonali brothers and sisters to be rational.
"Friends, brothers, sisters, we must group together, we must stand together against this oppression of our basic rights. Now is not the time to lose our focus, we must not let the need for revenge against speculated crimes consume us—it will dilute our purpose, and those within the Ascension movement will find a way to blame Yanik’s death on us," I finish calmly.
Harsh shouts greet my woods.
"Protecting our lives and lives of our members is our focus!" shouts a female member at me.
"Yes!" joins another, "How can we fight for our rights while letting our movement be hijacked? We must show that we will not allow ourselves to be subjugated by our government or have our political strength manipulated by the Terrans."
The last of that sentence is delivered directly to Rosaline. Her eyes remain calm, but I do see her shift her body. I have a feeling that she is planning an escape route from my office before things get any more heated.
Suddenly a chant starts, "Death to Terrans! Death to Terrans!"
Although etymology is not my field, I do enjoy learning colloquialisms common to different species. In my brief contact with Terrans, I have learned that they often refer to situations of chaos by referencing fecal matter in some fashion. Specifically, I have heard "shit" used repeatedly both as a derogatory adjective (this is shit) and also as a derogatory noun (what is this shit?).
However, there is another phrase I have learned from the Terrans regarding shit.
Apparently when it "hits the fan" (it can fly?) really bad things happen.
As I see my brethren turn blood-thirsty and hell-bent on letting their frustrations take hold, I realize that at this moment the shit is indeed hitting the fan.
Sonali Prime may not have been touched by the war with the Terrans, but nearly all 8 billion residents of the home world felt it in some way or another.
We’ve all felt the loss of war. Either a relative dead in a far flung colony, or knowing a soldier returning with hollowed-out eyes and a vacant stare. Food rations were decreased during the war and more than once the populace was told that protecting ourselves from the Terrans would mean that families would go hungry and cold.
The anger is real. It is stirring this shit that is hitting the fan.
And at the center of it is my colleague, Rosaline, a Terran, one whom I am beginning to hold in great esteem as she has shown such a keen interest and appreciation of our culture. Her earnest concern regarding this very issue of ascension has particularly made me look at Terrans in a whole new light.
I regret that my fellow Sonali have not had such an opportunity to get to know her. No, to them she is nothing more than an outsider. She is a threat and a danger. I would not put it past my fellow Origins members to justify holding her responsible for what happened to Yanik and condemning her of trying to sabotage our movement. I cannot even imagine Rosaline holding a gun. But just her presence here makes her a target. I feel like a fool for thinking it would be safe for her to be here. I need to get a handle on this situation before she gets hurt.
"Friends!" I shout to get the attention of the chanting room. "Please listen to me. Terrans are not our enemies.
No one is listening. Their hate is too strong.
I need to show them something. To give them an idea why they should not hate the Terrans. Something that I know that no one else does.
“Please give me a moment. There is something I must show you." The room has quieted. I can still feel the tension, but at the moment I have everyone's attention. I go to the locked case to the right of my desk. I key in the sequence that unlocks the cabinet containing many of the most recent relics I have unearthed. I have shared some of these with Rosaline, but have kept some of them hidden until a moment presented itself to reveal my findings to my fellow Sonali. I feel that now is the time to show them. I need to make them understand.
I pull out two artifacts. They are ancient crusted fossils, similar to the petrified matter on Terran world. I unwrap another fossil—this one is Terran. I turn to my desk placing each sample carefully side by side. I can tell that I have the room's interest and attention. Good, I need to be able to explain this in terms everyone can understand. As a scholar, I am used to speaking among peers, but right now I must make my speech readily understandable for all.
"My fellow Sonali, before you I have placed three fossils. Two are from Sonali Prime—I know this because I recovered them myself." I cannot help the bit of pride that seeps into my voice regarding these two pieces. They are among my prized possessions, though in truth I do not feel that they belong to me, they belong to all Sonali. This is a record of our past.
"The third was loaned to me to study at my request from the Terran Academy of Xenoarcheology. It is a Terran fossil." There are some slight grumblings when I mention this, but I continue. "As a xenoarchaeologist, I am curious regarding the origin of all species, not just ours, so I felt very fortunate to have been given a chance to contrast our ancestral lineage with that of Terrans."
I pick up two of the artifacts, careful to make it look at those I picked up both Sonali relics. "Friends, regard the indentions in these artifacts."
I hold up rocks of different hues and composition, but on the face of each is matching circular indentation with wide wavy lines. "The imprint on these finds are nearly identical. While it may look like an odd symbol carved into the rock, what you are looking at now is, in fact, a skeletal imprint of the first life form. The beginning of our species."
There are murmurs of awe. "Looking at these fossils, it is hard to imagine that we are looking at a precursor to our species. Our evolution has taken us far from being a simple prokaryote biomass, though I have a feeling our ancestors would still consider us to be primitive, evolutionary speaking." There are a few laughs, but I can tell the room is still tense. Which makes me anxious to continue, but I know I must.
"We have an advantage over Terran fossil dating. Since our atmosphere has more argon, we do not have to create simulated lab environments to measure fossil decay. We can use a spectrometer to directly assess the amount of argon within an artifact. This composition allows us to count backwards to the beginning of the fossil thus establishing its age with almost pinpoint accuracy." I hear polite murmurs, but I realize I need to speak plain regarding the true revelation of these relics.
"These two fossils come from the same period. They share similar mineral make-up and obvious visual similarities. They are not just cousins to one another; they are twins. Do you know what this means?" I ask eagerly.
There is a moment of silence, then a female Sonali member speaks, "Does it not make sense for them to share so many traits, even if they were found on opposite sides of Sonali—would not our fossil record be similar throughout?" Her observation and confusion are shared. She is not alone. I must make them see.
"This one was found a year ago by myself and my team," I place the lighter of the two fossils in my hands back on to the table. “And this one," I slowly lower the darker, reddish fossil on to the desk next to the other, "This one," I say, pausing to look at my audience, "This one is not from our planet. This one is Terran."
Silence shatters as shouts, screams and violent chaos break loose. Members begin tearing apart my office. Two members reach for the artifact to destroy them. Before I can reach it, the third relic—the other Sonali find—is snatched from the desk and thrown into the wall. It explodes into dust.
Horrified, I jump in front of my desk as two young male Sonali charge. I hear noise behind me. I turn, still fearful for the relics I am protecting. I'm shocked to see Rosaline gathering the remaining Sonali and Terran twin relics.
She turns to put them back into the locker. The door is ajar, and once she closes it, no one can get in without my code. She has both hands in the locker, setting the pieces down, when I see hands grab her shoulders. I watch helpless. The other relics will now be smashed as well.
Rosaline removes her hands from the relics, places her palms above the hands on her shoulders and then in a move so fast I barely see what she’s doing—twist-throws off her attacker's hands.
I watch as she closes the door. The lock sets to green. There is no way anyone can get to the relics now. I catch her eye as she turns away. I cannot read her expression, but regardless, I want to thank her. I nod at her and start to speak.
My voice rasps as I begin coughing. I feel like I'm suffocating.
The look on Rosaline's face tells me something is seriously wrong.
Suddenly, I feel something on my back.
I swat at it, hitting something cold and wet.
My hand comes up to my face. It is covered in blood—thick blue blood.
Sonali blood.
My blood.
I see Rosaline lean towards me. Her mouth is open, but I can't hear her words.
I can't hear anything.
There is a moment of fear as I fall.
Then—there is nothing at all.
No-One
I hate hospitals. I mean, who doesn't?
Good thing I don't need to visit them too often. However, I send a lot of people there. I smirk on that thought until I remember why I took an air car to this one. Gresh.
He was stabbed—by one of his own.
These Sonali …they are just like humans.
By the time I got to him after he was stabbed, he was already falling unconscious. Luckily there was another Sonali who helped me load him into an aircar for emergency transport to a Sonali Renewal Center.
Given the glares I was receiving, I decided the best thing I could do is leave and let them work on saving Gresh. So here I am, stepping off an aircar to enter the Renewal Center to visit him a day later. I should’ve brought flowers. I wonder if they have a gift shop.
I wonder how Gresh is doing. He lost a lot of blood.
I hope he's all right.
Whoa, I catch myself mid-thought and stop mid-stride, why the hell am I worried about this guy? Of course; he's my best resource for getting information on the current political situation. That's true. But I also find myself generally concerned about his well-being. I feel another odd emotion.
Guilt.
Now that's weird.
A part of me wonders if things would have turned as ugly as they did have I left the meeting or not even showed up. I can't hold myself accountable for the actions of his comrades, but the feeling persists.
Well, fuck. I'll just have to deal with that introspection later. I've got a job to do. And independent of any of my feelings, Gresh is my best resource.
So I need to keep him alive.
I enter the Renewal Center. I gape because it has little in common with a Terran hospital. The building gleams white, but what really grabs my attention is all of the plants. The center is bursting with green. I even see a courtyard with a mini stream and a waterfall. There are bright flowers too. The center seems more like a spa retreat than a hospital.
Before me sits two Sonali, a male and a female, at a curved slab of a desk that seems to be built from the same material as the building.
I'm reminded of a paper that I—I mean Rosaline, wrote on regarding these hand-made Terran houses from hundreds of years ago. As part of my cover story, I needed some white papers to complement my fake accomplishments.
What were they called again? Cog houses? No, Cobb houses. That's right. They’re houses built with a mixture of sand, clay, and soil. I remember the interesting part was that you could sculpt your house anyway you want and build furniture from it too. Part of my paper included speculation on the current rumors that the colonies were trying to bring the tradition back.
Most folks involved were those who wanted total independence and were preparing for the long haul. And I do mean long, as those original Cobb houses are still standing, even after the environmental deterioration and Third World War of the twenty-first century. Not bad for a house made of mud.
First, concern and guilt—and now I'm thinking about ancient architecture? I need to get a hold of myself. This mission is fucking with me in ways I could never have anticipated.
I need to stay on track. I look at the two Sonali behind the desks. It pleases me that I’ve already calculated in my mind the speed, distance and strength I would need to use were I planning to take both of them out.
Fuck.
My mind has enough to think about to bother worrying about things like that. I smile at the two Sonali as I continue to catalogue ways to take them out. It's as natural for me as breathing.
I smile sweetly and demurely, "Hi,” I say with a squeak. “I'm looking for my colleague Gresh. He was brought in yesterday bleeding with a stab wound."
The Sonali female looks reluctant to help me. It hits me that after the assassination everyone is on edge. Right now she doesn’t see me as a concerned friend of Gresh. Instead, she's assessing me a possible threat to his health. For all she knows, I'm the one who hurt him.
But I need to see him, so I'll make this decision easier for her.
"You know this center is so big. I'm afraid I'll get lost even if you told me where he is. Do you think you could walk with me to his room?" I do my best to put on my most disarming smile, the one that says "Look at me, I'm a naive Terran. No threat here."
It must have worked because she says, "Yes," and gets up, turns and walks away quickly. I jog to catch up, putting some fake panting into my voice.
"Please slow down, I can't walk that fast." She stops walking, turning to me. She looks a bit annoyed, but not overly upset. I'm sure she's dealt with worse than me.
And as long as she keeps helping, then she won't have to deal with the worst of me.
I take a moment to "catch my breath", and to add some effect, I place my hands on my knees, coughing. Worry creases the Sonali's brow.
"Are you unwell? Do you need liquid nourishment?" I'm about to tell her that I'm fine until something on her uniform draws my attention. A key sequencer. The security systems most favored by the Sonali are sequence locks. There are two ways to open these locks: a keyed-in code or the same code embedded in a sequencer you can carry. The benefit of the latter is you can hand the compact key sequencer to someone instead of blurting out a number for them to memorize.
I have an idea.
I put my hand to my throat, coughing more. "Yes, please," I gasp. She disappears down the hall, returning moments later with a sloshing square cup of what I assume to be water. I reach for the cup, “accidently” sloshing it as I grab it so water splashes on her clothes. "Oh no!" I place my hand on her uniform pretending to wipe at the water spilled.
As she steps away quickly from my "help", I take a moment to snag her sequencer. She doesn't even notice. I'm not the best pickpocket (I prefer the direct approach to get things, with a weapon doing most of the talking). But this little trick comes in handy in situations where I need to keep a low profile. By overwhelming her body’s signals with the water and the pressure from my hands, she won't register the pressure and then the absence of it when I take the sequencer. I bunch my fist hiding it from view. I take a sip of water. It tastes fantastic, so refreshing. I wonder if I can get some of this bottled to take with me.
"Thank you," I say. She nods her head, distracted. She starts walking so I join her. A few minutes later, she stops.
"Wait here," she says. She steps through a doorway into a room. I can't see the room, but I hear the light tone of her voice followed by the low rumble of a male voice.
Gresh.
She steps out of the room, "You can see him now."
"Thank you," I repeat stepping past her into the room. She follows me inside before gesturing to Gresh. "Let me know if you need anything or any help," she says. She looks at me for a moment, unsmiling, and then leaves the room
.I watch her go then turn back to Gresh. His eyes are on the door; he looks angry. Then he looks at me. He is sitting with his back against the wall behind the bed. He smiles lightly.
"I'm glad you came, though I wonder if it is wise." I arch a brow at him.
"You think I'm in danger here?" I ask. I mean, we are in a hospital.
"I think," says Gresh with a deep sigh, "After the response to the revelation that Sonali and Terrans may have a shared ancestry, you need to be very cautious with anything you do or anywhere you go. I am one of the few left who does not wish to harm Terrans. Many Sonali who were Pro-Terran are no longer that way. They want violence. You are in danger. Can you get a security detail or officer to escort you?"
I laugh. I can't help it. Me needing a security team? Oh my, my cover must be really good.
"I just think you're taking this way too seriously," I say to cover why I'm laughing. "But," I say looking at Gresh, "Really, I'm being careful, and I'll let the Embassy know about my movements.
Ambassador Asis is great. He's said he'll help me. In fact, I'll probably go there next."
Luckily I'm a really good liar because I just fed Gresh some major bullshit. I'm not sharing anything with Asis.
Gresh looks less concerned, so I change the subject.
"I appreciate your worry about me, but I'm more concerned about you. How are you feeling?"
Gresh looks uncomfortable.
"As for my physical well-being, I am told the damage is static. It will not worsen or leave lasting issues other than a minor scar that even the healers say may fade in time." He pauses. "My mental well-being troubles me more. I have never experienced such violence within my own people. I have received injury from those I call friends. I do not know yet how I will reconcile this experience. I am afraid. Afraid for the first time in my life of my own people."
I have no idea what to say. I don't deal with touchy-feely shit. I deal with I-touch-you-now-you're-dead shit. I don't consider those two to be relative to each other, but then again...
"Gresh," I lean forward and let the full weight of my life experience fill Rosaline' voice, "You can accept this shit happened and move on or you can let it rule you. Fear is a choice. You are here. You survived. That is the most important thing."
Gresh seems a bit taken aback. I can see he's thinking about what I said.
"Thank you for coming to see me," he says.
"We xenoarchologists have to stick together, especially when the shit hits the fan," I smile, my voice softened back into my faux self.
"Rosaline, would you mind answering me a question?" I tense. I'm really hoping that Gresh hasn't figured out my cover. I don't want to hurt him. I…like him.
"Sure," I say, uneasy. I hate questions. Unless I'm the one asking them. Then I wouldn’t be worried at all.
"How exactly does the shit hit the fan?"
I stare at Gresh, stunned.
Then I burst out laughing. Full-on belly laughs making me bend at the waist, catching hold of the side of his cot to hold myself up.
"No problem," I say once I get myself under control, "That, I can definitely tell you."
Minutes later I leave Gresh after a brief lesson on Terran slang. He was very appreciative. He even promised that he would return the favor, but I told him to rest. He could educate me on Sonali swear words later.
Once I leave his room, I make my way back down the corridors to the front area desk. The male Sonali is there, but the female is absent.
"Hello, could you answer me a question?" I borrow Gresh's wording. The Sonali male smiles back.
"What answer do you need?"
"I'm worried about my other friend who got hurt by the eye." I just leave it at that hoping he won't ask for more detail.
"Yes, she was treated. She was not admitted." He smiles at me.
"Thank you," I say.
A female Sonali with an eye injury. Has to be the sniper.
"I need to contact the Embassy—where can I do that?" He stands, then realizes he's alone so he can't walk me to where the communication equipment is located.
He points me down a different hall than the one that lead me to Gresh.
"You will see it at the end."
"Thanks!" I say as I walk quickly down the hall. Good thing the female Sonali isn't at the desk as clearly I have no trouble walking fast. I slow down as I near the end of the corridor. I see the equipment, and it looks like they have slipstream-compatible tech.
But that's not really what I'm looking for. I turn the other direction and see a locked door opposite the communications room. I hold the key sequencer to the lock.
There’s a small click, and I'm inside.
As I hoped, there are computers buzzing in here. Time for me to play.
I consider my nanites to be an extension of myself or my pets—depending on my mood. Right now, they are about to be a little of both.
I find a terminal. I hover my fingers over the keys and do a series of rapid eye blinks sending a message to my nanites to wake up.
It's time to hack.
My fingers tap the keys in rapid succession.
Patient files...
Accessing...
I look for recent intakes with facial injuries—then I filter for female, which seems ironic given the current gender politics.
Two entries come up.
One with a nasal injury. Nope.
The other came in with minor lacerations above and inflammation below one eye.
I believe we have a winner. Now, time to go.
I pass by the front desk, this time the female Sonali is there alone. I still have the key re-sequencer with me. Time for some more fakery.
I stop in front of her, "Hey, where's your friend?"
"Friend?" she asks, confused.
"The other Sonali working here?"
"He's doing other duties in another part of the building."
"Well, if you'd just let him know he was a big help. I'd appreciate it." I give my best cheesy smile. She nods.
"Hey, is that something important?" I point behind her on the floor. Where I rolled the re-sequencer with my foot while we talked. I see her eyes go wide.
I slip outside while she goes to collect it.
Time to go hunting.
No-One
By tying into the Sonali Prime mainframe, I’m able to isolate exactly where to go after the Renewal Center.
I have the aircar drop me off a few residences away from my quarry. I approach the abode of the female Sonali on foot.
She came to the Renewal Center with an eye injury that matches the location of the dent of the rifle scope. I picture the assassination in my mind's eye again. As the rifle fires, the gun recoils, making the rifle site hit the assassin's eye area. She probably wiped the scope before she ran so DNA won’t match, but I have the information I need.
Plus, my gut is telling me that I'm on the right track.
I'll be honest, of all the parts of my job I enjoy, cornering someone at their domicile ranks in my top five. My adrenaline has me juiced—a delicious mix of anticipation and wariness flooding my veins, stirring up my nanites, too. I feel like I can fly and with my little pretties, I almost can.
I creep up to the back of the house. There's no roof, but there is a deck-like platform. As a bonus, the bottom of it is hidden in dense foliage. I believe I’ve found my way inside.
I blink my eyes to detect if she's got any alarms set. Nothing.
Well, that’s interesting. Makes me wonder what she really does for a living. My safe house is just that—safe. Lots of early warning systems.
Which makes me think she's not expecting company.
Time to crash the party.
My nanites re-coat the keratin of my nails with burred metal so I can grip the deck post. I start to climb, pulling up with my hands while my legs wrap around the post to keep me steady. When I reach the top, I plant my hands flat on the post top, straighten my legs up and go over in one swoop. The metal skin of my nails flakes off. It's temporary but effective.
I blink my eyes scanning the interior for life forms.
One.
To my left is a clear door that leads from the deck I'm standing on into the interior. I edge over to peer through it into the house.
Her back is to me. She's talking to someone over a comm. I slip inside, walking silently up behind her.
"The kill shot was flawless," purrs a disembodied voice from the comm. I stop a few feet behind her, hovering.
"It was not flawless," the Sonali woman says, agitated. "The weapon nearly knocked me unconscious! What kind of barbarians are these Terrans with such horrible weapons? And why did I not know what weapon we were going to be using? I barely had time to run—had I been found all of it would have been for naught."
The Sonali woman is post-Ascension, but still young.
I take a step toward her. 1, 2, 3—I pivot with my arms like a dance, grabbing the Sonali female by her shoulders, twisting and throwing her a few feet behind me. I know she'll only be distracted for a few moments, but I'm hoping that's all I need to figure out who’s on the other line.
I blink to bring up my nanites. Time to do a hack job.
"What was that noise? What happened?" says the voice. It's clearly Sonali, male, my guess definitely post-Ascension. My fingers start flying across the keys. I start tracing the signal.
"So it's you..." says the voice on the comm. The call is terminated.
Well, that was fucked. Whoever was on the other end recognized my signal output....how could—
I don't even get to finish my thought because I'm suddenly lifted on air.
I land on my side against a wall taking out a very expensive looking sculpture on my way down. The Sonali woman springs at me.
I move before she reaches me then twist around and give her a boot to the back. She groans, but then quick flips, grabbing my boot and using it to push me back.
I let the momentum carry me, feet over face until I pull myself, crouching on my knees.
She's on the other side of the room, facing me.
"Warrior Caste," she says, slapping a hand twice on her chest. I almost roll my eyes. No shit, I think to myself. I know I should be more respectful. I've been learning about the Sonali as part of my cover; the caste system is a big deal. It dictates so much of their lives. This woman is obviously proud of hers.
That or she's just trying to intimidate me. When people try to do that I usually laugh—right before I take them out.
Though in this case, I need her alive.
I stand up, consider slapping my chest in response, but instead, I decide it's time to bring out the fancy footwork. I feint like I'm going to run to her then drop to my hands, somersaulting through the air between us—my feet connecting nicely with her face.
Her jaw crunches as my boots land.
Up close I see the swelling around her eye and the almost perfect circular cut between her eyebrow and eyelid where the scope hit. I bet they had to scrap bits of metal out at the Renewal center. I've got my hands on her shoulders when she surprises me by bringing her knee up into my stomach.
"Ooof," I say, but I still manage to hold on to her knee with one hand, while the other goes for her face. Now she can have matching eye shiners. She snarls, swinging her fist into my throat.
Then I realize her real target. My mask. Digging her nails in, she rips it off my head, taking some hair with it.
She rolls away from me, smiling with my respirator in her hands. I crawl backwards. My scalp is bleeding a bit.
She stands holding my mask like a war trophy.
"Need this?" she says, dangling it at me.
I start fake coughing as I crawl to her. Now she grins at me. I can tell she's savoring watching me struggle for breath on my knees. She thinks she's won, so she no longer sees me as a threat. Otherwise, she'd never allow me to get as close as I am now with her guard down.
On my hands and knees, I stop in front of her but don't look up. With the hand not holding my respirator, she grabs a fistful of my hair yanking my head up.
I give her my wicked "you're really fucked now" smile. I can see it shakes her a bit, but she's still confident that she's the one in control. Time to prove her wrong.
I press down with my palms, balancing on one foot while my other leg wipes hers out under her. She goes down hard; my mask tumbles from her fingers. She's on her back, dazed. Now if she stays down we can talk like this, but I have a feeling she's going to keep fighting.
Well, I'm right.
She rocks up to a sitting position, then jumps to her feet. Her lip is bleeding, and both eyes are red, but she's still standing. Still ready to fight. She's also confused as she sees me stand opposite her, breathing normally, while my mask lays discarded where it fell.
"How?" she asks. I just shake my head.
"No, I'll be the one asking the questions."
She roars running and slamming into me flipping us both over the back of her couch. Glass breaks as we land on a small table. I twist away, sliding my hands across my lower back and abdomen. No cuts. Good.
I see a spot of blood on the floor. It's blue. Another drop joins it.
She stands over me, holding a piece of broken glass tight in her fist cutting into her flesh. She raises the shard, "Now you die."
As her hand comes down, I remember a lesson I learned in one of my martial arts classes.
The sensei had one of the trainees pretend to come at us holding his hands as though he was attacking with an ax. Each of us had a chance to show what area of the body we would attack to defend ourselves. We would face him as an opponent while the sensei and class watched.
One after another we all tried different ways to defend ourselves, some with punches, others with kicks and each time our teacher would say our approach was wrong.
"He's killed you, now what will you do?" he would say to yet another failed attempt.
By the end of the class all of us had tried, some more than once, but none of us had successfully defended ourselves. We all looked confused. What was the right answer? Was there no answer?
"What is the best defense when someone comes at you holding an ax?" asked the sensei. We stared at him and at each other. Hadn't we tried everything?
"Watch," said sensei.
The trainee raised his hands as though he held an ax and charged the sensei as he had done to us.
Sensei did not get into a defensive posture. He did not appear concerned about the man rushing toward him with an "ax."
We watched the trainee raise his arms up holding the "ax" above the sensei's head. Before he could bring the "ax" down the sensei gripped the arm holding the ax in both of his hands. The trainee was so stunned he just stood there, hands raised, uncertain what to do next.
"Sit," said the sensei allowing the trainee to join us. "A person with a weapon is also a person with a weakness. Use that to your advantage. When a scorpion tries to sting you—grab it by the stinger! Then it is nothing more than an angry crab."
That lesson from long ago could help me now. Her weapon is her weakness.
I blink my eyes fast, hoping my nanites have time to knit the metal.
Either way, it doesn't matter.
I surge upward clasping my hands around hers squeezing. Now she's fucked.
I have her hands locked down, and the weapon she thought she had is now cutting her even more.
She's in pain, she's trapped, but she still wants to fight me or die trying.
But I need her alive.
"Lights out, sweetie." I bring my head down hard on hers. Her eyes roll up as she falls forward.
I catch her limp body before it hits the floor. "You're going to have one hell of a headache when you wake up, but at least I'm going to let you wake up.” But before that happens, I need to tie her up.
I lay her down on the couch.
Time to get to work.
No-One
I’m working on a crossword puzzle on my pad when my Sonali “host” wakes up. It takes a few moments for her to realize that she’s tied up and gagged; trussed up on her own couch, no less. Knowing I could never get this bitch out of her building without being noticed, I had to opt to interrogate her in her own place. She wouldn’t be living here if she wasn’t satisfied that it’s secure. Is that her arrogance, or mere carelessness? Either way, my respect for the Sonali military caste goes down a notch.
Funny how sometimes our choices can seem so right when we make them, only to blow up later in our faces. Her safe place has become my safe place, and she is no longer safe at all.
She struggles against the bindings as I watch her with silent approval. I’d test them, too. I’m good with knots, though. Warrior or not, she isn’t going anywhere for a while. I set my pad aside and watch her, feeling slightly sorry.
“Hi, cookie,” I say at last. “Sorry about the beating.” I look around. “Guess you’ll have to redecorate a little, too. But that’s why we have expense accounts, huh?” I squat down on the floor beside the couch and put a hand on her shoulder. “We might as well get started. I have a few things to ask you.”
The look of hate in her eyes is unprofessional, and she must know that—because within two seconds it’s replaced by a cold, steady stare as she waits for me to begin questioning her. A normal person—someone who isn’t an agent—would probably miss it. But I can also sense her electrodermal response. Like sharks and other certain kinds of fish, I am sensitive to electric fields, having been equipped with nanites that have attached themselves to my organs—hence the hand on her shoulder. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch from my touch.
The Sonali have a slightly higher electric output than human beings, which makes this easier for me to do. Fortunately, the Sonali emotional spectrum is similar enough to ours that I can “read” her.
“I don’t think your jaw is broken; just fractured. So just nod for yes, and shake your head for no, okay?” She stares at me without responding.
Alright.
“You’re in a lot of trouble,” I say conversationally. “I have personally taken some heat because of you, and I don’t appreciate that. I stand to benefit by turning you in.” The stare doesn’t change. “If you’re wondering how I was able to track you down, well, it was simply a matter of going through hospital records to find a patient with your type of eye injury. Nice shiner, by the way. I gave you another one to match it.”
The cold stare has gotten a little warmer as she momentarily stirs some hate into the mix. Then it cools down again. This one’s good.
Not good enough, though.
I nod toward the small valise sitting by the door. “I see you’re planning a little trip,” I say. “I would, too. You’re from the military, yet you killed another member of your caste. Interesting. The deal is, you answer some questions, and I give you enough lead time to get out of town before the authorities track you down.”
She nods. Ah, we’re getting somewhere. And I can tell from the shift in her electrical field that she is frightened. It doesn’t show on her face, but her electrodermal activity isn’t under her conscious control.
What’s funny is, she thinks she knows where this is going. And she thinks she can trick me.
Now she shifts uncomfortably on the couch and gives me an imploring look.
“What’s up, cookie?” I ask. “Have to pee? Well, that’s going to have to wait until I’m satisfied with what you tell me.”
Now she shakes her head.
“Something to drink, maybe?” I ask. This time she nods. “Promise to be a good girl and not scream if I take the gag off?”
Another nod.
“Because I can hurt you bad pretty fast if you give me any shit.”
Another nod.
So I loosen the gag. She blows out a breath, and I can smell her nervousness on her breath.
“Who are you?” she asks as I get up to fetch some water from her kitchenette.
“Let’s just say we’re in the same line of work,” I say, tipping a glass to her lips. She swallows greedily. Guess she really was thirsty. “All I want is for you to tell me who you’re working for.”
Now she shakes her head. “I don’t even know. I got notices on my pad on where to pick up assignments. I never actually met anyone. Money gets wired into a special account.” She looks at me. “That’s all I know.”
I look her in the eyes. According to her EDA, she’s lying.
“Nice story,” I say. “Now let’s hear the true version.”
Her eyes shift, up and to her right, then back to me.
“All right,” she says with reluctance. “Here’s what happened.”
I sigh. She’s getting ready to lie again. I would know that even if I couldn’t read her EDA. I know from the eye injury that she is right-handed...it’s her right eye that was hurt by the scope while she was peering through it. My neuro-linguistic training has taught me that when right-handed people look up to their right, they’re likely to be visualizing a "constructed" scenario: a falsehood, a lie.
She’s good, but her own neurology betrays her. However, there is a simple way to convince her not to waste my time. I take her right hand, which is still constrained by the bindings around her wrist, and break her little finger.
She really is good; she doesn’t scream. But a tear forms in her right eye and trickles down her cheek. I say, “I can keep this up for a while until you run out of fingers. And toes, maybe.”
“You—” and she uses a Sonalian word with which I am familiar, j’hondlsh: a primitive, self-fertilizing organism common in the planet’s seas, regarded as repulsive. Needless to say, it’s not a flattering or affectionate term.
“Now, now,” I say. “Language.” She squirms in anger and frustration.
Which is what she wants me to think. All this while, I pretend not to notice that she is loosening her bonds, bit by bit, every time she moves. The point of this inquiry is not to get answers; I know she won’t give me anything. She’s a Sonali—she’ll die before she talks—I know this. She knows I know this, and she’s now thinking I’m a sadist, tormenting her purely for my own gratification. This is not true, but I don’t mind her thinking it. The pain will prevent her mind from working with its usual clarity.
What I want here is for her to lead me to whoever is providing her with her assignments. In the normal course of events, she’d be too sly, too alert to possible tails. Her bolt-hole has proven to be compromised, which (I am betting) means that the only other place she’ll feel safe in is with her handler. I want her to escape—but I don’t dare make it easy for her, or she’ll tumble to my scheme.
“Woman to woman,” I say, “I don’t get any pleasure out of this. Honestly. It’s just business. You’d be doing the same to me if you could.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I probably would.”
No lie, this time. I pretend to relax. “Do you want more water?” I ask.
“You know, I think I do.” She leans forward, ostensibly to pooch out her lips for the water I am offering, but I sense her tension rising and I know she’s ready to make her move. I lean over, and several things happen at once.
She surges upward, hoping to slam her forehead into my nose. At the same time, having freed her left hand (with all its fingers unbroken), she whips it up in a perfect uppercut. I manage not to get my nose broken (though it will be sore for several days), but I take most of the uppercut and don’t have to fake being slightly stunned. She’s got a hell of an arm on her.
I take a little revenge. As she leaps up from the couch, yanking and tearing at the ropes, the room swims around me before I can get my vision clear, and I cling to her as though I were clawing for balance, which in fact I am. I am not done with you yet, sweetheart.
I bear down, apply leverage—and hear her right ulna snap.
Now she shrieks, and now we’re done. She won’t be doing any more shooting for a few weeks. More to the point, she’ll be a lot easier to follow now. Though I know she won’t make the same mistake she made earlier—seeking hospital care for an injury—she won’t be able to hide a sling or a cast.
She kicks me hard in the stomach, and again, I don’t have to fake it; the wind is knocked out of me. By the time I recover, she’s gone.
No-One
As I thought, trailing the assassin (I can’t help thinking of her as Cookie) isn’t very difficult. After our confrontation, I’m sure she definitely got hurt; two black eyes, fat lip, a fractured jaw, broken finger, broken forearm...She’s good, and she’s trained, but those injuries will slow her down and make her noticeable in a crowd.
I let myself out of the back entrance and pick up her trail in front. Her vehicle is still in its assigned parking place, which is no surprise. She won’t be able to drive until she gets that arm checked. I look up and down the street. It runs north-south. She could have gone either way, and I have no idea of her destination. I look around. It’s mid-day, people are at work—no one is on the street.
Moving at about half top speed, I cast about in both directions. Twenty yards to the north I see a wet spot of blue. Grinning, I am off, moving very quickly.
I lost her trail twice, but she’s still shedding drops of blood, and I catch up within a few minutes. I fade back, using shrubs and ground cars for cover. I don’t want to catch her—I want to know where she’s going.
I’m happy that there aren’t many people around. As a Terran, I always attract attention, and that’s the last thing I want right now. But soon I am gritting my teeth because Cookie’s bloody little trail is leading me into a more crowded area, away from the residential district. Oh well—I square my shoulders and walk with authority as if I have every right to be here.
Which I do, given my status as a visiting scholar. In case any authorities stop me, I have my ID and a good alibi: I’m absorbing the local culture. To make that more reasonable, I take out my pad and take observational videos with it every so often.
I make sure to keep my eyes on her. When I see her pause outside an ornately-carved gate, speak urgently to the guard posted there, and then pass through, my heart sinks. I know this place. I first read about it while prepping for this assignment. The gate belongs to a temple complex, and the temple in question just happens to be the Sacred Temple of the Holy Combine. It’s the largest of its kind on Sonali Prime and is devoted to the state religion, known to all as The Way.
So much for my original plan. Assuming that she didn’t know I was tailing her, I was supposed to zip into her destination, which I had figured would be some unobtrusive office building. Then, I would flash through the place until I find her, slap a listener on the outside wall of whatever office she entered, and beat it out of there to some nearby café where I could tune in to her conversation.
A good plan, now utterly blown to shit.
I’m frozen for about a second, then I raise my pad to my face as though I were examining one of its settings.
I allow myself a few choice swears, then keep going after taking one quick video.
This place is definitely forbidden ground for me. I know from my studies that this particular temple, which is the nexus of The Way, is taboo to all non-Sonali. Not even most Sonali get to enter the temple except on specific ceremonial days. More than that, it’s got the best security systems on the planet—maybe even in this entire sector. I could follow her, but chances are I’d never make it out of there again. The entire complex, not just the temple itself, is blanketed with spy rays and sensors of all types. Not even I, with all my enhancements, could stay hidden for long.
Regarding paranoia and xenophobia, the Holy Combine could give lessons to Terran Nationalists. So far on this assignment, nothing has happened that I can’t fix but if anything were to happen to me in there, it would cause a major diplomatic shitstorm.
Cookie has put me in check. I stroll on, mentally reviewing what I know about the Holy Combine. I am not a religious person myself, but many are, and that includes most Sonali. Part of my cover is knowing the basics of the religious faith.
The Way was founded circa 1000 BCE by followers of a man named Xorrig, a post-Ascension male who was known in his time as a poet, philosopher, and teacher. For most of his lifetime, he was derided as an eccentric. He avoided contact with people and lived a hermitic existence tending a flock of sheep-like animals outside of his village, living with them outside at all seasons of the year.
The official line is that his solitude and the purity of his life rendered him susceptible to enlightenment, whatever that is, but contemporary records say that he had a habit of chewing on the berries of a plant known to have hallucinogenic properties. Xorrig insisted that the visions he saw were a direct communication from a supreme spiritual being. Claiming to have seen Eternity, he spent the rest of his life composing poetry about it and giving sermons to his neighbors in his village’s marketplace, exhorting them to live simply and to be kind to each other. He was articulate and convincing about his experiences and wandered around talking about what he had seen.
One day, Xorrig took himself out into a wasteland to seek further enlightenment. What he found instead was death from thirst and starvation. By the time his body was found, he had already been almost forgotten.
But his teachings had attracted the attention of a few people who thought his ideas about the Infinite and how to live well made sense. His ideas became more widely known through the efforts of his followers, particularly one named Aricanthas, a pre-Ascension female who retained her gender identity throughout her life. Though Xorrig had written down very few of his works, Aricanthas devoted herself to preserving his ideas, which became known as The Way, or Xorrigism. Xorrig himself was not revered as a god, but his status as a prophet was secure and his writings regarded as holy writ. The union of Xorrig and the supreme spiritual being he claimed to have been enlightened by what was referred to as the Holy Combine.
Believers of The Way adopted many practices from smaller regional faiths or brutally oppressed them if their believers weren’t willing to convert—making it easier (or at least safer) for folks to switch their allegiance. As The Way spread across the planet, growing in strength and influence, temples dedicated to the Holy Combine were established in all major cities and many villages.
And my quarry has taken refuge in the biggest one on the planet.
I am almost quivering with frustration. I know she’s in there reporting to her handler—who is obviously some high-order prelate. But there’s no way I can get in there to confirm my suspicion.
I try to back off from my feelings. Cookie is of the military caste, ostensibly loyal to Noble Marshal Yanick, the man she killed; but here before me is proof that her true loyalties lie elsewhere. Among the Origin Movement, who has religious affiliations?
Whoever it is, they’re in there, and they’re behind an assassination that might put the Terran Union at odds with the Sonali Combine – just a few short years after a disastrous war.
Could Cookie be in his inner sanctum even now, spilling her guts about me?
That wouldn’t be good. Her handler knows me, however slightly, and her description of me will be good enough for him to realize who attacked and injured Cookie.
Not good. The very best I can hope for, in that case, is to be expelled from the embassy and sent home in disgrace. I am going to need a disguise, and soon, I am also going to need help. Somehow or other, I must get inside that temple and start gathering information.
As a Terran, I can’t do that. Therefore, I need a Sonali proxy to do it for me.
The pool of potential assistants is extremely limited. In fact, there’s only one person in it.
I turn around and walk away. I’ve got to get off the streets as soon as I can and go to ground before the alarm goes out. It may already be too late. I pick up my pace.
No-One
With Gresh’s presence in the hospital and Cookie’s temple situation, I had to put a stop to my plans. My first thought is to head over to the hospital and get him out. I realize, however, that Gresh is not a soldier. Perhaps, I have a lot of convincing to do; hence, it’s better if he were fully awake and in complete control of his faculties than if he were drugged and woozy.
I take an aircar to the Residential Estate. This is by far the largest Estate on Sonali Prime, or at least the largest Estate that is part of the Capital Grid. One of the first things I learned about Sonali Prime is that unlike New Washington, where I was domiciled before I got transferred here, Sonali Prime isn’t a one city world. It’s much like earth in this regard. There are clusters of civilization, known as Estates, separated by vast stretches of wildlife, oceans, natural formations, and so on.
The central cluster of Estates is the Capital Grid, where most things happen in Sonali Prime. In fact, I daresay that everything happens in the Capital Grid. This is where the government is based. This is where the military leadership is domiciled. This is what most of the population on Sonali Prime call home. This is where most of the industries and corporations operate. The Capital Grid boasts a fifty-seven percent share of the entire landmass of Sonali Prime.
I am in a private air car, whizzing across the vast network of Sonali architecture. Though it’s nighttime, the city below buzzes with a vibrancy that matches a morning in New Washington.
My thoughts begin to hover around my next move. What do I do next? I have an idea who might really be behind the assassination. The person had to be a member of the religious caste if they live in the Sacred Temple. But it didn’t make any sense. Is there something else at work here that I’m not seeing?
As an intelligence operative, I have learned never to discount any possibility, regardless of how improbable or impracticable they may seem at the time. A lot of good agents die because they are too smug to accept a highly unlikely scenario. Usually, those “somebody” makes their scenario probable and ends up killing those agents.
What if the guy who was assassinated isn’t all that righteous? What if he really wasn’t Pro-Ascension? What if he really was just an insert by the government to monitor the Pro-Ascension faction and make sure they don’t cause trouble? In that case, assassinating him would not really be assassinating one of its own since in the real sense the man was really Pro-Ascension. But that wouldn’t make sense because Ascension is the government’s party line. It’s a Sonali tradition.
As I consider this scenario, I’m baffled by the fact that it is, indeed, highly improbable that the guy was a spy. It’s usually almost impossible to infiltrate a zealot, fanatic group, such as what both the Pro-Ascensionists and Origin Movement have started to become. In fact, fanatic groups are hard to infiltrate anywhere in the galaxy, even in New Washington.
Nowadays, during the early years of the formation of the Galactic Council, it has been extremely difficult to infiltrate the ranks of the anti-alien movement led by Lucien Parker and his Terran Nationalists. Many agents have tried and been burned.
Including me.
My order was to infiltrate the anti-alien movement, shortly after the supposed destruction of the Tyreesian cruiser and the massacre in the global diplomatic headquarters. At first, I looked at the Director of Armada Intelligence in New Washington, a smug and young son of a bitch who never carries a single strain of hair on his bare head.
“You’re kidding right?” I asked him.
He smiled at me.
“Are you so fucked up that you can’t think again?” This time I yell at him. Of course, any other officer, even an Admiral, could have gotten court marshaled and eventually executed, but not me. I am No One, and we had sex before—in fact, he still makes passes at me every goddamn time!
“No, Anika,” he said, without anger. “This is important. All our best agents have said it’s impossible. No one is willing to risk being blown.”
Then I smiled. Indeed, No One.
In the end, I was unable to infiltrate the anti-alien movement.
My only failure to date.
So, no, I highly doubt that this guy who was assassinated could be an infiltrator. If I haven’t been able to yet, it’s impossible.
Nevertheless, until I have hard evidence, I can’t accept speculation.
“How long to our destination?” I ask the driver.
“About ten minutes to the Terran Embassy,” replies the Sonali.
“Make a course correction,” I say out of habit. That’s what I usually tell my navigator when I was still commanding the Armada Intelligence TUS. Oh, the glory days.
The Sonali doesn’t reply at first. “You mean you want to go somewhere else?”
“Yes,” I say. “Take me to section YT234 in the Residential Estates.”
“Okay.”
The air car makes a sharp turn to the right, and we’re on our way to my rented apartment. My plan is to do a little research on the soldier that was assassinated. To do this, I’ll have to speak to my guys back at New Washington. I don’t want to do this at the Embassy for two reasons. First, I know the communications in and out of the Embassy are being recorded and decoded by the Sonali. I’d be stupid to think it isn’t. And while our encryption protocol is pretty strong, we still do not know the full extent of the Sonali’s electronic capability.
I don’t want the Sonali making trouble for the Terran Embassy if they discover a communication about the dead soldier and infer that we are conducting an unauthorized intelligence operation on Sonali soil, which is tantamount to an act of war. Of course, they wouldn’t go to war for such a trivial reason, but they can ask for some compensation, which the Terran Union will be compelled to pay.
Doing the research from my house will ensure my communication is secure. After all, no one would be monitoring my communication.
I guide the air car to one of the numerous housing units in the Estate. The male Sonali lands on the roof, and I pay him. I take an elevator to the fiftieth floor where my apartment is. It’s a spacious, three-bedroom, two-floored, self-contained apartment that could be in any metropolitan capital.
In the center of the sitting room, I say, “Initiate the Chameleon Protocol.”
“Working,” comes the computerized voice.
Within seconds, every door closes and locks itself. The windows slide shut, and the lights go out. The walls instantly come on, giving off a blue bioluminescence that dimly lights up the room.
“Contact OD,” I say, “Priority. Authorization code NO1.”
“Confirmed,” comes the voice.
Right before me, a holographic projection explodes into existence. It’s Eric, one of the analysts at Armada Intelligence Operations Division. I can see he’s at his workstation.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?” he asks.
“I need a quick information on the Sonali soldier that was assassinated recently during the Pro-Ascension movement—Noble Yanik,” I say as I type the required information into my pad. “I’m sending you the details now. Give me something I can’t find on the net.”
Eric calls up the information on his workstation. While he’s doing that, I begin pacing.
“His name is Yanik,” Eric begins to say. “He was a Noble Marshal in the Sonali military—that’s like a four-star Admiral in Terran Armada rank system. Anyways, at that rank, he was one of the highest-ranking officers in the military caste and renowned for his decisive actions during the war.
“What you wouldn’t find on the net is that he led the Special Dreadnaughts Division that was responsible for the orbital bombardment of the Azukene Colony during the war,” Eric states and I take a sharp intake of breath.
Asukene Colony happened in the fourth year of the war. Both powers were slamming each other so hard. Along the way, we both decided that it was a waste of time to send down ground forces to capture a colony. So ships began to just bombard the colonies from orbit.
Azukene Colony was wiped out. One hundred and ten million people. Glassed.
A horrible tragedy in a conflict filled with them.
“So he was a mass murderer of Terrans…” I mutter to myself.
“You can say that,” Eric says, catching my words. “We have conclusive evidence that he was Pro-Ascension, although he never got involved in politics until he officially changed his status to Pro-Ascension in his records.”
“So why was he speaking at the conference?” I ask. “Aside from the whole coming out. Any other reasons?”
Eric doesn’t reply at first.
“Well, just after his quasi-retirement from active duty, which was just after the war, he was appointed a liaison between the military and the religious caste. So he met regularly with the high-level clergy at the Sonali Temple.”
“But if the assassin was affiliated with the Sacred Temple…then someone in the Temple assassinated one of their own?” I mutter to myself.
“It would appear so,” Eric said.
“Thanks,” I say. “Keep digging into this Yanik guy and let me know if you find anything that you think might help.”
Eric nods and the slipstream connection ends.
Gresh
I am awakened by two things, one more irritating than the next. First, the sharp pain in my left rib that has me reaching to soothe it with my right palm that’s also bandaged. The next is the sharp light in my eyes that feels like there are millions of needles sticking into my eyes. I lift my left palm to stand as a barrier between the floodlight above me and my face. Even though my eyes are slitted shut, the light still manages to pierce through.
“Blasted light,” I mutter to myself. I try to turn away from the persistent, violating flood of light upon my face, but then I feel another flood…this time, it is of pain that threatens to send me into another bout of unconsciousness.
“Oh, you’re awake,” says a voice I have become all too familiar with.
Then I hear a sound like something is moving, and the light is suddenly no longer on my face. I open my slits and remember that I am actually in a hospital room. I see the mysterious Terran lady, Rosaline, standing right next to my bed, wielding a handheld flashlight.
I give her a confused look. “Why would you flash that thing to my eyes?” I try to sit up, feeling streaks after streaks of pain go through my spinal cord. I grunt, making my way up to a sitting position. The bed slants automatically to fit my desired position.
I shut my eyes again for a moment, waiting for the pain to flush past me. When it is gone—or at least beaten back to a background throb, I glance back to see that Rosaline is still looking at me.
I frown. “You haven’t answered my question.”
She’s dressed in tight-fitting pants and a dark velvet jacket that covers a silk, ashen vest—and yes, these are tight too. Oddly enough, I find her extremely attractive. Even the face breather she has on does not detract her beauty. Her brunette hair has a lovely look in the warm, incandescent light in the room.
She gives me a tight-lipped smile, switching off the bloody flashlight and laying it on the hover tray beside her. I look and see that on this tray is also a box of medications with directions for use.
“I had to wake you up,” she said. I notice that she’s speaking in a hushed tone. Not conspirator-style, nevertheless not loud enough as in normal civilized conversation. I can tell we’re about to have a conversation that may potentially put me in danger. She doesn’t want outsiders to hear her; she also doesn’t want me to be afraid.
I know this is when I should be terrified.
If my own people can attack me, then the last person I should be conspiring with or having a hushed conversation with is a Terran.
She gave a short burst of laughter and says, “It’s either the light or I whack you in the head. I figured you wouldn’t want to wake up feeling more pain than what you already have.”
“You could have just woken me with a tap, you know,” I say, sounding offended.
“Do you think I didn’t try?” she replies. “I’ve been tapping you for the better part of twenty minutes. The drug they put in your system was too much.”
“And for a good reason,” I say.
She sighs. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to you, but I need your help. And we don’t have a lot of time.”
I roll my eyes. When a Terran asks for your help, you better run. They are known to be cruel predators. During the war, I heard tales of a Captain Jeryl Montgomery, known as The Avenger of The Mariner. Whenever his name was called, it would strike fear in our hearts. I remember the first time I heard that the one who was leading a final offensive against Sonali Prime was Captain Jeryl; I was filled with so much dread that I had puked all over my lab. It was a rumor at the end—Sonali Prime wasn’t the target. Beta Hydrae III was.
But only the Terrans would attack a religious holy planet.
Put a Terran’s back to the wall, and they’re more dangerous than anyone else in the galaxy.
I sigh. Times have changed. Now we are at peace with Captain Jeryl and the Terrans. Nevertheless, a lot of Sonali males have been cultured not to trust them, though we derive inspiration from their way of life. Because she was a scientist, I had decided to at least give working with a Terran a try. But Rosaline is beginning to seem more and more like a terrible mistake.
I open my eyes to look at Rosaline. Her eyes are on fire with urgency and anticipation. I begin to feel the familiar feeling of dread work its way down my spine.
“Look, Rosaline, I don’t know what you have going on,” I begin, “but please leave me out of it.”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I really need your help. You’re the only one I can depend on. Perhaps, you’ll want to help since it involves your Origin Movement.”
This is when my attention is piqued. I begin to look at her with another set of eyes. I look her up and down and start to wonder. Is she really a xenoarchaeologist? She really doesn’t look the part—not that there is a certain way we look. And even if there is, Terrans certainly would look different, maybe more oddly than usual. I almost chuckle at my wit.
“What do you know about the Origin Movement?” I ask, my tone guarded. I don’t want to give off more than I have so I can really know what her motives are.
“I know that if you don’t help me, your movement won't last another month,” she replies with so much confidence that I begin to shiver.
I think about Sonali Prime without the Origin Movement. What if it’s wiped out in one fell swoop by the Post-Ascension goons? The Origin Movement is the last vestige against the undemocratic government that seeks to tighten its control over every facet of the life of the Sonali.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It’s obvious what I mean,” she says in a very soft, very suggestive voice. “If you don’t help me, all the work you’ve done for the movement dies. All your effort, all in vain. Noble Marshall’s death will raise a rallying cry against you and the Origin Movement.”
“What do you want me to do?” I ask. I am not entirely sure what she hopes to achieve, and neither am I entirely convinced that a lowly Terran scientist can accomplish much in our fight, but I am willing at least to hear her out.
She takes in a deep breath, and I can see the breather’s lights blink as it compensates for the pressure differences. She lets out the air softly, and her face mask blurs with vapor for a few moments before the breather compensates again.
She says, “I need you to sneak into your people’s big church and spy on some stuff for me.”
She says it with so much levity I am almost compelled to believe it’s not a big deal, until years of training, years of terrible, bloody memories, and years of battles bring back to me the sacredness of the temple.
The Sacred Temple of the Holy Combine.
The Terrans have a phrase.
I think it’s…holy fuck.
“What?” I blurt, blinking at her. I search her smooth, radiant face for signs that she’s trying to pull an elaborate joke or something of that nature. Her face is extremely focused, her eyes burning with intensity.
“Why would I do that?” I ask again. I know I should be more forceful, but I am befuddled by the magnitude of her request to respond accordingly.
“Because,” she starts, pausing for a few seconds to look at me, “because I can make life very miserable for you or I can make life very sweet for you. It’s all your choice.”
This is when I sit straight. All notion of pain vanishes from my eyes, and I look at Rosaline again. This times, she stands before me not as a scientist but as a complete stranger. My first instinct is to call the nurses.
“Don’t even try it,” she says. She doesn’t move a muscle, nor does she speak a threat. However, the tone of her voice is strong enough to keep my intentions for the nurse as just that; intentions.
“What?” I say, already breathless. “Who are you?”
“Long version or short version?” she says.
“Short version,” I reply. “I don’t want to hear more than I should hear, so the police don’t question me so much.”
She shrugs. “I’m a spy for the Terran Union, Gresh. But I’m not your enemy. I’m not here to cause any troubles…”
“Isn’t that what they all say,” I cut in, anger burning in my words. All I can think of is: I should have known.
“No,” she says. “I’m not like others. Hey, look, I was sent here on an academic mission. I was sent to study your culture and report back to my handlers on the Movement. That’s why I secured work with you because I knew you were close to the Movement.”
I don’t reply her. I remain quiet, my mind spinning in a hazy mess of indecision.
“Gresh, I’m trying to find out who assassinated Yanik…”
“Didn’t you?” I spit out, more out of the anger of betrayal than out of reason and logic.
She shakes her head, though she realizes how angry I am. For a moment, she looks at me with what I detect as compassion. Her eyes are kinder and warmer and the way she does with her face…I am almost of the opinion that she may be a mother.
When she begins to speak again, her voice is calm, yet strong.
“I tracked her down,” she says, “A lady murdered Yanik. I found her and let her go because it was obvious she was working under orders. I tracked her to the Sacred Temple. I could have snuck in and gotten my answers, but like I told you I’m not here to cause trouble. I respect the Sonali people. I respect your culture. I respect what the Origin Movement stands for.”
She folds her arm. “I wasn’t authorized to intervene,” she says, “but I wouldn’t stand by and watch this Movement die by underhand tactics. So if you won’t help me, I’ll just sit by and watch as the Origin Movement is vanquished and report back to the Terran Union as my mission is.”
I swallow hard. I feel my heart quake with fear. I am faced with the challenge of trying to envision a Sonali Prime without the Origin Movement. If this revolution is not seen through to completion, then we will be effectively selling our future generations to unconditional slavery to the government.
“I can’t spy for you,” I say, stammering. “It goes against everything I believe in.”
Rosaline sneers. “That’s a load of crap, and you know it,” she says. “It’s the people trying to sow discord amongst your rank that are against everything you believe in. All I’m trying to do is keep you all alive and working together.”
I shake my head, though I have nothing to say. I know the right thing to do, but spying for a foreign race? I can feel my face squeezing at the disgust of the notion. How could I spy for the same people that killed my people by the millions? What would my colleagues think of me? What would the military do to me, if they found out what I was doing?
“Hey, you don’t have to do it for nothing,” Rosaline says. “As I said, I can make your life miserable or sweet, your choice. But you’re going to help me.”
“Are you threatening me?” I ask, fear turning to anger.
She smiles. “No. I am offering you the Terran Union xenoarchaeological expedition of your choice,” she says. “You can study old hunks of metal anywhere in Terran space and the Galactic Council space.”
All of a sudden, I am no longer thinking of the risks but the reward. “Are you serious?”
She nods. “With a single call. Once this is all over, of course.”
I look away, thoughts burning away in my mind.
It isn’t as though I am stealing classified information and feeding the Terrans, I think to myself. I am spying on a known criminal. Heck, it’s not even spying if the person I’m spying on is wanted. I am simply helping a Terran friend to get a hold of Yanik’s killer. It will take any suspicions off of us. That we’re working with the Terrans.
Though all this will happen, ironically, by working with the Terrans.
Perhaps, I’ve told myself many times that I am willing to give anything for the Origin Movement.
This is the Origin Movement, and I am being called to lay my freedom and life down for it. I may not like the method nor the fact that Rosaline lied to about being a spy, but if we do catch this criminal, Noble Yanik’s death could at least be avenged, and the Origin Movement will grow stronger.
I clear my throat, my decision made. “I’ll do it, but I’m not happy about it. Also, I thought we were friends?”
“You’re not my friend, Gresh,” she replies. “Just an asset. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you, though.” She gives me a friendly punch that lights up my neural pathway. I grunt, shutting my eyes.
“Oops, sorry,” she mutters with a smile.
“I’m guessing your real name isn’t Rosaline, is it?” I ask.
“Nope, it isn’t,” she replies. “It’s No One.”
I frown. I have never heard of any Terran called No One.
“Is No One your spy name?”
“Yes and no. It means number one. I got tired of that designation, so it evolved into No One.”
“But why number one?” I prod.
“Because I was the first,” she replies.
“You mean the best?” I say with a knowing grin.
No One laughs aloud. “That too.”
After a moment of silence, she says, “But you can’t tell anyone about me. You’ll just go to prison under suspicion of espionage, and I’ll escape unscathed. So keep it quiet.”
I give a long sigh.
“What am I looking for?” I ask and see her mouth twist into a broad grin.
I’ve never been more scared in my life.
Gresh
The air car drops me off a long way before the main gates into the Sacred Temple. It is about five stories tall and has dreadful gh’inkta birds as a theme. There is a narrow path that leads up to the main gates. This narrow path is hedged in by a tall ridge that cuts my view of the Capital Grid. The Sacred Temple is located just in the outskirts of it.
The path is dusty.
I am dressed as a true believer, wearing a very thick linen with a frayed surface. I have a scarf tied around my head and protecting me from the fierce winds that pick up dust and scatter through the wind.
As I make my way up to the gates, I am the only one on the path. It’s almost noon. The gates are slightly ajar and unguarded. I slip into a large courtyard.
The floor is paved. An exquisite painting adorns the grounds, however, it pales in comparison to the Temple that stands before me. A glorious feat of architecture, the five-story structure captures the sunlight like it owns it and gives it off in angles that are pleasurable to behold. There are beautiful, blooming trees along the sides of the temple, which seems to have established some form of symbiosis with the building as I can see it intertwined with some of the pillars of the building.
I take confident steps towards the series of steps that lead up to the main doors. There are a few people walking about the courtyard, who are all dressed as I am (or should I say I am dressed as they are). No One had thought it best that I dress normally, but I felt that I would attract less attention if I didn’t look so unlike the inhabitants of the temple.
“Are you in already?” No One’s voices erupts in my mind.
Instantly, a spirit of dread falls on me, and I look furtively around. It is then I notice the weird looks some of the monks are giving me. I swallow hard and look straight ahead at the doors.
“Gresh?” No One’s voice comes again through the embedded comm chip in my right ear.
I look away from the guards at the doors who are observing me carefully.
“I’m not in yet,” I mutter, “I’m getting to the door. Hold on.”
“Okay,” she says in my ears. “You don’t have to reply me all the time, but just listen to the sound of my voice. Clear you throat if you understand.”
I clear my throat as loud I can, my eyes steady on the guards. I get to the steps and begin to make my ascent with an intense feeling of anxiety that threatens to shut down my central nervous system.
“Remember, Gresh,” she says in my ears. “You haven’t done anything wrong. No one suspects you of anything. You’re just a normal guy coming here to pray to his god. Nothing to be afraid of. It’s you constitutional right…”
Easy for you to say, I think. I have the urge to tell her this, but I have come to close to the guards to get away with it.
There are two of them, both of whom are huge and thick-bodied. They are both male and look Post-Ascension. They stand several yards away from the large double doors, though they are upon the final landing leading to the doors.
Even as I am defeating the final flight of steps headed towards them, one of them roars, “What brings you here?”
His voice is so deep and confrontational that I shiver as he speaks. I try to remember my excuse, but words are failing me. I turn to the ground to hide my extreme fright and use my climbing of the steps one by one as an excuse for my delayed response.
I squirm.
No One seems to detect my emotions because she says, “Calm down, Gresh. He’s just asking you what you’re here to do. He doesn’t know. If he knew, he wouldn’t be asking. Heck, if he knew, you probably wouldn’t have made it this far. Think about it.”
I realize that No One is right. If he already knows my true purpose for being here, I would already be dead. This is enough for me to gain a bit of my boldness back. Yet, I realize that if he does somehow find out why I’m here, I’ll no doubt be facing down the wrong end of a gun.
“Answer me, sir,” the guard says. Now he has interposed himself in my path. His right hand is stretched forth ahead of him, while his other hand is on his holster.
Pull it together!
I begin to speak, but the words babble out at first.
“Something wrong with you?” This comes from the second guard. Though his voice is deep, it carried amusement mixed with concern.
I shake my head. I begin to speak again, and this time I’m able to get off a word: “Scholar.”
The guard who already has his hand on the gun relaxes as his eyes widen. “You’re a scholar?” he asks for clarification, looking me up and down.
I nod. With more boldness, I say, “I’m a scholar.”
“Another doctor?” he says, “jeez. Alright, head on in.”
I nod again, this this time putting a slight smile on my face. I walk past them and make a beeline for the doors. As I approach the doors, I can feel their eyes boring holes in the back of my neck. Suddenly, I have a flash vision of alarms blaring and the guards leaping on me and subduing me and then taking me to the dungeons and leaving me there to rot for my treason.
“Relax, Gresh,” No One says. “You made it in.”
I frown. “Are you reading my mind?” I ask.
No One doesn’t reply.
I walk through the double doors into a wide inner courtyard. It has a dome-shaped ceiling that’s two stories high. There are two flights of steps, one on the left and another on the right. These flights of steps cover around the edges of the room to meet on the first floor at a doorway. Straight ahead on the ground floor, there is another doorway. Standing in the doorway is a figure that’s staring at me with a big smile on his face.
I instantly smile back as I recognize Doctor Zimak. I walk up to him, and we shake hands.
“What brings you to this side of the Capital Grid, Gresh?” the man asks.
“Oh, you know me, I’m always looking for the next archeological find,” I reply with effortless ease. “I actually came looking for indicators of xenoarchaeological finds in old Sonali doctrine slash mythology.”
The man nods. “Well, then you need to be heading up and not through this doorway,” he says. “The library is up.”
I smile. “I wonder why I always get turned around.”
We both laugh at that.
“Hey, you never told me what you were doing around these parts,” I say.
The man says, “Nothing as interesting as yours I’m afraid. I only came on an administrative assignment from my office. Top secret though.”
I nod. “I understand. You are in the administrative block right? Where might that be? In case I need to go there, you know, to borrow some books or ask some questions…”
“It’s right through this doorway,” Doctor Zimak replies, pointing at the open arched doorway on the ground floor.
Through the doorway is a small lobby that narrows into a small closed door on the other side.
“Through that door is where the clerical offices are,” he says. “Good luck. See you when I see you.”
I nod and watch as he exits the temple. Then I walk into the lobby. It is rugged and has a homely feel to it, with a couple of couches and a central table with magazines on it. There is a food processor off to one corner and a desk office with an absent officer.
There are a couple of people waiting in the couches. I don’t even acknowledge them. I walk straight to the door and slip in.
“Where are you now?” I hear No One’s voice in my ears, which reminds me that I am not alone.
“I’m in a narrow hallway,” I reply. “There are cubicles everywhere and an office up ahead. I think that might be it.”
There are people at the desks and on computers in the cubicles—I guess even Templers need to stay connected to the universe. No one pays me any attention as I make my way to the office. The door is wide open. I can see the mid-sized desk and the large-sized chair behind. The chair is empty. Though in a smaller chair before the desk, a woman is sitting and cradling her arm. I see the cast around her arm—it has a shiny black casing and functions with antigravity technology, such that the woman does not have to hang her hand from her neck. The arm simply floats around as she wishes.
“What’s happening now?” No One asks.
“I’ve found your girl,” I report. “She’s sitting in some office, probably of her boss. I can see what you did to her arm.”
“Well, aren’t you going to go in?” she asks.
“I don’t think so,” I reply truthfully. I have begun to bleed sweat.
“Why?”
“Are you actually asking me that question?” I say, pulling myself to the other side of the door, where I wouldn’t be in a direct line of sight to the woman. “That lady killed Yanik. She’s a warrior. If she finds out who I am, I’m dead.”
“She’s a lady with one hand, Gresh,” No One replies in a condescending tone. “Surely you can fend off an injured lady with a fucking cast.”
I want to retort, but I have not the words. No One is right.
“Look, the faster, the better,” No One says. “If you delay much longer, you will get caught. It’s in your best interest to get in there, do what you got to do, and get the hell out of dodge.”
“I could always turn around and go back,” I say, testing her.
She chuckles loud enough for me to hear. “Well, then, you’re going to have to explain to those guards outside why you’re working for a Terran spy and carrying Terran spy equipment.
Then I remember the comms system embedded into my ear, built on some nanite technology that No One uses. The Terrans defile their bodies as casually as Sonali changes clothes. To make an enemy of them is to sign your own death warrant.
I half walk, half leap into the office, such that the woman was startled.
“Who are you?” she asks, more out of confusion, than out of a real need to know.
I walk straight to her and grab her cast, looking it over. “This seems to be working just fine,” I say. I tap a button with another arm, and a holographic projection erupts from the cast revealing some information about the injury and the healing process.
“Have you been feeling slight headaches?” I ask.
She’s still looking at me weird, but she says, “Actually, yes I have.”
“Hmmm,” I mumble, my insides turning to Jelly O. I know that if her boss walks in here, I’m toast.
She looks more confused. “Is something wrong, healer?” she asks, her voice trembling with fear. “The last one said I should be able to use my hand in combat again.”
I let go of her cast and say, “Yeah, everything is fine. I’ll have to change your prescription though, if you hope to actually use your hands for any precision work.”
I walk over to the table, my back to her.
“Great work, Gresh,” No One whispers in my ears. “You’re almost done. Once you pour the nanites on the table, they will spread and disappear. Then you get the heck out of there, you hear?”
I clear my throat nonchalantly to let her know I hear.
“Good,” she replies.
At the table, I pull out a pen with a fat butt. I tap the butt and it opens up. Then I turn the pen upside down on the table, making sure I was blocking the assassin’s view. Numerous tiny microscopic bubbles poured out on the table and zipped out of sight.
“Great,” I hear No One say. “I am receiving the signals already. It will install surveillance software on every electronic device in that room.”
I jot a prescription, which is the exact same thing I read in her cast, then give it to her.
“Thanks for coming, doc,” she says, relieved.
But I am not listening to her. The moment she takes the paper, I step aside and walk out of the office.
Five seconds later, every alarm in the building goes off.
No-One
I hear the sirens go off before an ear-splitting static sound crashes into my ears.
“Shit!” I scream, pulling out the earpiece and dumping it on the ground. I look at the holographic readout hovering before me. It’s showing that I’ve lost contact with Gresh.
Frantic, I say, “Computer, establish connection again!” I realize I’m still yelling instinctively.
“Working,” the voice says.
My room is lit up by the holographic projection and the bioluminescence in the wall both of which have a bluish tint. I notice that I’m panting. I close my eyes for a moment, reaching for my face with my hands. I take in deep breathes to try and flush the adrenaline out of my system.
“Connection cannot be established,” the computer says.
I hiss. “I guess the guy got himself caught,” I say to myself. “Sucks for him.”
“Computer, are the nanites still transmitting?” I ask.
“Negative,” comes the reply. “Connection was lost.”
“Did we at least get any information?” I ask. I’d hate to have gone through all this trouble just to be turned in by Gresh.
“What if he breaks?” I ask myself.
I suddenly feel a cold air wash over my body, the hair on my skin standing on end. I glance at the door. It’s locked. My perimeter alarm hasn’t gone off, but then I don’t expect Gresh to give me up that easily.
Really? A voice says in my head.
“Computer, while working on finding out if we got any information off the temple, place a secure call to the Embassy,” I say.
“Working,” comes the reply.
Another holographic projection appears beside the first one. It’s the communications officer at the Embassy.
“Go ahead,” he says, recognizing me immediately.
“I sent in a high value asset to the Sacred Temple of the Holy Combine,” I say in one breath. I pause to suck in air. “He might have been compromised. I want you to alert me if I’ve been compromised.”
“Roger that, ma’am,” he says. “May I suggest you evacuate to the Embassy? Giving your dire situation, should things escalate, we can get you out of Sonali Prime to the nearest TUS, which is less than half a day away.”
My heart skips a beat.
“What ship is that?” I ask, my mind already working out how the scenario might play out. I’d be whisked to the Embassy by nondescript aircars, and under the cover of dark, I’d shuttle to the starship and bail out. I would return to Armada Intelligence Command and tell them I couldn’t get the job done. They probably will give me back my ship and allow me to roam the galaxy fomenting evil for every opposition.
“The TUS The Seeker is making a supply run in a nearby system,” he says.
“The Seeker?” I ask. The name brings back terrible memories of the war…and the one who commands it. “Is…”
The man nods. “Yes, ma’am. He’s the captain.”
I shake my head in disagreement. “I won’t leave so soon,” I say. “This isn’t over. I don’t run away from a fight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man replies. “I’ll inform you if you become a person of interest.”
“Thank you,” I say, “Computer, cut the transmission.”
The holographic projection of the communications officer vanishes from my room. He may bear the official title of communications officer, but he is actually a spy for the Terran Union, as is the defense attaché and a couple of other high and low ranking officers.
“Process complete. I was able to decode the encrypted information the nanites obtained before the connection was lost,” the computer says.
“Display,” I command.
“Working…”
A series of data begins to run across the holographic screen before me, which I read word for word. First thing I realize is that the nanites were able to get a lot of information across to me in a short period of time before I lost contact with Gresh.
A lot of the information being displayed are Temple logs, which piques my curiosity. I notice that the owner of the Office, High Cleric Szaad, had been getting a lot of visits from the late Noble Marshal over the course of a few weeks.
I retreat back to a couch and sit down. The holographic follows me but maintains a distance of two yards from me.
“What is going on here,” I ask myself, looking over the logs. For over three weeks, the High Cleric had met with the Noble Marshal. Now the High Cleric is meeting with the person who assassinated the Noble Marshal? It can’t be a coincidence, yet I don’t want to rush into any premature conclusion.
Maybe she was there to get some spiritual advice, I mean she did just kill someone. She could be there to seek redemption. Maybe the Temple was the only place she could seek asylum from the one who would want to do her harm—for example: yours truly.
When I took my gaze off the hologram, the information spill stopped. As I return my focus, the information continues to reel out.
The High Cleric also had scheduled meetings with a high ranking member of the Merchant caste.
“Computer, do we have any information about this meeting?” I say.
“Checking…”
“Negative.” The computer says two seconds later.
I heave a deep sigh. I wonder if we didn’t get the information—or if the information even exists.
“Computer, what can you tell me about High Cleric Szaad?”
“Checking…”
I swear, these moments feel like the longest time of my life.
“There is limited public information about the Sacred Temple leaders,” the computer replies.
I smile.
Maybe, I think. “Can you hack into the private files?” I say.
“Yes.”
“How long would it take you to get the information I need?” I ask.
“Approximately three days, five hours, forty minutes and three point five seven seconds,” comes the reply.
“Okay, forget I asked that,” I say.
Who is this guy? And what does he want with the Merchant Caste?
I glance back at the hologram and it continues to spew out information. Now I’m reading through some more of clerical information. Staff rotation. Financial audit. Queries. Staff dossiers.
“Computer, check if we got a dossier on the High Cleric.”
“Working…negative.”
“Computer, I want you to begin a search protocol on the information we got from the office.”
“What are you parameters?” the computer asks.
“I want any relevant information on the meetings the High Cleric had with the Noble Marshal, the assassin, and the Merchant.”
“Working…”
I stand to my feet and begin to pace. The computer realizes this is a nervous habit and so the holographic projection doesn’t follow me to pace. It returns to its position at the center of the sitting room.
“There are two recordings of a meeting between High Cleric Szaad and Noble Marshal Yanik,” the computer says. “The audio of the video recording appears to have been corrupted during the termination of the signal. All attempts to restore the audio have failed. Would you still like me to play the video?”
“Play,” I command.
The screen morphs into an overhead view of an office. I can only see a portion of the room—the portion where a desk is beside a window. A Sonali in a regal-looking robe sits behind the desk, while a burly-looking one stands on the other side. The view is grainy and the angle of the camera prevents me from getting a good view.
The High Cleric says something that seems to upset the Noble Marshal, who is now speaking and gesturing wildly. Then Szaad shoots to his feet and appears to yell something. His movements are forceful, showing that he’s all riled up. Yanik, too, begins to rant, yelling as well, I presume. The argument goes on for another thirty minutes before Szaad points at the door and the Noble Marshal storms out. Then the feed dies.
“Play again,” I say.
I watch it over again. This time I try to read their lips. I’m not so successful because the angle is just so bad. But I am able to pick up a few words that gives me the impression that the two were arguing about the Pro-Ascension movement. I appears as though something about the direction of the movement wasn’t sitting well with one of the two.
I also picked up some words that I didn’t really understand. “Greater good” and “sacrifice” were two words I don’t want to hear used in a sentence, especially when a revolution is about to take place. These are trigger words that herald an action that’s probably going to cost lives.
I watch the short clip for a couple more times before I’m satisfied that I’ve seen all I need to see.
“Computer, play second recoding,” I say.
The next thing I hear is a conversation.
“I don’t want to have any part in this,” one voice say. Its thick, hardline nature suggests that it’s the soldier.
“No problem, Yanik,” says the other voice, which is thick, but weathered. I assume this is Szaad.
“At least, speak at the rally,” Szaad says.
“I don’t think I should,” Yanik replies. “I’m too upset to bring my thoughts together. Perhaps, I need time to think about how you can even conceive this.”
I hear a sigh, which I assume comes from an exasperated Szaad.
“Look, you can think all you want, but you need to speak at the rally,” Szaad says. “A lot of people are going to attend. The true believers of our way will get a definite boost if you spoke to them. Perhaps, you can share you ideals for the movement and see what they think. If they stand with you, then I’ll stand with you.”
There is a slight pause.
“Okay, Szaad,” Yanik says. “I’ll speak—”
And the audio ends abruptly.
No-One
There is more going on here than we, the Union, had thought. Szaad and Yanik were clearly knee-deep in some scheme of their own, which apparently spiraled out of their control, resulting in Yanik’s assassination. But who, exactly, had him killed? There is no shortage of players on the Sonali side, of course, but it could well be that there is a Terran influence somewhere in the mix.
I lean back with a groan. What have I gotten myself into?
More than that, I realize with a stab of guilt: what have I gotten Gresh into? Well, there’s nothing I can do for him now. The sad fact of the matter is that he is on his own. As a Sonali dealing with Sonali, he’ll probably be able to handle his situation.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
Since I can do nothing for Gresh, I had better do something for myself. This operation seems to be unravelling, which means I am going to have to get myself to a safe house until things cool down. There’s no guarantee that such place will have its own atmospheric conditioning like my apartment does; I don’t have to wear a regulator here, which is a huge relief. But if I must wear one, I will. People on the run can’t afford to be picky about their accommodations.
I have adopted disguises before, of course. Part of my Intelligence training was a course in disguises given by a master character actor. Contact lenses, wigs, padded clothing to add a bit of weight, a stone in the mouth to garble the voice. But this time, things are different. The fact that I’m a Terran female means that any disguise I adopt amounts to little more than rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. Good for short-term, perhaps, but not for the long haul. There aren’t so many of my species and sex on Sonali Prime, and ID-ing us isn’t a big hit for Sonali security. I must, therefore, go the extra mile.
With that, I open a secret panel in my kitchen—people always expect them in the bathroom and I don’t even know why. I withdraw my kit—well, one of them. One is designed for Terran use, and I haven’t had much occasion to dip into it thus far on this assignment.
But the other one is designed to make me look like a Sonali post-Ascension female.
Culturally, Sonali PA females hold a societal niche similar to that held by Terran females, though more Sonali gravitate toward the military and security than do Terrans.
There is less of a history of sexual repression among the Sonali, equality before the Supreme Spirit being built into The Way—to the benefit of all, as far as I’m concerned.
The main problem for me is the hair—Sonali women haven’t got any. And the ears; they’re slits, rather than the skin-covered cartilage we have on the sides of our heads. But the kit was designed to handle these inconvenient characteristics.
I have a short-hair wig I can wear in my Anika/Rosaline personas if needed, so this is not an issue. I’m able to put the fake skin over a few layers and my long tresses that come to my shoulders are put into a bun and hidden. In twenty minutes, I’ve gone from a wavy brunette to being as hairless as a Sonali female.
The ears are, though. I have to take them off.
Before I began this assignment I underwent surgery to replace my human pinnae with Sonali-like ear slits. My fake ears are securely fastened—I could even swim with them if I chose to—but easy enough to remove with a couple of good sharp tugs.
Moments later, bald and earless, I am regarding myself wryly in the bedroom mirror. What a sight. Now there’s just the problem of my skin color. I have an ivory-colored Northern Italian tone, but Sonali are various shades of blue. So I rely to the kit once more, for primer, color mix, and so on. Again, all part of my training. The compounds and colors have all been formulated for use here on Sonali Prime. By the time I’m done, a fairly decent copy of a Sonali female is gazing back at me out of the mirror. Interestingly enough, Sonali do not have blue eyes—the color is unknown among them. So I have had to put in orange contact lenses.
I put the make-up kit back into its hidey-hole. Then I pick up my breather and slip it into my reticule.
Thanks to my nanites, I can get by for a while without the breather, but I’ll certainly need it at some point, because although my nanites will allow me to breathe the Sonali atmosphere for a while, they can’t handle it indefinitely. Having accumulated a load of toxic compounds, they need time to neutralize the poisons and break them down into harmless chemicals that I eliminate in my urine. I can go for a couple of hours before I require the breather, although even then I only need to use it for ten minutes or so—coupled with a trip to the bathroom to dump the toxins before I can continue without it once more.
Technology: It’s a wonderful thing.
Feeling almost cheerful—almost—I head for my front door. I have my hand on the handle when my comm bleeps a code I recognize.
Shit-fire. I want to get out of here, but this is a call I can’t ignore: it’s from Ambassador Esteban Asis. What does this twod want? I am about to click on with the usual vid feed, but something—a hunch, maybe, comes into me. We agents don’t disregard hunches, so I limit the call to voice on my end.
“Ms. Grayson,” he begins; then pauses. “What is wrong with your video?”
“Dropped the comm,” I lie. “Busted the lens. Look, Ambassador, I need to go home,” I say. It’s a jargon, meaning I may be compromised and need to lie low for a while.
He shakes his head. “You haven’t been keeping up with current events.” He says this with a detectable vein of malicious amusement.
“I have been otherwise occupied,” I say as politely as I can manage, which isn’t very. “Things are going sideways here, sir, and I—”
“Slow down,” he says. “Let me—”
“Sir, with all due respect, the Temple went on alert after Gresh went in, and that’s got to be either because they made him, maybe from the nanites he dumped, or maybe they ID’d from the assassin’s description, or—” I break off, because he is shaking his head again.
“What?” I ask stupidly.
He sighs. “Your cover is safe.”
“Um...are you sure?”
“Our intel has no hints of Gresh being compromised, or of you being outed. What has happened, however, is that there’s been an explosion at the merchant port not far away from your current location.”
“A what, did you say? There was an explosion?”
“Yes. We don’t know the reason for it, but something happened on a Sonali vessel while it was docked.”
“Something? Like...what kind of ‘something’?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have used the word,” he says, in an icy tone. Well, I have to grant him that point.
It’s as rare as tree testicles for a ship to explode in port. I’ve heard of it happening only once, and it was the result of an accident involving a ground car’s driver suffering a stroke at the wheel, losing control and slamming into a maintenance tender that was refueling its steering jet tanks. Somehow I don’t think that’s what happened here on Sonali Prime.
“The point, Ms. Grayson,” the ambassador goes on, “is not that it happened—but what occurred as a result.” He pauses. “Every ship in port has been grounded while the Sonali conducts an investigation, and no others are being allowed to land.”
I scoff. “All the other ships? What do they expect to gain by halting traffic in and out of the port?”
“I’m not sure, but I can tell you this: there’s one ship and one ship only, out of all the fifteen or so parked in the port, that is being torn down from bolts to bulkheads while the Sonali look for...I don’t know, whatever it is they are looking for.”
“Surprise me,” I say.
“I don’t think I need to,” he says, and he’s right. For once, we’re on the same page.
“A Terran craft,” I say, and sigh.
“That would be correct. It’s an agricultural vessel. Still, that isn’t the main point of interest to this situation.”
“And what would that be?”
“That the administrator of trading for the port is Master Merchant Byuren.”
No-One
Master Merchant Byuren? I chew on that for a few seconds. Asis is still talking but I’m not listening to him. My instincts are tingling, the same ones that prompted me to “break the lens” on my comm. I have never really liked Byuren, whom I consider to be a skunk; but then, I feel that way about a lot of Sonali. He has been in and out of the embassy for meetings, but I don’t know much more than that. One thing’s for sure: if I want to follow up on Byuren’s doings, I will need embassy resources. I have cultivated no contacts among the merchant class, but of course there are those in the embassy who have.
“If you want me to look into him,” I say to Asis, who seems to have run down, “I’ll need to come in.”
“That would be fine, but for one thing,” he says. “My Intel contacts have just informed that there’s a planet-wide alert out for you.”
“What?”
“Yes. Apparently, the alleged assassin you beat up has told High Cleric Szaad about you. The Sonali security forces have your description.”
I have to shrug it off. Cookie was only doing her job, which is to make my job impossible. However, I’m not out of the game just yet.
“Listen, Grayson, stay where you are. You’ll be safer there. I’ll get someone right away to bring you in.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, and he breaks the connection.
Something about this whole business with Asis doesn’t smell right to me. When is he ever this accommodating? True, I’m in trouble, and any trouble with Terran personnel is going to rebound on him to his detriment. Asis is a man who is obsessed with “face.” I suppose that’s part of a diplomat’s job description, but even so...he’s a vain, self-aggrandizing twod. He’d be happy to get me hidden away in the embassy, all right—but not out of any concern about my well-being.
“The bastard wants to capture me himself!” I say aloud, knowing immediately that I’m right. Asis is covering his own ass. He’ll snag me, and turn me over to the Sonalis as a rogue operative!
This realization makes me as sore as a boil. There is supposed to be a code of ethics in play at the embassy, and to my way of thinking, Asis is in the way of violating it for his own benefit. He’d say that he is sacrificing a pawn for the sake of the more important pieces, but I have no sympathy to this point of view, being the pawn in question.
Therefore, still in my Sonali disguise, I exit my apartment and go down to the building’s lobby, where I take a position to one side half hidden by a bit potted plant, make-up kit in hand, preening as if I am preparing for a big date.
Mere moments later, or so it seems, an official embassy skimmer, black with acid-green trim, plummets down out of the sky, checks just before it hits, and touches down as carefully as Ambassador Asis checking his appearance in a mirror. That landing couldn’t have been easy on the passengers. The car’s gull-wing doors pop open just as my comm link lights up with a brief 4-word message: Don’t go with them. It’s signed V—Violet, of course: Asis’s secretary and my one sure contact among his people.
Now I know I’m right: Asis is willing to throw me to the wolves. I don’t know what he’s told this security detachment, but he’s got them all wee-weed up. They’re in armor and are clutching beamers, I see as they climb out of the skimmer. I’ll have a words with Esteban Asis later, but right now I have more pressing concerns—such as, getting my fine white ass out of the crack in which it now finds itself.
They’re outside, but thanks to my nanites I can hear their conversation.
“She’s dangerous,” one says. I see a captain’s insignia on his shoulder. Squad leader. “Use extreme caution.”
“Sir!”
“Cavanagh, Josko, Whitmorth—stand here with the vehicle. The rest of you, come with me.”
The captain leads the other three men inside the lobby. They head straight for the elevator, and ring for my floor. They’re so absorbed in their assignment that they don’t see me behind the plant. I huddle down, making myself a bit smaller.
The car comes and they troop in.
I am alone in the lobby with my mind in a whirl. No question now: any diplomatic immunity I might have had has been revoked. I’m not about to walk into the embassy, where Asis would be ever so happy to see me. I don’t dare go to my office, either. There will of course be another team of guards there waiting for me. So, where to? And how?
I stand there, eyeing the men outside at the car. Man, that’s a nice car. A girl like me could go places with that.
And with no more thought than that, I stroll out from behind my covering plant and through the door to the outside. As I do, their eyes snap toward me. At least, I assume they do; their helmet shields are polarized and I can’t see the upper half of their faces.
Now, post-Ascension Sonali females are, I have been told by those who should know, often attractive to Terran males, and vice versa. There haven’t been many Terran/Sonali liaisons since the war ended, but it’s been known to happen. And while Terran males are the Galaxy’s prime horn-dogs, other species certainly try to give them a run for their money. Seems like there is something constant in the galaxy, after all. No matter what planet you come from, you’re still looking to get laid at the end of the day.
The three guards at the embassy vehicle instantly zero in on me as I strut my stuff past them. As I go by they make a couple of murmured comments. I scope out their equipment—and I’m not talking about their personal equipment. Their armor and weapons are standard. I know how to deal with them. The fact that there are three of these bozos makes my job a little tougher, but not a lot.
First rule of combat against multiple opponents: Keep ‘em in a line in front of you. The guards are all on one side of the car, so I pass and then swing back with a smile on my face as if I’m going to flirt. Instead, I kick my speed up, and I’m on them before they know what’s happening. They can’t react fast enough to stop me.
I slam a hand under the nearest man’s helmet, snapping his chin back. As I do this I rip the rearview mirror off the skimmer’s side and chuck it at the second man. Sharing my speed and momentum, it caroms off his visor. The visor in unbreakable, but he’s still knocked to one side, stunned. I will be done with my work here before he hits the ground.
This is almost unfair; but then I receive a nasty surprise. The third guy is matching my velocity.
He’s got nanites, too!
He backs off so quickly that I bet he’ll be suffering from burns from atmospheric friction, but he obviously doesn’t care about that.
He halts his retreat and closes with me before I can put up my guard. He’s armored: that means no vulnerable points like knees, groin, or even nose—he has seen what I did to his first comrade, and he’s keeping his head down.
I am not armored, and he takes advantage of this by punching me in my left breast, not bothering to slug me in the face, or even the stomach.
Fuck, does that hurt! We women are as vulnerable to a blow like that as men are to a kick in the balls. This guy has fought women before, and is under no compunctions to be gentlemanly about it.
We trade punches for a few milliseconds, but to little avail. I can’t hurt him because of his armor, and he can’t get through my guard now that I am aware of what he is.
Dammit! I can’t let these idiots go—they’ll give the alarm that I am disguised as a Sonali female. I am going to need this cover for a while. There is only one thing I can do.
I run. I’m off and around the building before he can react. I know he will follow me immediately, so I have at best half a second, real-time, before he finds me. I zip completely around the building and back inside.
There’s the plant, right where I left it. I grab it, lift it up, and he meets it face first as he races into the lobby.
Three down.
Still moving at speed, I haul the unconscious guards into a utility closet off the lobby and truss them up. They’ll be unconscious for a while; at least long enough for their friends upstairs to find them, asses kicked, here in the cubby.
I slow down, head back outside, and commandeer their car. It’s locked, but it responds to my override code. Still in Sonali disguise, I flee the scene in my shiny new skimmer.
Gresh
The assassin flees across the back streets of the Residential Estate, using the darkness as cover, and I follow after her with my heart pounding to the drums of my possible demise at her utterly cruel side. The backstreets are the slums, where people of questionable characters thrive. Security personnel rarely venture this far, except in times of crisis or to collect a dead body.
I am totally sure this assassin can handle herself should she be attacked.
But can I do that for myself?
We are currently passing through an area where the streets are wider and the houses are receded away from the streets. Most of the houses in this neighborhood are one or two stories tall. The street lights are dead and the houses seemed abandoned. Now and then, I see a couple of people gathered on the lawn, smoking narcotic herbs that are banned in the entire Combine.
Sometimes, I make eye contact with these groups of deadly looking vagabonds and immediately turn away.
I know I’m way in over my head. But I have realized that this is not just about helping No One. This is about the Origin Movement. The High Cleric and this assassin are up to no good. I have to help No One find out what exactly they have going on and stop them before it is too late to do so.
Another reason I’m out here in perpetual jeopardy to my life is because after surviving the Sacred Temple of the Holy Combine, I think I can handle myself. Heck, I know I can handle myself.
Perhaps, my body is still trembling with excitement as a result of the last “near death experience”, for if they had caught a spy in the Temple, it was certainly death without trial for me. The Temple is that powerful.
I found it odd that the moment I stepped out of the High Cleric’s office, the entire Temple went into lockdown. I don’t know what happened. My first instinct when the alarms went off was to dive to the corner of the main administrative floor and stay put. I can remember how my entire body shivered under the oppressive weight of terror.
The assassin had burst out of the office, as though she knew what exactly was going on. In fact, my initial thought was that the fire wall of the Temple’s computer systems had somehow managed to discover an intrusion by the nanites and that they were right then narrowing the search to the point of intrusion.
Once this hit me, I knew I had to get as far away from the point of intrusion as I could. So I jumped to my feet and fled out of the administrative floor. Lucky for me, there were a couple of other people hurrying about—to what end, I could not tell. I walked past the assassin and the High Cleric who had somehow met in the hallway and made it to the Temple Library in time before the security guards were mustered.
I was able to hide out in the Temple (I was the only one there) before the security got to the library.
“Who are you?” one of the two guards assigned to sweep the floor asked, his gun pointed straight at my face.
The feeling of dread I experienced then is incomprehensible. I never knew the Sonali body was capable of such intensity of feeling.
“Grrrrrshhhh,” I managed to mutter. It wasn’t exactly my name, but it was close enough.
The second guard checked his device and then whispered to his partner who held the gun on me. “He checked in through the main doors for some sort of xeno blah blah blah research.”
The one with the gun returned his acidly wicked gaze on me and said, “Get up!”
I shot to my feet and almost shat on myself. It would have been extremely embarrassing if I did.
The guards manhandled me until I was out of the Temple and stumbling across the courtyard to the gates. Night had fallen and I had a difficult time adjusting from the lit up interior of the Temple to the absolute darkness of the outdoors.
I made it out of the main gates and started back towards civilization when I saw that the assassin lady was ahead of me. There were about three other people on the path towards the small depot of aircars. I was able to recognize her because of the high tech cast she had on her arm.
Imagine my surprise and relief. It wasn’t over. I got into the same aircar as her and the other people, and we were dropped in the Temple’s sister depot in the Residential Estate. I waited for a full minute before I began tailing her.
I’ve been following her for close to thirty minutes.
The assassin comes to a large crossroads with a roundabout in the center. I am maintaining a distance of about fifty yards, using her figure and the tiny light blinking on her arm as indicators of her progress. Once I notice she has stopped, I run out of the road to the nearest building to me. It’s a boxy looking home that has overgrown leaves and dusty walls. I crouch in the bushes, observing the lone figure in the deserted area of the Residential Estate.
She’s looking around. Could she be waiting for someone?
I haven’t called No One since I left the Temple. I guess she would be looking for me, after all she was the one who sent me to the Temple. I only delayed calling her until I had something tangible. I don’t think the little time the nanites had before they were discovered by the Temple’s security system is enough time to download vital information. I decided I had to deliver the assassin to No One.
Now, it seems as though she’s waiting for someone.
I pull out the communication device No One had given me. It’s a small box with a tiny screen and a call button. It has a small antenna that doubles as a receiver and sender. The miniature earpiece is still embedded in my ear.
I press the call button.
“Stand by…” comes a female voice.
“Gresh?” is the next thing I hear. It’s No One’s voice and she sounds surprised. “Are you alright?”
“Should I not be?” I ask, a little puzzled. She sounds as though she expected me to be dead. I frown.
“No, it’s just that when the connection ended, I thought something terrible happened,” she said.
I sneer. “You left me for dead, then?”
“Well, I’m glad you’re alright,” she said, skillfully deflecting the question. “Where are you? Do you need help?”
I don’t reply for a moment. First off, I struggle with the anger burning in my belly. I come all this way, put my life at risk for this damn Terran and the first thing she does when I get into a mild fix is abandon.
I remind myself that this is not for her. This is for the Movement. For the Cause. I have to press on for the greater good.
“Gresh?”
I look up at the crossroads and the figure is gone. My heart climbs my chest. I come to my feet and run back into the road. I look as far down the road as I can, but I can’t make any figure or blinking lights. I edge towards the crossroads, wondering if I’ve been made. My breathing heightens.
“Gresh?” Now there’s worry in her voice. “Gresh are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m tailing the assassin,” I say, then give No One a brief breakdown of what happened after the alarms went off. I get to the crossroad junction when I’m done. The assassin is walking down the road to the right. I follow her. I notice that all the way ahead there are some high rises. Could we be getting back into the thick of the Residential Estate?
“And you lost her at the crossroad?”
“I’ve found her,” I reply. “We are heading east towards some high rising apartments—I think they may be apartment buildings… I think she’s taking the long route to—“
“I’m on my way to you, Gresh,” she says finally. “Stay on her and don’t get closer than you already are. If she enters a building, don’t follow her in. You hear me?”
“Right,” I reply.
“Keep the line open,” she says, “I’ll use it to track you.”
“How many minutes?” I say, wanting this to be over as soon as possible.
“Less than five,” she replies, “I’m already en route.”
“How will I know when you arrive?” I say.
She chuckles. “Oh, you won’t miss me.”
Truly, I didn’t miss her. I have only been following the assassin for another three minutes before I see an aircar screaming towards us. We were already in a moderately populated area, pedestrians moving about on the street.
There was a sparse population of aircars zooming ahead, so no one thought it’s strange, except me, that an air car was descending at an unusually high speed. At seven yards above ground level, people are scrambling out of the way—everyone except the assassin who just looks up, struck still with what I guess is fear.
I freeze, the light from the car blinding me.
I watch via squinting eyes as the doors open while the car is still in its downward motion and a figure dives out of the vehicle. At that moment, the assassin turns to run and then she sees me and freezes, even as I feel my heart beat in my chest.
A rather fetching Sonali woman jumps out and slams into the assassin.
But her movements are fluid and fast. Cat-like in their grace.
And no Sonali post-Ascension female can move like that. It’s vaguely reminiscent of what I remember before I was stabbed. When I saw…
No One.
No One is now a Sonali?
The Terrans have a phrase—but it’s more of a question. It goes, “What the fuck?”
This is an apt time to use it.
The car’s autopilot system takes over and the car veers off its downward path and comes to a hover where the assassin had once stood. No One subdues the assassin, who struggles to no avail.
No One looks up at me. She’s panting and smiling. If I didn’t know better I would think she actually got off doing dangerous things like diving out of an aircar.
I head over to the two.
“That was a dangerous thing to do,” I mutter to No One.
No One shrugs.
“You and I are going to have a little chat, Cookie. And you are going to be brutally honest with me.” No One says to the assassin, who has been grunting under the weight of No One’s knees.
Then No One snaps the assassin’s other arm.
I wince. It looks as if a Sonali is harming another Sonali from where I’m standing.
The assassin screams out of sheer pain. Her scream rends my heart in two. I am about to protest, when No One leans into the assassin and whispers in her ears, “Now, questioning can really begin.”
No-One
I pull up the assassin who’s writing on the sandy ground in pain. Gresh is flashing me a surly gaze, but he knows enough not to speak. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and this is the only way I know how to do so as quickly as possible.
“We should turn her to the authorities,” Gresh says, following me to where the aircar is hovering three yards away from the assassin’s limp form.
I look at him in the corner of my eye and say, “And say what? Hey, cops, this is the assassin that murdered the Noble Marshal. Prosecute her.”
Gresh shrugs, still remaining adamant.
The aircar’s main door is open. I reach in and grab a cord—I was able to get one while rushing here to intercept the assassin.
“Look, Gresh, something doesn’t feel right about all of this,” I say. “Now, I’m thankful for all you’ve done so far, putting your life at risk. I think it’s admirable that you didn’t bolt the moment you were free. But we have to milk out the information we can from this bitch.”
Gresh recoils at my vulgarity.
I chuckle. “Well, she is, isn’t she? Anyways, you got to let me handle this my way. I’ve dealt with many of her kind. All I need is an hour with her, and we’ll have all we need to find out what is really going on.”
Gresh hesitates.
I return back to the assassin. She’s no longer moving. I turn her face up. Her slits are shut tight, though she’s breathing.
Gresh, who is standing over the both of us, says, “She’s passed out from the pain.”
I make a face. “Only a snapped hand? Her pain tolerance is really low.”
“Well, pain is not something we walk out of the door every morning hoping to experience,” he says with a wry smile.
I laugh. I go about tying the assassin’s hands and legs. Then I look at Gresh, who’s looking down on me with reticence.
“Hey, what’s going on over there?” a voice says.
I look behind to the direction of the voice, and I see small knots of people plucking up the courage to approach us. It’s pitch dark, and the light in the area is pretty low, so they don’t really see our faces and I don’t really see theirs.
“Stay away!” I roar in my best, evil voice.
The man leading the advance comes to a startling stop. Uncertain of what to do next, he turns to his comrades behind who have also stopped.
“I still think there are better ways to interrogate her than by ourselves,” Gresh says. “I’ve watched you, No One, and I am terrified of you. I know I won’t be liking what you do to her. I know it’s going to be immoral.”
I grow out of frustration. “Look, what’s immoral is what these guys are planning, because I assure you it’s not to make Sonali lives well. If the end game is to prevent something terrible from happening, does that not make our actions okay?”
“The ends do not justify the means, No One,” Gresh says, folding his arms and refusing to see my point of view.
My right lips twitch when I say, “In this case, it does. No, will you help me get her in the car? My voice isn’t going to keep the neighbors from harassing us any longer.”
Gresh bends and helps me lift the assassin’s body up. We are able to stuff her into the back of the aircar.
I get into the front passenger’s seat and motion for Gresh to take the wheels.
He stops short, looking at me with suspicion. “Why?”
I roll my eyes. “Must you question my every decision? Get into the damn car and take us to your office, right away.”
Gresh gets into the car, and we shoot into the air. We race into the normal air lanes, and soon we’re traversing the many skyscrapers of the Residential Estate.
Gresh is a bit reckless with his driving, and I have to caution him thrice.
“Why do you care?” Gresh retorts at the last time. “You are the epitome of recklessness.” I hear the anger and bitterness in his voice.
“I am only reckless when it’s necessary,” I reply. “What you’re doing is plain stupid. If the airway patrol cops see us, they’ll definitely stop us. Then will we be toast.”
After this little exchange, Gresh’s driving becomes a little better. We cross into the Industrial Estate and fire off towards Gresh’s archaeological lab, which is located not far from the Industrial Layout, where it all began. I find it quaint. The whole Estate is flooded with lights from multiple sources: buildings, streets, and floating light bots.
Ten minutes later, Gresh is steering the aircar on the street right next to the door of his one-story building. The street isn’t deserted, but it’s lightly treaded, and there’s no police presence, so I don’t give Gresh a flak for being so stupid as to pack right in front of his office, when we have someone tied up and unconscious at the back.
I hop out of the car and grab the assassin by the wrist. She jolts to consciousness with a scream. Instinctively, I slam my fist into the back of her head, and she blacks out again.
I chance a glance at Gresh. He’s fuming at me.
“I had to,” I say in my defense. “Go on and open the door, while I get her out.”
Gresh alights from the air car and heads over to the door. I watch as he looks up and down the street before placing his right palm on the hidden palm reader on the right wall by the door. The door lights up before opening.
I grab the assassin’s form and heft her onto my shoulder. I make a short dash into the house to reduce our exposure. Gresh locks the door, then comes and helps me carry the assassin up to the lab area. I set her on a chair by the workstations, reworking her binding, so she has little mobility. I know she is going to wake up to an intense sensation of pain with the angle her hands make because they are tied behind the chair, but I don’t mind. It all works to my advantage.
I send Gresh to get me a container of water. He obliges me, returning some seconds later with one.
I am about to splash the assassin into consciousness when I hold off. I look at Gresh.
“Are you sure you want to be here?”
Gresh nods.
I give him an unconvinced look. “I can’t have you stopping me when I begin. You can wait downstairs.”
Gresh's arms are folded across his chest. He doesn’t look at me, nor does he say anything.
“Okay, then,” I say. I splash the water on the Sonali’s face.
She jolts awake. First sputtering then almost immediately crying aloud for pain. Gresh’s hands fall to his side as he plans to help her. I interpose myself between them and look Gresh in his slits, showing the anger bristling all over me through my eyes.
“Stay away, or I’ll make you stay away,” I mutter, speaking every word singly.
Gresh holds my gaze for longer than I anticipated. I almost think I’ll have to knock him down, then he retreats to the corner of the room. He’s still close enough to monitor my interrogation, yet far enough not to be compelled by his emotions to intervene.
Works for me.
I turn to face the assassin, whose face is contorted in intense agony. I feel no sympathy for her…none at all.
“Look at me!” I roar, and her head snaps up, slits widen in extreme terror.
“At the end of this whole thing,” I say, “you will tell me everything you know. It’s all a matter of how much you can withstand pain. From what I can tell, that’ll be not much.”
The Sonali assassin blinks at me, unsure of what to do. There’s a mixture of fear and pain in her face.
“I will hurt you in ways you never thought would be possible,” I say in conclusion. “If you don’t tell me everything I need to know.”
I bend to my boots and slowly pull out a ten inches blade with serrated edges. The Sonali watches the blade come up with complete attention, even as the blade glinted in the sharp glare of the overhead lights. I twist the blade around for her benefit.
“Terran chee-chee,” she mutters. “I will tell you nothing.”
And I plunge the blade into her thigh.
Cookie howls out in pain. Gresh is squirming and shutting his eyes.
“There’s a whole lotta pain coming to you, babe,” I whisper. “Why not make it easy on yourself and finally cooperate? You know you’re going to eventually.”
Cookie’s head droops, and I know she’s finally been defeated. I can sense it based on my nanites and her electrochemical reaction. She’s ready to give up.
They all do. No one can beat me.
“I don’t know very much,” the assassin begins, “but I will tell you all I know.”
I nod, smiling kindly at her. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“I was brought into the conspiracy by my commander during the war, Noble Marshal Yanik. He was able to bring me into the war because I was loyal to him…and I remain loyal to him.”
“Yet you killed him,” I say. “You don’t know a thing about loyalty.”
“I had to!” she screamed, her eyes brimming with tears. “You don’t know what it’s like being torn between two rights. I had no choice. I may be loyal to Noble Marshal Yanik, but I am also a faithful servant to the Sonali religion. I have been a faithful servant since before I joined the navy, since before the war, since before I met Noble Marshal Yanik and pledged my loyalty to him.”
“So you just easily assassinate the man you claim to be loyal to?” I say.
The Sonali girl looks at me with deep profundity. “Easy?” she says, as though she didn’t understand the meaning of the work. “Easy?”
“Yep, that’s what I said.”
She shakes her head. “When Cleric Szaad told me to assassinate my former commander, I struggled with it. It was anything but easy. In fact, I thought I couldn’t do it. Cleric Szaad had to persuade me before I reluctantly agreed. So, Terran spy, I didn’t find it easy killing my former commander.”
“Why did the Cleric, whom until now worked well with the Noble Marshal against the Origin Movement, order the Noble Marshal’s death?”
“Because he wouldn’t go with the Cleric’s plan,” the Sonali says. “You see, for a time, someone else has been fueling this conspiracy with weapons and media access to spread the message. But then they came up with a plan that the Noble Marshal could not stand because it violated everything he stood for.”
At this moment, the tears begin to fall down her face. I still don’t empathize with her.
“And what is this great plan the Noble Marshal found so terrible he couldn’t side with it?” I ask.
The Sonali looks me in the eyes, tears streaming down her face, and says, “I don’t know. What I do know is that the High Cleric is about to do something heretical at the temple.”
No-One
Something about the way she says that causes a large alarm to go off in my head. It kind of startles me. I remain rooted where I stand, looking at the assassin.
She flashes me an irritated look. “You’d better hurry there. I don’t think he’s planning on waiting.”
I don’t need to be told one more time. I swivel on my heels and hightail it down to the ground floor. Of course, Gresh is yelling for me to stop and think. I don’t listen to him. So far, all he’s done is bitch about my methods. Now, here I am trying to stop one of his people from doing something terrible at the Temple and he wants to bitch.
“Stop, No-One!” I hear him call after me as I leap over the last few steps and land on the floor, walking in leaps and bounds.
“Lock door!” I hear him call from behind me.
“Locking door,” comes a reply.
I slam into the door and bounce back. I turn to see Gresh making his way down the flight of stairs to the ground floor.
“What’s your problem?” I say to him. “You heard what she said. Why are you trying to stop me?”
He closes the distance between us and grabs my shoulders—a bold move because my gut is telling me to punch him so hard in the nose that his entire generational line would feel it through time and space.
“I’m trying to stop you from doing what I think you want to do,” he replies, shaking my shoulder and causing my teeth to rattle.
It takes sheer will not to overpower him and beat the crap out of him.
“And what do you think I want to do?” I ask. “You heard the assassin. Something bad is about to happen at the Temple. I’m going there to stop it. You should be happy I’m not sending you, instead. Don’t forget, I have dirt on you…aiding and abetting a Terran spy…?”
This is enough to get him to back down and back off a few steps. However, he recovers from his shock fast.
He folds his arms.
“Look, I don’t have time for a debate,” I say, impatient. “Open the fucking doors and let me out, unless…”
He sneers at that. “The Temple is forbidden to non-Sonali. You can’t just storm into the Sacred Temple. They’ll gun you down first and ask questions later.”
I smile at that line. I myself have done things like that in the past. “Look,” I say a little wary, as I’m losing my initial steam. “I’ll sneak into the place if that’s what you like, but I have to leave now otherwise we may not be able to prevent what the Cleric’s actions would cause.”
“Open door!” Gresh says.
I hear the door unseal behind me. I don’t turn to the door immediately.
“Let me come with you,” he says. “We can work out something. Maybe I’ll distract the guards, and you’ll enter somehow…I don’t know.”
“Don’t tell me you’re beginning to care for me now…” I say.
He laughs it off. “I care for the cause. Perhaps, you and I are the only ones who seem to know what’s going on. If we don’t stop this, the world won’t know what hit them.”
I turn and march towards the door. “Stay with the assassin. Don’t let her out of your sight. If she makes trouble, just knock her out. I’ll send someone from the Terran Embassy to come pick her so you won’t be investigated.”
“You have no intentions of sneaking into the Temple, do you?” Gresh says.
I chuckle sinisterly. “Of course not. I intend on fighting my way through.”
I engage the autopilot as soon as I get into the aircar and input the coordinates for the Sacred Temple of the Holy Combine. I tap the emergency button. This aircar is specially retrofitted for my use as an agent of the Terran Armada Intelligence.
The autopilot kicks the aircar to air-lane altitude in seconds. The aircar makes a beeline approach to the Temple, screaming at a speed that has the seat sucking me in. As I am headed to the Temple, a couple of scenarios are running through my mind. I’m especially thinking about the quandary of how I’m going to gain access into the Temple.
Shouldn’t they just let me in, seeing as I’m there to save their sorry asses?
But I know more than most that life just doesn’t work that way. Perhaps they don’t know what the Cleric is up to.
What is he up to?
I don’t even know. Is my timing off? That’s another question I face. Because if I’m right to be on to him, but if the timing is off, I’ll just end up tipping the Cleric off and getting arrested or most probably shot.
However, the Sonali kind of made it seem so urgent that I get to the Temple as quickly as possible.
But should I have trusted her so quickly?
I wonder at myself. The map shows that we are almost at the edge of the Capital Grid, specifically less than two minutes out.
I realize then that I have a decision to make. Burst into the Tempe, guns blazing without a clue of what I’m looking for or where I’m headed to. The explosion at the docks gives me an idea of what might be involved at the Temple, but I can’t be sure.
Or turn back and pressure the Sonali for more information.
It takes me only a minute to reach my decision. By this time, I am getting an incoming hail from the Temple’s security command center.
“Unidentified air car on course towards Temple,” comes the voice in the air car, “turn back now or we will fire on you. We will not repeat this. Turn around right now.”
At that moment, I take over from the autopilot and execute a forty-five degree nose dive for the sandy path leading up to the gate.
A hidden twin barrel laser gun lets rip, missing my vehicle by the fraction of a second. I don’t let go of my downward motion, though every alarm in my vehicle is blaring. At the last moment, I pull up and jerk the choke to the right.
The aircar slams into the ground and spins out of control, its forward motion unabated. It crashes into the gate, spinning at a terrifying rate and sending sparks in all direction. Guards open fire from all direction, but their aims are widely off. As soon as I notice the car’s motion beginning to abate, I pull out my gun and knife. I smash both my booted legs into the door of the aircar, and it tears off its hinges, cascading into a group of guards.
While the car is still spinning, I leap out, executing a quick triple roll in midair and landing nimbly on the first set of stairs, my gun aimed at the knot of guards at the door.
I take five quick shots in succession, and they all collapse to the floor, stunned. I dive out of the way as laser fire is unleashed on my previous position. I twist, bringing my gun to aim at the line of three guards in the courtyard advancing on the steps. I fire thrice, hitting them all in their midsections. They collapse in a heap, paralyzed.
I come to my feet, gun and blade ready for more fights. Then, an alarm goes off. They know I’m here.
I run through the doors into the main lobby. Down the hallway, I see a phalanx of guards running my way. They’re all carrying assault rifles. As soon as they spot me, they raise their guns to aim.
I turn away and run towards the wall. I can take the steps that turn all the way to the second floor, but I’m hard-pressed for time. I leap several yards into the air and land on the wall like it was the ground, then I leap off the wall and kind off saunter through the air onto the landing of the first floor.
“Where did she go?” someone yells under. “Find her now!”
I run through the hallway that leads me to a large chamber with a dome-shaped glass ceiling that allows moonlight to come through. It’s like a mini courtyard. On the edge is a small gutter through which a thick shimmering liquid is flowing. There is a soft wind blowing through the courtyard; I’m not sure if there’s some sort of fan somewhere or if the wind is natural. The wind carries the freshness of spring and the warmth of summer. It’s delightfully soporific, and for a time I’m taken by the peacefulness of the courtyard, which calms my inner raging beast.
The sound of running boots behind brings me back to reality.
“Computer, are the nanites that were released in the temple still working inside the lockdown?” I mutter to my mini-pad, leaping across the vast courtyard to the other side. There is a small stone door in the wall. Now that I’m in the region of the temple’s shielding, I should be able to get a scan of the building, and if the nanites are still embedded in the electronics, I should be able to get the data.
“Yes,” the computer replies in my ears.
“Okay, activate them and have them find Cleric Szaad,” I say.
I look through the corridor, where I came from, to the landing. I watch as the guards pour into the landing. Some head on straight, while others cautiously pass into the hallway. I slip out of direct line of sight, looking around for an exit.
There are no mechanical lights here, only natural light. The courtyard is one big, mysterious vertical cylinder, with only one way in and no way out, except the small stone door and a set of stone steps away to my left that leads all the way around the curved walls of the courtyard to the top, where I can see a ledge.
Probably a dead end, I guess. I fall into a defensive position, my gun aimed at the mouth of the corridor, ready to fight my way out of this dead end.
“Found,” the computer says in my ears. “He’s in the main worship Hall.”
“And where is that?” I mutter, my eyes peeled on the hallway. The soldiers must suspect my presence because they have stopped and are only approaching with extreme caution.
“You are presently in the anteroom,” the computer says. “Proceed through the small door into the main worship hall.”
I let loose a barrage of laser shots into the hallway and inch into direct line of sight and tap the small knob on the door. It recedes and then slides out of the way.
I turn and run into the main worship hall. The moment I’m through, I dive out of the way as a couple of laser blasts slice through the air. I land badly on my left knee and feel it snap. I yelp, all efforts to control my fall failing. I crash into a set of pews, breaking them to pieces.
The pain that wracks my body pales in comparison to the dread I feel when I see the High Cleric in the center of the impressively massive ovular worship hall standing beside a bomb.
The guards pour into the hall and stop with their guns still aimed at the cleric and me.
“What’s going on here!” the lead asks.
“What’s going on here is that that mad cleric wants to destroy this Temple and I’m trying to stop him!” I yell in pain. I feel my nanites like cold water, flowing to my knees to repair my broken bone. I also sense a controlled dual release of a narcotic painkiller and a stimulant to keep me from succumbing to the soporific effect of the narcotics.
When I notice that the guards are still struck by the sight before them, I yell at the top of my lungs. “Get the fuck out of here now!”
The lead barks the order, and the guards retreat out of the main worship hall, shutting the door behind them.
I manage to rise to my feet to get a good view of what I’m up against.
What I see causes almost my heart to fail.
And given how strong my heart is and all, that’s a fucking pretty big deal.
No-One
The main worship hall is a large room filled with benches made of wood. It has a very antiquated setting with the benches numbering in the several hundred and arranged in a concentric fashion. At the epicenter of the hall is a wide space where the High Cleric stands working the bomb.
It’s a chemical bomb with three giant cylinders. Two of which are filled with bubbling liquids—one red, the other blue. These two cylinders feed at the same rate into the center cylinder. As the two liquids mix, they form of yellow pasty liquid that’s boiling. There’s a timer that I can read with my nanites. I have about five minutes before the third cylinder is filled up and the whole temple is blasted.
I check my body. The drug agents are already wearing off my system. All pains have vanished. I feel sore in several parts of my body, but I’ll live. I flex my knee. There’s still a mild pain there, but it’s nothing that should deteriorate my abilities.
I’m not sure the High Cleric has seen me. If he has, he sure hasn’t shown any sign of it. He’s so focused on the machine.
I check my gun. It has about forty percent charge. It should be enough to disable the High Cleric. Really, it’s not like monks get training in advanced weapon duels.
I walk to the nearest aisle and advance towards the center of the worship hall, gun leading. Three steps down and I walk past an invisible sound barrier. I pause. Now I understand why the High Cleric hasn’t noticed the ruckus I made. Also, he’s been so busy tweaking that bomb of his that he hasn’t looked up in a while.
“It’s over, Szaad,” I yell, my voice echoing three times.
Szaad’s head snaps up, his regal robes ruffling. His slits extend, and he has that deer in the head lights look on his face. His gaze then shifts to the foremost bench, where a laser rifle sits.
Before I can say anything, he rushes to it and hefts it up. I leap into motion, racing towards the center of the hall. However, I am too far to get to him before he has the gun up and aiming at me.
I dive into another section of benches. A massive onslaught of laser fire blast through the air, where I had just vacated. I roll up to a squat and pick my way through the debris of broken pew. I maintain a zigzag motion as the laser blast wreaks havoc all around me.
One thing I have going for me besides Szaad’s erratic aim is his fear. I saw it in his eyes. He’s afraid of what my presence here means for his plans. He’s thrown off, and men who are thrown off often make mistakes easily—like shooting up the most sacred place in the Temple.
I instinctively cower with my hands on my head as a series of blasts slice through the air above me, splintering a rank of benches near me.
I leap out of my current position as the Cleric’s aim focuses on there. I roll on landing, coming up to my knee and rearing my head one more time. I aim and fire, then I dive again.
The Cleric lets out a yelp of pain, but he’s still alive as several lashes of laser fire rake all around me. I stay put, shutting my eyes and hoping I don’t get hit. It’s all I can do because I’m pinned down.
“You can’t stop me!” he shouts before roaring loudly and letting hell loose. The benches blow up in flames, and I dare not move lest his aim focus on me.
The sound is deafening, yet my heart pounds in my ears so loud I fear my heart may beat right out of my chest.
If I remain in my current position, one of the Cleric’s erratic shots will find me eventually, as I realize that he’s playing for time. If I move, I may make it out alive and maybe get off a shot to throw him off. I decide to take my shot with moving.
I raise my gun and let loose a short burst of gunfire in the Cleric’s direction. For a brief moment, I’m not being shot at. I use this opportunity to shoot to my feet and leap into the air. I am sailing through the air, several yards above the Cleric.
Shocked, the Cleric only looks at me, unsure why a Terran is so high up in the air. Nanites, bitch! I let loose a hail of stun shots on the Cleric. They all gather on his midsection, sending him flying across the hall. I land with a squat and straighten up. I run towards the machine.
The timer is at less than one minutes. Off to the right, the Cleric has somehow survived the stun and is writhing in his crash site.
“You can’t stop it,” he moans, “it’s too late.”
Blood is rushing at an incredible speed through my ears. I try for the next thirty seconds to try and disarm it. I’m no bomb expert, so I look for anything remotely resembling an “off” button.
All I see are wiring, tubes, a detonator and a fuse box. The rest of the bomb is hidden in the stand, which is a black box that I suppose is resistant to blaster shots. I notice that everything used to make the bomb is Terran materials that can only be gotten from within Terran space.
I realize that this is the conspiracy. Blow up the Temple and set up the Terran Union to take the fall. Crafty, even for a Sonali.
“It’s over, Terran,” he says coldly. “This bomb will go off, and they will blame it on the Terran Union.”
I check the timer: ten seconds.
I take three quick steps back, raise my gun—execution-style, with one foot before the other—aim at the middle cylinder and squeeze the trigger. A barrage of laser shots slices through the cylinder. It explodes, a ball of orange expanding through the air. I don’t feel the heat first. A concussion wave plucks me from where I’m standing and hauls me halfway through the back.
I crash into pieces of splinter and ash. I remain there, hovering on the brink of a concussion. My nanites leap into action, repairing my body.
I pick myself from the floor, covering my eyes with my arm and coughing. A thick smoke has filled the entire hall. It’s dark and putrid. I hear the air conditioner whine as it begins to clean up the air.
I make my way cautiously to the center even while the air is still clearing up. I see the entire top of the bomb has been destroyed. Only the black base remains, though its cap has melted and destroyed much of the inner circuitry.
It’s not the most technical means of disarming a bomb, but shooting up the reaction cylinder was the most effective way to prevent the liquids from reaching critical mass and triggering a massive explosion that could have taken down the temple.
I look around. There are scorch marks everywhere around the center. Well, they won’t be using this hall anytime soon.
I walk towards Szaad. He was out of the radius of the blast, but the concussion had hit him and sent him farther away.
He’s barely conscious when I crouch over his limp form, flash one of my deadliest smiles, and say, “It is over, Sonali,” I whisper gravely. “I destroyed the bomb. I stopped you. Now tell me why?”
A look of dismay comes over his face before he blacks out.
No-One
The smoke from the blast has left ash particles floating in the air all the way up to the ceiling, such that it is now coated in black. It’s an unusually large amount of soot for an explosion, but this is a chemical-based explosive that I dealt with. I’m not sure the air is even safe to breathe.
I walk away from the center to the nearest section of benches that are still intact. Looking around, I see that a third of the main worship hall has been ruined. Splinters of wood and blocks of granite litter the place. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought this place was a war-torn area.
I relax into one of the benches, wondering what’s next. I think I’ve untangled the conspiracy. The man responsible for the death of the Noble Yanik and the mastermind behind the entire conspiracy is lying unconscious before me. That ought to be the end.
Nevertheless, I can’t shake off the feeling that I may be missing something. I have taught myself to always depend on that feeling, whenever it presents itself because I have found that it was always right.
But what could I be missing?
I stretch my legs and kick away some of the rubble. I look up and around. The architecture in this room is quite exquisite. The sharp angles seem to sing and connote something extraterrestrial and spiritual.
I’ve never really been a spiritual person. Religion hasn’t really been much of a driving force in humanity ever since the end of the Third World War. It’s something about blowing up untold masses of people in a nuclear fire that made people turn away from an all-powerful deity. There are pockets of it. And it’s growing. But First Contact and the Earth-Sonali War may have changed that forever.
Besides, I never really did like anything I couldn’t feel, touch and see. Spirituality required a lot of make belief and faith than I was ready to believe. Joining the Armada Intelligence Service only made me more suspicious of the otherworldly realm.
My belief is simple. While you’re in the world—this physical plain—make the most of it. Even if there were an afterlife, what makes you think you’d do better there if you didn’t do well here? Perhaps, maybe doing well here was the determinant of if you even had an afterlife.
Personally, I believe that death is it. That’s the final button. There’s no other door and the end of that hallway. The moment you die, you die. No life after death for death is the absolute cessation of life. And death is the end of all things, including existence and the universe at the Big Crunch.
Religion, nevertheless, is a good thing. The universe can be a very cruel place. It can be very wicked and twistedly evil. People needed to believe in something other than the vanity that seems to pervade many worlds. People needed hope, even if it is falsely veiled. Religion provides that veil, and as far as this provision is concerned, Religion is good.
Religion, however, can be so powerful that it forgives the most unforgivable of acts. In the early twentieth century of human evolution, some of the most terrible offenses were conducted by religious extremists. Alas, this problem is not limited to humankind.
Through the dimness, I can see Szaad’s form in the rubble. As I stare at him, I see the same vicious cycle that runs in the many worlds that have a sacred religion that’s beyond the influence of a government.
High Cleric Szaad, who is supposed to be the light to the faithful of the Sonali religion has himself yielded to the elixir of power that corrupts and has taken upon himself the responsibilities of God to destroy the Temple. I know if he’s questioned, his defense would be that he heard it from God.
I may be skeptical about religion. I am not, however, skeptical about god. Simply because there is no god. There is only science and technology…and power. We are the gods. We determine what happens in the universe. We take full responsibility for our actions. Us, not some God somewhere.
I heave a deep sigh and crane my neck to look all the way to the back. The stone door leading into the main worship hall was destroyed in the firefight. I call up my nanites and use them to zoom in so that I am now looking through the corridor that leads to the landing of the stairs. It’s deserted.
“Computer, check the building’s statue, will you?” I say aloud, my voice echoing back to me.
“Complying…” comes the computer’s reply in my ears.
“The Temple has been evacuated,” the computer replies. “You are currently the only inhabitant of the Sacred Temple of the Holy Combine.”
I know I told them to leave the main worship hall. I didn’t realize they’d leave me all by myself. It would be sadly self-centered of the Sonali if it wasn’t so damn hilarious. They probably figured Terrans should die trying to clean up the mess made by a Sonali. Well, guess what? Right back at them. Ha!
“Computer, what’s the status of the integrity of the Temple?” I ask.
“Checking…”
“While you’re doing that, connect me to Armada Intelligence Operations Command via remote slipstream for an emergency status update meeting. I want to talk to the Director himself.”
“Affirmative.”
Seconds later, I hear, “The Temple is structurally sound. The blast did not damage any of the foundational structure. I should inform you that the cops have set up a one-kilometer wide perimeter around the Temple.”
“Are they planning on moving in?” I ask.
“Not yet,” the computer replies. “They have orders to only prevent people from going in until you die in the collapse of the Temple or come out a hero.”
“I like the sound of coming out a hero,” I say with a smile.
“Live slipstream link to the Director of Terran Armada Intelligence Service Operations Command, Admiral Shane Pierce has been established. Please activate your portable holographic device.”
I pull out a small cube from my pocket, walk about three yards away and set the thing on the nearest stable pile of rubble.
I return back to my seat and say, “Put him through.”
A thin blue light shoots out of the cube before spreading in all directions to form the projection of a conference room.
Sitting at the head of the table is Admiral Shane, a muscular man in a boxy face and a charming spray of white hair. He’s in his mid-fifties and has a distinguishing career in Intelligence. There are a couple of other agents—all in the top management of TAISOC. The cube projects in such a way that I’m right at the other end of the conference room, which is unfilled in the projection.
Admiral Shane, who is now able to see my surrounding, looks surprised.
“Are you well, No One?” he asks.
“Well as can be, sir,” I reply.
“What’s your location?” he asks.
“I’m currently in the Temple of the Sacred Combine,” I reply. “It’s like the Holy of Holies of the Sonali. It is strictly forbidden for a non-Sonali to come upon its grounds, talk less of walking its main worship hall.”
“And you are there how?” he asks.
“By trying to save their sorry asses is how, boss,” I reply.
“Is it safe to talk?” he asks. “Aren’t there people lurking around?”
“Computer says I’m the only one around,” I say.
Satisfied with the initial round of questions, the TAISOC director says, “Okay, go ahead and tell us what’s happened.”
“So, you all know about the Origin Movement and the Pro-Ascension opposition?” I start. “Well, it turns out that the High Cleric of the Temple is not so concerned about the cultural differences than he is about Terrans.
“His plan was to blow up the Temple with a supposedly Terran manufactured and planted device. The plan was to blame the Terrans for bombing the most sacred building in Sonali and therefore spark an outrage against us, thereby seeing diplomatic ties severed and a possible regress back into a state of war.”
I let all the information I’ve just given them sink. I see someone in the background take notes on a tablet, while others nod, mauling over what I told them.
“Why would he want such a thing?” Admiral Shane asks. “We haven’t influenced them in any way. We aren’t stopping them from being who they are. We certainly aren’t coming to their worlds and taking their jobs like they are coming to ours and causing all sorts of troubles for us. No One, you should remember Lucien Parker, you’re the one who brought him down.”
I nod my acquiescence. “You’re wrong sir,” I say.
“How so?” Admiral Shane asks, without taking any offense at my impudence. Well, we go way back.
“The Origin Movement is basically inspired by us,” I say.
“I didn’t know we could inspire such a movement,” says one of the members in the room.
Everyone laughs, I included.
“Well, we did,” I continue. “The Terran Union. Humanity.”
Admiral Shane looks at me as I continue.
“Our entire culture is built on free will and self-determination, and it flies right in the face of Ascension for the Sonali. We let our people choose what they want to do with their lives, including how they wish to live it. We don’t judge based on personal decisions a person makes. The idea is anathema to the traditionalist Sonali, but it’s something that the younger generation is latching on to.”
“And the best way he thought to stop us is to destroy his temple and pin it on us?” Shane asks incredulously.
I nod.
“Well, that’s just bad,” he replies. “Was it a suicide bombing attempt or was he planning on getting away?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” I reply. “I caught him in the act of setting the bomb to go off. By the time I accosted him, he started firing on me. I can’t be sure he had an escape route.”
“Was there a timer?” asks another person.
“Yes,” I reply before I realize the reason for the question.
“That’s your answer, Commander,” Admiral Shane says. “He planned to escape. If not, he’d have just detonated the blasted thing, giving his life in the process and letting the authorities pick the remnants and body parts and figure that it was the Terrans who did it.”
I think about it for a moment.
“I suppose so, sir,” I accede. “In the heat of the moment, I didn’t have time to think through his future plans. He had a rifle, and I had a pistol.”
“You’re an excellent agent, No One,” Admiral Shane says. “Nobody is disputing that. We just need you to know that this might not be over. Hell, it may actually be very far from completion.”
And as though to support his point, my computer quips in my ears. It’s the kind that means there’s an emergency somewhere. It only really happened during the war. It’s the kind I have to respond to even if I’m in the President’s office or in the arms of my lover.
“Put meeting on hold,” I subvocalize and the projection freezes.
“Computer, go ahead,” I say.
“Reports coming in indicate that all over the Capital Grid,” the calm voice says to me. “Alert level Alpha. Native population is displaying signs of en masse asphyxiation...”
Well, there’s just one word to describe this day.
Shitty.
Master Merchant Byuren
“It’s almost over,” I mutter to myself.
I am right in the control center of one of my fleet of merchant vessels. We are orbiting Sonali Prime and have just received permission to enter the atmosphere. Such permission is rarely given to large merchant ships. Large ships are relegated to the dockyards orbiting Sonali Prime. Small ships are able to land on the land-based docks on the surface.
Small ships like the Terran agricultural ship. So central to my plans.
However, true to his word, High Cleric Szaad succeeded in getting me the permission I needed to fly my large merchant ship into the homeworld, maintain a high altitude above all air lanes across the Capital Grid to one of the mining facilities on the other side of Sonali Prime, where I’m supposedly going to pick up a massive quantity of ore to sell to the Tyreesians on behalf of my company and the Sonali government.
This is what the official logs say, for which Szaad and I signed.
However, Szaad and I planned for the mission to go sideways. The vessel is supposed to be hijacked by a group of Terran Nationalists just after it’s been cleared for re-entry. Then it’s supposed to drive its way into the Capital Grid and smash into the densest populated area, where hundreds of thousands of Sonali will die.
This was the plan up until three minutes ago when I received notification that High Cleric Szaad had been found and a Terran lady was about to take him out.
Good thing we also built a contingency.
And it’s my job to carry out that contingency.
The plan? Kill everyone.
I am alone in the vessel, and I am the only one who understands what needs to be done. I alone understand that except a statement is made the arguments would just keep on rolling out of the mouths of the unlearned and untaught. The argument that the Terran scourge is anything but a scourge.
The Sonali race was never meant to born side by side with any race, especially not the Terrans. We are superior to them. Oh, vastly superior. Now, the blasted government and military that lost the war have us serving them. This is not the design of things.
I remember once when we would meet a species for the first time. Our tests that determine their worthiness would dictate just how superior we were. Because Sonali are always superior—in every way. I remember going over the logs of how we responded to The Seeker and its captain, Jeryl Montgomery. How he quaked in his boots at the superiority of our vessels and the inferiority of his.
Those were the days when we were truly completely Sonali, not these days where we have been corrupted by the Terran. Not these days when our children have become unnatural to the extent of even dreaming of changing a biological and spiritual process that predates spacefaring. Not these days that the brutal laissez-faire Terran Union corporations are making short works of Sonali businesses, including mine, and putting us out of business.
The spread of Terran culture is a blight on our society. It has to end. Terrans have to be really seen for who they are. If it takes the death of the entire population of Sonali Prime to see it, then so be it. We will repopulate. We will grow. And we will be stronger again.
“Merchant Vessel MMB 012, you are cleared for departure and atmospheric entry,” says a voice over the comms.
“Roger that,” I reply.
The magnetic clamps disengage, and the vessel is let loose in space. I engage the thrusters, guiding the ship away from the space dock towards the planet.
“Computer, set course for the Industrial Layout,” I say.
“Be advised,” the computer replies, “the approved flight plan does not pass over the Industrial Layout. Shall I contact the Docks Authorities to request a change in flight plan?”
“Negative,” I say. “Just take me there.”
The vessel pierces through the atmosphere and before long we are accelerating under the gravitational pull of the planet.
The strap of the captain’s chair holds me still, though digging into my skin. The ship’s main engines come online as soon as we are in the lower atmosphere. With a jerk, our free fall is arrested. The computer plots the course, and we begin towards the Industrial Layout.
“Computer, check our cargo’s structural integrity.”
“Checking…” After a few seconds, “Terraformer is structurally intact. Ready for drop down activation.”
“Okay, standby,” I say, remembering the pain it took to get this infernal device. Anyone who doubts how godless and deserving of death the Terrans only need to look at their terraforming technology. They take nature’s creation—the way it was supposed to be according to The Way. And they change it. Entire worlds are changed. To suit the Terrans. Atmospheres are changed. Mineral composition is changed.
It’s worthy of extinction of their race.
And they shall all die once their evil weapons are exposed to the galaxy.
We’ve planned this for a while. I think back to how I had gotten my hands on Terran bombs. I had gotten information from a space pirate of some world near the Terran’s border with the Outer Colonies that the Terran explorers had failed to terraform. The space pirate had also told me that the Terrans had abandoned most of their medium to light ordnance because it was damaged. Their plan, however, was to come back for the weapons later. They just never did.
I immediately assembled a team to go steal it. The space pirate had glossed over the important fact that there was a small ten-man outpost on the planet. My team dispatched of the Terrans quickly, though had lost one Sonali. They brought the stolen piece of ordnance aboard this vessel, where we spent the better part of one month fixing for eventual use.
Then we used it on the land-based docks. My security clearance had gotten us the cover to plant the Terran bombs. Sonali police forces—though dimwitted—were able to see the clues we left. They did exactly as we wanted, locking down all vessels and allowing us access to their cargo. This gave us the chance to “borrow” the terraformer and bring it aboard as well.
The hope was never to use it. But should the eventuality arise, we wanted to be ready.
It appears this eventuality is around the corner.
“Computer, how long to the layout?” I ask.
“One minute,” the computer replies.
“Why am I not getting hails from the authorities?” I ask. “Are we yet to deviate from our laid out course?”
“We have sir,” the computer replies, “But it appears the police officers are all focused on some incident on the Sacred Temple. No one is looking at you.”
“Great,” I reply, “But we will still need a distraction. Get ready to self-destruct.”
“Complying,” the computer says. “Self-destruct in five minutes.”
“I unstrap myself and hightail it out of the control center. I make my way to the main entrance bay. In one of the racks is a breather, which I grab in one hand.
“Sir, we are getting a transmission from space dock,” the computer says over the overhead speakers, “they want to know why we have deviated from our charted course.”
“Ignore them,” I say and get ready to release the Terraformer the moment we are flying over the Industrial Layout. I want the terraform in the epicenter of the layout. Otherwise I will not be able to achieve total perfusion of the terraformer’s activity.”
“Affirmative,” the computer replies.
The terraformer is a massive piece of technology that occupies the central hold of the haulage vessel. It occupies the entire hold, which is about the size of a stadium.
The vessel slows to a stop and then jerks upwards a little as down drops the Terraformer. I hear a loud noise that causes the ship to vibrate in the air.
I tap the button of the hatch. The hatch opens to show me the Industrial Estate’s farm of skyscrapers spread out before me. As I look at the scene, I am almost sympathetic to the Sonali homeworld.
We are hovering at about thirty stories in the air.
“Set us down near the terraformer,” I say above the rush of wind in my face, “I need to make sure everyone dies.”
“Complying,” the computer results. And this is one of those days I am happy AIs don’t have morals.
The vessel descends until it is only hovering at about five yards off the ground.
“Computer, go somewhere far from here to explode,” I instruct, “but not so far that there isn’t critical damage.”
“Affirmative,” the computer replies. There’s a pause, and I wonder to myself if it had feelings if it would say, “Good luck.”
That’s the last thing I think before I leap out of the open hatch onto the ground.
The Terraformer is about thirty stories high and stands on three massive towers that stretch for more than two third of its height. The rest of the terraformer is a roundish control center, where most of the terraforming action takes place. Underneath this center is a wide, round hole that spews out particle beams into the ground that begins to change its composition.
On the round control center are six hatches interspaced evenly. These hatches open for tentacle-like structures and latch into the ground.
All around me, people are beginning to gather, though they keep their distance. They are looking at the terraformer with surprise and amazement. Some are even taking pictures.
The police haven’t responded yet. But I know it’s only a matter of time before someone realizes what this is.
I jog over to the closest leg. I’ve already programmed in my desired atmospheric composition of the world. All I have to do is activate it. I run a last-minute integrity check. The result comes back as positive and asks me for permission to proceed. I tap yes, and a countdown from ten begins.
I turn and make a mad dash across the Layout away from the machine. As soon as I hear the massive, ground shattering thrum of the machine, I attach the breather to my face. Quickly after, I hear screams of all those hapless souls who stand in amazement too close to the machine. Without looking back, I run off into the night.
No-One
“Unfreeze transmission,” I say.
The holographic projection unfreezes. They’ve been on hold for a minute.
“What’s going on?” Admiral Shane asks. He sees the look of confusion on my face and realizes that something has gone terribly wrong.
I gaze at his face and everyone in the room with him. All of them who are several hundred light years away on Earth is anxious to know what’s happening.
Well, I am as well.
“I just got a report of mass death by asphyxiation all across the Capital Grid,” I say. “It turns out this Temple is not the final play.”
“Looks like it’s back to work for you, Anika,” Admiral Shane says in his officious voice. Now I know he’s not just my longtime friend, but my boss. I have my orders, and I intend on executing them to the last word.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “Computer, end transmission.”
The holographic projection vanishes, plunging the main worship hall into an eerily silent darkness.
I grab my pistol from where I had kept it by my side and holster it. Then I head over to the High Cleric and take his assault rifle from the ground. I check the charges. It’s still at about seventy percent. I am impressed—I look around at the destruction this piece of weapon had created, and I’m doubly impressed.
I grip the handle, pulling the butt home to my right shoulder blade and aim. The sights are perfect, and the weight is perfectly distributed. I look again at the weapon, surprised at its impressive architecture and design. I conclude that High Cleric Szaad should have had no reason to fail in killing me.
This weapon is just too crafted perfectly not to have given Szaad an unfair advantage. But alas, no matter how great the tool is, if the wielder isn’t any good, it doesn’t matter. I am lucky that Szaad was a lousy shot. Otherwise, he would have killed me instantly. In spite of this, there had been some close calls. There’s an old 20th Century Earth saying that I remember from my pre-Third World War cultural training. “If the glove doesn’t fit, you must acquit.” It was apparently quoted by a noted cultural leader. So few records survive from that time, but this one does.
Well, Szaad, the glove really didn’t fit. And so you acquitted me of my life. Because you had me. And you blew it.
For a few seconds, I relieve the firefight. I shiver as I realize just how close I had come to death and for what reason? The Sonali?
I sigh.
With the assault rifle leading, I began to trace my way out of the main worship hall, through the anteroom and the hallway onto the landing. It’s dark in the Temple. I call up my nanites, which gives me enhanced night vision. I make my way down the stairs to the grand main lobby. I approach the exit cautiously.
Even though the computer has assured me that there isn't anybody in the Temple or for a radius of one kilometer, I know there’s danger everywhere. Why else would Sonali be dying all across the world?
I exit into the courtyard. I see afar off; there is a column of smoke rising up into the air and flashes of blue, red and green stroking the horizon. I drop my aim as I begin to suspect what might be going on. There is a slight tremor in the air, and I can feel the change in the atmosphere through the nanites.
Fear stabs at my heart. I glance at my aircar. It’s totaled at the flight of steps. I look around the courtyard. There are no vehicles.
The nearest vehicle is a kilometer away. I jog out of the courtyard and head towards the depot. As I pass the outlying buildings, I see dead Sonali bodies littering the ground. I see some with life ebbing out of them, grabbing their throats out of suffocation.
There are some who are still alive, but who are using breathers, much like the one on my face. It’s understandable why the people living in the outlying Sonali settlements of the Capital Grid—sometimes the desert storm can ravage this place, and they’ll need a breather to live through the sandstorm.
At the depot, there are no aircars waiting. The depot is a small building with seven bays for air cars to park. I can see through the buildings, and there’s no life form in there. It’s deserted. I can’t see any car as well. I look at the narrow winding road as it cuts through a partially arid land onwards to the Capital Grid.
I heave a deep sigh and continue my walk. I’m too far from my safehouse where an extra vehicle is waiting for me. I pull out my miniature tablet and look for all residences that are registered in the area as being owned by Terran. Being the Capital Grid, there’s a greater frequency of Terrans in this part of the planet than anywhere.
I find the closest set of coordinates and minutes later, I happen upon a large mansion right on the side of the road. There’s a green, lush lawn, which is a stark contradiction to the harshness of the environment.
The house belongs to a Noah Axel. Apparently, he’s a Managing Director at StarTech, leading up the Sonali Prime headquarters. After the war, Terran corporations began to aggressively expand out of the Union, looking for new markets in foreign space.
I head to the door and knock.
A screen appears on the exquisitely carve d door, and I see an equally exquisite looking Asiatic human woman, who doubles back when she sees me.
Yeah, I know. I look like crap. First, I still look Sonali.
Second, I look like I’ve been dragged through Hell. And those Sonali adjustments are starting to probably wear off.
Whatever. I don’t care if I look like shit. You would too if you got into a firefight with a mad priest.
“How can I help you?” she asks as though talking with me exposes her to germs.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
“No,” she replies.
I wait for an explanation, but she doesn’t give me. Though she gives me that I-don’t-have-to-explain-to-a-stranger-why-she-shouldn’t-come-into-my-house look.
“Ma’am, people are dying out there,” I say. “I need to help them.”
I realize that I need to make her realize something.
“I’m Terran too,” I say, taking a small blade and making a small cut on my forearm. Red blood seeps out, and I show her. Sonali bleed blue. The woman gasps. But it doesn’t alter her stance.
“Sonali people are dying,” she corrects, “and no you don’t need to help them. You’re lucky you have a breather. Find somewhere safe and hide until the Terran Union Ship that’s on its way here arrives.”
I bang my fist on the door and says, “Lady, if I don’t stop the entire populace from dying they are going to pin this on all Terrans, and no ship is going to be making it alive out of Sonali space.”
The woman looks shocked. “You mean no rescue?”
I shake my head. “Not if I don’t get what I want.”
“Look, even if I wanted to, this house is hermetically sealed,” she says. “I can’t break the seal without risking the lives of my family.”
“I just need a car,” I reply. “That’s all. Just a means of conveyance.”
“You can take our car,” she replies.
I hear a sound behind me. I turn to see a secret door in the lawn open up and a beautiful red aircar float into the air, stopping about one yard in the air. The doors open.
“Keep her safe,” the woman says.
I don’t even look at her again. I jump into the aircar and stop short on the passenger’s seat. The seat is obscenely comfortable, with fluffy wool lining the edge. The dashboard and the entire trim has a touch of pink.
I shut the door. I yank the control stick forward, taking the air car up to the air-lane in seconds. I make a direct beeline for the Capital Grid and suddenly come upon a city unto imminent destruction. All across the landscape, there are great fires and explosions. Once I come lower, I can see people losing control because of asphyxiation and driving into other cars. I see buildings sinking into the ground as the soil texture changes. I see bodies littering the entire landscape.
I traverse across the different Estates, and as I edge towards the Industrial Estate, the death and massacre and destruction intensifies.
I hear the familiar hum first, and this is what sucks me into one of the darkest memories of my life.
I was ten years old when it happened. Terran separatists were launching another set of attacks on the Terran Union border worlds in a bid to secede and join the Outer Colonies. Everyone knew they were being funded by the Outer Colonies, but the government didn’t care about stemming the violence. The Terran Union had a policy of jealously guarding even most remote and lowest of value worlds. After a while, separatists began to try and destroy them rather than trying to claim them and secede. Their choice of weapon was the terraformer.
I was in my room, sleeping, when the alarms went off. My parents rushed into my room and prepared me for evacuation as per planetary instructions. We weren’t very much, just a couple thousand on a far-flung virgin world in the Terran Union—suffice to say, we weren’t exactly a high priority.
The nearest starship was another hour away, but the death and destruction had already started. Several Terraformers programmed to create an atmosphere and soil composition hostile to human life had been dropped from space into the ground, and the composition of our fragile terraformed atmosphere began to crumble.
Amidst the heavy hums and the pulsating flash of light and the rhythmic way the ground vibrated I ran for the nearest shuttle—the last shuttle, my parents at my heels. Or at least, that’s what I thought. It wasn’t until I was safe aboard the shuttle that I realized my parents had been caught in the gravitational messiness that followed terraforming and had died instantly.
Their dead bodies churning amidst the pile of rubble was the last thing I saw before we shot off the planet and into space. The world as it turned dark red was the last thing I saw before we slipped into FTL and to safety. We were later picked up by the TUS; an Armada Intelligence Vessel captained by Shane Pierce who helped me channel my anger and pain and hurt and fashion me into the killing machine that I am today.
I pull myself out of that emotional reverie with tears in my eyes and a lump in my chest. I see the globular head first, the whirling and lashing tentacles around the terraformer’s head, then the three massive towers in the ground.
It’s a Terraformer.
Hello, old friend.
No-One
I make a single pass around the Terraformer, wondering with terrifying amazement how the fuck the Sonali got a hold of a Terran Terraformer. These things are closely guarded by Armada Command—even their technology is a secret. Yes, other species have terraforming technology to a certain degree. But the technology level differs. In this area, unlike others, the Terran Union is light years ahead of any other race. Most races didn’t even begin organized terraforming until they got the idea from Terrans—I don’t know why. But the concept of changing the planet to suit your needs never occurred to most of the major powers of the galaxy.
And yet, they didn’t steal the Terraformer to re-engineer it. They stole it to use it. On their own people.
They’d probably have been blown to bits if they tried to hit any major colony world, but to use it on Sonali Prime and then point the finger?
There’s a special type of evil for that.
“Computer, patch me through to the Armada Intelligence at the Terran Embassy,” I say, “I want to speak to the station chief ASAP. This is an emergency.”
“Complying…”
Soon enough, I hear a tense voice in my ears.
“No One, are you seeing this?” he says the moment he has a direct channel to me. “The goddamn planet is slowly suffocating.”
“I’m currently flying above the Terraformer,” I reply. “It’s Terran.”
“Oh my god,” the station chief replies. “I got intel that Master Merchant Byuren was given permission to land his storage vessel—those massive mother fuckers—on Sonali Prime to pick up a refined ore shipment for the Tyreesians. Guess who helped him secure the permission?”
I swallow hard. I remember the information my nanites hacked out of the Temple’s computer systems. High Cleric Szaad had been meeting with the Master Merchant. Maybe this was what they were discussing…The destruction of the Sonali people.
“High Cleric Szaad?”
“Yes,” he replies. “He dropped the Terraformer in the Industrial Layout, crashed his ship in the thick of the Industrial Estate and then ran away.”
“Can you send someone to go track him down?” I ask.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” he replies. “My duty is to Terrans living in peril in Sonali Prime right now. The planet is slowly suffocating. People at Ground Zero of the Terraformer were the first affected, but if that thing is Terran, then that beast isn’t going to stop till it fucks over the entire planet. I don’t know what that Terraformer is turning this world into, but I sure as hell know if the entire population dies then we’re back at fucking war.”
I stop. There are chills going through my body.
I’ve killed people before. It comes with the job. But this is too much.
“That’s 12 billion Sonali, Eric,” I say, breaking cover. I know it’s unprofessional. But I can’t fathom...
“I fucking know, Anika,” he says back to me, and there’s a pause. “I’ve arranged for a ship to take us off out of the planet,” he says, “do whatever you have to do, but we’re leaving this place soon, and we’re not waiting for no one.”
I can’t believe my ears. “So you’re just expecting me to leave?”
There is a brief silence.
“Oh, you misunderstand me, No One,” he replies. “It is not your duty to leave. It’s your mission to stop this because if you don’t, the Terran Union will be drawn into another war with the Sonali. And this time? With the destruction of Sonali Prime? You can bet your fucking ass that they won’t stop till they’ve glassed fucking Earth. So, do whatever you can to stop this. But if you can’t, know that we’re leaving with or without you.”
I want to be angry right now because of the way this desk pusher is talking to me. Nevertheless, I am too much in awe of the terrible sight before me that I don’t respond harshly.
“Okay, but do one thing for me,” I say.
“What?”
“Track down that fucker Byuren,” I say. “He will answer for all this.”
“Roger that, No One,” he replies. “I’ll contact you as soon as I have a location on him.”
“Computer, end transmission,” I say, and the line goes dead.
I swoop down to street level and head on to Gresh’s lab. Along the road, I can see people scurrying to safety. I see many holding their necks as their difficulty to breathe increases. I begin to realize that the Terraformer affects different areas at different rates.
I get to the lab and park right on the street. I enter the lab, which is still open.
“You’re alive!” I say with relief the moment I walk into the first floor and see Gresh standing over the dazed assassin.
He says, “This part of the lab is hermetically sealed to preserve the atmospheric composition, especially moisture, to prevent the artifacts from decaying at a much faster rate, so yes, I’m alive.”
I feel an urge to hug the Sonali, but I refrain. I’m really glad he’s alive.
“What’s causing all of this?” he asks.
“Master Merchant Byuren somehow managed to get his hands on a Terraformer,” I say.
Terror flicks through Gresh’s face. “Terraformer?” he whispers, breathless. “That changes planets?”
“Dude dropped it in the center of the Layout and turned it on,” I say. Then I march over to the assassin and smack her right in the face. She jolts to consciousness with a furious look, which immediately melts when I ask her if she knew about the Terraformer.
“If I did, do you think I would have gone ahead with it all?” she replies.
I shake my head in contempt, “That’s not good enough. If you can kill your commander, whom you swore fealty to, I wouldn’t put anything past you.”
My words seem to slice through home. The assassin’s eyes flutter to a saddening close even as she bows her head, finally broken. This is when I feel sympathy for her.
“I knew the High Cleric was meeting with Master Merchant Byuren, but I didn’t know they were considering destroying the planet,” she says.
I draw close to her so she can feel the heat of my breath on her skin. Then I whisper, “Oh, they are not destroying this planet. They are changing it. Making it inhabitable for any Sonali life. Everyone here will suffocate to death. A slow way to die.”
She whimpers.
I act before Gresh can react. I grab her out of the chair and dash for the stairwell where I fling her down the stairs. The shield flares as she slams through and out into the slowly toxic atmosphere of Sonali Prime. She crashes into the opposite wall, falling onto the landing with an audible thud.
The reaction is immediate. She begins to thrash and scream. Gresh stands, rooted to the ground by terror. He can’t see her because he’s still by the workstations, but he can hear her scream. Slowly, her resistance is mitigated by her slowly ebbing life. When all the air is expunged from her lungs, she lays still in death.
I go back to Gresh. The moment I’m standing in front of him and about to speak he says, “Why did you do that?”
“We have to stop this,” I say.
“Why did you do that!” he roars, his face contorted in anger.
I double back, instinctively pulling the assault rifle that hangs on my back. My aim is on Gresh.
He stares defiantly at me. His entire being trembles with rage.
“She deserves to die,” I reply, simply.
“You don’t get to decide that!” he roars, taking a threatening step towards me, his hands balled into fists.
I take an equal step back, tightening my grip on the weapon. It’s not set to stun.
“She assassinated the Noble Marshal,” I say, “she connived with the High Cleric to destroy the Sacred Temple and blame us Terrans. Even if she wasn’t aware of the Terraformer, she’s anything but innocent. Thousands if not tens of thousands of innocent Sonali are already dead. All because of an event she willingly help set in motion.”
I pause.
“Hell yes, I get to decide that she dies.”
Gresh holds my gaze. I can feel he’s about to do something stupid.
“Look, Gresh, you can shout at me all you want. Heck, you may even feel you can take me, and I’ll just have to put you down. But all that isn’t going to stop the Terraformer from destroying your homeworld, which is what I’m trying to do. I’m not the enemy. Byuren is. If you need someone to be angry at, be angry at him.”
Gresh heaves a sigh and backs down. He’s still furious at me though. I know I can live with that.
“Incoming transmission,” the computer says in my ears.
“Go on,” I say, looking away from Gresh, so he knows I’m not speaking to him at the moment.
“We’ve located Byuren,” the Armada Intelligence agent, Eric states. “He’s on the other side of the Capital Grid. He’s about to escape.”
“Send his location to Gresh’s wrist device,” I say, “I’m sending a code from it right now to you and reply back to it and update it in real time.”
“Roger,” the voice says as I punch a series of keys in Gresh’s communication device that immediately sends a message to the Embassy.
As soon as the transmission is cut, I look back at Gresh. “I need your help in stopping this thing. The terraformer is not far from here,” I say, “but Byuren is far away.”
Gresh nods, frown still on his face.
I hand over the assault rifle I snatched off the High Cleric’s body. He refuses to take the weapon.
“I’ve never handled one of those before,” he says.
“And how do you want to defeat Byuren? With fists?” I say.
“I intend to defeat him fairly,” he replies, naively.
“I didn’t know naivety was one of the effects of not ascending,” I retort.
Gresh flares up.
I raise my hand to shut him up.
“Take the damn weapon,” I say. “Because I can assure you, Byuren isn’t unarmed.”
Gresh reluctantly takes the weapon. I also hand him my breather and a communications device that helps him keep in contact with me and Embassy Intelligence Command in case they needed to give him any vital piece of intelligence regarding capturing or killing Byuren.
I lead Gresh outside to where my air car is parked by the lab.
“Take the car,” I say. “I’ll just walk.”
Gresh doesn’t say anything until he’s inside the car.
“I know we don’t see eye to eye on many things,” he starts, “but I wish you well, Rosaline. Be safe with that Terraformer.”
“Are you saying that because you really care about me or because you don’t want me screwing our only chance at saving Sonali Prime?”
This causes him to chuckle. And for a moment, in spite of the chaos and death all around me, Gresh and I truly connect.
He shuts the car and zooms up into the air. I turn on my heels and break into a run towards the Terraformer. My nanites kick in, causing me to run at twenty times the speed of a normal Terran.
Ahead, I can see a storm of sand, ruble combined with sparks of electricity and pulsing flashes of colored lights at the base of the Terraformer. I can see the whirling tentacles, slicing through the air. I can feel the vibration on the ground getting stronger.
And I see the electrical storm. An unnatural sight, it was never meant to be unleashed on populated worlds.
Dear Maker, bless and forgive humanity. For the weapons we have created and brought to the galaxy may one day extinguish all life.
At the edge of the geo-storm, I stop. A moment of hesitation as I see the maelstrom I’m about to get into.
Two words.
Fuck it.
I leap into the air, sailing to a height of a hundred yards. I shut my eyes and flap my hands like a swimmer. I slam into the stormy cloud of sand, dust, and electricity, which is the Terraformer’s only defense against interruption.
I am propelled through by my forward momentum even though I buffeted on all sides by rubble.
I hit the ground and bounce off like a ball. It happens three times before I settle down. I am near death, my entire bones broken. There are open wounds all over my body, and I am bleeding profusely. The only thing I see is the green lawn of the Industrial Layout and one of the towers of the Terraformer next to me.
I shut my eyes and go into a brief hibernation as my nanites begin to restore my body. I am not sure how long it takes, but when it’s done, I feel an electric jolt that brings me back into consciousness.
I strain to a sitting position and take in my environment. I’m in a wide corridor that winds around the three legs of the Terraformer. This corridor separates the uniform flood of laser that descends from the underside of the Terraformer to the ground from the outer protective geo-storm.
I’m in the eye of the storm—the safest cordon anywhere near the Terraformer. I try to stand and feel a sharp pain that blurs my vision and makes me scream. I crane my neck to look over my shoulder. Sticking out of my lower back is a thick pike of iron that has pierced through my spinal column.
Tears from the pain fill my eyes.
“Computer, what’s my health status,” I say.
“You have lost your ability to walk,” it replies.
“Can’t the nanites fix it?” I say, speaking through the incredible pain.
“Not until the foreign object is extracted from your back,” it says as I feel a sharp shard of metal jutting out of my back. “Recommended protocol states that a surgeon must—”
I yank the object out. The pain is so intense my body is sent immediately into shock amidst the alert the computer interposes in my vision.
I come to later, and there’s no pain. The Terraformer is still active. I try to move, but my legs are still immobile.
“Computer, how long was I out?”
“Ten minutes,” it replies.
“Can I walk?” I ask.
“Not for the next three hours,” it replies.
I growl. I don’t have three hours. I look over at the Terraformer’s leg. It’s about five yards away. But the controls are up. I can only reach it standing.
“Computer, can you hack into the Terraformer?” I say. “Our proximity should make that possible.”
Terraformers aren’t exactly built to be hack-proof any more than guns are built to be hack-proof. Perhaps, Terraformers are made for uninhabitable planets. There weren’t going to be hackers in uninhabitable planets, would there?
Add to that fact that they were built to create and sustain life—not create the conditions for genocide.
“Affirmative,” the computer replies. “I’ve engaged the shutdown protocol.”
“Why isn’t it shutting down?”
“Manual override of the shutdown is required,” the computer responds, and I roll my eyes at the unhelpfulness of it.
“Where the fuck is the shutdown override?” I ask.
“Shutdown override for Terraformers is built into each leg of the tripod stand.”
“No kidding,” I say. I see one close to me. A few yards away.
I drag myself to the leg. The pain I felt earlier is all but gone. Still, I can remember the shock I felt when I yanked out the iron in my body. I was sure I was going to die.
At the frontal surface of the nearest leg, I look up to see a small screen. I can even see the shutdown button on the screen.
I call up my nanites then place my palms on the wall of the Terraformer’s leg. They stick like a magnet on magnet. I begin to climb, using strength from my upper body—strength that the nanites afford me. As soon as I am high enough, I tap the shutdown button, then fall back to the ground out of sheer exhaustion.
The result is immediate. The laser flood ceases. Followed by the vibration. Followed by the whirling and lashing tentacles as they retract back into the Terraformer’s head. Finally, the geo-storm ceases.
Sonali Prime then descends into an eerie silence. Before I pass out, I wonder how Gresh is doing.
Gresh
I’m piloting a car that I would have died to possess when I was younger. Now all I care about is that its dashboard is so complex that I have a hard time understanding it. But I would rather think about that than the ominous-looking assault rifle sitting on the seat beside me.
My palms are sweaty on the steering grips. What am I doing here? I’m a scholar, not a warrior. Though I received some basic military training when I was younger, as all Sonali do in wartime, I’ve always been a man of peace. I barely remember how to hold a weapon like the rifle. But I find myself about to face a dangerous enemy, so I had better remember as much as I can.
“Computer,” I say to the car as we float past a cluster of tall office buildings.
“Sir.”
I peer at the readout of the wrist-comm given to me by Rosaline—or whoever she really is. “Take me to these coordinates.” And I reel them off for the machine.
“At once.”
“Full emergency power,” I add.
“I cannot comply, as we are within the city borders,” says the machine. Stung, I respond with a crude biological directive.
“I am unable to comply with your request,” says the computer.
“Just give me the maximum available velocity, please,” I growl.
It’s silly to take my frustrations out on a computer, but I’m angry and afraid. How could I have allowed myself to become entangled in this madness? For a moment I am consumed with rage against the Terrans, but my fury quickly burns itself out. The Terrans are not the ones to blame for what has happened here in my beautiful world, other than indirectly. No, it’s those who are seeking to profit from the misery of the war who are responsible.
I am ashamed to admit that they are Sonali, like me. Well, not like me; I am not looking to make money from the sorrow of innocents. I am seeking to understand how it ever could have happened in the first place so that it will never happen again.
It is men like Master Merchant Byuren who are guilty. He is a traitor, and worse. I must stop him from escaping if I can, and make sure he is brought to justice for his crimes.
The car arrows through the clear air, and as I see the sunlight glinting off the buildings around me, I think that I have never seen a more perfect day. There is barely a cloud in the sky. Below me on the sidewalks I see people going about their lives; women hand in hand with children, young men walking with their loved ones—for today is a festival day, and the lower floors are decked with bunting and flowers.
But then my eyes clear, the vision dissipates, and I see the reality: smoke and fumes from the looming terraformer, polluting the air. Drifting clumps of filth and a rain of grit. This is what Byuren and his fellows have done, all in the name of profit—they have set themselves against their fellow citizens, they are raping their own world. I can’t let it continue. Even if No One is successful in her attempt to cripple the horrible device, I have got to do all I can.
A part of me was wondering why the Sonali Navy or the planetary defenses don’t just blow up the section of the city. But now I see with the machine at work how it would make things even worse. It would eradicate most of the planet.
The fact that the Terrans use this for peaceful exploration baffles me.
Now the aircar is descending. The emergency enveloping the city has sparked a flood of cars seeking to escape the horror. There is very little cross-town traffic, making it easier for me to get through air-lanes that would otherwise be crowded at this time of day. Now the levels are all but deserted as the black clouds curdle the sky above me.
I am approaching the commercial district. I know exactly where Byuren is: it’s his own company’s warehouse. I’m not sure why he’s there, because once inside he’ll be trapped. My car settles to a landing, and I climb out, clutching the rifle. I switch it on, and it hums to life in my hands.
Power. I remember what it feels like.
I check the settings as I stalk toward the warehouse’s entrance. Almost half a charge. I try the door, but of course, it’s locked. I hear a strange rumbling sound, but have no time to take full notice of it.
I stand back, take aim, and blast the door.
The concussion all but knocks me off my feet. I have used too high a charge; the door is open, but the rifle is all but emptied of energy.
I shake my head, a little dazed, and step inside through the smoldering doorframe. Inside, nearly in the center of a huge open space, sits a bulbous escape pod.
So that’s why he wanted to come here: this small spacecraft will provide him with a way off Solani Prime. The roof finishes rolling back: that’s the source of the rumble I heard outside.
The pod’s PA system crackles. Byuren’s voice addresses me. “Stay back,” he says and underscores his demand with a laser shot that burns a hole at my feet. I dance back but don’t let go of my useless rifle.
“You know, Master Merchant,” I say, “I used to regard you as a man whose zeal to rid our world of Terran influences was laudable. But since then I’ve come to know some Terrans—one in particular. And the truth, as I learned it, was that despite our differences, we Sonali and the Terrans want essentially the same things: to be left alone to live our lives in peace, without bothering anyone. It doesn’t seem like a lot to expect from life, does it?”
“You’re a fool,” is all he says in response. “Like those in our government. I do not think that they would send one Sonali to stop me. So you must be working with that bitch of a Terran who guises herself as Sonali. You are the true traitor to your race. Now get back before I kill you.”
I start walking toward the pod. “I am thinking now that your zeal was misplaced,” I say. A beam sizzles over my head, barely visible in the dusty air. As I thought... like me, he’s no warrior. He’s a terrible marksman.
But if I can rattle him more, he’ll be even worse.
“You’ve gone too far, Byuren,” I say. “You know this will cause another war. And yet you will kill every Sonali citizen on this planet. For what? Profit?”
“The Terrans are the embodiment of evil amongst us!” he shouts. “They are godless. They kill each other without a thought. They value nothing we do. If they did, they would not have bombarded my world. They would not have burned my mother and father, my wife and daughter from the skies. They didn’t even land and look me in the face as they destroyed my world and my family. They only referred to it as Gemma Astro II. I want to throw the Terrans off our world!”
“And many people agree with you. But it was war. We did the same,” I say. I am about halfway across the naked floor to the pod, which sits venting pre-launch gasses as it flushes its systems. “So you cooked up this course of action and lost control. That terraformer...we could put it to beneficial use.”
“I—I can’t,” he says, in a choked voice.
I am very close now. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t understand. Th-there are those would kill me if I back down now.”
“Who?” I demand. “Some combine of merchants? Higher-ups in your caste?”
“It would be as much as my life is worth to tell you,” he says squinting as he sees my robes and my build. “But you won’t be leaving here alive anyway, Scholar.”
He’s sized me up and knows exactly what kind of threat I am. None. I fear he is correct about that. The rifle’s stock in my hands is slick with my sweat. “Your perfidy is known,” I say to him. “Do you think I simply stumbled upon you, here?”
“No—that bitch of an agent told you, I’m sure.” His scorn is deep, biting. “You are ineffectual, Scholar...an effete, simpering fool. In moments I will blast off, and rendezvous with my fleet. Up there I will be a law unto myself.”
“You are filth, Master Merchant,” I say, and break into a run, rifle at the ready as if I were storming an enemy encampment—which, in a way, I am.
The pod’s countdown alarm begins beeping. A minute until its engines fire. A laser beam lances the air beside me. I angle off, but not solely to avoid Byuren’s weaponry: I rip Rosaline’s communicator, which has been recording my conversation with the traitor, off my wrist. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” I gasp as I zig-zag toward a pile of crates off to one side. “Have to try to disable his ship. I’ll try to hide this thing out of blast range.” I stuff it down between two sturdy metal packing containers, where it may be safe.
“Affirmative,” comes her voice, muffled against the crates. “But don’t risk yourself!”
Before I can reply, Byuren fires again, and this time he is lucky: the beam sweeps across my left arm, slicing it clean off above the elbow, but fortuitously cauterizing the wound as it does so. The pain is intense, and I know I will fall prey to shock in moments.
I stagger toward the pod. In moments, I am too close for him to bring his lasers to bear on me, and I half dive, half fall under the engine fairing. The take-off alarm bleats: seconds left.
In agony from my injury, I worm my way further under the pod, toward the main engine, and thrust his useless rifle up side it, as hard as I can, lodging it firmly. Then I scramble back, gasping in pain. I can’t make it. I can’t get out from under the escape pod.
But I think I have managed to cripple it. The countdown ends, and with a click, the main engine comes on behind me, and the impact of the blast is so great that for a moment all I feel is pressure as I am flung out from beneath the ship into a pile of shipping containers. I am broken, dying. But I know the ignition pulse is erratic: the rifle is diverting the exhaust flow to the sides of the fuel chamber.
There is a greater explosion.
Then everything goes white.
No-One
It has been a month since Gresh’s death.
After being debriefed following the successful conclusion of the mission I have been put on leave. I’m in my home—a small four bedroom apartment in Bryson City on the planet Devidia. It’s far enough away from the border of any other spacefaring nation that I can forget that Terrans now co-exist with other races in the galaxy. I’ve just vegetated.
Out of the last month, I’ve spent most of that time playing games on my console, drinking more than is good for me, engaging in recreational sex with men I’ve picked up in bars, ignoring the news, and trying to not think. I have ignored private communiques and all other forms of messaging as well. I’ve earned the right to be left alone for a while.
People have called me a hard case. I didn’t use to be. In trying not to think about my current situation I have inadvertently opened a channel to my childhood. Amazingly enough, most of what I recall before the terraformer is good. I was a happy kid. Average. I ran around and played with my friends, I loved video games (well, that much is sort of still true, though they don’t consume me like they used to), I did well in school. I even played the cello for a while. I had a life.
Then my family was wiped out, and I became a ward of the state. If it wasn’t for Admiral Shane during those years, I wouldn’t be here today. He pointed me and made me work, and I worked mindlessly, training myself and immersing myself in challenges that made others balk. It was a way to not think about things, to avoid introspection, and to make a difference. I could get as far away from my home as possible, to other worlds.
All the activity and action helped me achieve all my goal of not thinking. I became the very best agent I could be, better than anyone else. Not for nothing (as my grandmother used to say) but I am “No. 1” for a reason.
Along in the process, I became a hard case. I put a shell around me. No one and nothing could get through. This is what Intelligence tells you to do, of course—and it’s good advice for agents. You’re not supposed to care; you’re not supposed to get emotionally involved with your assignment, or with anyone else.
And I was good with that, for years. Proud of it, in fact. I had no long-term relationships, no pets, no friends. It was just me and my houseplants, and they knew to look after themselves for long periods. That eliminated Terran houseplants, of course, but there are other options.
And so, being responsible for nothing and no one else, I always thought that I’d be prepared to offer the ultimate sacrifice for my job. But while I’ve been sitting in my apartment playing video games, it gradually dawned on me that a job is not worth dying for. Yes, it may be a person’s responsibility to die for a job, but that’s not the same as Gresh dying for a principle—which is what he did. He sacrificed himself for his beliefs, not for his non-disclosure agreement. He died so that his fellow Sonali could have the choice whether or not to remain in their birth gender.
Me? If I died on the job, maybe I’d get a plaque somewhere on some corridor wall and my photograph in an annual memorial.
That used to be enough. But while I’ve been sitting here playing point-and-shoot against gooey aliens, my not thinking wall has been breaking down.
Because of Gresh.
I admired the guy even before he died. I liked him. He did what he had to do, and I am sure he was absolutely terrified the entire time. But he did it because he believed in something. He wasn’t the type of person to not think about things.
Dammit, Gresh, what are you doing to my head?
Despite all the distractions with which I have surrounded myself, I am no longer able to not think about things.
Part of this, of course, is because he used the communicator I gave him to record the last hour of his life. I was in the aircar with him...I stormed the warehouse with him, and I watched as he threw himself under Byuren’s escape pod and damaged its exhaust nozzle. I saw him drag himself out from under the vehicle. He must have known it was a futile gesture.
I also saw the huge grin on his face as the pod exploded behind him, killing him. The bastard was happy. He was proud of what he had done. He had even managed to save the communicator...it was damaged, but when it was found in the wreckage of Byuren’s warehouse it was still functional. That’s how we know what happened. With the damning evidence given by Byuren himself in his own words to Gresh, the Union, working with the Sonali government, was able to indict the merchant’s co-conspirators, up to and including High Cleric Szaad’s allies within the Sacred Temple.
Grateful Terran Union officials established a memorial scholarship fund for xenoarchaeologists at the Academy a few days ago. Sonali educators did the same. He was well on his way to becoming a folk hero.
As far as I am concerned, he deserves it.
All I know is, I’ll miss him.
Gresh had served his people well. My own part in the incident would, of course, be redacted, covered up, but that’s an agent’s lot: when we screw up, it usually means our cover gets blown, and we’re in the news. When we do well, no one knows.
There’s always that memorial plaque, though.
After four weeks, the messages popping up on my screen are becoming more impatient and exasperated in tone. I can’t avoid it any longer: I have to go speak with my colleagues and apply for my next assignment. The attitude in the service always is, “Thanks a heap, but what have you done for us lately?”
So I pack up my game console, make sure the plants can reach the tap in the kitchen I’ve left dripping for them, and head out.
A few days later, I return back to Sonali Prime and to the Embassy.
Making my way past the Marines in the lobby, I take the elevator up to the ambassador’s office. As always, Violet is sitting there, typing industriously at her computer. When I slouch in, she looks up from her work. With a sympathetic look on her face, she says, “Anika, have you heard the news?”
I give her back a perfunctory smile and a shrug. “I’ve been avoiding the news. What’s up?”
“You’ll love this.” Her tone becomes ironic. “It seems that the ambassador has received so many kudos for solving the crisis that he’s been offered the chance to run for president.”
I open my mouth to say something acerbic but close it again. All I can do is shrug.
“I know,” she says. “Go on in, Anika... he’s expecting you.”
My slouch must be even more pronounced as I push open the door to Esteban Asis’s inner sanctum. He’s behind his desk, chirping to someone on the commlink, looking cheerful. I take some consolation in the fact that if this two is indeed going to run for office, at least he’ll have to give up his post here. With any luck, the next ambassador will be someone competent. Or at least less incompetent. It’s hard to imagine anyone less able than Asis, whose only talent, as far as I have seen, is being able to delegate his responsibilities to others. His staff does the work, and he floats around from breakfast to ceremony, from cocktail party to photo opportunity.
Without waiting to be offered a seat I slum down into a chair in front of him and wait patiently for him to finish his conversation. He seems to be talking with someone from the media.
At last, he’s done and puts his phone down with obvious satisfaction.
“Congratulations, sir,” I say, robbing him of the pleasure of bragging. “Violet gave me the news.”
A quick pout flits across his features. “Ah,” he says lamely. “Well.”
“So when are you leaving?” I don’t bother to keep the anticipation out of my voice. “We’ll sure miss you around here.” What I want to say is, Don’t let the door hit you in your fat bureaucrat’s ass on your way out, you penis-bearing pencil-pusher.
He seems mollified. I’m sure he knows I’m lying, but at least I am following office protocol, so he is happy.
“The Dejah Thoris leaves for Earth at noon,” he says. I’ve heard of the Thoris; it’s a luxury liner. Passage aboard such a vessel would cost me two years’ pay.”
“I’m jealous,” I say, even if I’m not. “I hope you have an uneventful flight. And a successful run.”
“Thank you,” he says. He reaches into a drawer, takes out an envelope, and hands it to me. There is no name written on it, but I recognize TAOIC paper when I see it.
“Your new assignment,” he says. “I haven’t looked at it.”
Well, sure—why would he give a fuck? I’m going to be back here doing work while he is having his picture taken with starlets.
I slip the envelope inside my jacket. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing what assignment Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command has for me. He’s out of the loop now, and he knows it.
I should let bygones be bygones, but Asis is a little twerp, and I have nothing but contempt for him. Instead of giving him the back of my hand, as I would love to do, I extend mine for him to shake. He can’t refuse, so he takes it. I give his fingers an extra hard squeeze. My enhanced muscles make that a pleasure for me. I enjoy seeing him wince but I don’t smile.
“Goodbye, sir.”
“Yes,” he says, rubbing his hand as unobtrusively as he can. “Perhaps we’ll, uh, run into each other again someday.”
“Perhaps so.”
Great stars, I hope not.
No-One
I make my way home after exchanging grins with Violet on my way out. Asis is apparently rising to his level of incompetence, not having been enough of a knucklehead to be totally out of place as Terran ambassador plenipotentiary to Sonali Prime. Perhaps being a politician will allow him to exercise his powers as a galaxy-class self-fellator fully. At least he won’t be parading his bloated ego around here anymore.
Once I’m back inside my apartment on Sonali Prime, I put the envelope from TAIOC on the side table, park myself on my settee, pull out my game console and resume my video game. I know Command won’t expect me to report for duty for at least a month, which means I can ignore that note for a good three weeks.
Esteban Asis is an arrogant dogbopper, but I can’t escape the uncomfortable feeling that I have been pretty arrogant myself. Maybe I’m tired of being thought of as a hard case. I’m learning that arrogance comes in many flavors, and for me at least, one of the most useful things I have learned from my association with the ambassador is that facts never bothered the guy.
He is undeniably bright but totally self-absorbed—and though a skilled diplomat (well, we’ll allow that for the sake of the argument), he has always believed that he knows more about other fields of study than people specializing in those fields. I think of that as “Crossover Competence Syndrome,” and I’ve run across it in other people, if I had to point to someone who is an exemplar of it, I’d use Asis.
He’s like one of my schoolmates at the Academy. He insisted that the way to get maximum distance from a thrown rock was to throw it parallel to the ground rather than waste momentum with a pointless upwards component. I tried to remind him about the effects of gravity and how a bullet fired directly forward would hit the ground at the same time as a rock dropped simultaneously with the shot and from the same height, but I made no headway against this person's superior and unshakable knowledge. He “knew” what he “knew,” and facts wouldn’t change his mind.
There are a lot of people like that around. I don’t want to be one of them. I mean, I know what I know—but I may not have all the facts. Sometimes people need to change their opinions based on new information.
Going forward, I think I need to maintain a reasonable level of humility; and to do that I must be aware that a great many of the things I “know,” if not all of them, are bound to be distortions of the truth, or limited glimpses of the truth, or—possibly—just plain wrong. My time here on Sonali Prime and my association with Gresh proved that to me. Before coming here, I “knew” all Sonali were bastards. I “knew” they couldn’t be relied upon.
Although that was true in some cases, I have since learned that the percentage of Sonali who are idiots is no greater than the percentage of human beings who fit into that category.
I think about all this for the next couple of days. The more I turn it over in my head, the more sense it makes. I resolve to be a better “me” in future. I am already a good agent; but how am I as a person? The only way to know that is to see how I do when I am with other people—something I usually avoid unless I need sex or have to take a meeting.
I don’t really know how to be with other people. I have always had a sort of contempt for the “civilians” I am sworn to protect. But is that because they deserve my scorn, or because I am afraid to compare myself to them, and find myself wanting? Because, after all, most normal people have relationships; they make friends, they socialize, they get married and have children.
I have done none of these things. I don’t know how to do those things.
Before I met Gresh, I never thought like this. I was always sufficient unto myself.
I can feel the old Anika Grayson pulling at me, urging me to forget the bullshit and stick to video games and casual sex. She’s pretty persuasive.
But I have been trained to take calculated risks. Trying to alter my personality now feels like a calculated risk.
I am going to have to do something about it. But what do people do when they become unhappy with themselves and yearn to change?
They seek professional help.
I set my game console aside with a sigh and pick up my pad. In its search field, I type PSYCHOLOGISTS.
I’m sure this process won’t be completed before I have to go back to work.
But a girl has to start somewhere.
High Crimes
Shadow Agent Chronicles Book 2
A Pax Aeterna Novel
Copyright © 2017 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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No One
Patreus III looms into view in the view screen of the small ship as I make my final approach towards the colony. Run by StarTech, the corporate colony lies at the border of both the Tyreesian space and the The Human Confederation.
“What’s your status?” says the harsh, ratty voice coming through my ship’s comms. This is all still weird for me. I’m not accustomed to working without the overbearing principles and procedures that plague the Terran Armada.
I’m still getting used to not being addressed with my designation, which I’ve shed off for the Terran Separatists. That designation only brought me pain and suffering. Working for the Armada Intelligence always made me live with a target on my back, but now I’m free.
I’m free to do as I please.
I’ve always seen the Armada Intelligence as my life. After all, I joined when I was still a kid, thanks to the Director of Operations Command who found me just after my family died. As you can imagine, growing up in the Armada was all I’ve ever known. Leaving—or rather betraying the trust reposed in me in all my years of hard work—seems like an impossible eventuality.
However, after the events on Sonali Prime, it no longer seemed impossible or unthinkable. It became a reality. Freedom. That’s how it felt like on the day I went to work with the Terran Separatists. Freedom.
Freedom.
Who would have thought that I could have a life other than what I was used to in the Armada? Especially a life that went against everything I stood for with the Armada Intelligence?
I breathe in a lungful of the cold air in the cockpit of the small FTL-capable spaceship. The beeping instruments and slight hum of the vibrating hull and sub-light drive create a background din that I’m all too accustomed to at present. I’ve been with the Terran Separatists for a while, and the Terran Armada hasn’t come looking for me. How poorly they consider their officers. Pity.
“I’m beginning my final descent into the colony,” I tell my team leader on the other side.
“Have you made contact with them yet?” comes the immediate reply.
There’s hesitancy in his voice that’s coupled with impatience—all the terrible qualities you could ever find in a non-spy who tries to do spy work.
The Terran Separatists have been so ineffectual within Terran Union space until I came along. When I joined them, their guerrilla warfare began to pay off because I brought my wealth of operational experience to the table.
I wasn’t called No One in the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command for no reason, I would tell them. When they realized the scope of my involvement in the Sonali-Earth war, the formation of the Galactic Council, and the kerfuffle on Sonali Prime that made the intergalactic headlines (crazy fucker wanting to destroy Sonali Prime and all), they immediately committed me to working with their ‘A’ team to get things done.
And get things done, we did. I’ve led them from victory to victory. From conquest to conquest, our trail was littered with the bloods and bodies of men who have chosen to serve the Armada, officers with families to go home to and mouths to feed. We killed many of those who stood in our way. I didn’t like it, but it was necessary.
Nevertheless, these guys don’t want to learn the finer details of spy work—not that I want to teach them everything. One of the greatest rules of working with a group with an institutionalized penchant for disregarding human life is to always remain relevant. Ergo, I won’t be teaching them everything.
Still, there are some things that I need them to learn for my job to be easier; to make our collective jobs easier. I hate having to come to the rescue of someone just because they were too impatient to get things right.
Patience and endurance—these are the two cardinal virtues required for a successive spy work. Not necessarily a badass fighting ability. Not even brute force. No. Patience and endurance. If you’re impatient, you’ll most likely get shot in the head or miss something you shouldn’t have missed, and get your team into trouble.
There’s a word for that. Fucked.
I know because these guys have been getting themselves into trouble over and over again. What would they do without me? Nothing. Where would they be? Fucked.
“Have you made contact?” the man asks again. This time his impatience is obvious.
“Be patient,” I speak back to the man several kilometers away beyond the radio reach of the planet’s scanners.
“I’ll make contact after re-entry. There are some worlds that do a thorough scan of your ship, especially small ones before you even get within range. This appears to be one of such worlds.”
“But how are you sure?” he asks. “I don’t need to remind you of the importance of this mission, do I?”
The man begins to speak in a chiding and patronizing tone. I wish I was close to him so I could kick him in the balls—okay, maybe I wouldn’t do that. I don’t want to blow everything up.
But I almost growl at the man’s immense stupidity.
“No, I understand perfectly,” I say. “In fact, it’s because I understand perfectly that I’m going to enter the atmosphere and wait until I’m hailed. My sensors already show that I’m being scanned.”
“Won’t they recognize the transporter signature?” asks another voice. It’s in another language that I am all too familiar with, but the onboard communications translator translates it for me to understand.
I tense up. I don’t know why, but every time I hear the Tyreesians talk, I get tensed. I have to think long and hard about what they’re saying because these bastards can be very tricky. A simple sentence can have as much as a hundred veiled meanings, each of which can be the intended meaning or even an entirely different meaning.
I’m not alone, because even my Separatists friends feel the same way.
They’re a necessary evil as long as they get what they want, which is to purge the Terran Union of its extreme preoccupation by tainting the human society with the blood of foreign species—by all and every means necessary, of course, including working with foreign species.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. I don’t think they’ve developed the technology so well. I don’t see a reason why they should be able to detect its signature.”
“Get down there fast,” the man says. “We can’t afford to delay any more.”
I feel my face frown before I interpret it as it is. Delay? If anyone has been delaying this, it’s been him all the while. Now he wants to put the blame on me?
Fucking asshole. Go suck Sonali cock.
I’ve always known that he hated my meteoric ascension through the ranks of the Terran Separatists. I’ve acquired immense importance since the day I joined them. I intend to maintain my position—by all and every means necessary, of course. Hell, how else?
‘By all and every means necessary’ is how we roll.
“Roger that,” I say. “Stand by. I’m beginning atmospheric entry.”
The atmosphere of the planet grabs my ship like a sex-starved man grabs his lover. I push the control downwards, plunging the ship into a nose-dive for the planet. Through the view screen, I see the tip of my kite-shaped vessel catch fire, which spreads after covering the entire view screen with a sun-like glare.
The screen shields compensate, reducing the amount of light that’s making its way into the cockpit. The atmosphere of the moon is thin. Seconds later, the resistance to my re-entry ceases and my ship picks up speed ground ward.
I plug in the coordinates to Star Tech’s base, which is south of my position.
“Computer, take over.”
“Complying…”
I feel the control stick jerk as it shifts into auto-pilot.
“Take me to the coordinates,” I say.
“Confirmed,” replies the computer.
Suddenly, my proximity sensors begin to beep. I glance at the dashboard, particularly at my scanner and see two fighters approaching me. I look out my view screen and then my side windows. All I see are thick dark clouds.
I am about to glance down at my scanners when I catch movement. I look again and see an armed fighter flying parallel to my ship. There’s a twin jet on my other side.
“Warning,” says the computer, “you are being targeted. Engaging evasive maneuvers.”
I hold my breath.
“Negative,” I bark. “Maintain current course and bearing.”
I know StarTech’s protocol all too well. Or at least, I think I do. It’s been a while since I’ve dealt directly with these folks.
The warning beep keeps on going for a few more seconds. Then, it ceases and the fighter jets peel off, flying away.
I exhale.
StarTech’s assessment protocol for single piloted ships has come under intense scrutiny, especially from the Terran Council. StarTech, who has spent a lot of money in terms of legal fees and lobbying, has maintained that their protocol is necessary to prevent corporate espionage.
In their opinion, someone who has something to hide, or has some nefarious purpose on one of their corporate colonies, would evade or fire upon their ships just at the sound of warning.
I don’t agree with them, but since it’s working for them, great.
“Unidentified vessel, this is security command at StarTech Beta Research Complex, come in,” says a voice through my comms.
“Go ahead, command.”
“Maintain current bearing and course and land on the landing pad,” says the command. “An officer will be there to check you out.”
“Roger that, command,” I reply. “Please confirm pad number.”
“No pad number,” replies security command with a chuckle.
“It’s the only landing pad we’ve got. As you can imagine, we’re a small base. We don’t get many visitors.”
“Roger that, command,” I say, “I’m just here to deliver my goods and I’ll be off.”
“I hear you,” he says. “Security command out.”
I decide that I like this man at security command. I hope he doesn’t have to die.
The complex is a five-story building that is shaped like a star with five tips that correspond to five quadrants. It is located on a grassy stretch of land that’s bordered about five kilometers out by barren lands. There are several outlying buildings, but none as large as the main complex.
The landing pad is right beside the complex. It’s in a fenced-in area at the west of the complex, with a path that connects it to the complex’s side entrance. On the edges of the fence are floodlights to dispel the darkness.
The computer lands the ship square in the center of the landing pad and powers down the engine.
“Unload cargo,” I command.
Thankfully, this ship is equipped with a function that allows it to unload its cargo outside it without human intervention. I don’t want the customs officer snooping around the ship and finding out something they shouldn’t find out.
“Computer, power up the transporter,” I command again.
“Powering up, transporter,” replies the computer. As the computer speaks, I see a tall man saunter into the landing pad, a security guard behind him. The guard pauses at the entryway, while the man continues towards my ship. He spots my cargo on my right and heads in that direction.
“How long?” I say.
“Five minutes before transporter can be turned on and ready to receive,” the computer replies.
“Open a channel to the team.”
The computer doesn’t respond. Instead, I hear the team leader’s voice again.
“Are you in?” he asks impatiently.
“Yes,” I reply. “Get ready. Five minutes.”
The man chuckles sinisterly. “Oh, we’ll be ready.”
I manually cut the transmission and go out of the ship. I walk down the entry ramp to where the man is examining my cargo beside my ship.
“What’s this?” he asks without giving me a look.
“Seyshallian fruit,” I reply. “I’m delivering them here.”
“Really?” he says, reaching out to physically examine the cargo.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say mildly. “These things are dangerous if you get too close. That’s why we keep them in stasis. Predatory mega flora.”
The man withdraws his hand comically, even doubling back. He glances between me and the cargo, then withdraws his tablet from his pocket to tap in some information.
“Welcome to Patreus III,” he says and walks away, the security guard following him. I watch the man saunter back and out the entry-way without giving me another look, leaving me mystified.
No One
“What a fucking lousy customs officer,” I mutter to myself.
I return to the ship.
“Computer, status on the transporter?”
“Ready to begin transport,” it replies.
“Activate transport. Destination is the landing pad.”
There is a slight hum from the Tyreesian-made transport, like a whirling blade. I walk back outside in time to see numerous shafts of light appearing all around the fenced-in landing pad. The shafts can be measured to about three yards in length and they’re hidden by the fence of the landing pad. After ten seconds, the shafts disappear, leaving a company of men with high-particle assault rifles.
I shake my head to myself. Ever since the Tyreesians developed this technology, the other powers have been trying to catch up. For almost a year.
Unsuccessfully.
This is just yet another instance of a border world that’s being subjected to a Tyreesian inspired raid using the matter transport. Only in this case, they’re using the Separatists because the Separatists are a bunch of dumb fucks. They send us in, then transport in, take what they want, and get the fuck out.
Sure, one day the Terran Union is going to figure out appropriate countermeasures.
Not today, though.
They’re all dressed in thick garb with all manner of secondary weapons attached to holsters or pouches up and down their bodies. Their clothes are themed black, brown, and red; they wear boots on their feet, and some have bandanas tied across their faces to hide their features.
There are about a total of twenty men—and yes, I’m the only woman in this mission. They aggregate themselves silently, speaking in hushed tones into two groups. The man I’ve been talking with approaches me after giving orders to the two groups of ten men.
He’s holding a heap of clothes in one hand and an assault rifle in the other. As much as I hated it, the plan I agreed to was to come to the planet without any weapons. I didn’t know how well I was going to be searched so we didn’t want to risk me coming in our full regalia with an assault rifle slung over my back.
I’m actually dressed to evoke lust, in case the line about the fruit didn’t work, because there’s nothing in that cargo that resembles a fruit.
I take the clothes and the rifle.
The man looks up and down at me with incredible vileness. He towers over me, and has an imposing figure. A scar lines his right face, wrinkled with stress and not old age.
I know that the man is barely fifty years old. He isn’t the most brilliant of fighters in the Terran Separatists. Nevertheless, what he lacks in intelligence, wit, and creativity, he more than makes up of in in his brutish nature and boundless brutality.
I return to the ship and quickly change into some new clothes. I check the charges on the weapon. It’s at maximum charge. I draw a quick breath, and then let it out slowly.
“What are you doing?” comes the familiar harsh voice.
I’m standing in the corridor, with my back to the entry ramp. I turn to see Scar Face.
“Getting in the right frame of mind is what I’m doing,” I reply, walking towards him. He leads me back on the landing pad, where the two groups of armed, deadly terrorists are lining the two sides of the entry way.
They are silent, their weapons primed. Each has their finger on the trigger and ready to execute the carefully crafted plan—a plan crafted with the help of the Tyreesians. If we follow everything in the letter, we will run this colony to the ground and take what we need in the thirty minutes that we have left…but of course, nobody knows if we have thirty minutes left.
“You’ll lead the first team to take out the security force,” he says, showing me the floor plan of the base. He points at the security complex/armory, which is on the other side of the complex.
“That’s the security building. This base has an estimated strength of seventy guards. At least fifty are stationed in the security room, while twenty are in the complex.
“Your team will take out the people in the security building, while my team will raid the complex and steal all the equipment. I’ve already briefed them. Stick to the Ty’s plan and we’ll be good.”
“Since when did we start sticking to their plans?” I whisper back to him, putting on my façade of sincerity. “Isn’t that the purpose of this movement? To purge ourselves of the scum aliens?”
The man smiles at me. I know how to pull his strings and press his buttons.
“You’re right,” he replies. “This is just a necessary evil. Once we get what we want, we’ll deal with Ty.”
“It may not be that easy,” I say. “The Tyreesians are very dangerous. They almost brought the Galactic Council to a halt.”
“Don’t worry about them,” he says. “When the time comes, we’ll figure out a way to handle them. Now are you clear on the mission?”
I nod. “Take down the security office. Give you time to get in, steal the FTL 6 data that they’re working on. Get out. Who engages first?”
“I think you should,” he says. “That way, you can draw out some of the operatives in the complex to give us more chance at success.”
“Okay,” I reply, even though it doesn’t make any sense. I’m contending with fifty trained guards and he’s contending with only twenty. We both have equal men. And he wants me to face more bogeys?
I join my team at the front by the wall. I peer out the entryway. There’s an open field between the landing pad and the complex. There aren’t any guards patrolling the grounds, so that’s an advantage to us. Why would they patrol the grounds? They are the only ones on the planet.
There aren’t any CCTV cameras as well. The security force is in the case of an invasion–ready to give the scientists here enough time to destroy their data and get the hell out of Dodge. Also to keep the peace, and prevent anarchy or insubordination, and to enforce StarTech regulations.
Hence, no patrolling guards and no cameras. This means our journey across the grounds should be hitch free, except if some motherfucker comes out to take a leak and sees us hightailing it across the night.
“I don’t see anyone,” I whisper. “Let’s move.”
“Stay on comms,” the man says to me.
I nod in response and, in a crouched position, I walk out into the open. Without looking back, I break into a slow run for the building. I only glance back once to ensure my team is following behind me.
We move in one straight line for the complex, which is alight with internal lights. There aren’t any floodlights on the grounds, except light bots that line the external walls of the complex. These bots only give off soft lights, which adds to the beauty and nature of the complex.
Once we get to the complex, my team and I break right, while the man and his team break left. I lead my team all the way around the complex until we spot the security building ahead of us. It’s a boxy three-story building that houses office spaces as well as accommodations for the operatives.
The building is almost as big as the complex, but not quite so. It’s about a hundred yards to the security building and we’re moving cautiously through the night.
Ahead, a door in the complex to our left opens and a guard comes out. I don’t pause, as I should have. Instead, I keep running until I’m within range, before leaping like a normal person should, and crashing headlong onto the guard.
I motion for my team members go past me and not wait. I hold the man down with more than the usual strength. I punch him on the face to subdue him some more before I snap his neck. I drag his body into the corner of one of the five tips on this side of the complex, where his body won’t be found for a long time.
By the time I’m done hiding his body, firefights begin all across the grounds. At first, it starts in the complex before continuing in the security building. Screams and panicked yells escape from the complex.
I break into a run towards the security building. Ahead I see a litter of bodies strewn about the main entry way. So much for stealth. The guys are already inside, but I know they don’t stand a chance. Still running, I suck in a deep breath and blink twice, activating my network of nanites. I feel a surge in my legs, but I restrain.
I pull up a heat scan of the building and identify a forward room in the last floor, where a lot of people are aggregating. I also detect a lot of signatures in the room—the armory, I conclude.
“Here we go,” I mutter, then engage full speed.
It’s like I’m shoved from behind. My speed peaks up, allowing me to cover the distance in seconds. A few yards to the building, I leap—more like shoot—into the air. I blast up to the third floor and crash through the window into the room. I land on my feet and one hand. Thirty men, my nanites show, all of whom are currently in shock at what has just happened.
I lift off into the air, rolling three times and letting loose blast after blast of my weapon. When I land on the floor again, the men are grabbing weapons from the racks on the walls and trying to fight back, but there are only twenty left. I run to the nearest cluster, then fall to my knees and slide through into their midst.
I slam my ankle into the back of one’s neck, killing him instantly, while I send my fist into another’s chest, cracking through and puncturing his heart. I pull out my bloody fingers and flick them at the eyes of the nearest soldier, who screams and goes for his eyes. I grab him and use his body as a shield, while I spray the remaining soldiers on my side of the armory with blaster fire. They all fall dead.
There are five reaming on the opposite side of the armory. I pull out a grenade from the one I’m holding in a tight fist and lob it over to the five. Before it lands, and while they’re still tracing its trajectory, I pull up my rifle and fire.
It explodes over their heads disintegrating them.
I snap the neck of the one I’m holding. He falls to the ground, dead.
Thirty dead.
I hear a sound behind me and immediately swivel on my heels, bringing up my gun to shoot. The man raises his hand in surrender.
I exhale softly, cursing.
“I could have shot you,” I say to the man, who’s on my team.
“I just got word from team leader,” he says. “Terran Patrol is coming. They’ll enter the system shortly. We don’t have time to steal the data. We need to leave.”
I nod.
I blink twice to deactivate my nanites and following the man back outside. We meet up with the team leader’s team on the grounds.
“How did they know we’re here?” I ask.
The man shrugs. He keeps silent. I look at the other men. They were able to get some equipment out, but it’s far less than what we expected.
We make it back to the ship and lift off in time. We are shooting out of the atmosphere when, at the same time, three Armada heavy cruisers drop out of FTL space. Before they can begin firing, we engage our FTL drive and slip into the safety of interstellar space.
No One
We pop back into normal space twenty minutes later at the outer edge of a neighboring system in Tyreesian space, where a Tyreesian war ship is waiting. The large vessel is shaped like a bullet with wings. One end houses the control center, while the other end houses the engines, the thrusters, and the FTL and sub light drives.
As we make our approach to the thirteenth deck of the behemoth of a ship where we are to be received into shuttle deck number ten, I wonder why the Tyreesians make such powerful vessels. They are so cunningly twisted that they can probably win a fight against three Mariner class cruisers (the most powerful arsenal in the Terran Armada) with a frigate. Yes, they’re that smart.
“Tyreesian vessel, this is the away team,” the team leader says in the co-pilot’s seat beside me, interrupting my train of thought. “We are approaching.”
“Proceed with approach,” replies the Tyreesian in charge of the comms.
I take one good look at the vessel again and think, so why build such massive ships?
I realize a fundamental problem the Terrans have faced since our first contact with an intelligent species. We’ve always been overpowered and overwhelmed. First, it was the Sonali, whose ships were so large we couldn’t even comprehend how such things could be capable of traveling at a speed faster than light. I mean, those guys’ ships ran for as long as five hundred yards, which at the time was a technological wonder.
At the start of the Earth-Sonali war, it took about three to five ships to destroy a Sonali cruiser. And about ten to twenty to bring down a dreadnought (thank God they only built a few of those fuckers). Sure, there were a few exceptions, but more often than not the Sonali were too much for anyone to handle. They were a big leap ahead when it comes to upgrades on equipment and ships.
Terrans were dying all across the galaxy, from Sarelia II to New Sydney. I led the team tasked with obtaining Sonali technology to be studied, reversed engineers, and applied to our ship design process with expediency.
Once, I recruited a space pirate to help me destroy a Sonali cruiser that had laid siege to a planet. The space pirate succeeded in getting a bomb aboard the ship, which led to its destruction. After sending the pirate off on his way, my crew swept in to salvage all we could. There were many more missions like that, and all the while corporations suspiciously seemed to become very productive and very profitable.
The space pirate brings a smile to my face. Jeremy and I had a deal and I need to find him. It’s been too long since he held me.
Of course, my contributions during the war went unnoticed by the greater Terran Union. All I got was a commendation, secretly awarded by the Council of Admirals at Operations Command. After the award was handed over to me, it was then taken back and kept in a vault classified above top secret.
Many people see Captain Jeryl Montgomery as the one who ended the war. They don’t know that if I hadn’t done all I did behind the scenes, Captain Jeryl Montgomery would long since have perished and the Terran Union would be under Sonali rule. Earth would probably have been glassed. And there would be no Galactic Council.
Then came the Omarian Gambit the Tyreesians had played during the formation of the Galactic Council. When the ship appeared out of its hiding place behind the sun of that Nova Corporation colony, Jeryl Montgomery, who was then a Vice Admiral and was commanding The Seeker alongside Ashley Gavin, the Captain of the ship that time, had to fire a proton bomb into the sun to cause a mini thermonuclear explosion that incinerated the ship. That’s when the Galactic Council was started.
Of course, they paid him by demoting him from Vice Admiral back to Captain. Before I left, I even got whiff of another ploy that was brewing to take him down for good. Those fuckers back at Armada Command seem to wallow in their own stupidity.
I heave a sigh. It feels good to be outside the Armada. No oversight. Nothing to worry about. No reports to file. No one to suck up to. I hated doing all those things—but it was a necessary part of my job.
Well, not anymore. I’m free.
I guide the ship through the shielded open entryway into the wide bay of the shuttle deck. We land safely and I power down the ship.
“We’re in trouble,” the team leader says, pulling off his mask. “We’re so in trouble.”
I shrug.
“We’re the ones running this op, sir,” I say. “Yeah, we may not have gotten everything out, but this is our show. The Tyreesians are only helping.”
“Do you seriously believe that?” He asks.
No, I don’t. But I don’t say it.
“These are Tyreesians we’re dealing with,” he says. “Their backup plans have back up plans of their own.”
And he walks out.
I almost admire the Tyreesians. I mean, I can be crafty sometimes. I can be cunning. In fact, being crafty and cunning is part of a normal day in being a spy. However, there’s a limit to how crafty and cunning one might be before it becomes a chronic psychological problem. It becomes an obsession.
The Tyreesians aren’t just past the limit, they are light years in excess. I wonder why they haven’t all gone mad because of this. Maybe it has something to do with their larger brain size than ours. Maybe they have higher brain power. That would explain how they’re able to build such great ships and the matter transport technology.
I follow the team leader out of the ship into the shuttle bay. Our men are milling around the ship, their guns slung on their backs. I count. There are about nine of us.
A few engineers enter the ship to check out the transport technology that was installed recently, while others go about the ship, performing checks.
The transport needs two platforms. One for sending. Another for receiving.
The shuttle bay is really large, like a small corvette may fit into this place. There are stacks of equipment on both sides of the bay, while ahead is a raised platform, where the exit and entrance into the bay is, and a ramp that leads up to the platform.
The entry way opens and a couple of Tyreesians walk in. They are all holding assault rifles, which makes me stiffen. I feel the urge to go for my gun, but I bite down on it. The last person to enter isn’t crating any rifle. And he’s dressed in white—immaculate white that glares under the harsh white overhead light.
“You blew it!” he roars as he makes his way down.
The team leader and I make our way through the retreating men until we are standing between them and the ranting Tyreesian.
He’s short before us, at only four feet tall. His silky skin glints as he gesticulates in anger. They might be small, but Tyreesians are thick and have a sturdy build, hence they are averagely powerful. Tyreesians have slits for eyes and ears, and a third eye on their forehead that is perpetually closed.
I heard that the third eye opens only at the point of death. The Tyreesians are a little guarded about that matter, so very little is known about it. It’s supposed to give them sight into the immaterial realm, to see thoughts, feelings, or to possibly peer into the future.
“Why did you blow up your chance?” he yells again, his gaze shifting from me to the team leader. “We put so much into this and you humans go and spoil it. The Terran Union is going to develop FTL 6 technology and it will make our matter transport look like a child’s toy! The balance of power in the galaxy will shift ever in your species’ favor, human!”
He calls humans like he’s calling ‘vermin’. I almost recoil at the voluminous amount of hatred that he spouts.
I look ahead. The rifle-totting Tyreesians on the platform are standing in a line, as if in a firing squad. I wonder if this is it.
I look over my right shoulder to a man that’s hanging on the edge of the milling terrorists. He meets my gaze. We don’t speak or make any motion, our eyes only connect, yet volumes are communicated.
I glance back at the ranting Tyreesian.
“Look, Commander, it wasn’t our fault.”
I’m forceful in my words, doing my best to create and channel anger into them.
“What do you mean?” he blasts back. “Half of your men are gone. You did not even get the equipment we were hoping for. You were almost caught by the damn Armada, yet you had all the time. You had the element of surprise. You had more men than you needed. You had our superior weapons and our transport technology.”
He waits for me to explain, but I remain quiet. How can I explain, when the evidence against me is overwhelming?
He’s about to continue his tirade, when I begin to think of something.
“Look, we didn’t plan for the Armada to show up,” someone says from behind. It’s the man I was looking at earlier. He leaves his position at the edge and comes to my side.
“And who are you?” the Tyreesian commander asks.
“I’m Zhang, Commander,” he replies. “I went with the team. Anyways, the alarm went off so soon I think the ship triggered something while it was landing that alerted the Terran Armada. By the time we were just starting to take up the equipment, Armada heavy cruisers dropped into the system unannounced.”
I jump in, “Right, the good news is that we have caused StarTech so much loss with what we took. They’ll have to reassess the cost of running that colony now, and I think they’ll pull out when they realize the cost.”
The Tyreesian seems pacified. “You know that StarTech is working on this world as a subcontractor to the Terran Armada on mining rare metals for the FTL 6 drive. I hope for your sakes you are right and the corporation pulls out. If it does not, you are the ones who will suffer.” he says.
Without another word, he turns and leaves the shuttle bay, his squad following him out.
No One
“Well, that was intense,” I say with a smile. My face and chest are both balmy and it isn’t because of the thick layers of cloth I’m wearing. It’s because we may have come too close to fighting with our Tyreesian friends.
I would have had to engage my nanites openly—which I’m not ready for these guys to know about. They’d prefer me as a lab guinea pig than as an asset they can use on the field.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Zhang says, his hands on his hip and panting loudly.
The team leader doesn’t turn away from the open entry way for a while. I glance at him.
“Boss,” I say, “is everything all right?”
He doesn’t reply.
“Boss?” Zhang says.
I hope he doesn’t order that we take the ship. You may think that only someone that has gone bananas would give such foolish orders. Well, that’s our team leader. I have listened to him give more useless orders than the one I suspect he wants to give.
Another part of his character that knows no bound aside from his brutality is his anger. The guy can hold a grudge like his life depended on it.
I step into his front, pulling his eye-sight. In my periphery, I can see Zhang tense. I have to keep this team together and in the Tyreesians’ good favor, otherwise my coming here would be in vain. All those lives lost would be in vain.
“Boss, we still got work to do here,” I say. “We can’t go making trouble with the Tyreesians.”
There is a jerk that heralds the FTL drives coming online. The shuttle bay door slides down and clamps shut. Then the vessel vibrates and we enter into FTL space.
“We need to remain calm,” I say. I almost lay a calming palm on his shoulder, but I stop in midair when his gaze turns brutish.
I take a step back, though I don’t fall into a defensive stance because I know that’s just going to get him all riled up.
“You don’t have to fucking explain to me all that,” the man says. “I know perfectly well. But these guys need to be taught that the agenda that’s important right now is our agenda, nothing else.”
Oh, it may seem as though they are pushing our agenda, but the Tyreesian agenda is what’s being pushed. I don’t say this, but I know it for a fact. When dealing with a Tyreesian, you just have to make do with what you get. Work with them and hope that their own surreptitious agenda doesn’t get in the way of yours.
“Yes, boss,” I say. “Now isn’t the time. Maybe when we rejoin our brothers and we’re more than eleven tired people?”
He nods. “You’re right.”
He turns to address the others. Zhang comes to join me behind the team leader, but I motion for him to remain where he is. By coming to my aid and answering the Tyreesian commander, it already looks suspicious. I don’t want it to be too obvious that I have developed some sort of connection with him.
“We lost good people today,” he says to the men, his expression forlorn. “But this is for the greater good. This is for our cause. And where we lost one, the unholy Union will lose one hundred times more.”
The men mumble their agreements. Some remain quiet. Frankly, I don’t think they’re interested in any pep talk at the moment. They just want to rest up and maybe get some sleep. They aren’t in the mood to be talked up. But trust the team leader to be inappropriate and insensitive to the obvious plight of his people.
“The Tyreesians may not see this as a victory,” he continues, “but I tell you, we are not here for the Tyreesians.”
I look around. The engineers around aren’t paying us any heed.
“They are here for us,” the team leader cries on. “And I say we were victorious. Our brothers did not die in vain. Yet, we will avenge them with the fury of a hellish beast.”
He pumps his fist into the air.
I look at him, aghast. What the fuck? Really? Hellish beast?
I throw a questioning glance at Zhang. He shrugs. The men don’t respond like they’ve actually been inspired. They mumble and some just nod.
The man puts his hand down and says, “Alright. Get some rest. I’ll let you know when we are assembling.”
The men disperse out of the shuttle bay quickly.
Zhang comes to my side and whispers, “Was he shooting for funny?”
I chuckle, which draws the team leader’s attention to me. I wipe the smile off my face. The man looks from me to Zhang and back to me.
“Isn’t he too short for you?” The team leader asks.
At first I don’t understand what he means. Then when I look at the lustful way he looks at me, his eyes devouring my slender body and ample chest, it dawns on me. I’ve never been one to shy away from my…physical and sensual attributes. If anything, I use them to my advantage every single time it presents itself to be used in such a way.
I cling onto Zhang and I see the greed and anger explode in the man’s eyes.
“He may be short, but he’s tall down where it matters,” I reply to the man.
His response is immediate and instinctual. His eyes flicks down to Zhang’s pants and then comes back up. He’s embarrassed by what he just did that he walks away from us.
I chuckle again. “I think he was shooting for inspirational. Come on, let’s go to my quarters.”
We leave the shuttle bay and head for the nearest elevator. The corridors are dingier and more Spartan than what we have on any Armada vessel. Armada vessels are well lit and paneled with a beautiful, attractive material.
Once in the elevator, Zhang says, “Do you really think I’m tall down where it matters?”
I burst out in laughter.
“Really?” I glance at him.
He looks away, smiling.
“You tell me. You know what it was like hearing you say that? I felt like I’d won the lottery or something.”
“Yeah, well, if it makes you feel good, I’ll say it every time,” I say, rolling my eyes. Zhang and I haven’t actually fucked. But it keeps the attention off of me from the rest of the crew.
We get to my quarters, which is the tenth from the elevator. We are in the officers’ quarters’ deck, where even the ship commander has his quarters. As a show of good faith that we are equals in this partnership, the commander had allowed the team leader and me to have large quarters in this deck. The rest, including Zhang, stayed in the lower decks, where most of the crew members of this ship have smaller quarters.
Once we arrive in the quarters, I lock it. Then I retrieve a small bag from underneath my bunk bed and pull out a black cube the size of two fists. I press the power button, and it blinks blue twice before turning a deep red. No one can listen in now.
I look up at Zhang. “We can talk freely now.”
Zhang remains standing, while I sit on the bed, beside the cube.
“Did you use your nanites during the mission?” he asks.
“I didn’t realize that was the question you’ve been itching to ask me since we returned from the colony,” I reply.
He shrugs.
“I didn’t want to be too direct and I didn’t want you to accuse me of having a holier than thou attitude."
“Yes, I used my nanites,” I reply. “It’s how I was able to take out twenty security operatives.”
“Twenty?” he exclaimed. His eyes bulge out in shock.
“I had to,” I say.
“If I didn’t, they would have killed me. Look, I can’t take the chance of having to knock them out, when they are out to kill me with weapons. I can’t continually do this without my team beginning to suspect that I haven’t really cut ties with the Armada.”
“Still, isn’t this too much of a price to pay?” Zhang asks. “I’m not comfortable with this, No One. We are going too far. These are our guys for god’s sake. How can we look at the director in the eye when we finally report in?”
“I don’t really think about that when I’m out in the field trying to stay alive,” I say. “Look, we’ve come so far to be deterred by emotions...”
“Emotions?” he claps back. “You’re killing innocent people and you’re saying I’m being emotional?”
I calm down.
“I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Then how did you mean it?” he says, cutting me off again.
I stand to my feet, rising several inches above the smaller man.
“No one understands that more than I do,” I say.
“But you have to understand that a few casualties, while regrettable, are sacrifices that have to be made for the greater good. Our overall mission of recovering the secret to the Tyreesians’ teleportation technology is paramount.”
“It’s been a year since the faceoff between the Tyreesians and The Seeker. The Armada is fast-tracking weapons and defensive development to match the Tyreesians in the eventuality of an all-out conflict. The same thing is happening with other Galactic Powers. But we all have been unsuccessful at cracking the final components of the matter transport devices that the Tyreesians are using to wreak havoc, like they have on Patreus III.”
I pause for a few moments to ensure Zhang is following me. Then, I continue.
“Even if the Armada closes the gap soon, resources are spread too thin to focus on the matter transport at the same time. So we in Armada Intelligence need to help in any way we can.”
I’m done, so I sit back down and wait for Zhang’s response. He sighs aloud and looks up at the ceiling for a moment.
“I don’t like it, but I agree it’s necessary,” Zhang says. “I also realize that it’s important to maintain our cover. I just hope this gets over soon so we can stop killing our own people.”
When I was called upon to infiltrate the Separatists’ ranks, I knew I would have to make sacrifices. I just didn’t know my fellow undercover agent would question my every move.
“We are not Separatists,” I say to Zhang, “I know that very well. We are Armada Intelligence Operatives who have been sent to infiltrate them. But, if this is going to work, we better behave and act like them, otherwise we’d have lost even before we get close enough to our prize.”
Zhang looks at me again.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you didn’t care about the people you kill.”
“I don’t have to care or not care, Agent Zhang,” I quip back. “I just have to do my damn job. This is bigger than me. This is for the Terran Armada. And the future of the Terran Union.”
Zhang
“Of course, and that goes the same for me” I say, “but you don’t see me being comfortable going on a killing spree.”
I really disagree with No One. I mean, she killed twenty StarTech soldiers. That’s absurd, and no mission—or technology is worth that price. If she killed so many in this mission, how many more will she have to kill in the future?
That’s not even what mainly bothers me. It’s the fact that she doesn’t seem to care that she kills the people we took a vow to defend without scruples.
There is a very thin line between what’s good and what’s amoral, and No One is threading a little too close to the latter aspect. I believe that there are times a man has to kill another man. Nevertheless, when you have to kill and not feel sorry or some form of remorse or even second guess your decision to kill, then that’s a serious problem.
Imagine littering the ground with bodies of twenty fine men and women with families, whose only crime was to fight for a corporation in the Terran Union, whom we’re goddamn affiliated to. This is outrageous! The Terran Council Committee on Black Ops of the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command will not look the other way.
We may succeed in this covert mission, but I’m sure that our actions will come to bite us in the ass one day. Oh, they will. Our superiors may overlook it at the moment, we may brush it aside, but someday, when our missions are being reviewed, we will have to answer for the things we did in the name of peace, prosperity and the Terran Union.
“Zhang, you misunderstand my expressions from what I feel on the inside,” No One replies.
She’s relaxed on her bed, her jet-black hair streaming down to her shoulders. Her cleavage shoots out even in the thick clothing of black and red. I’ve been attracted to her from the start, like any other man would be. Her legs are crossed before her, and her palms against the sheets of the bed.
“We are spies,” she says, now speaking in a patronizing tone, like I don’t know this fact. “You have to learn that even with you, even though we’re working together on this case, I won’t let the contents of my heart reflect on my face.
“I won’t show emotions, regardless of who you are. I put on my poker face on and off the field. It’s how I got so good. You know, some agents only practice their craft on the field. They don’t when they are off the field. That’s why a lot of them end up dead.”
“So, you’re saying that you feel bad about what you did but you are just not good at showing it?” I say, trying to understand her drift.
And yes, I’m one of those agents who leave spy craft for the field and out of my personal life. I may not be as good or laureled and awarded as the legendary No One, still I am good and I like where I am. We can’t all be the best, can we?
“No,” she replies with an exasperated voice. “I’m not bad at showing it. I’m just not showing it.”
“So, you do feel some form of sadness for butchering those officers?”
She flashes me a dismayed look.
“What do you think I am? A psychotic gun-toting bitch with no control and heart?”
Well…yes?
I don’t say it. I don’t want to be kicked out of the force yet.
Her eyes widen with realization. She must have read the expression on my face and may have deduced my thoughts.
“I’m not a dispassionate, gun-toting bitch, Zhang,” she says. “I do have a heart. And I feel very sorry for those agents I had to kill. But I had to do it. We’re just going to take it as one of the losses we endure for the greater good. And when I appear before a Council subcommittee, I will answer for it. For now, I have a job to do and I intend on doing it.”
Even if it means killing more innocent humans? I don’t ask. I’m actually exhausted by this conversation. What am I trying to achieve with this, anyway?
“Are you convinced now?” she asks.
“Convinced of what?” I return.
“Convinced about me?” she asks, and I almost think she’s making an overture at me. I’ve never really thought of No One as anything more than my senior and a superior intelligence operative. But now that I look at her on the bed, I begin to realize for the millionth time just how fucking hot she is.
I hold back my breath as I become self-conscious.
“About…you?” I ask, hoping that it is what I want it to be.
She smiles. “That I’m not dispassionate…”
“Oh,” I reply with an arched eyebrow. Bummer!
“Yeah, sure. I’m convinced.”
Of course I’m still not convinced. Still, I look at No One as if I am. If I don’t, it’s just going to get me in trouble with her, and she’s my commanding officer in the Armada Intelligence.
No One is known to be cruel and clinically efficient in the way she handles her informants and recruits. It’s been part of her since she was recruited by Admiral Shane at Operations Command, whose early records are littered with questionable actions. His actions yielded great results, but they were questionable nonetheless.
Trying to change No One’s actions or trying to get her to see the errors of her ways would be as hard as trying to move a starship that is grounded on a planet with your bare hands. It’s completely impossible.
To be sure, I admire No One. When I received the message that I was going to be working with her on this case, I was ecstatic.
I’ve followed her for quite some time. Now, getting to work with her is a great boost to my career. I’m sure that after this mission, I’ll become a station chief on one of the most prestigious colony worlds or maybe get bumped to Captain and lead one of the new Armada Intelligence starships with hundreds of intelligence operatives onboard. That is my dream posting, and I’m sure to get it after all this.
I hear a beep. I roll up my sleeve. The wrist device, which Armada Intelligence gave to me, has turned from a standby red to green. It usually does that when there’s an incoming message. I operate the wrist and realize that there’s no message. That only means one thing—Operations Command wants to talk.
I look up at No One, but she’s already ahead of me. She picks up her box and activates the jamming signal. This will prevent the onboard communications officer from picking the signal that comes into and goes out of this room. It essentially creates a black well in this room—nothing will show up on the onboard communications console. That is, if they are actively looking for something.
I tap in the secret code and the wrist device sends a coded message to Operations command via slipstream, telling them that we’re ready to talk. Less than a minute later, the wrist device broadcasts a holographic image into the air.
I snap to attention as the three feet image of Admiral Shane appears before me. No One doesn’t do such a thing.
“At ease, Zhang,” he says. “No One.”
“Shane,” No One replies.
“Okay,” Admiral Shane says. “You are still aboard that Tyreesian vessel, correct?
“Yes, sir,” No One replies. “Same warship. We jumped the moment we left the Patreus system. I don’t know what our current bearing is. We may be heading towards Tyreesian space or somewhere else to foment trouble.”
“Anyways, the reason I asked is I have new orders for you,” he says.
“Go ahead, sir,” I say.
“I need you to extract a Tyreesian defector,” he says. “It’s a Tyreesian scientist who will be part of a diplomatic attachment addressing a summit between The Human Confederation, The Tyreesian Collective, the Kurta Colonies, and the Terran Union in Perseus.”
“Perseus?” I ask, racking my brain. “Where’s that?”
No One is the one who answers.
“Perseus is a remote and pastoral farm planet near the border of these four powers.”
I don’t know if it’s her nanites enhancement that enables her to remember such details or if she just looked up some Armada secure files. It’s against protocol to do so in a different territory, such as where we are, but it’s No One. She gets by with virtually everything.
“Yes,” Admiral Shane says. “The Terran Union is trying to pursue a dialog in this volatile region of space in hopes of greater harmony, technology transfer, and agreements to build technology together to get the missing links in building our own matter transport device. The Tyreesians are running holy fucking havoc on the border outposts with their matter transport technology. So we’re holding a summit and involving the Human Confederation as a way of talking about potential assistance in FTL 6 from us for matter transport for them. They’re also sending some military liaisons to talk to us. We’re hoping that with diplomacy we can shave off at least a year in research. As a backup plan, in case that doesn’t work, we need to help the defector escape.
“In fact, this entire summit has been planned with this defection in mind. The defector has done her part to attach herself to the delegation. Now, we must do our part to get her into Terran Union custody without arousing suspicion.”
“So, is our initial plan to get the teleporter still on?” No One asks.
“Yes,” he replies. “Actually, both missions are critical to our plan of getting the technology, so they must run concurrently. I’ll leave the details up to you. But we need both the actual teleporter devices as well as the scientist to ensure that we have everything needed to produce our own teleporters. No teleporter and no scientist will set us back right where we’re at—which is nowhere.”
A knock comes at the door.
“We gotta go, sir,” No One says.
Admiral Shane nods. “Get the job done, and then you can come home.”
Another knock.
“Roger that, sir,” I say, then cut the signal.
No One grabs the black cube. After deactivating it, she shoves it under her bed, while I go get the door.
Standing in the doorway is the team leader who clearly doesn’t look happy.
No One
“What are you two doing?” the team leader asks, pushing his way past Zhang into the room. He looks around, then stops at the center.
Zhang walks over to me with a smile on his face and kisses me on the lips, lightly yet passionately. My whole body comes alive, tingling. My eyes are still closed when his delightful lips pull away from mine. Somehow, I don’t want it to end.
In fact, I want to remain with my eyes closed, but I know I have to keep up appearances. I open up my eyes with a smile. I lick my lips and use my eyes to travel up and down the team leader. He leers at me. I know he wants me and I bat my eyes in an enticing fashion. Not even the Trinidek Red Light pleasure girls can tempt as good as me.
Zhang pulls me to himself, his right hand across my shoulder.
“Any more questions?” I ask the man, my voice filled with sarcasm.
The team leader’s face descends into anger. He glances between Zhang and me. Then he frowns.
“Do you two have no fucking decency?” he asks.
“How does that concern you?” Zhang replies.
I pinch him from behind, but it’s too late. He’s already speaking. Shit. Now he’s going to invite a shitload of questions and possible suspicions. Not suspicions about our link to Armada Intelligence—these guys are too daft to make a connection to that—but suspicions, nonetheless.
And suspicions of any kind are detrimental to every covert, undercover work. I would know. I’ve been doing this for a long time now.
The man takes a few step towards us. He doesn’t stop until he is within arm’s reach. The man is huge, way bigger than both of us. His buff hands are folded across his barrel chest. His visage is still marred by anger and it’s as though the scar lights up.
The next time he speaks, it feels like sharp metal grating another sharp metal.
“It concerns me because you guys are members of this crew. And if you guys are members of this crew, then you guys report to me. And if you guys report to me, I can’t have you questioning my orders if the other person is in danger.”
I sense that Zhang wants to spit off a reply. I poke him from behind. I know his response would be half-baked as he’d be trying to find a remedy for the situation he’s put us into. The best thing would be to keep quiet and think through first–for him, of course.
For me, I know the perfect response.
“Yes, sir. You’re absolutely right.”
Then I keep shut.
The man holds our gaze. I can see he has many more questions to ask us about our “relationship”, so I just answer them for him.
I pull out myself from Zhang’s embrace.
“Look, Zhang and I won’t let some off-mission fucking get in the way of anything. A girl has needs and when a girl wants those needs fulfilled, a girl goes to a boy.”
I motion to Zhang, while smiling at my wittiness.
“That’s all?” the man asks, hope glinting off his eye.
I smile at him suggestively. Anything to get the fucker off us.
“Of course. I mean, it doesn’t always have to be him…”
The man draws up to his full length.
“I can invite more than one man to my bed, or choose another entirely,” I purr. I see his pants bulge at the thought.
Good. I want him to think about me like that. It keeps him from thinking about any potential inconsistencies.
“Whatever,” the team leader says with a growl, trying to suppress his desire. “We’re being summoned by the Tys. Meet me in the CNC. We’re using the war room.”
“Roger that, sir.” I wink.
The man leaves the room, throwing one last shady glance at Zhang’s way.
“That was intense.” Zhang says, once we’re all alone again.
I smile at him, remembering the kiss.
“Yeah, you can say that.”
I retrieve the cube from beneath the bed and return it to the bag, where it’s secure. No one should be able to break into my bag without my permission. Otherwise, it’ll self-destruct, consuming everything within in laser fire.
“Wait for me outside,” I tell him. “I want to get off of this outrageous outfit.”
Zhang leaves the room. I change into a black tight pants and a black vest. I grab my leather jacket and throw it over my body, zipping it up to my neck. The jacket hugs my body very well. Just the way I like it.
I grab my utility belt, holstering a laser blade on my left and a blaster on my right.
When I join Zhang outside, he whistles.
I laugh. “What?”
“Are you planning on killing anyone?”
“Not if they plan on killing me,” I reply.
We find the elevator that takes us straight into the CNC. When we get there, a Tyreesian pulls away from his station and leads us into a small corridor to the side, which deposits us in front of a small doorway.
“They’re in there, Terran schtika,” the Tyreesian says using a native slur and returns to the Control Center.
I look at Zhang. He shrugs.
We both enter the war room.
I’m taken by the magnitude of the place. It’s twice the size of a Terran CNC, with an elevated battle console that’s about ten yards across. The battle console projects up into the air, filling a large section of the room with a galactic map. It’s almost beautiful.
The team leader and the remaining nine of us are already in the war room. There are about five high-ranking Tyreesians in the room, including the commander. The commander is on the other side of the war room, talking on the phone with someone who’s on the Tyreesian home world, probably his admiral or some other superior officer, whatever the chain of command is in the Tyreesian Collective.
Zhang ambles to where the other nine were in a knot, while I march up to the team leader.
“Nice of you to join us,” he mumbles, keeping his gaze on the battle console. He and I are on the elevated platform, while Zhang and the rest are down behind us. On the other side, the commander takes his place on the platform, while two other Tyreesians join him.
“What’s the mission?” the team leader asks.
The commander converses with his two lieutenants for a while, before looking up to us.
“We have a new mission for you.”
Then he pauses.
No kidding, I thought. In these meetings, I prefer to allow the team leader to actually take the lead.
“Yes, that’s what you said,” the team leader says.
The Commander continues, “No doubt, you’ve heard of the Four Powers summit. If not, you soon will. What you don’t know is that the Terran Union is using that planet of that summit to develop FTL 6. Patreus II only supplied a portion of the data. They are doing the main research on this planet.”
My interest is automatically piqued. I got whiff of such research, but I never really did seek out more information. Not that I couldn’t. It’s just that I don’t bother myself with what the Armada Science is currently researching on. What I’m more interested in is what they’ve been able to create.
“As you may or may not know,” the lieutenant to the right of the commander speaks up. “All known races currently have the same capability when it comes to faster than light travel. Though we have different names for our drives, our speed capability ends at FTL 5. We believe that the Armada is very close to achieving FTL 6 and we believe that this research is being conducted on this planet we are sending you to.”
I’m about to ask a question when the other lieutenant, the one on the left of the commander, begins to speak.
“Since we couldn’t steal the data, then destroying this will be a great boost to us and to your Separatist movement. We will be providing the bomb that you will plant to stop the progress on the upgrades. This bomb is relatively minor and localized, but we need you to attach it to a power conduit in the Terran Union building that the summit is being held at because that’s where the researchers and main offices of FTL 6 development will be. Once tied to a power source, the bomb increases in power exponentially and will destroy the entire Terran Union building. Also, doing this at such a time when there is a summit being held will cause the talks between the Terran Union, the Kurta and The Human Confederation to fail. This will be greatly to your advantage.”
And to yours, I think. Such an action by the Separatists will not only disrupt the talks or the summit. It will lead to war if Earth sees the influence of the Outer Colonies. A direct attack on an Armada or Union installation is an act of war—the kind that can’t be overlooked.
It has become obvious to me now that the Tyreesians want war between the Outer Colonies and Earth, which I suppose will draw them more into the Tyreesian orbit. How ingenious! This summit would have been a veritable ground to establish a cooperative agreement. Instead, it may be a prelude to another war
Bastards, I mutter. Talk about corrupting good intentions.
The Tyreesians are not Sonali. If they come to the defense of the Outer Colonies, this could be a much bigger blood bath.
“As long as the Terran Union suffers from this, we’ll plant the bomb,” the team leader says. “What is that planet again? I’ve never heard of this summit.”
The commander taps a button on the ledge of the battle console and the projection of the galaxy in the air zooms into a portion of the border between the Terran Union and The Human Confederation.
As soon as I see the small farming planet, my heart skips a beat. I need to pretend this is new info despite everything I know.
“The planet is Perseus,” the commander says. “Also, you must know that at this summit that representatives from the Tyreesian Collective and the Kurta Colonies are going to be present.”
“Wait, what?” the team leader says. “You want us to bomb your own people, too?”
The commander says, “Will that be a problem for you?”
He shrugs. “If that’s what you want, no problem.”
I want to turn to Zhang to see what he’s thinking. I hold myself in.
“One more thing,” the commander says. “Our intelligence service has received information that one of the Tyreesian delegates intends to defect to the Terran Union. We don’t know who. But we know that Terran Armada Intelligence is going to try to help them. Watch out for this defector and take him or her out.”
As soon as he’s done talking, I feel a cold terror slide down my throat. If these guys know of the defector, then our intelligence instrument is compromised. There’s a spy in the Armada Intelligence.
The commander dismisses us. The team leader and I hang back to discuss the finer details of the mission. Even though I’m following the planning of the mission, in the darker part of my mind, I conclude that my actual mission is three-fold.
One, to obtain the teleporter and the defector.
Two, to plant the bomb.
Three, to find that fucking mole and take him out.
No One
The next day, the warship drops out of FTL space about half a day outside of Perseus. While the warship has been sent by the Tyreesian government as part of the diplomatic convoy along with half a dozen other ships and soldiers carrying the Tyreesian flag, the captain doesn’t want to risk the chance of the Terran Armada discovering our true mission. He tells us that, according to Tyreesian delegates already on ground in Perseus, the entire place is crawling with Marines and Armada officials.
There’s a hovering spaceport around the planet, where all vessels must present themselves for checking before being allowed to land in the main ports on the ground.
“That’s a lot of security for some blasted summit involving aliens on a fucking farming world,” the team leader said afterwards, when we were going through the final details of our plan.
I reply to him. “Don’t forget, this planet isn’t just a farming colony. It’s actually the base of a high-level Armada research facility. And if they’re researching about FTL 6, then you better be sure that there will be serious security there, both on land and in space.”
“How can you be certain?” he asks.
“Because I’ve worked for the Armada before,” I reply. “I know how they work. I know how they function. I don’t think they’ve changed much since I abandoned them.”
He then sighs.
“So, we're basically going against a fortress?”
I don’t answer that question.
Now, I’m in the shuttle deck, where another small corvette is waiting for us. I’m the first to arrive, while a few of the men arrive later. They are dressed to the teeth with all sorts of weapons. Zhang comes in next, after which the team leader. They are all equipped and ready.
The team leader points to Zhang. “You.”
Zhang looks up and stiffens.
“You will be piloting the ship.”
“Ok, sir,” Zhang replies.
The team leader addresses us.
“This mission is going to be very dangerous. Stay sharp and shoot straight.”
He pauses. “Let’s go do this.”
Zhang leads the way into the corvette. It’s the same corvette we used at Patreus III, only the Tyreesians have changed almost everything. The color, the signal sign, the model number and everything that can electronically tie us to what people are calling the massacre of Patreus III. Yes, we have become the most wanted galactic terrorists in the entire Terran Union.
Zhang, the team leader, and I take up positions in the cockpit, with Zhang taking the pilot seat. The rest of the team strap in, in the small den outside the cockpit.
I lean forward and say, “Boss, I have a bad feeling about this mission.”
“Why?” he replies. “You helped plan it.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t plan on using the same ship that’s tied to our work in Patreus III,” I say.
Zhang fires up the engines, and the vessel trembles alive. He begins his preflight check, communicating with the warship’s communications and navigations officer and downloading required data for the trip.
“They cleaned up the ship,” he replies, “at least that’s what they say. Zhang, can you confirm that this is in fact a different ship from what we used the last time…electronically?”
Zhang mutes the comm and says, “It’s different.”
Then he returns to the comms.
The team leader looks at me.
“I know it’s different,” I say, “but it’s the same frame of vessel. It’s the same class of vehicle. Those security officers will definitely take a liking to us because they know that everything we’ve done to this vessel can be done. They may not want to discount the possibility, considering the fact that this is an inter-species summit.”
“We have no other choice,” he says. “It’s either this or we don’t go at all. We didn’t have time to refit the matter transport platform onto another vessel.”
I shrug.
“I just don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it,” the team leader replies with a finality in his voice. “You just have to get it done.”
I lean back into my seat.
Zhang says, “We’ve gotten permission to take off.”
At that moment, two things happen. The door of the shuttle bay begins to open and the vessel lifts off into the air. There is a containment shield at the exit way into space that prevents the vacuum from sucking out all the air in the shuttle bay.
Zhang guided the corvette out. The moment we go outside, he engages the FTL drive and we vanish into space. We spend the most part of the twelve hours we have poring over our plans. We weren’t able to get a detailed floor plan of the facility in the planet, so we were basically planning for eventualities rather than working on a particular plan.
The Tyreesians had provided us with the bomb. It’s shaped like a cylinder and is roughly two feet from end to end.
It’s small, but they still maintain that if attached to the power generator for the building, it will bring down the entire superstructure of the Terran Union building where the summit is being held, and it's one massive building. I doubt that such a device can actually destroy anything much larger than a single building. This one probably does it by burning through the power conduits. Simple and effective with localized destruction.
Just like the Tyreesian way.
“So, get ready folks,” the team leader says at the end of our final planning session. “We are going to arrive in about an hour. It’s going to be the early afternoon. People will be alert, so we have to be hyper alert.”
“Roger that,” I say amidst other similar replies.
I return to the cockpit with Zhang. We don’t talk to each other, even though we are alone. Thirty minutes later, the team leader comes into the cockpit and takes his seat in the copilot’s chair.
I am lost in my thoughts in the silence of the cockpit. I think about the mission and what I must do. I don’t like killing innocent people. More so, I hate killing Armada operatives. The guys I killed on Patreus III were just security guards, who were working for Star Tech.
But now, it’s different. Now I’m going up against an Armada base. These guys are officers of the Armada. They are my comrades in arms.
For a moment, I struggle with myself.
“We are coming out of FTL space,” Zhang says. “Now.”
On the view screen, we sort of appear in a star system, with a small planet ahead of us. There are about seven star ships orbiting the planet at different angles. There is a small ring—the spaceport, I realize, that maintains a very wide angle around the planet. In fact, I suspect that the angle is so wide that the ring isn’t affected by the gravity and has to use its thrusters to orbit.
Zhang maintains his bearing, which brings us into orbit in three minutes.
“Unidentified corvette,” says a bold voice in the comms. Zhang has it on speaker so we can hear. “This is Captain Bran of the TUS Twilight. Identify yourself and your purpose on Perseus?”
Zhang clears his throat silently.
“Hi,” he says in a youthful, nonchalant voice, “Hey, so me and my friends are tourists. Our friends back at New Washington suggested this pastoral world as a great tourist destination and we came to give it a look.”
“All eleven of you?” asks the Captain with a hint of incredulity.
“Yes, sir,” Zhang replies with an ebullient zing. “All eleven of us. You know what they say, the more the merrier.”
After a thoughtful pause, he adds, “Say, what’s with all the Armada ships? Is something going on?”
No response.
“Please proceed to the orbiting space port,” the captain says. “Officers of Armada Security from the planet will come and inspect your ship. If your story checks out, then you can go down to the planet. Enjoy your stay. Captain Bran out.”
The line goes dead.
In silence, Zhang guides us to the orbiting space port. The port is a small one and has only six ports, three on both sides. Each ports are connected by a transparent tube that serves as a passageway between ships. One ship docks in one side, while another ship, usually a security pod, docks on the other side and then security officers pass through the tube to your ship to inspect.
It was designed for small vessels, especially when no one is expecting you.
Zhang docks perfectly. Ten minutes later, a security pod from the planet docks in the opposite pod.
“The pod has weapons,” Zhang announces.
“All security pods have weapons,” I reply. “We just have to convince them we aren’t trouble.”
“And how do we do that?” the team leader asks.
There is a sharp hiss as the tube harmonizes our atmosphere with the atmosphere of the pod.
“We take them out,” I say, then tap for Zhang to follow me.
In the den, where the men are on alert with their weapons outstretched, I say, “Remain here. Zhang and I will take care of this.”
Zhang follows me to the hatch. I pull out my blaster and set it to kill.
Zhang gives me a bad eye.
“What?” I whisper.
“Is that really necessary?”
I roll my eyes and set the gun to stun, and hide it behind myself.
The hatch opens up. Four officers step into the corvette, three of which are armed with rifles, while the fourth is carrying a tablet.
“Where are your occupants?” the leader asks.
Zhang motions in the direction of the den.
“Right this way, please.”
He leads, while they follow. I bring up the rear. I shoot the guy in my front, and then the next. They crumple to the ground. Zhang leaps backward into the lead, knocking him out. The remaining soldier is about to take a shot, but I leap onto him and tightly grip his neck. He slowly falls into unconsciousness.
“See?” Zhang says, looking up at me from the four knocked out officers. “We didn’t have to spill blood.”
“The pods are aiming at us!” the team leader asks.
“Must be linked to their vitals,” I say. I run for the hatch.
“I’ll stop it,” I yell for the benefit of everyone.
I run across the tube, fighting the feeling of dizziness that besiege me due to the vastness of space all around me. Inside the security pod, I can see the countdown on the dashboard.
I blink my eyes, calling up my nanites.
“Computer, interface with this pod,” I command.
“Interfaced,” the reply comes in my ears.
“Deactivate targeting sequence,” I say.
“Negative,” replies the computer. “Authorization required.”
“Authorize,” I say, “Commander Anika Grayson.”
“Confirmed,” the computer says. “Targeting sequence deactivated.”
The countdown stops.
I deactivate my nanites and return to the corvette to see that the four officers have been stripped. The team leader, Zhang, and one other guy are dressed as Armada security personnel.
“Ready to go?” Zhang asks me and I nod. The corvette disengages and enters the activation codes for safe clearance. A minute later we’re given coordinates to land.
Zhang hands me the fourth uniform.
“You can’t go down there looking like an assassin,” he says.
I take the uniform and shrug.
Time to play ball.
No One
Once inside the atmosphere, Zhang makes a beeline for the main space port, where we know the TAIOC has offices. The space port is a triangular structure that has a main shuttle port smack in its center. We land in one of the several terminals.
Zhang, the team leader, the other guy wearing the uniform who's leading the team, and I file out into the launch pad. The others are not dressed like we were when we attacked the StarTech facility earlier. They are dressed like actual tourists and their weapons are well concealed.
The entryway into the terminal opens up and a man strolls in casually. We are all surprised by this that we turn to look at him.
He stops short at first, looking at us in confusion. We look back at him. Then he marches boldly to us.
“Who the fuck are you guys?” he asks.
Zhang begins to say something when a Separatist reaches across the space and stabs the man in his jugular.
Terror appears on his face as he grabs the knife, crumpling to his feet. The blood pools around his body and we all watch as he dies before our eyes. Zhang gives me a troubled look. I subtly shake my head. There’s nothing we could have done about that.
Zhang isn’t satisfied with my nonchalance, which isn’t really nonchalance but wisdom. He says to the Separatist who stabbed the officer, “Why did you do that?”
Everyone looks at him as though he had committed an unpardonable sin.
“What?” the man who stabbed the officer asked, genuinely befuddled. He looks between me and the leader, wondering if he’s done anything wrong.
I say, “Killing him will raise suspicion. You’ve just reduced the number of minutes we have to plant the bomb. Once they realize this guy is dead, they’ll come looking for him. They’ll know he came to check out our vessel. They’ll come here and they’ll see he’s missing. Then they’ll realize that the agents sent with this security pod to check out our ship…Hey, you see where this is going, right?”
The man now looks forlorn.
“Let’s just hide the body,” Zhang says, “and hope no one comes looking for him.”
Zhang and I drag the body into the security pod.
“We need to put a lid on this as soon as possible,” Zhang whispered to me in anger. “We can’t let these guys indiscriminately kill our people.”
I have just about had it with Zhang’s fussing.
“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re undercover. We have to remain in the act for as long as necessary. Now, I understand about refraining from perpetrating acts of terror ourselves, but you can’t stop them from perpetrating these acts.” Zhang is silent and I continue.
“One day they’ll stop and think about how, since you came along, they haven’t killed any Terran Union infidels and all. Then they’ll start looking into you and find loopholes in your cover.”
“My cover is perfect,” he says.
“No cover is perfect,” I reply. “There will always be loopholes. That’s why we have to constantly maintain our act at all costs.”
We return back outside and lock the security pod.
“Is he secured?” asks the team leader.
“Yes,” Zhang replies. “Hopefully, they’ll think something other than he was murdered.”
“Good, let’s get this done,” I say. To Zhang, I say, “Stick to the plan.”
Zhang and I lead the team into a network of corridors and concourses that twist in and out of the massive superstructure. There are a lot of people, Terran and otherwise, moving about. There are also security agents in visible sight everywhere. No one gives us any second glance and we don’t keep our gaze lingering for too long.
I follow the signposts that lead out of one section of the spaceport to another, where the offices are. A vast courtyard separates one wing from another. There are several walkways and driveways for small conveyor carts for people to move between wings.
The courtyard is filled with people moving about their businesses. There are small carts dotting the courtyard, where food is being sold. I can see Tyreesians, Sonali, Kurta, even Reznak. When I see a Reznak food seller, I stiffen.
“Come this way,” I say, leading the team farther away from the Reznak. When the team leader asks me for explanations, I motion for the Reznak about a hundred yards away in the courtyard.
“That’s a Reznak,” I say. “They have telepathic abilities.”
“What, they can read minds?” the team leader asks, incredulously. Then he burst out into a hearty laughter. Some of the other men join him.
I don’t laugh, neither do I smile. Once he sees me keeping a straight face, he shuts up.
“You can’t be serious,” he says, now a little uncertain.
“I’m very serious,” I reply. “They can read minds. Of course, some have more power than others. I don’t know how strong that Reznak's ability is. I don’t know how their ability works. I don’t know if the thoughts are like stray words that move about their heads.
I don’t want to find out. If he picks up on our intent, he may raise an alarm.”
“Then we’ll just kill him,” says the same man who stabbed the officer.
I’m not sure why, but I feel anger burst into my heart. I glance at this man. He’s a short and sturdy man with a strong upper build. His bare hands look weathered. I wonder if he’s worked in the military before because he marches along with a powerful gait. I take a good look at him. I’ll be sure to kill him before this is over, and I’ll make sure it hurts.
I fake a smile and say, “Great. And create more problems for us.”
Then I hiss aloud. The man wipes the smirk off his face.
What is wrong with these people? I wonder. So trigger happy. I wonder how they’ve lasted this long without me. I frown deeply.
We make it to the end of the courtyard, where there are three lines of people waiting to get into the TAIOC office. The entry way is a wide open space, and three officers are scanning the badges of people entering.
I stop several yards from the line. The others stop as well and hang around, looking about so as not to look suspicious.
I lean towards the team leader.
“We need the exact coordinates for where the Terran Union building is located that’s hosting the summit. It’s inside the office.”
“How many Terran Union buildings are there on this fucking farming colony?” the team leader asks me.
“Usually about three to four per city,” I say. “You’re dealing with a massive bureaucracy. We have to pick the right one.”
“Right,” he says. “Go ahead.”
I look at our crew. They are trying their best to not look conspicuous, but it’s not working so well. I can tell that we’re together. And if I can tell, the security officers at the entryway can as well.
I say to the team leader, “Tell them to disperse more. People can tell that we’re together.”
He nods in agreement. I walk away from him to the last person in the middle of the line. I notice two things. One, most of them are carrying food packs. Two, they all have badges.
This can get tricky, I think to myself.
As soon as I join the line, a few other people join the line up behind me. The person in front of me is an ensign. She’s wearing a blue jumpsuit, her attention fully focused on her tablet. I read her badge which she has in her other hand in clear view. It says Brenda.
“Excuse me, Brenda,” I whisper into her ear.
She turns in surprise. I flash a smile that disarms her immediately.
“Hi,” she says with a smile. “What can I do for you?”
Her voice is chirpy.
“I’m sorry, I was wondering why we’re all lining up here,” I say. “Isn’t the Terran Armada Office supposed to be open to all?”
She smiles even as she shakes her head.
“This isn’t just any Armada Office, honey,” she says, eyeing my security uniform. “You just joined up? This is the Operations Command of the Intelligence Arm of the Terran Armada. Entrance is highly restricted even for us staff. I’m sorry, but you won’t be allowed in.”
I make a sad look on my face, slumping my shoulders.
“I was really hoping I’d get in to see some cool stuff, you know? I’ve always admired the Armada. I’m hoping someday I can join and go from enlisted to an officer and do great things in the galaxy.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that,” she says.
“Do you figure I could maybe ask the security officers to let me in? Maybe if I explained myself? I just transferred here.”
“I doubt they’d let you in,” she replies. “Hell, they may even detain you.”
Then she pauses and looks around to see if we are being watched. When she has ascertained that we aren’t, she leans onto me and whispers.
“Hey, so on a normal day I could take you in and the guards wouldn’t mind, but today isn’t any normal day. A hush hush summit is being held on this planet and security is on top gear. If you don’t want to spend an unpleasant afternoon in an Armada cell, I suggest you don’t beg your way in.”
I nod once. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I leave the line and return to the team leader. Once I meet him, the rest gather around us. I tell them everything I’ve learned. The line has become so much longer that our gathering is no longer suspicious; there are other officers gathering, too, waiting to join the line so they can go into the office.
“Let’s join the line,” I tell the team leader.
We join the line. I stay in the line in the middle, while the team leader on the line to my right and a little to the front, just where I want him.
If I could avoid the line, I’d do it. But Zhang and I are too deep cover to surface just yet.
By the time we are about five persons away from the entryway, my line levels up with the team leader’s line and we are side by side. The team leader leans onto me again..
“So how do you plan on getting us inside?”
“Don’t worry,” I say, winking my eye. “I have a plan.”
Three minutes later, there is only one person before us. The three officers checking the badges aren’t armed. They’re merely tech officers. The armed security operatives are around and about. As soon as the person in front of me is clear, I pull out my gun and shoot the team leader in the skull.
I shout, “Terrorist!”
Panic erupts as people begin to flee everywhere. There is now a mass exodus inwards the TAIOC office wing and I’m swept along by the flood. Seconds later, the whole station is put in lockdown, with klaxons blaring into the air.
I wonder if Zhang will roll his eyes at me for killing again. At least this time I can say it wasn’t one of ours.
It’s baby steps after all.
Zhang
No One’s action is quite bold. I’m liking it because if she’s got to go into death machine mode, she took out a Separatist. It’s a long way from redemption anyways—fuck, we aren’t even at forgiveness.
The powerful wave of fear and panic present in the stampede sweeps us into the TAIOC wing.
Well, that’s one way to get through the line and into the building. There is literally no order present.
I try to stay afloat because the force pushing against me from behind is so strong that, if I don’t constantly maintain being upright, it’ll drown me and then a hundred and something terrified men and women will trample over me. Well, at least I’ll get the death I deserve for all the terrible things I’ve helped No One do.
The entry way leads into a wide hallway that cuts through the entire floor of the wing. The walls are made with a special kind of glass that shows a blurred image of the other compartments of the floor. Overhead, there are light bots flashing a mix of yellow and red while the sirens are still going.
I hear running boots that are so unionized that I have to look over my shoulders. I’m not so far that I can’t see the entry way and even a portion of the courtyard. I see that the entry way remains open and people keep pouring into this wing. The officers checking for badges are now nowhere to be found.
The Marine detachments assigned to this wing are pouring into the corridor from an opening in one side of the wall. This opening wasn’t there when we passed. It’s wide enough to allow two men marching shoulder to shoulder, which is how the Marines armed with assault rifles arrive into the commotion.
They head past me to the direction of the courtyard, where there seems to be a firefight going. Despite being in a state of shock, I try to look deeper into the courtyard. I’m tempted to activate my nanites so I can see farther. I resist this urge since I’m in the Armada Intelligence area and they’ve probably got all manner of scanners running through the corridor. Plus, my limited nanites can only do so much. Nothing like No One. It wouldn’t help as much.
However, I realize that I don’t need nanite enhancements. I can see a couple of ratty-dressed humans firing off laser blasts at the Terran security force.
What the hell?
The Separatists without a leader—they’re going crazy.
It’s a little fortuitous that, just when we need a diversion created so we can go pass the security, the perfect opportunity presents itself.
I get to the other end of the corridor, where the people begin to exit the space port into a wide area without fence. It simply merges with a network of roads that go in all directions. I look around the heads of the people pressing me from all sides, trying to get away from the sharp crack of automatic projectile weapons and the supersonic report of disruptors and blasters.
I can see the fear in the eyes of the Separatists. Some are even bleeding sweat. I look for No One but I don’t see her. However, I see a couple of my Separatist mates. Seeing them brings two emotions into my heart.
The first one is joy over the fact that No One finally killed one of them. The second one is anger over the fact that many more of these deadly killers still live and how they need to be dispatched off with immediacy.
The moment I make it past the entry way, a hand grabs me and pulls me out. I don’t see who it is, so I immediately go for my gun that is secured underneath my guard’s uniform. A hand grabs mine and locks it in place to my surprise. I’m pulled out of the stampede to the side of the massive building.
“Cool your horses, Zhang,” No One says to me, her face balmy with perspiration. She’s looking furtively around for the remaining terrorists. “There was a panel that we passed with all the Terran Union installations on the planet. I was able to find out which one we need to go to. Now we just need our Separatist friends.”
“Do you think they made it out?” she asks me.
“Yes,” I reply. “They’ll be making it out any moment from…”
Then I spot one being pushed by the running crowd out of the complex.
I pull out of No One’s hold and run into the stampede again, only this time it has thinned as people are dispersing into the grounds. I grab the terrorist and he immediately goes for his weapon. Then he sees me and cools down.
“When the others come out, signal them to meet us there,” I say. I motion to where No One should be standing but she’s nowhere in sight again.
I pause, wondering where she has gone to.
“Okay,” the man replies.
I leave him and return to the side of the building just outside the entryway. I look around for No One. I don’t see her. Ten minutes later, there are nine angry Separatists looking at me as if they’re about to take a crack at someone—and I can tell that someone is No One. She did kill their—well, our leader. I begin to think of how she’s going to get out of this one.
The area around the space port is a no fly zone for air cars. Only shuttles are allowed to fly by and that’s when they’re landing. There are five major depots around the space port, three of which are in view and on this side of the complex..
In fact, access to the part of the spaceport that gives you admission to the depot is restricted. These three depots lead into the main city, where the Terran Union administrative buildings are. That is where we need to go. – once we know which one
There is an aircar hangar just outside the grounds of the space port. It’s wide enough to park about a thousand air cars, and it has special antigravity stubs that keep the air cars above the ground. The vast setup has a lot of aircars parked.
Above and ahead, behind the depot, which is comprised of small structures with waiting lines and small bays for air buses to park, there is a stream of aircars coming and going to and from the aircar hangar, while a few larger air cars go past the park to the depot.
I see one of the aircars rising from the car park instead of joining the stream. It swerves off lane and shoots towards us.
The Separatists begin to scatter, but I grab a few of them.
“It’s her. We need to leave.”
The aircar screams to a stop at our side, sending a blast of air at us. Some of the guys are knocked off their feet, but a few others and I stand our ground.
The door opens. No One, who is in the pilot seat says, “Get in!”
We pile into the car and she takes it into the air.
I wait for the accusations and anger to start, reaching for the bulge of laser weapon by my side. I can feel that No One is tense. There is bound to be some complications. Someone is bound to say something incendiary. Question our motives. Doubt our loyalty.
Fire off a weapon.
I wait, prepared.
Nobody speaks up for a long time. They’re all dazed and exhausted from that episode back at the spaceport. I don’t begin to relax until No One is piloting the aircar into the capital—Perseus City. She’s headed for one of the larger Terran Union buildings off to the edge of the city. I sit back, wondering how she was able to keep her cool and get this information in the chaos of the spaceport.
“How are we going to get into the Terran Union building?” asks the stabber. I’m calling him that so when time comes, I'll be angry enough to murder him in cold blood. He doesn’t deserve a fight; he deserves to be shot in the head.” I thought the plan was to use the official TAIOC clearance to get inside the building. But we sort of fucked that up.
“Terran Union protocol requires that if any facility is attacked, all nearby facilities are to activate lockdown protocols,” No One replies.
She doesn’t say more as she’s trying to keep the air car on the normal route and drive at the normal pace so as not to draw the attention of the numerous security pods patrolling the air lanes. It’s almost as though the President of the Terran Union is in town.
When I see the confusion on their faces, I explain. “Armada Intelligence back at the space port was attacked. Where we are going to is nearby, so it’ll be under lockdown That’s where our security uniforms hopefully come in handy.”
“But not all of us have security garb,” replies the stabber. “And these uniforms are for customs up there in space.”
“No problem,” No One says. I know she’s doing this on the fly. “Since you’re with us, people won’t most probably consider you a threat."
After a short while, the stabber says, “Why did you kill the team leader?”
“Fuck you, too,” No One spits.
The reply dazes both me and the stabber. I stiffen, expecting him to react brashly. I’ve seen it before, what with his stabbing propensity. However, he doesn't. Rather, he frowns and keeps quiet.
I glance back at No One, amazed. How the fuck does she get away with things like this?
No One guides the aircar off the air lane and makes a descent for the Terran Union building. It’s a huge building that stands seventy three stories into the air. The building also has a no fly zone, so we park outside the grounds by the main gate, where other aircars are parked.
We jump out and No One leads a march towards the main gates. There are security personnel there, all of whom have gone into high alert. There are a multitude of people as well who are standing outside and waiting to go in. A lot of aliens, from Kurta to Drupadi to Sonali—the lot of them.
Stabber, who is behind me, mutters super racist comments. No One apparently hears it because she glares at him.
“Do you want to get us noticed?” she says with a harsh tone. This shuts up Stabber for a moment.
No One makes a path for us through the crowd.
“Let us through!” No One yells until the people path a way for us. “We’re from the spaceport on a priority mission.”
The security personnel at the gates see us and open it. The crew members who aren’t wearing guard uniforms are sandwiched in the midst of our train so it doesn’t appear that they are strays following us from behind.
I’m the last to go through into the expansive grounds of the building. One of the security men says to me, “How bad is it at the space port?”
I put on a horrified look on my face.
“Very bad,” I reply. “Very bad.”
Then I leave.
I’m shaking my head over the fact that we’re able to get in without being stopped. Then I realize that No One has nanites.
That’s it! She used them to communicate to ensure we got let in. Fuck.
We make it into the building, which is themed with plasters and banners of the summit. Everything hails the noble notion that the Outers, the Tyreesians, the Sonali, and the Kurta, which represent the several of the races in this area of space can co-exist peacefully. I laugh, knowing that this is all a ruse. The Tyreesians are playing a game. The Outers are playing a game. Even the Union is playing its own games. I wonder if the Kurta have an end game, too? I don’t know much about them, so I can’t tell.
There’s a wall that splits the entrance floor into two. At the front of the wall is a large front desk that hosts thirteen attendants, out of which only five are Terran.
On the left side is a bank of elevators and some doors. On the right is a string of security officers and a special elevator. There are also several doors. A sign says: This Way to the Summit. Beyond the security perimeter, there’s a drove of aliens moving towards the elevator.
As we head into the same direction, Stabber starts again with his racist comments. This time it’s different. I can feel his hatred and anger for all things non-Terran.
“I think it is okay to start shooting once we are past the security officers,” he says not really to me or No One, but to the rest of the group.
I wait for No One’s rebuttal, but she doesn’t say anything. Thinking she didn’t hear his statement, I open my mouth to speak up. However, we’re stopped by the security officers.
“Where to?” asks one from the first knot of officers.
“Here to provide support,” No One says.
The officer nods, “Roger that. Please proceed.”
He gives way for us all to pass. He sees the other men who aren’t dressed like us, but he doesn’t ask questions.
“Now!” Stabber roars and, just like that, the nine Separatists pull out their blasters and begin to shoot, not into the air, but into the bodies of the aliens.
So much for fucking incognito.
No One
It happens just as I’ve calculated. The assortment and high number of aliens within the building has the Separatists feeling irritated. Knowing how brash they can be in their thinking, I had no doubt that they would do something utterly stupid, like start shooting into the crowd with Armada Security everywhere.
When one of the guys began to speak in derogatory terms about the aliens at the gate, I spoke harshly to him. It was too early. I didn’t want him to start a fight outside the gates when I needed to get in so I could at least accomplish one of my missions. Then, he began to speak again inside. This time, I don’t stop him.
Right on time, he shouts like he has some sense in his brains and the result is immediate. The terrorists begin to shoot into the mass of aliens around us.
I dive into the ground the moment they begin shooting, rolling off and coming to my knee at the side. Screams fill the air. The bullets whiz by, ricocheting across the metal paneling and hitting anything in their path, destroying things and killing aliens.
Zhang stands aghast for a few moments, looking at the main Separatist instigator with fury. Once I see this, I calm down a little. I know Zhang will make short work of the fucker now. The security operatives have engaged the separatist so I, still crouching, move slowly in the direction of the front desk.
I have to go past the middle of the fight between the security personnel and the separatists, both of which know me as being on their team. I know I won’t have problems with them shooting at me directly. However, I will have problems with being shot by a deflected bullet.
My nanites enhancements are top notch, so I won’t be dying from bullets. But being shot is just as painful as it should be, nanite or no nanite. I get to the bloodbath and quicken my pace. I catch the look of surprise in the eyes of the terrorists, but I get no response. One of the security personnel on the front line looks at me with wariness. Seconds later, he gets a bullet in the eye and collapses to the ground.
His gun flies out of his grasp and slams into the ground, letting a bullet out. The bullet slams into the panel inches from my face, causing me to freeze in horror. Headshots are instantly fatal.
I shoot to my feet and make a dash for the front desk. Thankfully, no one shoots me or shouts me down. I look back at the carnage behind me. All the security personnel lie dead before the Separatists.
Also, the entire corridor is trashed—it’s no longer a corridor, it’s a horridor: a corridor filled with horror. Blood of different colors is splashed across the metal paneling, forming different styles that one would be poised to think of as macabre art.
I wonder why the Marines haven’t mobilized—and then I get my answer the moment I continue around the front desk. The main entrance way has been locked, since the building is already in lockdown mode.
Outside, I can see a company of Marines ready to come into the building. Then it hits me that the Marines on this planet are stationed outside the building and not within it.
The doors are being cut through, since the computers won’t refresh for another thirty minutes. That’s thirty minutes for the Separatists to find the aliens and slaughter them. Thirty minutes to plant the bomb. Thirty minutes too long. Within thirty minutes, this will all be over.
I pause at the mouth of the corridor on the left side. I wonder if I shouldn’t go back and help Zhang take these terrorists down. If he fails, then this building will go down. If this building goes down and all the delegates die, then we can kiss the summit’s intentions bye-bye. Not that they had such noble intentions in the first place. The whole thing was designed to turn over a defector.
Besides that, the Galactic Council may come under threat because all this happened under the Terran Union’s watch. Suspicions will begin to go around. One thing will lead to another and, before you know it, the Terran President is issuing a declaration of war. That’s if the Tyreesians don’t invade first or if the Outers don’t do something foolish, too.
We can’t afford to be drawn into a galactic war on three fronts. We won’t survive it.
For a moment, I take a break from this train of thought to muse about how the fate of the Galactic Council rests on the actions of Zhang and I at this moment. No, wars are not won with ships and cruisers. They are won with men and women, like Zhang and me, on the ground making decisions that can snowball into either something catastrophic or victorious.
I decide to allow Zhang to stop the bad guys from planting the bomb. He’s nanites-enhanced to a lesser degree so he can take care of a couple of bozos. I have bigger fish to fry, namely: the fucking traitor that is selling us out to the Tyreesians.
I start out into the hallway on the right. It’s totally deserted and silent. I find out why the moment I cross the threshold. There’s a containment field at the mouth of the hallway that stifles any noise from going in or out. Even with that, the hallway itself is silent.
The floor is rugged with a subdued red rug that’s padded and feels soothing to walk on. To my right, just after the threshold, is a bank of five elevators, all of which are paneled with gold—real gold.
Someone wants to impress the aliens, I think to myself.
I walk past the elevators to a set of double doors. The doors are sealed with heavy metal that can withstand any attack. There is an access panel to the right of the doors, with a palm reader and a mic to speak into.
The door is also in lockdown but, unlike the main doors, this door will open once the right access is granted. However, I know that according to protocol, there should be a complement of Armada Intelligence security behind the door, waiting for any intruder.
They’ll shoot on sight if someone tries to break in. They won’t shoot if the door is opened the normal way. This gives me about five seconds before they realize I don’t work there and arrest me or take me in.
“Computer, open the door,” I speak out loud for the access panel to hear my voice.
“Lockdown is activated,” the computer replies, a soft sound yet loud enough in the silent hallway. “Access denied.”
“Override lockdown and open the door,” I continue, “This is Commander Anika Grayson.”
“Voice confirmed. Commander Anika Grayson, Special Deep Cover Operator in Division 51 of the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command. Please place your palm on the scanner,” the computer spouts.
I do as I’m told. The palm reader warms up, flashes a red light, then cools down.
“Confirmed,” the computer says, “granting access.”
The moment I hear the door’s mechanism begin to move, I back up to the other end of the hallway and tear off the guard’s uniform, revealing my black outfit and weapons. It’s show time.
I blink twice to activate my nanites, then run for the doors.
Halfway there, I fall to my knees, my forward momentum moving me onward and sliding across the ground. I pull out my blaster, which is set to stun, and aim even as the doors slide out of the way and I slide through.
There is a short arch of five Marines with weapons at a standby in the small semi-circular antechamber. I shoot even as I get to their middle. Three fall to the ground, leaving two standing. These two begin to bring their guns up, but I’m way faster. Before I come to a stop at the feet of the standing Marine, I push against the ground, shifting my weight to the right.
I’m lifted into the air by this exertion of force, swinging around the Marine so fast that when I get behind him, he doesn’t even realize it yet. I grab him from behind. The other standing Marine hesitates, and I shoot him in the chest.
The Marine I’m holding struggles with me. The urge comes upon me to snap his neck. I resist and push him forward and shoot him in the back. The door slams back together. It takes the door about ten seconds to open and close; the same time it took me to take down five highly-trained Marines.
With a sigh, I realize that I’m getting rusty.
The four doors before me have signs on them. Communications, Room 101, Room 102, and Room 103.
I enter the communications room. The room is dark, only lit up by the screens of the computer. It is a narrow room, with the workstations on the right hand side, operators sitting on chairs, and a narrow walkway on the left.
I aim my gun at the three operators, who are all backed up against the other wall.
“If you do as I say, you’ll live,” I reply. I aim at the one at the back and fire. He crumples to the ground, stunned. His friends think he’s dead.
They scream. I aim again, and one jumps in front of the other and yells, “Don’t kill any one again. We’ll do what you ask.”
“Sometime this month or last month, a call was made from this planet to the Tyreesians,” I say, watching as the eyes of the operators widen. “I want to find out where in this station the message came from.”
“That’s not possible!” the operator in the front replies. “We closely monitor all communications. I think we’d have been able to tell if there was a communication from this office into Tyreesian space.”
I flash a dry smile. “Except, of course, if you are in league with the traitor.”
“No!”
“Then I suggest you get looking,” I bark. I look at the operator behind and say to him, “You, too!”
They stumble upon each other to get to their computers. I take a position behind them that’s close enough so I can see what they’re doing and far enough so I can respond to threats from outside the room and from them.
“Don’t try anything stupid,” I mutter. “If you do, I’ll just kill you and that’ll be it. And then I’ll kill whoever comes storming into this place, too…”
“What the hell…?” mutters one of them.
I pause, trying to figure out if he’s referring to the computer or to me.
“Is that what I think it is?” says one to another.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” say the other. Then he looks at me with total disbelief and says, “You’re right. There was an unauthorized communication that came from this office aimed into Tyreesian space. I have its location.”
My mind begins to race.
The game.
It’s fucking afoot.
Zhang
The moment I see No One heading away from the chaos zone towards the front desk, I realize it’s my task to take down these Separatists. I know this because aside from the fact that I’m the only one left behind with aliens falling all around me either dead or dying, No One and I are a team.
I’m not sure where she’s going, but I know that wherever it is, she needs to be there. I know that wherever she’s going, it’s for the sake of this mission. I know this because I believe it, not because I have hard evidence.
It takes a certain amount of trust to do what I’m about to do, which is taking on a bunch of Separatists without any backup from my superior. Many thoughts begin to lay siege to my mind. What if No One is running away? The summit is not in the direction she’s going in. It’s in the other direction as the carnage and chaos. So why is she headed away?
My mind begins to present several reasonable and logical reasons why she may be going in that direction, one of which is the fact that it’s safe there. She can easily escape through there. There’s no one dying there.
I swallow hard. I’m crouched on my feet and bullets and laser fire are streaking around me. The screams are almost deafening. The air smells of charred flesh and ozone. Smoke rises from almost every dead body, filling the corridor and reducing visibility.
The security personnel are incredibly outgunned, outmanned, and outmaneuvered. They can’t shoot indiscriminately at the Separatists because of the aliens who are still alive.
The Separatists have no such restriction and they scatter and spray the area ahead with laser fire and bullets, melting walls. I wonder when the cavalry will arrive. Isn’t there supposed to be a Marine detachment to every Terran Union facility? Where are the Marines in this installation?
My heart begins to pound. I have to do something about this situation before it escalates.
Some aliens are still alive and they manage to go into the elevator. There are about twenty of them remaining and they’re all scrunched up against the closed door of the elevator.
While the rest of the terrorists face off the remaining guards, the stabber begins to approach the remaining aliens. He isn’t shooting them yet. He’s taunting them. He begins to call them derogatory terms.
Amidst the racket of gun fire and regardless of the smoky hallway, he shouts at them, insulting their species and calling them inferior and evil. As he makes each step and speaks each word, my anger builds and mounts.
I’m crouched by the left wall between the aliens and the approaching stabber. Opposite from me is a wooden door. I lift myself up until I’m resting on my haunches, getting ready to strike.
“You fuckers need to leave us humans alone!” he roars as he approaches, his gun primed on the thick mass of Sonali, Kurta, and Drupadi.
“Your disgraceful breeds need to crawl back to the slimy, dirty world where you came from.”
He fires a warning shot to their right, causing them to tremble and scream some more.
“We are The Human Confederation,” he says as he approaches. “We don’t deal with inferior creatures. We only deal with humans. Your deaths will prove the point that we will no longer tolerate your kind to pollute our perfect genetic pool.”
He stops right in front of me.
I reach for my gun and find my holster empty. My heart climbs to my chest.
“Die, fuckers!”
Without thinking, I blink twice and launch myself into the air at the stabber. In midair, my nanites, which I’ve not activated since I started this mission, come online, adding speed and power to my flight.
I slam onto the stabber, feeling one of his bones break. He’s lifted like paper by my forward push and we both smash into the door. The door is torn off its hinges by the force and we come into a stadium-like theater with a podium at the base.
We land on the steps of the aisle and I roll, holding him in my tight grip as though he weighed less than a pound. I come to my knees and then fling him with one arm.
The stabber flies all the way across the room, the entire twenty seven yards stretch, and slams into the edge of the podium. The metal edge bends on impact. I don’t hear it, but I know the impact would have shattered all the bones in the stabber’s body.
I come to my feet, nanites surging through my veins. I look at the limp body as it’s interposed in the small bend it’s made on the podium. The stabber looks dead, his gun lying on the ground, his eyes closed, his chest rigid. One action and he’s dead. While I won’t beat up myself about killing the stabber, I do beat up myself about using my nanites.
I was operated on and enhanced at a very old age, when I was eighteen. I’m not as powerful as No One, who received her nanites implant when she was way younger than me. But I’m powerful nonetheless. At first, it felt cool to be able to do stuff without the aid of something external. It felt cool to have your own personal computer in your head, speaking to you and analyzing things for you as you go about.
However, when I realized that I’d been turned into a machine of death and carnage, I began to hate it. Seeing people die so easily at my hands and realizing how it makes me feel even more powerful scared the shit out of me. I decided if I couldn’t appreciate the worth of a human life, then I had no business wielding such power.
Men were like paper in my hands. Things that people thought impossible was a walk in the park for me. Yet, instead of becoming better with it, it made me think, feel, and act worse. This brought me to the conclusion that toys, gadgets, and trinkets don’t make a person good. It’s more of the inner stuff—how people let their mind control their actions, how they make decisions…that’s what makes a person good.
I swore to never use my nanites for any such purposes—up until now. Look what I’ve done.
I turn away from the sight of the stabber’s immobile body.
I sigh, my heart heating up with anger. Anger at the Separatist for being such an ass. Anger, because he made me break my vow. Anger, for not acting earlier with my nanites, knowing I was eventually going to do so.
And most importantly, anger, for the people who died today. All of them my conscience.
Then, I hear movement behind me. I swivel on my feet just in time to see the stabber flying towards me at an incalculable speed. I bring up my hands to block him just in time, before he slams into my shoulder first.
The force of the impact knocks the wind out of my lungs. I’m jolted into the air. The forward momentum sends us out of the theatre, through the opening in the wall, and back into the hallway.
He slams me into the wall on the opposite side. The impact sends a powerful and painful wave across my body, causing my bones to quiver in their fleshly cast. The hallway trembles at the force of the impact.
I shake off the impending unconsciousness and shoot off the stabber into the floor. Then we go back through the opening. I stop to kick him in midair. He tumbles into the aisle several yards down, but comes up again.
“Traitor!” he yells.
I’m still confused.
“You’re nanite-enhanced?”
“Just like you,” he arises. His eyes have taken a blood red configuration. His muscles are buffed up, stronger than usual. The veins on his face are slightly visible and flashes with red light.
I swallow hard when I realize that his nanite enhancement is over the top. He’s more powerful than I am. But they were done much later in life. And most likely unauthorized. His mind has been affected. I look beyond him and see his weapon lying just by the podium.
The stabber sees my gaze, but doesn’t follow it.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t have to use it.”
He zips towards me.
I run towards him as well. We reach each other in the fraction of a second. He dodges my punch but I can’t dodge his in time. He slams a fist into my abdomen, causing me to sputter blood. He lifts me into the air and smashes me against the chairs. I crash into them, destroying an entire area of chairs, all of which are metal.
Pain wreaks havoc in all my bones.
“I’ll skin you alive,” he roars as he walks towards me. “When I’m done, I’ll kill you slowly. I’ll make you suffer…”
I roll unto my feet and lunge for him. I feint a punch, which he tries to deflect with his hands. In the last second, I bend, pushing all my energy into my front momentum. I slam into his abdomen, hearing the air gush out of his lungs. The impact carries us about and through the air.
We smash into the wall, then slide down to the floor. I’m hardly down when the stabber slams his two feet onto my chest, sending me tumbling all the way across the theater. I hit an exposed shard of metal that pierces me in my side.
A scream escapes my mouth. I am about to pull myself out of the metal shard so my nanites can heal me, but then the stabber lands by my side and smashes his feet onto my body, sending the shard deeper into me. I hover on the brink of shock, scream upon scream escaping my mouth.
Up his leg, I see a small holster.
I lunge for it, grab the gun, and aim. The stabber’s eyes widen. He can’t respond in time. I shoot the man in the head. He crumples to the ground before me.
This time, he’s dead for good.
No One
I stun both operators after they tell me where the communications came from. They collapse in their chairs, limp and with a look of surprise plastered across their face. I couldn’t have them alerting the whole workplace that an invasion is underway. Shooting them is better than risking using a shackle or something that they can easily come out of.
I exit the communications room. On the floor, one of the marines begins to wake up. Stuns usually last at least an hour. The only way someone can revive from a stun so early is if they are nanites-enhanced, or if they got shot in any of their limbs and not in their head or major organ.
As I can’t have any of these guys recovering and then looking for me, I stand over the marine, aim, and shoot him straight in the head. His head jerks like I’ve dropped a very heavy load on it. Then, he goes limp again. I look around at the other unconscious marines. No movement at all.
I proceed into room 103, where the communications operators told me the signal came from. I open the door and slip into a narrow corridor. There are many doors leading into different parts of the office. I walk through the corridor, my hand clenching my weapon.
I’m nimble on my feet because I’m now in the core of the Operations Command center. Any one of the agents behind these doors can come out at any moment and raise an alarm.
Armada Intelligence agents aren’t knock-offs of Marines or Armada officers. These guys are specially trained to kill. They may not be Division 51, but they’re way more skilled and powerful than your run of the mill Marine or starship security officer.
I know I can fend off three or four, but more than that and I will be taken down—nanites or not. So, I have to be very quiet.
I get to the fifth door on the right. I stand back and prepare to smash in. I hold off on that course of action and think for a moment.
I don’t want to make any rash decision. Counter intelligence was as fine a field of operations as intelligence. As agents, we weren’t only trained in the art of intelligence, we were also trained in the art of counter intelligence, for the purpose of evading it. Then, we were trained on special skills to nab people who try to evade counter intelligence.
I stand by the door, keeping my back to the wall and think for a moment. What if the officer behind this door isn’t really the traitor? What if he’s just a victim?
I begin to imagine a scenario, during lunchtime, when this officer goes out and the real traitor comes from three doors down to send an encrypted communication to the Tyreesians telling them of the defection. Then the traitor slips out just in time before he’s caught.
If this scenario were correct, then I’ll be knocking down the wrong door and confronting an innocent officer. He or she will definitely make a fuss and others will come in. I’ll have to reveal my identity and make them back away, but by the time they listen to me and the innocent officer explains that he knows nothing about it, the real traitor will be gone.
On the other hand, this could be the actual traitor. Maybe the Tyreesians gave him a special device that allows him to send messages that the communications officer can never detect or decipher. Maybe that’s what gave him the temerity to use his workstation at the office.
I wonder what they promised him. Why would he be working for the Tyreesians? Did they promise him money? Women? Power?
I know the Armada doesn’t pay the best wages in all of the Terran Union. Hell, even corporations pay their security chiefs way more than the Armada Intelligence pays its top operatives. But you don’t do this job for money. It’s doing what’s right and the patriotism to the Terran Union.
It’s not about whether the government pays you well or not. For some, it’s about the thrill. It’s about the power and authority. No matter how rich someone is, there are still certain things money can’t buy. But as an intelligence officer, there’s virtually nothing you can’t do. We change the galaxy as officers of the Armada. That’s the motivation, not money.
So what did they offer him?
Power? What kind of power? Physical enhancements?
Nanite technology is very rare. In fact, it’s so rare that it’s considered a myth by some civilians. Sure, you can get it on the black market. But you’re probably going to go crazy.
Nanite technology is greatly coveted to say the least. I don’t have a problem with mine. The only reason I’m not publicly known to be nanite-enhanced is because of my status as an intelligence officer. The less people know about me, the greater the chances of my missions being a success will be.
Maybe the Tyreesians have discovered nanite technology and have perfected it. Maybe they’re planning on giving this traitor the technology. Maybe this is what they offered him.
I seriously doubt a poorly-paid Armada Intelligence officer can resist the chance to have nanites coursing through their veins—nanite technology can make you virtually indestructible. It can make you powerful. It can make you a superhuman…a super hero or super villain.
“So, what’s your deal?” I mutter to myself.
I hear a muffled, almost imperceptible loud thud. I look at the direction of the sound, which is in the direction of the entrance. The Marines have gotten the door open. Another firefight is about to ravage this floor. In no time, they’ll be sweeping every room, and they’ll come in here and take me down, if I don’t find this traitor and escape.
I look ahead. I hope there’s another way out of this place other than through the entrance.
I heave a sigh and open the door.
The door opens to an office floor with desks spread across a wide expanse. Desk jockeys are everywhere. At first, I’m dazzled. I slip into the room, the door closing behind me. I slip my gun into my holster and stand in the corner, watching the officers work.
There must be close to thirty agents, all of which are poring over information from their workstation. Some of them are on headphones with their different contacts, all working cases for the Armada Intelligence. The room is filled with silent chatter and the occasional bursts of laughter. The atmosphere in the room is not expressive of the chaos outside. It’s as though they don’t know they’re under attack.
I shrug unconsciously. Works to my advantage.
Nobody seems to have noticed me. The door is at the far right corner of the space. It’s the only entrance and exit that is visible, unless there’s a secret or concealed emergency exit. The door opens directly into a side walkway. At the center of the walkway, another walkway perpendicular to this run cuts the room in half at the perpendicular axis.
As I slowly move among the midst of the workers, examining their workstations for anything that screams ‘traitor’ (it’s a long shot, I know), I think back to my conversation with the communications officers.
I remember the operator saying that not all workstations in this office have a hard wire connection to their transmitters. I also remember him saying that the workstation that sent the communication had a hardwiring. The hardwiring was old and redundant, but it functioned nonetheless.
I blink twice to activate my nanites.
“Computer,” I mutter, “scan these workstations and tell me the one that has a hardwiring.”
“Complying…”
Seconds later, it says, “I have identified four that have hardwiring.”
“Where are they?”
“The workstations at the four corners of the office space,” replies the computer.
I look at these workstations. Two are vacant. The other two are occupied, one by a man and the other by a pretty blonde woman. I stare at the direction of the man, who I assume to be the traitor, when I stop short.
“Computer, are there any communications being transmitted by either workstation into Tyreesian space?” I ask.
It takes a full minute for the nanites to process and verify before replying.
“Yes,” replies the computer. “The workstation in the right corner is actively communicating and receiving an encrypted communication with a signal originating in Tyreesian space.”
Caught right in the act, I think, marching straight for the pretty blonde woman. She’s wearing a black suit over black pants. She’s a little on the chubby side and she’s positioned her body over her workstation so only she can see its content.
I grab her chair and yank her out into the hallway. She slams onto the ground with a loud yell, her chair slamming against the wall.
The entire office comes to a standstill, many of them standing to see what’s happening. I’m about to explain when the door tears open and a string of five Separatist terrorists barge into the office, their gun aiming at me.
“Stand fast!” they yell, heading straight for me.
They don’t need to speak again. I stand fast.
Zhang
The stabber is dead for good, but I might be just as dead as he is in a few seconds. I’m delirious as I’ve lost a lot of blood. The pain is still almost as sharp as it was when I was first pierced.
In my head swarm images of all my past deeds, both good and bad. I see the time when I was approached by the Armada Intelligence to work as an operative. I see how, at first, I thought they had sorted me out because of my brilliance and attention to detail, only to find out later that they had wanted me for my psych profile.
I think back to just before Armada Intelligence put the nanites into me.
“Do you know how many people in this galaxy have sanctioned and official nanite enhancements?” my handler had said to me before the operation.
“No,” I replied.
“Less than one thousand,” he said. “In fact, we believe the number may be a lot less than that, maybe around five hundred. That’s how rare and precious what you are getting is.”
I was about to say something terrible that would have probably cost me my commission.
“Don’t look so scared, Zhang,” he replied. “We bring in people a lot greener and they grow up to become star agents. Ever heard of No One?”
At that time, No One was a ghost story to us intelligence types. Her cases were so damn redacted and secret that many of us thought she wasn’t real. We thought she was just something the top brasses at the upper echelons of the Terran Armada liked to use to inspire us to be greater.
Now, I believe otherwise, having worked with her and probably would die working with her.
“Is she real?” I asked back then.
“Yes,” he replied, “I’ve even had the opportunity to work on a few cases with her. Damn near impossible to defeat that one. She’s sexy as hell, too. Anyways, do you know how she was brought into the fold?”
I shook my head.
“Commander Shane, well, back when he was just Captain, responded to an Outer attack on a border colony,” he replied. “Terraformer drop. Those Outer fellows were nasty. Anyways, her entire family perished, but she was able to get off. Taking pity on her, Commander Shane practically adopted her. See?”
“No, I don’t see,” I replied, even though I understood. I just didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of knowing that he had won me over.
The man saw right through me and smiled.
“She came in because of pity, not because of some skill set she had or some powers she possessed,” he continued. “But did she allow that to stop her?”
I’m pulled out of my swoon back to my present state by a sharp pain that electrifies my entire being. I stifle a scream. I try to move my hands, but they respond sluggishly. It’s as though they weigh a ton. I crane my neck to look at my abdomen. The shard of metal from a wrangled chair tore through my back and now pokes out of my tummy just beside my navel.
Seeing the copious amount of blood on my skin causes a flood of fear to sweep through my system. I close my eyes for a moment. It’s difficult to think through the pain.
If I were a normal person, I would have died. I’m currently lying on a pool of my own blood. The only reason why I’m not dead is because of my nanites.
My nanite enhancement isn’t as powerful as that of No One’s. She’s one of the very few whose nanite enhancements are top notch. Not disgustingly so, like the stabber who now lies dead beside me (eyes glazed over, tongue loose and all). So, there’s only so much it can do. I certainly don’t think it can keep me alive long enough to make it out of this situation.
As I shut my eyes and I fall into another memory…
I’m running the death track at the private resort and training center for the Armada Intelligence Operations Command operatives on Sarolis IV—the Dome, we called it. It’s sunny and the lush green land spreads before me. It ends before a tumultuous forest besieged by what looks like a storm displacement—having sunny and rainy at the same time in the same place.
I’m about to head into the storm, when an aircar glides in front of me, causing me to dive out of the way because I can’t stop my forward momentum in time. I rise to a sitting position to see a tall, sexy-as-hell lady wearing all black and black shades standing over me. Her seductive form causes my heart to stop for a fraction of a second. Even the way her blaster hangs from her jutting waist complements her entire appeal.
She was the perfect combination of deadly and sexy—dexy?
“Zhang?” she asks as though it was an accusation.
“Yeah?”
I respond like I wasn’t sure.
“My name is Anika Grayson,” she says, “but that’s classified. Call me what others call me.”
“Which is?” I asked, curious.
“No One,” she said.
That was when my heart really stopped.
I jolt back to consciousness by a muffled explosion. My mind shifts back to the present. My breath stiffens as pain wracks my body. Before long, I hear the familiar sound of automatic fire and laser shots.
I put one and two together and figure out what’s going on. The Marines must have gained entrance into the building. The Separatists or what was left of them, anyways, are trying to fight them back. This is when I realize that my time is up. I either have to get out of this place to find the defector or I die here or at the hands of the Marines.
The way I’m dressed, I doubt the Marines would want to ask questions.
I take another look at the wound. In my mind, I can feel the dark coldness of death reaching out its icy hands.
I have to yank my body out of the metal shard. I have to put all my strength to it. I have to do it at all cost.
Even as I psyche myself, I can imagine the massive amount of pain such venture will bring to me. This deters me from taking such actions.
I inhale and exhale loudly and fast.
The gun battle intensifies outside, and it’s closer to the main entrance. The separatists probably have them pinned at the entrance. I know it’s not going to be for long.
“On three,” I mutter to myself.
One. Two. Three…
I push against the floor. I slide clean through the shard of metal, screaming all the way. Then I land on my face in the aisle, my mind slipping into another memory.
We are deep in the Outer Colonies. Our vessel is the legendary TUS Phantom, which is now being piloted by someone else…someone with a curious name; Captain Amanda “Coma” Grayson. We are planning how No One and I are going to be grafted into the Separatists ranks so we can accomplish our mission of stealing the matter transport from the Tyreesians.
I noticed some sort of chemistry between the two women. They were both powerful and highly trained. Coma isn’t nanites-enhanced, but she commands a detachment of Marines that are loyal to her even to death. Aside from that, she’s highly skilled and deadly, as deadly as No One herself.
I just learned about Division 51 to which No One belongs, as well as Coma. I also learned from Admiral Shane, who recruited Coma right out of the Academy at the start of the Earth-Sonali war more than seven years ago, that Coma’s intelligence works have been classified above top secret, even above No One’s works.
The two women have chemistry…some sort of sisterly chemistry, though it seems restrained like they don’t want to be caught dead together. There’s also tension and a power surge between the two alpha females. And I’m caught in between them.
My position is a dream for most men—to have the attention of two extremely powerful, hot-as-hell, highly successful, and deadly skilled women. However, I’m not feeling particularly lucky because I know any one of them can really fuck me over if I say or do the wrong thing.
Nevertheless, my apprehension doesn’t preclude me from fantasizing about having a threesome with them—shameful, yes, but what choice do I have? Hot-as-hell, remember?
The sound of nearby automatic fire brings me back to consciousness. The pain is still screaming out. I’m still leaking blood, but my nanites have managed to close up most of the entry and exit wound. It’s going to take about a day to get me fully patched up. Even so, I’ll still have to see a doctor in order to fully recover.
I don’t know just how powerful No One’s nanites are. I think she may have mentioned to me that her nanites can completely heal her of almost any injury with time, such that she doesn’t need to get checked by a doctor.
I struggle to my feet, my hand on my stomach. I stagger to the opening and look around the corner.
There are about two separatists left in this area. They have their backs to me and are near the front desk. I wonder how they’ve kept the Marines away for so long.
I limp into the hallway and stagger to the elevator. Thankfully, it’s still working. I enter.
“Destination?”
“The Tyreesian Delegates’ lodge,” I reply.
I know most of the delegates would have been in the conference hall by the time the firefight started, meaning they would be locked down there. I’m hoping that the defector may have stayed back. If most of the delegates are in lockdown elsewhere, this is my best first bet.
I am deposited in the penthouse. There’s a small foyer and an archway to the right. I pass through the archway and into the entrance of a heavily decorated living room large enough to fit ten people.
There’s a nervous-looking Tyreesian woman sitting on the couch. I can tell she’s nervous because she has her knees together and is playing with her fingers. A nervous habit for humans, but I suppose it’s a universal trait. Her slits widen the moment she sees me.
I look back at her, surprised at first. I look around to see if there’s someone else in the room. There are several doors going into other rooms in the penthouse, so I can’t tell if she’s alone.
“Are you alone?” I ask.
The Tyreesian rises to her feet.
“Not really,” she replies. “But it might rain and then I’ll be alone.”
I stare at her, confused for a moment. Then, it kicks in. That’s the pre-established protocol. I had asked her the question genuinely, forgetting that they were the exact words to establish contact.
“You no longer have to be alone,” I say.
I stretch forth my hand slowly.
“I’m Zhang. I’m with the Terran Armada. I’m here to get you to safety.”
She takes my hand in hers. Her palms are sweaty.
“Call me Ann,” she replies. “It’s a lot easier to pronounce than my true name.”
“Alright, Ann. Follow me,” I say.
I’m about to leave when I catch movement ahead. There’s an open door there.
I bound in that direction. It leads into a narrow hallway that culminates in another room. I pull my gun, knock the door down and aim.
“Put it down!” I say.
The Tyreesian doesn’t listen.
I shoot. The Tyreesian crumples to the ground, dead, the wrist communications device falling out of his hand.
Ann comes into the room. Her eyes are filled with horror.
“He’s dead!”
No, he’s only taking a nap.
“I don’t know if he was able to send a message to the Tyreesians or not,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t want to find out.
Out of the frying pan.
Into the fire.
No One
Who still says stand fast, anyway? I wonder.
I chuckle in spite of myself.
“What’s funny, you dirty Unionist whore?” says the lead racist.
My countenance changes from amused to upset.
“Why don’t you come close and I’ll tell you,” I say to the fucker.
There are five of them. Four of them have their guns aimed at me and the traitor at my feet. The other has his gun trained on the office staff, all of whom have their hands in the air, clueless and terrified.
What do they teach these guys at the Academy these days? I think to myself.
The leader is an average height Hispanic-looking man with a tattoo on his knuckles. He has an earring on one ear and a partly-sliced right ear.
“What happened to the right ear?” I ask, my hands in the air. “Did you one day walk out of your house and thought to yourself, ‘Hey, why’s my right ear this long?’”
I laugh out loud. I fall to my knees, holding my stomach, and then I continue to laugh as hard as I can.
Tears begin to fall out of my eyes. Still excitable, I look up at the dismayed racist.
“And then maybe you walked back into your house, took your cutlery and cut your ear off?”
I continue laughing. A few officers to my right are now laughing along with me.
“Shut the fuck up!” the man screams, more to the officers than to me.
I look up at him. His head veins are throbbing with anger. Good. I know these separatist guys. They don’t think before they act, and they act rashly when they do. They always make mistakes when they’re angry…always.
I know I’m walking a tightrope, getting a man who has a gun trained on me angry, but I can count on his stupidity. That’s definitely something I can count on with these guys.
“Why?” I say. “Or did it go someplace else that’s even more stupid?”
Some of his men behind him chuckle at that one.
The man swivels on his heels to glare at them. I watch as the smiles disappear from their faces, being replaced by hard-looking expressions. I can tell that such expressions are extremely difficult for them to keep up.
I start to move for him, but then he looks back at me and raises his gun with a knowing smile.
“Not so fast,” he says. “We’ve got unfinished business.”
I try to rise to my feet.
“Slowly,” he cautions.
I shrug, reducing my speed.
Now on my feet and my hands to my sides, I say. “What do you want?”
He smiles, revealing the most horrible set of teeth.
“Oh, come on!” I say, raising my hands to shield my eyes. “Now, how am I suppose to get that horrible sight out of my memory? Dude, shut your trap!”
The office explodes into laughter. Even the traitor at my feet and the men join in.
They’re all laughing, but I’m stalling for time.
I’m waiting to see if they’ll make their third mistake. Their first mistake was not to have killed me the moment they walked in. Their second mistake was not to have asked me to pull out my gun from my holster and slide it out of reach.
The leader raises his gun up and shoots into the ceiling. The office falls into a deadly silence. The leader’s face is now marred by anger.
He’s seething, I realize. Good. I’m closer to getting him to crack.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he asks. “Because I’ll oblige right here, right now.”
I fold my arms across my bust, noticing him flinch at my carelessness at the sight of four barrels trained on me.
“Sorry, I must have misread the signs,” I say. “Didn’t you come in here to kill me? Or was the whole barging in like you’re worth a damn all a joke?”
The air simmers with anger.
He takes a step towards me, bridging the three-yard distance. I measure the distance mentally to see if I can make the leap before he fires off a round into my heart.
I can’t. I need him a little closer.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” he says, his voice so low I can barely hear him.
“You’re stalling for time. You’re hoping the security officers will come in here to save you. Well, I have news for you, you fucking cunt! No one is going to save you…”
“You’re right,” I say.
I glance at the officers to my right and say, “No One is going to save you all.”
Then I wink my right eye and watch as their eyes light up with realization.
“That’s right!” the man says. “No one is going to save you because the moment they walk into this place, we’ll kill them. We’ll blow up this building with everyone in it, including the aliens in this building. And then I’m personally going to make you suffer for what you did to the Boss.”
“There’s only one flaw in your plan,” I say.
“I know you’re probably too stupid to see it, but since today is stupidity day, I’ll help you out. How do you suppose you’ll get out of here if you bomb the whole place? Do you have some powers that you’re not letting on?”
The man doesn’t reply at first. He scans me, skimming past my laser weapon like it was of no consequence. His mistake.
“You think you’re smart?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply with certainty. “I think I’m a pretty smart young woman.”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” he says.
He tightens the grip on his weapons.
“You’re going to tell me all I need to know or I’ll kill you and your allies, you lying traitorous bitch.”
I shrug.
“Go ahead. I really don’t care about these people.”
“That’s a lie,” he replies. “I can see right through your lies. You’ve been lying since Day fucking One.”
“Uh, I disagree with that,” I say, raising a finger.
He squints his eyes.
“Yeah, because if that were true, you would have known I was working for the Armada Intelligence way before I shot the team leader in the head,” I say, then chuckle.
“Man, you should have seen just how much pleasure it brought me to kill the bastard.”
“He was our leader!” the man roars, his knuckles turning white.
I hold my tongue in. The man is on the brink of losing it. I just need to tip him over, not push him. If I push too much, I’ll just end up getting shot.
I blink twice, then I feel the familiar flow of nanites coursing through my being.
The next time I speak, I speak with seriousness.
“He was not my leader,” I reply. “He was a racist terrorist who deserved to be put down like a dog. You all here are racist dogs and I’ll put you down like the dogs you are.”
“Tell us how long you’ve been working as a spy,” he roars, “or I’ll kill you!”
I stare him down, my hands clenching into tight fists. Any moment now…
“Tell me!” he roars.
I don’t respond.
He lowers his aim and fires off three laser shots. There are a couple of clipped screams to the right, while there’s one to my left.
I look to see the traitor slump dead by my side.
Fuck! I would have preferred to interrogate her for more information, but no huge loss.
I shrug.
“Is that the best you’ve got?” I ask.
Then I point to the officers.
“Want to start picking them one after the other and see if I’ll crack?”
Gesticulating can be a very powerful tool; you’ll learn it in your first class at the Academy. Are you trying to get people to look away? Point away.
It rarely works for people trained in intelligence or people who are smart enough to know they’re being played. But these are your run of the mill uneducated thugs who’ve found a cause to kill and die for, though greatly cruel.
All five of the terrorists look at the terrified Armada officers.
I move at the speed of light. I pull out my gun, which is on my right, and my laser knife, which is on my left. I slash across the man’s throat even before he realizes what’s wrong. Then I kick him.
I fire off three shots, even as the man’s body flies across the air and slams into the fifth terrorist who’s aiming at the officers.
Five men now fall to the ground. One is dead by a slash across his neck. Three are dead by laser headshots. The fifth is dazed because a body slams onto him at the speed of an aircar.
I leap onto the fifth man and pick him out of the heap of bodies with one hand like he’s weightless. He’s still in shock. I slam him onto the ground to separate him from the others so I can interrogate him.
I look at the officers. They’re all looking at me in shock.
“Don’t thank me all at once,” I say.
At that moment, another set of armed men barge into the room, aiming and yelling for everyone to get on their knees. The Cavalry has arrived, much to my chagrin.
I immediately fall to my knees, dropping my weapons on the ground, raising my hands into the air and lacing them around my neck.
Five Marines surround me, giving me a wide berth, their rifles aimed at my head.
“Don’t you fucking move or we blast that cute ass to kingdom fucking come!” The lead Marine yells in my face.
Yeah, it’s just another day at work.
Zhang
I lead Ann into the elevator. I push her in and stand in front of her, using my body as a shield, in case we’re stormed on our way to the ground floor.
“Computer, take us to the underground escape tunnel,” I say.
“Access denied,” replies a voice in the elevator.
“Shouldn’t we be going out through the front door?” Ann asks. “Don’t you work for the Terran Armada?”
She’s behind me, mumbling some gibberish and biting her nails. I turn to face her, which stifles her. I can see raw terror in her eyes. I understand that she’s not just afraid of what is happening at the moment, but is also afraid of me.
For all she knows, I may be a Terran spy working for the Tyreesians, who’s leading her to the chop shop to have her head chopped off.
I place my palms on her shoulders in a calming way and put a small smile on my face, just how we were taught back at the Academy.
“I know this is a lot to process,” I say. “Believe me, I understand. Defecting between sides in one’s species is heavy enough. Defecting to another race is something else. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling.”
Ann nods, her eyes mellowing.
“Just relax and take deep breaths,” I say. “I’ll get you to safety. We have an Armada Intelligence facility near here. The moment we’re outside the Terran Union, I’m going to call them and have them send someone to pick us up. Don’t worry. You’re going to be safe. Once you’re in proper Armada Intelligence hands, no one will be able to harm you. Okay?”
She nods.
I look away.
“Computer, take us to the underground escape tunnel,” I say again, this time forceful like it’s going to make a difference.
“Access denied,” it replies.
“Override,” I reply.
“Override code required,” the computer informs me.
“Voice identification, Agent Zhang Wilberforce,” I say out loud.
“Processing…” it says. “Checking…”
I growl. I know elevator computers can be very slow.
“Confirmed,” the computer says, “proceeding to underground tunnel.”
Then, the elevator trembles into life and begins to move downwards.
I turn to look at Ann, who looks back at me, silent.
“A lot of Terran Union facility have these tunnels built beneath in case of an invasion or an attack,” I explain to her. “We want our people to be able to escape the building without leaving through the front doors or the helipad.”
“Like a fire escape?” she asks.
I smile, nodding my head.
“Yes. Like a fire escape. They have one of those on Tyreese?”
She chuckles. “Not Tyreese.”
“Oh, where then?”
“I mean, my home world,” she says. “It’s not called Tyreese.”
“What then?” I ask.
The elevator jerks, cutting down on its speed.
“Warning,” the computer says, “attempted boarding on Level One. Armada Security. Access granted.”
We’re currently at level ten.
“Computer, deny access,” I say. “Override upon my authority.”
“Confirmed. Access denied. Proceeding to underground tunnel.”
We fall past level one and continue descending for a full one minute before coming to a stop.
I draw my gun and lead Ann out. We come into a vast space with a very low headroom. There are pillars everywhere that supports the building. The place is dimly lit by tiny bulbs overhead. The signs says to head on straight until we find an exit ramp back up to the surface.
We follow the directions until I hear a loud scream. I push Ann away quickly, but I don’t get out of the way in time. I plant my feet in the ground and raise my hand to block the flying kick. The man bounces off my hands, while I skid back a few yards. I still haven’t recovered, so my body still feels a little out of it.
Standing before me is the shitty stabber who just won’t die. In his hands is the bomb that according to the Tyreesians can blow up the entire building if put next to a power generator. Well, we’re not close to a power generator here. But I don’t want to see how much less powerful it is. It’s blinking green, which means it’s already armed. The detonator is in the Separatist’s other hand. He has his finger set over the trigger.
“You should be dead,” I say.
“Why, because of a lousy headshot?” he replies. “Your headshot went right through the nonessential parts of my brain. It took the nanites a lot of time, yeah, but they fixed me back up. I had to kill a lot of Marines to retrieve my bomb and make it down here, but I enjoyed doing it.”
The stabber looks behind me to Ann. His face descends into a deep frown.
“I should’ve known you had gotten into bed with her kind,” he shrills.
Then, as stupid as he can be, the stabber drops the bomb and the detonator.
“I’ll kill you first—then her. Then I will bomb this whole building and kill them all.”
I fall back into a defensive position. “You mean you’ll try?”
I blink twice, feeling the power of the nanites reinforce my body.
He leaps in front of me, his right hand stretched forth to punch my face. I lean back, a little out of reach. Then I grab his hand and yank him deeper. He loses balance and falls forward. I raise my knee and it reaches his abdomen. He jerks, then convulses, spilling out goo and blood.
He begins to retch, and I lean into him and whisper, “You should have kept the bomb.”
I grab hold of him and fling him as far away as my nanites will allow. He flies through the air over a distance of fifty yards before smacking into the ground, bouncing three times before coming to a stop. Everywhere he bounced off from has a small crater.
I grab the bomb and the detonator and begin to run in the direction of the sign. I look over my shoulder to see if Ann’s following, but I don’t see her. I skid to a stop and turn. She’s rooted to the ground, right where I left her, looking at the racist, who’s beginning to recover. Seeing the man turn on the floor brings fear to my heart.
I run back to her and grab her hand. She jerks, trying to pull loose, until she sees it’s me and stops.
“We have to get out of here,” I say. “He’s too powerful for me. I can’t fight him and defend you and the bomb.”
We begin in a jog towards the ramp. We’re barely one minute into our jog when Ann begins to question me.
“How were you able to throw him through that distance?” she asks, her eyes peeled on me. I can see her curiosity through my periphery.
“I’m nanite-enhanced,” I reply. It’s technically not classified information since there are nanite-enhanced individuals in the galaxy. However, I’ve been ordered not to reveal this aspect of my physiology to anyone so as to maintain the element of surprise and capitalize on people who underestimate me.
However, in this situation, I know the best way to assure Ann and make her follow me would be to be honest with her.
“AAHHHH!!!!” booms a voice through the subterranean.
My heart quakes beneath my chest.
“Computer, contact the Terran Armada,” I say. “Priority intelligence message.”
“Complying,” says the tiny voice in my ears.
“Zhang, this is Armada Intelligence station chief for Perseus,” says a voice in my ears, “I understand you and No One should be delivering a Tyreesian defector?”
“Wait, No One isn’t with you yet?” I ask.
“No,” he replies. “We lost contact with her since the attack on the Terran Union administration building.”
Shit!
“I am with the Tyreesian scientist,” I say. “I need you to come pick her up. I am giving you access to my location. This is urgent because I’m carrying a Tyreesian’s cobalt bomb, and pursued by a nanite-enhanced Terran Separatist.”
“Head south,” says the station chief. “Those areas are less populated in case the bomb goes off. I’ll meet you in less than five minutes.”
“Roger that,” I say. “Computer, maintain a connection to the station chief to track my location.”
“Confirmed,” the computer replies.
We arrive at the ramp and run up onto ground level into the edge of Perseus City. I immediately lead Ann down south at a breakneck running pace. I’m holding the bomb and detonator in my hands. I’m impressed that she’s able to keep up with me.
“Computer, Contact No One,” I say.
“Contacting No One…”
Before we set out for this mission, our neural networks were linked via the nanites, making it easy for me to communicate with her over short distances, like within a planet. The reason for this was so that in the case we lose contact via slipstream or conventional hailing, I had an unrestricted access to her.
“Access granted.”
No One, I think in my mind. I listen hard. Then, I hear her voice.
Zhang! Great, you’re alive, No One says. Are you running?
Yes, I reply. I have the bomb and I’m being pursued by the stabber.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” No One screams, my ears almost exploding.
Who is that? I say. Separatists or Armada?
Armada, she replies. Can’t talk now.
I hear the whoosh of a rocket propelled grenade launcher first. I stop and grab Ann’s hand to keep her from running ahead.
There’s an explosion about ten yards ahead. A parked aircar goes up in flames. The concussion hits us square in the chest, sending us to the ground. The bomb and detonator flies out of my hands, and unto the ground. I watch it roll until it stops at the feet of the stabber, who’s now recovered and i
s smiling with a rocket launcher over his shoulder.
Out of nowhere, an aircar descends to the ground. Someone leans out and begins to shoot at us. I roll off the floor onto my feet, even as the stabber dives off the ground.
“Zhang!” screams the shooter. The aircar comes to stop near Ann, who’s still dazed on the ground.
The shooter jumps to the ground and carries the Tyreesian scientist into the car. One down, the bomb is next.
I run for the bomb, but the stabber gets there first. He grabs the bomb and the detonator and begins to run down the deserted street.
“Zhang, you coming?”
“Go on ahead,” I reply. “I have to stop that bomb.”
That’s the last I hear of the station chief as I feel rather than see the aircar ascend with their prize.
Good. At least that mission is accomplished.
Putting all the energy I can into my legs, I jump ahead and crash into the back of the Separatist. The bomb flies out of his hands, landing several feet away. But he still has the detonator in his hands. He pushes the button.
“No!” I cry.
“See you in hell, Unionist scum,” he spits.
There’s a blinding flash of light. An unbearable wave of heat.
And then nothing.
Zhang…
No One
I scream at the massive explosion I hear in my ears, pushing my head between my knees and jamming my ears shut.
Well, the building is still standing. Looks like the Tyreesians were wrong about how strong it was.
Zhang, I think, even as I feel a massive wave of panic, both from myself and from Zhang. Then nothing.
My eyes water with tears.
Sirens start wailing. Alarm klaxons go off.
Zhang.
I gasp and feel the weight inside my chest.
Zhang is gone.
“What just happened?” The interrogator asks me. “That felt like a bomb blast.”
I’m still in a shock.
“Screaming is not going to help your case woman,” says the interrogator to my ears. “So, if I were you, I’d start talking.”
I look up. I’m in a small interrogation room in the TAIOC section of the building. The room has a table in the center, with chairs on both sides. I sit in the prisoner’s side, while my interrogator is standing in the corner, classic interrogator style.
The interrogator works for Armada security—not a contract staffer, but an actual officer. As early as when he started questioning, I knew that he didn’t have the necessary clearance to know about my work. Hence, I had to maintain my cover. It sucks to be held prisoner by the very organization that you’re working for.
As what his name pin says, his name is Chuck. His shoulder patch tells me he’s a lieutenant. Definitely not cleared high enough.
“Look, Chuck, I’ve told you that I’m not saying anything until my lawyer shows up,” I say. “Because all I’ve done is protect your officers from being butchered by Separatists. That bomb would have killed you if I hadn’t been here.”
The man is tall and handsome. He has saltpeter hair that gives him that rebellious look that charms a lot of women. If I weren’t already in love, I may have been charmed.
There’s an overhead light bulb that barely lights up the room. The edges of the room are in partial darkness. The door is black and is on the right corner of the room. There’s a window ahead of me where I can see armed Marines standing guard.
If I didn’t know Terran Armada security protocols in cases such as this, I might have been scared as shit. Everything I can see, feel and touch and hear in this room is designed to get me to break.
I know that the rules prevent anyone from harming me. Torture is an illegal means of interrogation, so I know I’m not going to be broken.
I’m not afraid of being tortured—heck, I’ve been tortured a few times. Once, deep in the Outer Colonies. Another time by the Sonali, during the Earth-Sonali war, though that was in a Sonali occupied Terran base. I had been sent in to spy on troop’s movement on the base. The only way I could get the information we needed to mount a take back mission was if I got inside.
Ergo, I had to get caught.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t get out soon enough to not be interrogated. But fortunately, I was able to get the information the Armada needed to invade. Long story short, we took the base, I was set free, and got yet another award for bravery as well as another sharp rebuke from Shane for recklessly putting my life in danger.
I wonder what he’d think now if he found out that the mission he sent me on had landed me in Armada custody as a criminal. This mission sure is full of ironies.
So, no, I’m not fazed by the black door, or the darkness designed to disorient, or the cool air designed to accentuate feelings of depression, and hopelessness or the claustrophobic space partnered with the marines on sight deigned to convey the sense of imprisonment. It’s meant to tell you, “Hey, you are our prisoner and you can’t escape; get ready for prison time if you don’t talk.”
And the tall, handsome officer offers you a way out if you’d just talk. Well, he’s been at it for quite some time. I’m not going to give him even a sliver of information.
The man sits on the chair. “Look, we have you on assaulting a Terran officer. We have you on murder. We have you on treason. And I’m pretty sure we can tie you to the Separatists. That’s more than a hundred years imprisonment, and trust me with the latest advances in correctional facilities, you will serve your time to the full.”
I keep my face straight.
“So, help me help you,” he says in an entreating tone.
“I am not after you. I am after the murderers that killed the Marines and other security operatives in the hallway and all those aliens. For whoever is responsible for that blast.
I’m looking for someone to hang for this.”
He speaks as though he’s talking to a co-conspirator.
“The Terran Union needs someone to hang for this. I wouldn’t want for a pretty girl like you to be it.”
He pauses to see if I’m following. I nod my head innocently as though I’m honestly following his drivel.
“I can get maybe sixty or seventy years shoved off your probable sentence,” he says in a low tone. “And if you’re well behaved, you can get out after maybe fifteen, twenty years. What do you say?”
“What do I say?” I ask.
He nods expectantly.
“What do you say?” he says.
I sigh and shake my head in pity.
“I say you’re a dumb fuck for thinking I’ll eat that shit you’re selling.”
I watch as his face turns a deep shade of red with anger. He gently gets up to his feet and comes over to my side of the table. He sits down on the table, facing me.
“You think this is funny?” he says.
“I think I want to speak to my lawyer,” I hiss.
He leans into my face and says, “You fucking cunt, I’ll—“
I blink twice, then slam my forehead into his face and then onto his chest, sending him flying across the room and smashing into the glass ahead.
I slide the pin I’ve just sneakily snagged off his shirt into my mouth, even as the marines burst into the room and head butt me with their weapon. They don’t stop. The kick me and punch me and smack their weapons onto my body, until I’m sputtering blood.
“Enough!” Chuck says.
I’m convulsing on the ground, doing all I can to keep the pin in my mouth.
“I said enough!” Chuck roars.
They stop.
“Get out of here!” he shouts.
They snap to attention and march out of the room, banging the door behind them.
Chuck helps me back to my seat. I avoid his gaze, feeling my nanites get to work on fixing my body. I begin to feel an analgesic agent pooling in my blood, dulling the throbs of pain.
Chuck says, “Allow me to apologize for my colleagues. They lost a lot of good men today, trying to quell the terrorists’ attack. You will forgive them.”
I turn to flash him one of my deadliest glares.
“Your team just assaulted an innocent woman on Terran Union soil. I’ll have your asses!”
Then, I spit in his face.
He doubles back, anger fleeting across his face. I can see that he wants to clap back at me, but he hesitates and pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his face instead.
“You’re many things, woman,” the man says, “but you and I know that innocent isn’t one of those things.”
The moment he walks out, I relax with a soft exhalation.
The effects of the narcotic agent working in my blood begin to lull me to sleep. I doze off a couple of times until another man enters the interrogation room.
This man is a smartly dressed officer of the Terran Armada, wearing a clean white ceremonial garbs.
I look at his face and my heart skips a beat.
He smiles warmly at me, the very air of his presence causing the hairs on my nape to stand on end.
“Captain,” I say, reverence filling my voice end to end.
“Commander,” the man replies with a curt nod. He looks from me to the glass window to the splutter of blood trailing the ground.
“Rest assured, I will have those marines court-martialed.” he says.
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” I reply. “They were only doing their job.”
“Like you, I guess,” he says.
I’m about to reply in the affirmative, before I catch my tongue.
I smile.
He smiles back. He’s as handsome as the stories go. His soft features are nothing to match his nerve-of-steel reputation.
He sits on the chair.
“In case you’re wondering, I’m here for the summit, but then I was called due to a security breach. Then the bomb that just went off in the south tunnels. Right as soon as Armada Intelligence informed me they had a high value defector heading to The Seeker for immediate shuttle to Earth. Imagine my surprise when I’m informed immediately after that by the Terran Armada that one of the leaders of the terrorists responsible is a highly-decorated intelligence officer.”
I don’t reply. I merely keep my gaze straight. I know my mission is off the books. This means I can actually go to jail.
And the bomb went off, so I probably am really going to jail. After all, I did help terrorists gain access to the Terran Armada Administrative Building.
“So,” Captain Montgomery says. “Are you ready to talk?”
Jeryl
As I walk to the holding cell of Anika Grayson, I realize that I'm pissed.
Pissed and puzzled.
When I got the message that my presence was requested I took the liberty of perusing the prisoner's service record—well, the few sections that weren’t confidential anyway.
And I'm puzzled. Ms. Grayson has clearly been an asset to Terran Armada for years.
In fact, the oddest part is that apparently six months ago, she uncovered a plot by Pro-Ascension Sonali to frame Terrans for an assassination of one of their leaders. It sounds like that was one class-A cluster fuck.
I see a few notations about disciplinary action taken due to "overzealous" conduct. To some, that might raise a red flag or two but not to me.
The war may be over, but now I find myself navigating the equally dangerous waters of diplomacy.
And in both circumstances I've found that making "the right" decision is not as black and white as most people would like to believe.
No, I've been through too much, made too many bad calls myself to judge someone else for making poor decisions.
Besides, something doesn't smell right about this. How do you go from a dedicated Terran agent to a traitor in a few short months?
No, I'm not buying it; I call bullshit.
The deadly attack in the lobby and the bomb blast in the tunnels is now being treated like an act of war.
But something else is going on here, something just under the surface. Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling there is going to be more than meets the eye and Ms. Grayson is involved.
I'm two steps away from entering the prison block when my irritation flares again. I'm here for the Summit but I'm getting called over to look into today’s attack. I'm not sure what they expect by sending me here, but as the "Avenger of the Mariner," I'm the new mascot of the Terran Armada.
I heave a sigh.
So, my "job" is likely to make an appearance so that security can say they were visited by the Great Captain Jeryl Montgomery. Well, let's show them what this figurehead can do.
I take the last two steps bringing me inside the security room where the prisoner is being held.
There was a headshot of Ms. Anika Grayson in her file; however, seeing her in the flesh takes me off guard. She's beautiful, but that's not what gets me. It's her eyes.
They watch me with predatory calculation.
She's not scared. Not even a bit nervous.
Most people in interrogation would be fidgeting, worried, stressed. She's not even breaking a sweat.
What I'm seeing tells me there’s a lot more to Ms. Grayson and the reason why she's here.
I approach the cell.
“Captain,” she says as she sees me walk in.
“Commander,” I reply, looking around the room and cocking one eyebrow at the trail of blood I see on the floor. “Rest assured, I will have those marines court-martialed.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir. They were only doing their job.”
“Like you, I guess.” I let my words sink in before I continue. “In case you’re wondering, I’m here for the summit, but then I was called due to a security breach. Then the bomb that just went off in the south tunnels. Right as soon as Armada Intelligence informed me they had a high value defector heading to The Seeker for immediate shuttle to Earth. Imagine my surprise when I’m informed immediately after that by the Terran Armada that one of the leaders of the terrorists responsible is a highly-decorated intelligence officer. So…are you ready to talk?”
Silence.
"Ms. Grayson," I continue after a long silence, "As much as I'd love to crack a joke about a girl like you in a place like this, I think I should skip the banter and just get straight to it, don’t you agree? It’ll be easier for both of us."
She nods.
"Good, so may I ask why a decorated Terran officer—one who was a hero on Sonali Prime a mere six months ago—suddenly turns into a traitor?"
"Money," she says like it's a punchline to a joke. But I'm not laughing.
"Money?" I ask, arching a bow.
"Yeah," she says in a disinterested drawl, "is there a better reason?"
"Armada not paying you enough?"
"No, not really."
She puts her knees up, circling them with her arms. As I watch, she lays her head sideways on the crook of her arms. She closes her eyes.
I can't believe it!
Except that I think this is all part of her act. Her cover. She needs to play the role of the disinterested traitor, too mixed up in her own avarice to care what anyone thinks.
"So, what are the Tyressians paying you?"
She opens her eyes and sits up.
"Enough," she says, smirking. "Plus a bonus if I finish early, but looks like that part isn't going to happen."
She puffs, blowing a bit of hair from her face. Then, she resumes her position with her head on her hands. Her eyes close.
"Thirty," I say without preamble, my tone grim.
"What?"
"Ten Sonali. Seven Kurta. Three Drupadi. Ten Humans. All dead. All shot by your Separatist friend." I say, letting the moment hang.
"Is that supposed to mean something to me? Am I supposed to be sad?" She mocks.
But underneath her facade I see something that doesn't match her words.
Regret. Remorse.
She's a killer, I think, but then so am I. And even a seasoned killer can have regrets. I know this too well.
"No," I say, "Not sad—responsible."
I put on my best "dad's mad" disappointed face—and it works. She looks uncomfortable.
"I didn't pull the trigger, that wasn't part of the plan," she says, "It's not my fault that my associates got overzealous."
"Causalities of war?" I ask, brows up.
"More like the cost of doing business."
She smiles a cruel smile.
"And it's always nice when someone else pays."
My anger goes nuclear. Time to play dirty.
"I don't have children," I say, "Even if Ashley and I wanted kids, I don't know that we have time. We barely see each other as it is..."
"That's a beautiful story," she says to me and made fake snoring noises.
I take my personal tablet, which what I sometimes refer to as my "leash," given how it mostly seems like it’s used by Terran Armada to keep tabs on me. I tap on the screen until I'm satisfied. Then I hold it up so Anika can see it.
"Do you know who this is?' I hold the tablet eye level with her. The image on the screen is a young Sonali girl.
"Should I?" says Anika.
"No," I say lowering the tablet, "I don't think there's any reason for you to know her, but I thought you should. She's an orphan. Her mother died in the war and her father died—today."
Her eyes are wary, guarded, but there's a flicker she can't conceal.
"I thought you might relate to a young woman losing both of her parents, tragically and unnecessarily, at a young age," I comment casually.
Her gaze turns inward, contemplating the little girl's loss as she remembers her own. As I watch, she notices me and shrugs off this sorrow to transform back into character.
"Thanks for sharing," she smiles, baring teeth.
"But I think the real question is why is a big-time planetary hero here, dealing with me? I don't think security is short of personnel. So how exactly did you get this shit detail?"
"You must have a low regard for your self-worth," I quip.
"No," she smiles, "I just know that there has to be more pressing duties for Captain Montgomery—the war hero."
I do my best not to flinch when she says that. I'm not sure I'll ever been 100% comfortable with the idea of being a "hero" especially of the war. But here I am.
"You're right, I'm not sure why my expertise is needed. But I'm here, and regardless of what brought me here, I have a job. I wish you would trust me, Anika.”
I say, letting the weight of my sincerity shade my tone.
"Why don't you tell me what's really going on? I can protect you."
My eyes plead with her.
"Do I look like I need protection?" she scoffs.
"No," I say seriously. "But that doesn't mean you’re impervious to getting stuck in a shitty situation. We both know you're not a traitor."
My eyes hold hers. Neither of us blinks.
My tablet pings interrupting our face-off. I'm notified that the interrogator is on his way.
Shit, I'm out of time.
Anika looks like she's shaken off anything I was starting to tap into emotionally. Back in place is her cold, surly traitor persona. I don't think I could convince anyone else, even with my clout that she's legit, but I know I'm right.
The interrogator returns. He stops and salutes. "Captain Montgomery, sir."
I salute back. "At ease."
"I hope the prisoner has not troubled you, sir."
"No," I answer truthfully, "Though unfortunately, she refused to cooperate."
He nods like that doesn't surprise him.
"Well, we'll see how long she stays that way," he says smugly. For the first time, I notice the silver and black case he's carrying in his left hand. This isn’t going to be pretty.
As though reading my mind, he says, "Are you staying, sir?"
I nod.
I have a feeling this makes him a bit uncomfortable, but if it does, he covers it well. I watch as he instructs Anika to stand away from the force field as he deactivates it.
She turns around, face pressed against the wall as he puts the force field back on. He turns her around, yanking her down to a sitting position. He secures the cuffs on her wrists with magnetic locks. He locks her legs down too.
I'm impressed—he’s not taking any chances. Given what I've seen of her abilities as far as kicking ass, I think he's making wise choices.
Anika looks like a woman steeling herself to face a death squad. She's probably readying her body and mind for the interrogation. Torture is illegal, but we both know that the Armada sometimes rely on unsavory members from Intelligence to get to the bottom of things.
Doubt surfaces in my mind; am I really going to be able to stomach watching her tortured— especially when I'd swear on my life that she's innocent?
No One
If someone asked me if I wanted to meet Captain Jeryl Montgomery, savior of the war, I would probably say yes. If they asked me how I’d like to meet him, I think I'd say over drinks or such.
What I wouldn’t say is "locked in a cell, cuffed and accused of being a traitor to the Terran Armada."
Nope, pretty sure that wouldn’t be on the list.
Unfortunately, life, as usual, has different plans for me. But though the circumstances are not ideal, I have to admit that I'm glad we met. I believe I'm a good judge of character. If not, I don't think I'd still be alive in my line of work.
My first impressions of Captain Montgomery are good ones. He's intelligent and clearly a man with a moral code. But I sense doubt and remorse too—a struggle within him. I don't want to, but I guess I could say that I can relate. Half of the time it seems we're all just trying to do the best we can to make the "right"
decisions.
Weary. That's another adjective I'd use to describe him. He's a man carrying a lot around—and it shows.
Despite my respect and empathy, I don't reveal my real mission. He may be a good guy, but I still just met him. Trust is earned, so
I keep my mouth shut about what's actually going on—making sure my "traitor" mask stays in place.
I'm feeling okay about keeping him in the dark—but then the interrogator comes back.
He’s holding a black and silver case I’m absolutely familiar with.
Well, shit. It’s the torture case.
I know I'll be able to handle whatever he dishes out; I've been trained to withstand pain. Also, my nanites are programmed to react to extreme duress by dumping drugs into my system to keep me happy and pain-free. I'll sweat a lot, but the pain will be manageable allowing me to focus.
My only regret is that it looks like Captain Montgomery is staying for the show.
It's silly, but somehow this embarrasses me. Like if Captain Montgomery found me puking in the bathroom…somehow, it feels the same.
But it's not like I have any choice.
Hey Mr. Torturer, do you mind coming back later? I know you need my secrets, but I fucking hate having an audience with the Avenger of the Mariner.
I almost start giggling at that thought. I must not be able to hide all of my amusement because the interrogator gives me a look.
"You won't be smiling for long, sweetheart," he says.
Now I really want to giggle, but instead I keep my lips sealed.
Nope, no talking. He's wrong. I'm wrong.
I do have a choice, based on about two and half inches of sharp metal tucked into my left fist. He may have locked down my wrist cuffs, but he did not check my hands. Bad move on his part.
I watch Mr. Torturer turn sideways away from me as he carefully, almost lovingly removes items from his briefcase. My guts squirm a bit. This guy seems like he really enjoys his job.
Time to get to work before he finishes unpacking.
My wrists are bound, but my fingers are free. Carefully, I grip the metal pin with my fingers, then bend my wrist inward until the point makes contact with my skin.
I sneak a glance. Neither Captain Montgomery nor Mr. Torture are looking my way.
The former is looking at his tablet. I have a feeling he's using it as an excuse to not see me.
Showtime.
I suck in a breath to steady myself. I have one chance.
I jab the pointed end of metal into deep into my wrist. I clamp my jaw shut so I don't scream. I think I hit a vein.
Good.
I’m rewarded with some nice red blood. It doesn't gush, but it does well up nicely until physics makes it start plopping on my leg. I try to whip my hand toward my other side to get some blood on that hand as well.
Thank goodness for my nanites—they've dulled the pain. But not my senses.
"Hey, Mr. Interrogator. I don't feel so good,"
I let my voice slur like I'm getting woozy.
"Oh my God," says Captain Montgomery as he sees the red splashes on me.
He looks at the interrogator. "Get a medic, now!"
The interrogator runs from the room. Captain Montgomery moves close to my cell.
"What did you do to yourself?" he asks, stunned.
Is that concern in his voice?
I consider laughing a goofy, drug-enhanced laugh, but decide that would just be mean. This man actually cares about my well being. That's nice, but I need to leave.
The interrogator rushes in with a guy in a white and blue shirt who I assume is the medic. The medic waits while the force field is deactivated, then rushes in.
"Take off her restraints," orders the medic.
The interrogator hesitates.
"I need to see where the wound is," says the medic in a tone that brooks no disagreement. As my restraints click open, I go limp pretending to pass out.
The medic immediately puts his arms around my back to help me sit up, just like I hoped. I raise my left wrist, the one with the metal still gripped in it and press the point into the side of his neck.
My eyes flick open as he stiffens.
"Get up slowly," I order. "And you Mr. Torture Fun Time, you're going to trade places with me."
The medic slowly eases up. I follow a step behind him, keeping the point against his neck and I nod toward the cuffs I just vacated.
"Put on the restraints on him." I tell the medic.
The cuffs click over the interrogator’s legs and wrists. I doubt that will hold him for long. I motion for him to sit down.
"But you're bleeding," says the medic, voice steady. "I can help you."
I'm threatening his life and he still wants to help me. Amazing—that or he's trying to distract me.
"I'm fine. Now open the door." I say.
What the doc doesn't know—or anyone else in the room is that I'm in no danger of bleeding out. My nanites are already working overtime to knit up the holes I made in my flesh. I'm not invincible; if I sustain serious damage I can lose blood faster than my nanites can work.
Right now, the blood on me is camouflaging the fact that underneath it, the wounds are already healing.
The medic says, "I don't know the code."
"Give it to him," I bark at the interrogator.
"I know it, " says Captain Montgomery stepping close to the panel. He pauses his finger poised above the panel.
"Do it," I growl.
"No," says Captain Montgomery. "Not unless you let the medic go."
I laugh.
"Oh, and I suppose you're going to guarantee I'll make it out safely without him?"
"In a manner of speaking," he says. "I'll let you out, but you have to trade him for me. I'll be your hostage. Do that and I can guarantee you'll get out of the building safely."
I think about it for a second. Normally, I'd be reluctant to do a hostage swap—too many things can go wrong for me. But Captain Montgomery has a point.
He can guarantee my safety. There’s no way in hell anyone in the Terran Armada is going to risk the life of the legendary Captain Jeryl "Avenger of the Mariner" Montgomery just to take out one traitor.
Plus, as far as I know, he has no nanite enhancements. He really is just a man.
Earlier, I wished we met under different, better circumstances. Now, I need to add more entries to my list of “Ways I'd prefer not to have met Captain Jeryl Montgomery."
Taking him hostage. Threatening his life. Using him to break out of prison.
For a split second, I wonder if this little move on my part is going to tarnish his reputation.
Then a sudden realization comes to me.
Tarnish his reputation? Ha!
More like build it even more. I can see the headline of the news now: "Captain Jeryl Montgomery, War Hero, Bravely Offers Himself Up for Hostage Exchange."
I bet a load of credits that Mr. Torturer and Mr. Medic can't wait to tell their friends how they were saved from an evil traitor by this legend. Well, I guess now I can add public relations to my resume.
Time to make use of this asset.
"Turn around," I order Captain Montgomery. He does what I say.
"Hands on your head."
He slowly complies.
I move up with the medic until I'm flanking him.
Now this is the hard part. I need to swap out the medic for Captain Montgomery. Before I do that I need to lift the point from the medic's neck. And since his life is my only leverage, those split seconds where he's not in jeopardy are going to make me vulnerable. I need to do this fast.
Time for some nanite action.
The world slows as I spin the medic away from me like a discarded dance partner. Faster than humans can move, I turn back and embrace Captain Montgomery.
My hand presses the cool metal against his flesh.
"Well, Captain Montgomery," I say. "You got yourself a deal."
No One
Hostage-taking is not my forte. In fact, if it’s a toss up between taking a hostage and torturing one, well, the latter tends to go a lot quicker.
What people don’t realize is how much taking a hostage makes the taker vulnerable. And the part that makes you the most vulnerable is moving the hostage. It makes you real dead—real quick.
Basically, it’s just a big pain in the ass.
I’m just grateful that Captain Montgomery is being a fairly tractable hostage. He’s not screaming, crying or fighting me—yet.
Not that I believe we’re going to be get chummy, though at this point we’re close. So close that it’s plain
awkward. I’m close enough to Captain Montgomery to smell his aftershave. My breasts are pressed against his back as I hold the metal point to his throat, my other arm keeping his neck in a chokehold.
I have to walk us backwards and sideways so I can see where to go while keeping him close—c
lose enough to
kill. I need to make it look like I'm a shit-crazed traitor who just got her hands on the hottest hostage this side of the Mariner Nebula.
Actually, that's pretty close to the truth barring the "traitor" bit—shit-crazed seems pretty fair at this point.
Bottom-line: I need to make anyone who sees us believe that Captain Montgomery's life is in danger. Hell, I need to make him believe it.
“We’re going to the hangar?” he asks me, calm as a fucking cucumber.
“You got that right, Avenger,” I breathe into his ear.
What? You have to know this is a handsome war hero. A girl like me doesn’t get many chances with a guy like this.
I press the metal point a millimeter deeper into his throat. He doesn't make a sound. I figure after everything he's seen, everything he's been through, this probably doesn't even register a one on his shit-o-meter. I'm just glad he's not calling my bluff or playing hero, so far. I can see the inside of the hangar, just a few more steps...
"Halt, hands on your head, release the hostage!"
Yeah, well, now it's time to play my part.
I swing us around so I can face the security officer. He's alone, but I know that's a very temporary situation. The more people that show up, the harder it gets for me to get out of this unscathed. More hostages would improve my odds, but that's the beauty of my current situation; I've got a hostage that's valuable. And it's time I laid that currency down.
"You are going to be one famous guy, " I say conversationally to the security guard. I can tell my response confuses him. Good.
"Lay down your weapon, put your hands on your head and release the hostage," he repeats.
"Yes, sir, I mean I can see the newsfeeds now. ‘Security Guard, Responsible For Murder of the Father of the Galactic Council.’"
I grin at him when I finish, "What's your name? Wait, don't tell me, it doesn't matter, pretty soon everyone is going to know it. You'll go down in history as the man who got Captain Jeryl Montgomery, hero of the war, killed."
"Stop," says Captain Montgomery.
I don't know if he's talking to me or to the guy until he says, "Lower your weapon and allow her to leave."
"But sir—"
"Do it soldier, that's an order." He barks.
I watch as the guard reluctantly lowers his weapon.
"Put it on the ground and kick it over to me," I say.
He looks at Captain Montgomery who nods.
He lowers his gun slowly in front of him and kicks it toward me. It slides across the floor, coming to stop a foot in front of us. I start to bend down when the guard decides he wants to play hero. I guess that newsfeed bit really got to him.
Sometimes when the shit hits the fan it goes in slo-mo, like someone took a picture of the moment and started pulling the edges like it was melting plastic. My nanites tend to make the world slow down for everybody, especially for me when shit goes sideways.
But, the truth is no one slows down time because no one controls it. Time, events—we like to think we control them, but really, it’s out of our hands.
We don't have control, but we do have choices. And those choices have consequences.
The guard rushes to me as I lean down to grab the weapon.
Captain Montgomery yells "No!" though I don't know if he's talking to the guard or me.
But I do what I am trained to do. I have to.
Usually, when you see someone roll forward it looks like such a waste of effort, just showy secret agent bullshit, but for me this little bit of show-off does two things for me: it gives me momentum closing the distance between me and the guard. Fast.
As I tumble, I pick up his weapon, roll forward and shoot him with it. He falls.
I don't stop to check his pulse. I don't need to.
When I spin back, gun in hand, I face Captain Montgomery, but he's not looking at me.
He's looking at the guard.
"You didn't have to kill him," he says quietly.
I don't say anything. I just wait. I figure maybe he has more to say. He doesn't—not to me.
"I need to make a call," says Captain Montgomery, looking at me before pulling his tablet from his jacket. He taps on the comm.
"This is Captain Jeryl Montgomery—I want immediate access granted for hangar bay 0170 now on my authority. Also, do not send any security personnel. I repeat do not send any security. Montgomery out."
I'd thank him, but it's time to move.
"Come on," he says resignedly, "lets get you to your ship."
I open the hatch pointing my gun at him to get inside. I sense that a series of things is going through his mind including the idea of taking me down.
But that thought is transient—he's seen me in action; he knows I've got an edge that he can't beat.
His mouth forms a grim lie, but he nods and goes inside the ship.
“You got to know that ever since you’ve landed and begun your…theatrics, the Armada has its sights trained on this hangar. You try to leave and they’ll follow you. Once they got me, they’ll blow you out of the sky,” he tells me.
But I’m too busy. I’m taking stock.
All right: time to do a quick run-down of my mission.
One teleporter. Check. Still in cargo bay.
One defector. Check. Somewhere, but safe.
One high-ranking military hostage: check.
Not the way this mission was supposed to go, but then what mission ever goes according to plan? None. You’re lucky if you get 70% off without a hitch. Or less.
Shit always happens in some way. Too many unknown variables in a known universe, or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, it’s time for me to get this show on the road.
I look at the transporter. And then to Jeryl.
“Who says anything about flying into orbit?” I ask him with a crooked smile.
It takes a moment and then Jeryl looks over at the cargo hold – and the one half of the matter transporter. Realization dawns and he nods to himself.
Time to talk to those brutish ass-hats.
The Tyreesians.
My bosses.
Well,
at least for a little bit longer.
No One
I power up my comm to the Tyreesians.
“Hello gentlemen, no plans to leave me behind here to rot in a Terran prison—right?” I bark.
“Your cargo ship most likely has every Armada gun trained on it, Ms. Grayson. Your Separatists friends are captured or scattered. We’ve lost contact with one of our scientists who we assume is the defector. We believe she is in the hands of Armada Intelligence. Your compatriot Zhang is dead; he also failed in his mission and the bomb went off with minimal loss of life or property—you no longer have anything else in your possession that is of any value to us.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong: I didn’t just spring myself out of custody, I took a hostage—” The Tyreesian cuts me off.
“We do not have time for diplomatic games Ms. Grayson, thus we do not have time for military hostages—”
“Not even for Captain Jeryl Montgomery, creator of the Galactic Council, and the man who ended the war?”
There is a moment of silence. Smugly, I wait while the Tyreesian to factor this into their plans.
“Very well, Ms. Grayson, we will allow you and Captain Montgomery aboard. Stand by.”
I’m feeling pretty smug that the Tyreesians took the bait. I know they can’t resist inflicting pain and anguish on the Terran war hero they hate. I find their hatred ironic; the Sonali fought five years with us, and now we’re on almost friendly terms—and that was with billions lost on both sides during the war.
The Tyreesians on the other hand weren’t even involved in the war; in addition, any conflict that’s arisen between them and Terran Armada has been of their own doing—like that shit that went down in the Omarian system. Hard not to find fault in a race that looks for trouble.
I guess I could admire their resourcefulness; they will use almost any means in order to inflict damage on the enemy. And they network with other factions that want extreme separation of species and use that to their advantage.
Right now, as far as they know, I’m an opportunistic ex-Terran Armada agent with a grudge. I laugh again at the irony; they’re pissed that one of their own betrayed them while they might as well be holding up a sign that says: ‘Do you hate other species? Are you looking for a permanent solution to this problem—well then join us for lots of death and destruction!’
The fine print would read: ‘Just don’t expect us to save your ass if you get caught.’
Though admittedly, I understand making the brutal choice to cut a loss. It’s not like there are warm, fuzzy feelings. Every agent knows they are expendable. Thinking expendable makes me think of Zhang. I liked him; he was a good guy, and now he’s gone. He sacrificed himself because he couldn’t stand to let the innocents die, not when he could do something about it.
I think about how he railed against me for killing—but you can’t afford to care in this business. Not the business we’re in. If you do, you end up dead. Case in fucking point.
Except that I’ve decided to drag Captain Montgomery along for the ride. It’s not fair, and I’m taking a big risk bringing him along for both of us, but I’m hoping this big risk is going to equal a big reward. I like to play poker and when you bet against the house, the house usually wins.
The big question I have right now is am I betting on the house or against it? Captain Montgomery seems like he would be the house. Terran Armada certainly has enough clout, and now they have two of the three pieces needed to control matter transport. Now that is clearly stacking the deck. I’m stacking the deck, and in my custody I have the King.
So, does that make me the Queen, the Ace or the Joker? Of those three, I think I’m the Ace. As for the other suits, I’m pretty sure that the Tyreesians have got to be the Jokers. So is it gonna be ace high or ace low? I suddenly laugh a bit at that thought. I’m an Ace. I’m a one.
No One.
The next steps of the mission are going to be crucial for me if I want to get out of this alive and take Captain Montgomery with me. Once I’m on the ship, I’m going to need to do a lot of improvising.
As I walk with Captain Montgomery toward the teleporter, I see the crate of Predatory Mega Flora that was the original cargo. This stuff is such bad news. It’s a vicious carnivorous plant capable of “walking” to find a host. I shudder at the thought of what it would feel like to have one of those things spear you, suck out your innards all while you’re still alive.
Gross. I guess I better warn Captain Montgomery.
Ha. Warning your hostage. That again, sounds ironic.
“See that,” I say to him, motioning with the nozzle of my gun away from him and the crate of “Seyshallian fruit” which the Tyreesians, in their zeal for having the worst things that can kill in the universe—organic or not, decided to include.
“The Tyreesians can’t be faulted for blood-lust, but in the brains department, I’m not sure they’ve evolved past Earth cockroaches.” I see him almost smirk.
“This fruit they have on board next to the mass transporter—well, it’s not fruit you eat. It’s fruit that eats you.”
I see him stop a moment considering my words.
“What are the Tyreesians going to do with it?” He asks.
“Shit if I know and shit if I care, but all that fruit needs to germinate is a host. A nice warm host, someone like you, me or a ship full of Tyreesians. These guys don’t even have this cargo area set at a cooler temperature. Right now, all it would take is a low-heat signature, say by a ship’s A.I. powering up this teleporter remotely and that’d be enough of a change in the ambient temp to draw this fruit over.
“And if the fruit comes through the teleporter. Well…that’s a nightmare waiting to happen.”
As the hum of the teleporter alerts us to its activation, I do a quick run-down in my head of the plan once I’m on the ship. No matter how I look at it, the odds aren’t in my favor. Well, fuck the odds. Zhang was a good guy and that got him killed. I don’t plan on making that mistake. I put on my best poker face as we step upon the teleporter.
Let's do this.
No One
I step off the teleporter, shoving Captain Montgomery in front of me. The Tyreesian commander is waiting with another Tyreesian who’s carrying a flat black case. Why do torturers always carry cases? I guess they like having their toys nearby.
Their really scary, creepy, cutty toys.
I’m delivering Captain Jeryl Montgomery, the guy responsible for sabotaging their last attempt to throw a wrench in galactic peace and prosperity, right into their hands.
“Excellent work, Ms. Grayson,” says the commander.
I nod.
“Welcome aboard, Captain Montgomery, if you will come with us.” I see the commander give him a wicked smile.
I watch Captain Montgomery start to walk with the commander and the torturer.
I know that if I want to get Captain Montgomery out of here alive, I can’t let him out of my sight.
“I’m coming, too,” I say, closing the distance.
“Your services are not required for the interrogation.”
The commander looks directly at me. I can tell my request has him confused and not in a good way. He’s wondering why the hell I’m interested in Montgomery’s welfare. I need to think fast.
“Oh, not after all the trouble I went through and all the bullshit the Terran Armada put me through—if you think for one minute I am going to miss the opportunity to see the famous Captain Montgomery suffer, you’re wrong. Besides, do you have any idea how valuable he is? I’m not letting that asset out of my sight.”
I see the Commander nod accepting my requests and my reasons for it.
“Very well, Ms. Grayson, you may attend the interrogation; however, leave your weapon here.”
I shrug, handing the rifle to one of the Tyreesians. Then I follow the interrogator as he leads Captain Montgomery out the door and down a hall.
We don’t walk far.
The Tyreesian sits Captain Montgomery in a chair, locking down his ankles and wrists.
And then he opens his black box and selects a long thin rod. Not good. I’m familiar with this tool—I’ve used it a few times.
But the part that bothers me the most is that the only time you bring out this ugly bit of tech is when you’re not planning on playing with your guest for too long—
which tells me that I’m going to have to watch closely or Captain Montgomery isn’t going to make it out alive.
He turns the tool on and I hear it power up. I realize that the chair Captain Montgomery is fastened in is made completely of metal. A perfect electrical conductor.
“Where is the defector that carries the secrets of our mass transport system?” asks the Tyreesian.
“I have no idea and it wouldn’t matter if I did. If we have her, then you’re not going to be able to get her back,” Captain Montgomery states.
A slight groan escapes from Captain Montgomery as the torturer touches the tip of the picana to manacle on his left wrist.
“You know where they have taken her,” he presses.
“Shangri-La.” Captain Montgomery says through gritted teeth.
“What are the coordinates of Shangri-La?” the Tyreesian asks, not understanding the cultural significance.
“In the system next to Disneyworld,” he replies again, referring to the long dead amusement park on Earth that received one of the first direct nuclear hits of the Third World War. I mean, these Tyreesians think they have the market on brutality? We threw nuclear missiles at each other – at our own children, not less than 300 years ago.
The Tyreesian stands placing the picana to Captain Montgomery’s arm, holding it there until he starts to scream.
“Stop it! What the hell are you doing?” I exclaim.
The Tyreesian glares at me.
“If you don’t have the stomach for this, leave. You wanted to come, so shut up and let me do my job,” he finishes. Then, almost out of retaliation for my interruption, he presses the tip of the tool to Captain Montgomery’s other arm, once again holding it there until he’s satisfied with the level of screaming. He stops. Captain Montgomery is panting heavily.
“You know if you kill him, you’ll lose the most valuable bargaining chip you have now with the Terran Armada. They will do anything to get him back in one piece, so you need to make sure you can deliver him in one piece.”
I get another glare from the Tyreesian.
“Who cares about bargaining? We have everything we need,” he says to me.
I feel a jolt of panic, but I keep my voice steady.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“We don’t need anything from the Terran Armada except for its defeat. Until we annihilate them I cannot think of a more significant blow we can deliver than announcing to them that we have killed their war hero, the famous Captain Jeryl Montgomery. Not only did we kill him, but we made him suffer first.”
He smiles.
Shit, shit, shit. This is not going as planned. I need to think up something new.
“The only reason you have him is because of me,” I say.
“Really? And that changes what I am going to do to him how?”
I can tell I’m really getting under this guy’s skin.
Good.
Angry people don’t always think clearly. He’s getting irritated that a Terran is telling him what to do—especially a female Terran.
“Yes, because if you’re not going to use him to bargain, then I will.”
“How exactly is that going to happen? Do you think my commander will just let you walk out of here with him? You’re lucky that we are allowing you to continue breathing.”
Fuck.
The guy has a point. He laughs at the look of resignation on my face, then starts tapping on different parts of Captain Montgomery with the picana.
Each scream becomes a backbeat to my thoughts…
The defector is gone. She escaped.
Zhang is dead, but he completed his mission, just not the one the Tyreesian wanted him to do. For my part, I have one-half of the matter teleporter safely tucked away in the cargo hold we left behind that’s hopefully impounded by the Terran Armada.
Captain Montgomery is panting. The Tyreesian hasn’t asked him any questions for awhile now. It’s like what he said, there’s really no need for it. I was wrong when I thought their desire to use him to bargain would outweigh their desire for revenge.
The chance to hurt the man responsible for screwing up so much of their plans is too much temptation to resist.
If I don’t intervene, Captain Montgomery is never making it out of this ship.
I need to act quickly.
I have a sudden inspiration.
“Fine,” I huff, “but if you’re going to kill him and therefore deprive me of any benefits I might get, can I have some fun too?”
I deliver my most wicked grin.
“You ever used one of these before?” he says holding up the picana.
“Yes, as I matter of fact, I have,” I say walking closer to him. He appraises me anew; I think I see respect forming in his eyes.
“Here,” he says, “Just make sure you don’t finish him off too soon.”
I step up, taking the picana in one hand, careful where I place my fingers.
“Oh don’t worry about that,” I say holding the picana vertical to my body.
I take a deep breath. This isn’t the smartest thing I can do, but then again, the smartest thing isn’t always the right thing.
Oh well.
Hefting in my hand, I turn, smacking the Tyreesian full in the face with the rod. He goes back and down, hand coming up to his gushing nose.
“He’s not finished, but you sure as fuck are.”
I take this moment to get Captain Montgomery out of the chair. He’s hurting, but I pull him up.
“Can you stand?”
He nods, coughing, then straightens up as I step back.
I pick up the picana, walk over and yank the Tyreesian torturer to his feet.
“Now you’re the bargaining chip,” I say to him.
I turn to Captain Montgomery. “Let’s go.”
Jeryl
I find myself once again confused by Ms. Grayson. She’s calm, cold and even ruthless, but that doesn’t entirely explain the reason she’s freed me…unless she’s going to make good on that threat to use me as a bargaining tool.
Right now I’m following her lead as we find our way back to the room with the teleporter. She has the picana inches away from the Tyreesian interrogator’s throat, just a bit below one ear. We’re making good time and before long we’re walking right back into the teleporter room. There are only two Tyreesian engineers in there now.
“Step away from the teleporter or this guy gets some electro-shock therapy,” says Ms. Grayson. Both Tyreesians look at her in horror.
“What are you doing?” demands one of them.
“I told you that Captain Montgomery was my asset and since rocks for brains here thinks its more fun to torture him to death, well, that’s not happening, not when I can get paid handsomely for delivering him safely back to the Terran Armada.”
Both Tyreesians begin yelling at the same time.
“—how can you?”
“You’ll die for this betrayal!”
“We won’t let you go!”
“Oh really,” says Ms. Grayson, as she casually presses the tip of the picana into the Tyreesian’s flesh. You can hear the tiniest buzz as it connects, and after what seemed like hours of torture—I can’t help but flinch a bit.
However, I also can’t help but take some delight in the torturer getting a taste of his own medicine.
The Tyressian begins to howl as the pain builds.
“Stop! Stop! We will let you leave.”
“Send us back through to the other matter transport. Once we—as in all of us—arrive safely, I’ll send him back,” says Ms. Grayson.
The Tyreesians look at one another and nods. The three of us squeeze on to the teleporter. I take a deep breath. Ms. Grayson is taking us on a crazy ride, but for some weird reason, I trust her.
I’d say I have bad taste in women, but Ashley is the proof that’s not the case. Besides, this isn’t romantic—though it is intimate.
I’ve had a chance to get close to her physically (can’t be helped when you’re literally being held against a person’s body and a part of me thinks maybe I’m figuring her out too.)
For one thing, I’m not buying the one-dimensional merc for hire bit. She’s more than that. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to her than meets the eye.
The question is: whose side is she on?
Logic says she’s on her side. Who isn’t?
She released me and took the Tyreesian as a hostage instead; however, that could just be self-serving. As much as the term “war hero” makes me nauseous, she’s not wrong; Terran Armada is going to bring its best men and women to rescue me.
And that means it’s a big bounty for whoever liberates me.
So, if that’s her end game, then making sure I get out alive makes sense.
But like the first time I met her in her holding cell, something about that doesn’t ring true. Again, it’s just a hunch, but I think I have good instincts. Well, at best she hasn’t killed me thus far.
So my gut’s right about that.
Now the bigger question is given that I’m Captain Jeryl Montgomery, am I going to sit here and let her make all the decisions?
No.
Anika Grayson is clever and dangerous, but bottom line is, as a leader and as a commander, I need to use those assets to my advantage.
Right now, the Terran Armada most likely has the defector and a half of the transport device.
I need to convince Anika Grayson a.k.a No One that we need to go after the bigger fish while we’re still close to the pond.
“Ms. Grayson—,”
“Don’t call me that,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me like I should know better.
“Fine,” I say. “No One, we have a chance to come back with more than just a Tyreesian interrogator.”
She looks at me guardedly.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“I mean, having a defector in our possession is one thing.”
The Tyreesian interrogator growls, “That traitor will die!” earning him an elbow to the face from No One.
“The conversation doesn’t include Tyreesian shit-for-brains,” she snarls, then looks at me.
“You were saying?”
Her casual brutality never fails to disturb, but I continue.
“So, we have a defector and we have half of one of the transports.”
No One nods.
“What if we had all three pieces?”
She looks at me seriously considering what I’m saying, but then she shakes her head.
I look at No One.
“I’m talking about taking the ship.”
She furrows her brows and I can tell she’s thinking about it.
“That sounds noble,” she says. “But noble doesn’t get me paid.”
“It can,” I say, smiling. “As you said I’m worth a lot to the Terran Armada.”
“So maybe I just take you and shit-for-brains here as my collateral for some nice treatment, nice credits and a chance to walk away. Why should I work harder, risk more when I can already offer you to the highest bidder?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. But more importantly, you like to win. If we can get the Tyreesian ship, well, I’d call that a big win.”
She looks at me suspiciously then rolls her eyes.
“Alright,” she sighs quietly. So quiet, only I can hear.
And that’s the point the Tyreesian hostage decides he’s had enough.
Being four feet, his mouth is close to No One’s arm. He swirls.
And bites.
The momentary loss of control is enough to plunge the transporter room into total chaos.
The Tyreesian makes a run for it as soon as he sees an opening. No One fires, while other Tyreesians scatter. She turns to them and coldly fires again, hitting them in the back. I watch as they crumple.
She chases the interrogator, cornering him in a room down the hall.
“Hey!” says No One while she points the gun at the interrogator who just glares at us as he catches his breath. “How’re we gonna pull this taking over the ship thing off?”
I take a deep breath. “Here’s my idea: I fly the ship right within range of the Terran weapons on Perseus and signal Armada, then the Tyreesians on board will have to surrender and we’ll have the ship. It’s a win-win.”
No One stares at me with shock.
Yeah. That was probably not the best plan.
But it’s all I got.
It’s time to go all-in.
No One
“You want to fly this ship—a Tyreesian ship, let me remind you—into the middle of the Armada?” I ask, incredulous.
“It’s daring, I admit.” Captain Montgomery replies.
“Daring?” I scoff. “I can think of more appropriate words. Stupid springs to mind.”
The torturer watches us argue.
“You’re not going to get out of this, you know,” he says. He draws a breath to say more, but subsides when Montgomery glares at him.
Taking my arm, the captain pulls me a few steps down the corridor with him.
“He’s probably right,” he mutters, once we’re out of our captive’s earshot.
“We’re bottled up in here.”
I brush his hand off.
“Oh, come on. We have a teleporter!”
“No, you don’t!” The Tyreesian fucker hisses, dashing to the teleporter and quickly running his fingers over the panel, tapping it in a frenzy.
“Fuck!” Jeryl whispers, moving fast and planting the sole of his boot on the torture’s back, kicking him back against the wall. Then, he looks at the teleporter, the lines on his forehead deepening. He goes down on one knee, running his hands over the small electronic panel with all the necessary information and coordinates. “Now we’re really boxed in.”
“How’d you ever get to be a hero with that defeatist attitude?” I soften the gibe with a grin and after a moment he grins back.
I blink twice.
“Call it a character flaw.”
He looks back at where the torturer sat against the corridor wall.
“I guess he’ll know how to readjust the settings, just as how he knows to screw it up.”
“If he does, he’s not going to want to tell us.”
“No...” He cracks his knuckles thoughtfully. “I wonder if he’s susceptible to his own methods?”
I nod slowly.
“Well, if you want to try to...persuade him, I can just kind of stand guard down at the end of the corridor,” I say.
“Yeah, I’ll have a word with him.”
He walks back to where our hostage sits and crouches down beside him. I don’t see what he does, but a moment later the Tyreesian yelps.
“So now we see what it comes down to,” I hear the torturer gasp. “Violence. It’s always like that with you Terr—ow!”
“As if you never did anything underhanded or violent,” Montgomery says. “You’ve got several more of those I can break if I need to.”
“You’re victimizing me!” the Tyreesian growls.
“Don’t make me laugh. You Tyreesians foment unrest wherever you go. Why do you do it? We know your influence was behind that whole Homefront debacle on Sonali, when the Noble Marshal was shot.”
“Surely you didn’t think the Sonali were acting on their own?” He sneers. “Those amateurs.”
“No, we didn’t think...but it’s good of you to affirm it for us.”
I hear distant shouts and the clanging of booted feet on metal flooring.
“We don’t have time for this,” I say, glancing around at the two of them. “We’ll be having company soon, and plenty of it.”
What I don’t tell him is that I have activated a portion of my nanite-infused brain and set it to work on the problem of readjusting the teleportation device. I’m no electronics genius, but my nanites have all sorts of interesting data stored away in their matrix, and what they lacked they can retrieve by remotely accessing the ship’s computer network. This they have been busily doing since my double-blink activation signal set them working.
The torturer, cradling his injured hand with his other one, grins at us. Perspiration courses down his face. I know he is in great pain, and that doesn’t bother me one bit.
“They’re coming,” he says with satisfaction. He nods at the teleportation hardware.
“You don’t know how to assemble that into a working...”
He trails off as I look down at the panel and press my index finger against the screen, following the best guesses supplied by my nanites.
“What do you think?” I ask Captain Montgomery once the screen lights up, Tyreesian characters flashing there.
“Looks like it might work, huh?”
The Tyreesian chews his lips.
“You’re just screwing around with it,” he says, not sounding convinced.
“Yeah, what do you think you’re doing, No One?” Montgomery demands. “You can’t possible have figured it out that fast.”
“Yeah, well, you better hope that I got it right, Captain.” I say.
“Why is that?”
Shouts; louder, nearer.
I switch on the power.
“Don’t do that!” our hostage yells. “You’ll kick us out into space!”
“I don’t think so,” I say, smiling sweetly at him. “Hope not.”
I calibrate the controls once more, double checking my work. Everything’s in Tyreesian, but I can read that quite well. The ACQUIRE subroutine pops up on the little screen.
Closest terminal, I think. Pick it up! I’m sweating now, too.
Come on, come on!
TARGET ACQUIRED, the screen reads. I sag back with relief, and aim the aperture at Montgomery. “Happy landings, sir,” I say, and pressed ENABLE.
A quantum weirdness of probability envelops him. He might be here, he might be there, he might be anywhere. He’d be drawn to the closest operational teleportation terminal, and that, I’m betting, has to be the one on my beat-up old shitbox of a cargo freighter, still in impound.
Along with its nasty cargo.
“Goddammit, Grayso—” His voice cut off as he vanishes.
I grin at the Tyreesian’s pale face. “Guess it worked, huh?”
“You were lucky,” he growled. “But that’s as far as your luck goes...you can’t use the thing on yourself.”
He grins nastily at me.
“Someone has to work the controls. You can’t do that and still be in range of the effect.”
“Oh, I know. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere just yet,” I say. As I speak, I put the teleporter carefully to one side and back away from it.
In a few moments, this Tyreesian and his friends, who are only a corridor away from us, will be too busy to be thinking about me or their stolen hardware—if Jeryl Montgomery has his wits about him.
Meanwhile, I’m following the captain’s movements in my mind. He has materialized near the transport unit onside my impounded ship...takes maybe ten seconds to realize what I’ve done, maybe another ten to fifteen to figure out what his only logical course of action could therefore be...and another minute and a half to put it into action. That gives me maybe thirty seconds, now, to prepare myself.
He’s leaving the transfer unit on...it’s warm...he’s giving the AI the orders now...
The Tyreesian guards appear at the far end of the corridor, weapons trained on me. I put my hands in the air and paste a disappointed expression on my face.
“Secure this cursed bitch!” barks the torturer.
The guards head confidently for us—and that’s when another cloud of quantum weirdness appears in the corridor, shapes moving around inside it. They grow distinct as the focus narrowed; and suddenly fifteen hungry Predatory Mega Floras pop into existence in the space between me and the Tyreesians. They mill around for a few seconds, obviously disoriented. Being essentially ambulatory seedpods, their nervous systems are primitive. But they’ll snap out of their fog in moments.
“Great Mother!” one of the guards yells.
Captain Montgomery, you are my hero, I think. The shouts attract the PMFs and I leg it out of there faster than a scalded dog. He’s done it: gotten the ship to release the clamps on the PMFs’ cargo container, freeing the voracious little bastards who, attracted by the teleporter’s heat, charged into its field and were transported here, to a Tyreesian vessel full of warm bodies.
The Seyshallian Predatory Mega Flora are blind, but their infrared sensory antennae make them every bit as capable as bats or deep-sea fish, and much more deadly to their prey. They leap for the Tyreesians, who open fire. I might have been hit but I’m already around the corner.
I have to get to the command deck before the PMFs finish cleaning up the Tyreesians and take a wider interest in other possible edibles—me, in other words.
The corridor I’m in leads aft, to the engines. Nothing back there will help me; I have to get to the command deck—and the PMFs are between me and it. They are fast and deadly, but I’m faster—if not quite as deadly. I kick into overdrive and shoot back around the corner, moving so fast that there is plenty of time for the gory scene before me to sear itself into my brain.
The PMFs, essentially immune to stunners and bullets even while being torn to pieces, have ripped through the unfortunate Tyreesians like razors through marshmallows. It isn’t a pretty sight.
The deck is slick with Tyreesian blood and I have to use my momentum to run up and along the corridor walls to avoid the mess. Once on the other side I slow down to attract the PMFs’ attention. For a moment, they don’t notice me.
I whistle.
“Hey, shitbags!” I yell.
That gets them going, and they shoot after me. I run, faster than an unenhanced human but by no means as speedily as I could manage on nanite-power, drawing them along toward the command center. I have to get that place cleaned out.
No One
“Wow!” I blink twice, flipping my metabolism to hyperspeed. It’s comparatively easy, then, to extricate myself from the clutching vines and spiny leaves wrapped around my arms and legs.
Flashing a few dozen yards down the corridor, I drop back down to normal human velocity. The PMFs mill around stupidly, unable to process my abrupt disappearance.
I sigh.
“Hey, guys?”
I snap my fingers to attract their notice. “Over here.”
They give the fruit equivalent of a double-take, then charge after me as I lead them toward the nerve center of the ship.
With the PMFs a hundred feet or so behind me, I skid to a stop and pound on the command center door.
“Open up!” I scream in flawless Tyreesian, as hysterically as possible.
“The ship’s been boarded! We’re under attack!”
“Great Mother!” someone says as the door slids open. “What is going on out th—”
A blood-chilling scream follows as the PMFs behind me burst into the room.
I‘m already twenty-five yards away, doing my wall-running trick. I thud down to the floor and duck into a lavatory to catch my breath. Horrible squealing, slurping noises echoes down toward me from where the besieged Tyreesians fight grimly for their lives.
I can’t help but admire the doomed crew. They are my avowed enemies, but even so they’re no cowards. The PMFs, bristling with spines and thorns along their vine-like tendrils, come on in wave after wave.
I dash as far aft as I can, and come to a halt at the hatch leading to Engineering. I lean against it with one hand, panting. Sweat drips from my brow, spotting the deck plates.
Damn those stinking PMFs!
They saved my ass, but now the ship is infested. They have no ideological will against me, unlike the Tyreesians—but they are even more eager to kill me. At least the Tyreesians didn’t want to eat me. The PMFs are determined to spray me with their seeds, which would burrow into my skin and germinate, using my flesh as food for the next generation.
I shudder. I’ve seen and experienced a lot of horrible stuff in my line of work, but being parasitized by an ambulatory plant would definitely be a low point.
I cautiously make my way back to the place where I’d been standing when I teleported Captain Montgomery out of the ship. The machine is still stacked against the corridor wall. The rampaging PMFs ignored it in favor of warm-blooded prey. The priceless device is back in my hands once more, but I’m still stuck on the Tyreesian ship. I will have to fly it to the Armada and deliver my prize in person.
The Tyreesians are no longer a threat, although it is possible that one or two might be hiding in a cabin or a closet somewhere. I didn’t think they would be able to hinder me—but the damn PMFs could. As far as I know, they are ripping through the Tyreesians in the command center. And, like it or not, that is where I’m going to have to go if I wanted to seize control of the ship.
I can just make out my blurry reflection in the ceramic wall material lining the corridor. My hair is a mess. I tug it into place, because facing death or not, looks matter. I brush off my clothes as best I could and set out for the command center.
I can hear the PMFs chirruping to one another ahead of me. There are no Tyreesian sounds, so I assume the crew is dead. Moving cautiously and as noiselessly as I can, I inch my way to the cross corridor and slowly lean out so that I can catch a glimpse of what’s happening further along.
A puddle of blood pools on the deck outside of the door I’d pounded on not long before. The PMFs have obviously made short work of the Tyreesians, who’d been caught off-guard. I edge back into hiding and think about it.
As far as I can tell, all the damn things are in there, feasting on Tyreesian bodies. Every so often I can hear a rattle as one of their filthy seed pods burst, sending dozens of little crawling seedlings out in search of flesh. It’s the most gruesome sound I have ever heard, innocuous in itself, but nauseating because I know what it means.
I push the thought away and try to reason my way through my dilemma. I’m trapped on the ship with the PMFs, but the inverse is also true: the PMFs are bottled up with me.
All I have to do is to figure out a way to kill them without harming the controls I need to fly the ship.
“Yeah, that’s all,” I mutter to myself. “A walk in the park.”
The problem is, the fuckers are attracted to warmth, and the control room, with all its wiring and LEDs and computers and such, make a warm little nook for them. They won’t leave it, especially since they have a food supply in there.
Oh!
I slowly knock the back of my head against the corridor wall. That’s it.
I know how to incite them to move.
I slip away and find the nearest ventilator duct. I jimmy it open, and hey, presto; I have access to the ship’s utility core. It’s cramped and I can’t get far, but I don’t need to—there are control nexi everywhere in a starship’s utility core—built in redundancy, making it easier for routine maintenance and for repairs to be made. Accidents do happen, and when they do, you don’t want to have to crawl for twenty yards to get to a diagnostic terminal.
All I need to do is to hack into the ship’s environmental controls and change the thermostat settings to cold—very, very cold.
Thanks to my nanites, I’m able to whip through the menus, and in moments I hear the telltale sound of air conditioning coming online. The sweat dries on my face, and even before I crawl all the way back to my entry point I’m starting to shiver a bit.
Now, for the second part of the plan: a secondary heat source.
Best place for that? The galley.
As far as cooking goes, I’m good with eggs and that’s about it—but I do know how to put a pot of water on for spaghetti. I dash to the galley, yank out all the pots I can find, fill them with water from the ship’s supply and set them on the electric plates, then crank the temp all the way up. The PMFs will eventually sense the heat, but I need them to do it sooner rather than later.
This is the part of my plan that I like the least.
I open the door to the galley and zip out toward the command center—pausing only to grab myself a spacesuit from the shuttle deck and tug it on. I’ll be needing it soon.
Now safely insulated from the cold, I run for the command center. The PMFs don’t notice me right away. I switch on the suit’s lights and its external speakers.
“Hey, assholes!”
That grabs their attention. They boil out of the control room in pursuit. I easily outdistance them, making sure to peel off down a side corridor once they get in range of the heat pouring out of the galley. Unable to fight the tropism ruling them, they zombie their way into the galley and cluster lovingly around the stove.
Bingo: got ‘em. It’ll take them a while to break free of the heat’s spell. I go to the command center.
The place is a mess. I push Tyreesian bodies away from the controls, wipe blood off with my sleeve, and with my nanites to guide me, tap into the main computer. It takes me less than a minute to menu my way to the ship’s emergency systems.
There’s nothing more dangerous aboard a space vehicle than fire. This brutal fact goes all the way back to the earliest days of the space program, when three astronauts died when their Apollo capsule caught fire while it was undergoing testing. They were in an oxygen environment, and oxygen is very good at supporting combustion.
Lesson learned. It never happened again; and now, centuries later, each and every starship is equipped with tanks of compressed argon to smother any fire than may break out. They tend to be clustered in places with heat: the ship’s command center, for example...and the galley.
I seal the galley and flood it with argon. The PMFs can’t survive in a 100% argon atmosphere. It will take them a while to die, but they will. Meanwhile, the spacesuit will protect me if I have to venture anywhere near the scene.
Feeling rather satisfied with myself, I lie in a course and activate the ship’s engines. Acceleration pushes me gently back into my seat. Thanks to my nanites, I’m a decent pilot whether I’m at the controls of a Terran Union vessel or one belonging to the Tyreesians. All I have to do now is to get the teleportation hardware back to the Armada and hand it over, and my mission, or this part of it, will be completed.
But there’s something I’ve forgotten—and I’m about to be forcibly reminded of it.
No One
When it comes to flying the Tyreesian craft, my piloting abilities aren’t in question. But having the ship’s helm and navigating are two different things; and when you factor in emergency conditions (like having a shipload of bloodthirsty super-carrots), stitches can get dropped. So here I am, guiding a clunky Tyreesian vessel on a course meant to converge with the Armada. Nothing suspicious about that.
There’s a time-honored tradition among terrorists having to do with what used to be called IEDs: Improvised Explosive Devices. These are often buried roadside bombs, but can also be delivered by vehicles that crash through roadblocks or perimeter fences and are then detonated by the driver. No base commander with half a brain lets an unauthorized or unidentified vehicle anywhere near base personnel.
Same thing for ship commanders. IDs are triple-checked and even then, unless you know the incoming pilot personally, there’s always a little residual suspicion. Especially in wartime. We aren’t currently at war, but a bad one ended relatively recently, and security remained tight everywhere in the Terran Union. Then you factor everything that just happened today.
It’s partly my fault; I’m distracted by the video feed from the galley. The PMFs are flailing around in there, knocking pots of boiling water off the electric burners and generally making a hell of a mess. This amuses me; I hope they cook themselves. But meanwhile I have forgotten about security.
I’m forcibly reminded when the inter-ship channel crackles to life.
“This is TUS Grace Marcus, Captain Lavakusha Sood in command, contacting incoming the Tyreesian collective ship. Identify yourself at once and state your purpose, please.”
A perfectly appropriate request for identification, from the Armada’s flagship.
“Um, this is Commander Anika Grayson from Terran Armada Intelligence in command.”
I remove my spacesuit’s headpiece so that he can see me clearly.
A pause, and I can hear Captain Sood’s surprised intake of breath.
“Who did you say you are?”
I lick my lips. “Anika Grayson, sir. Is this a secure channel?”
“Listen, Grayson, or whoever you claim to be, I—yes, it’s a secure channel. What the hell is going on here? I need proper identification from you. We have too much shit going on today for me not to blow you off the sky.”
I reel off my serial number. “Sir, I have been on a classified mission to acquire some extremely valuable experimental hardware for the Union. I need you to contact TAOIC right away—they’ll verify my identity.”
Sood, a handsome man with a fine head of thick silver hair, looks narrowly at me out of the screen.
“You’re sweating,” he says slowly.
“Well, yay-yuh...I have a ship full of dead Tyreesians and there’s carnivorous plants in the galley,” I say; then I wish I hadn’t.
“You have what? There’s what?”
Fucketty fuck!
“Sir, please, this is a critical. I really need you to get through to Intelligence Command, and tell them—”
He holds up a hand.
“I’m not telling anyone anything until I get this crazy story of yours straight,” he says firmly. “What was your serial number, again?”
Shit shit shit.
I see from my scanners that the Grace Marcus was painting me with targeting lasers. That isn’t good.
“Listen, Captain,” I say, “let me patch through the video feed from the galley. You can see the flora, and the Tyreesian bodies.”
I glance at the galley video, then go cold. The galley’s empty. The PMFs have smashed through the door and are roaming the ship, looking for prey.
“Uh, belay that,” I say. “Just check the general feed...the things are all over the place.”
“I want to know what the hell is going on in that ship!” Sood shouts, getting red in the face.
I say, “Tell you what—I know you have Captain Jeryl Montgomery there on the surface of Perseus. He teleported over not long ago. He’ll vouch for me. If you—”
“How could you know where Montgomery is?” he asks suspiciously.
Oh shit fuck fuck, how obtuse is this twod going to be?
I suck in a deep breath.
“I know he’s because I teleported him there myself,” I say in as measured a tone as I could manage. What I really wanted was to reach through the screen and slap the guy.
“You did what?”
He looks around at someone off-screen.
“I’ll need some verification of this,” he said. “Gibbs—where’s Montgomery?”
An alert beeps unobtrusively to my left. I glance at the sensor screen and gasp.
Tyreesian ships. Coming to the border.
Turning back to Captain Sood, I say, “Sir, I’m going to have half the Tyreesian fleet up my ass in about a minute and a half unless you let me make my approach.”
Another alert beep—and I see several Union ships moving to intercept me. I’m the object of affection of two squadrons, neither one of which has any love for the other.
Fucketty shit fuck shit with balls on top!
“You just hold on, ma’am,” he says. “Let me get this straightened out. I’ve got an expert here who was attending the Four Powers Summit, and I’ll consult him if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, sure, call in whoever you want.”
Another figure comes into camera view at the Captain’s station: - oh for fuck’s sake. Another fucking Tyreesian!
I groan. What’s he doing there? On board an Armada vessel?
“This is Leader Khargona, of the Tyreesian Navy. He’s serving as a military liaison during the Summit,” the Captain of the Grace Marcus says.
“Well, well,” the Tyreesian says in his oily voice. “A human female, piloting a Tyreesian ship. Now that’s a serious infraction of the rules, I’d say, Captain Sood.”
“That’s what I thought, sir.”
Khargona scowls. “There is a fair bit of advanced weaponry on that ship. What are you meaning to do with it, female?”
“Bringing it in,” I say as evenly as possible. “This is now Terran Union property.”
“You are a common thief,” says Khargona. “I demand that you destroy that ship, Captain Sood.”
“But sir, that’s your ship.”
“Indeed, and the knowledge it represents is priceless to my people. Any attempt to hijack or steal it represents a violation of treaties now in place,” Khargona says smoothly. “I cannot allow that to happen. It would threaten the peace between our two great civilizations.”
The face of Jeryl Montgomery appears in a pop-up window to one side of the main screen. I can tell he’s talking from the communication room in the Terran Union Administrative building.
“Stand down, Capain Sood,” he says. “I vouch for Anika. She’s got a vital piece of technology that’ll be crucial to the well-being of the Union. You’ve got to let her dock.”
“Vouching for someone isn’t exactly SOP,” Sood says coldly. “I’m sorry, Captain, but I can’t do that on your say-so.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Montgomery says.
“For once I agree with you, Captain,” says Khargona. He spits out a string of syllables in a tongue I don’t recognize.
Immediately the Eskyuk Tushav’ch quivers and I hear a series of thuds as bulkhead doors snap shut, isolating the various sections of the ship from each other.
Fuckarama. What has the fucking Tyreesian done?
A voice comes over the freighter’s internal commlink: “Self-destruct sequence initiated,” says a calm female voice. “Five minutes and counting.”
“Captain,” Khargona says coldly to Captain Sood, who’s frozen in his chair, “I advise you to tell your ships to stand down. I have remotely activated the Tushav’ch’s self-destruct mechanism with an emergency override.”
My eyes widen. I know why he’s done it, of course; to prevent the second section of the teleportation unit from falling into Terran hands. That he’d sacrifice his own people, who are now on a final approach to the Tushav’ch in order to board it and take me into custody, matters not a jot to him.
I sag in my seat. Where’s the damned bomb? I know where such devices are normally placed on Terran ships, but not on this bucket. I blink twice and at hyper-speed access the sea of data in which my nanites swam, frantically searching for any and all references to Tyreesian self-destruct protocols.
My mind is now racing as fast as the digital net connecting the nanites. It’s a horrible feeling, and I feel my body kick into “fight or flight” mode, squirting adrenaline and cortisol into my central nervous system as the stress mounts. My endocrines will be out of whack for days after this—assuming I survive the blast.
If that bomb is anywhere in the ship, I’ll have to fight my way through the PMFs to get to it. Then my nanites flag an encrypted file, crack it, and project it onto my retinas.
The explosive device is outside the ship, buried in the outer hull.
I check the time remaining until the blast. Four minutes fifteen seconds. No worries; at hyperspeed, that is the equivalent of almost two hours. I’m sure I can disarm the thing in two hours.
Assuming the Tyreesians or the Terrans don’t start shooting at me.
I grab my head-piece and run out of the bridge at top speed.
I have to get to the outer airlock. The first problem is that the bulkheads are all closed, and I have to slow down to open them manually, one at a time, otherwise I’ll strip the runners and gears in the walls by yanking too hard on them. Slow and steady wins the race.
“Three minutes, forty-five seconds,” the computer says complacently.
“Shut up, bitch,” I growl, wiping sweat out of my eyes. When’s the last time these controls were lubricated?
Two doors, three doors. The outer airlock will cycle in thirty seconds; there’s no way to speed up the sequence.
“Two minutes, fifteen seconds until self-destruct.”
Last door!
Just as I finish turning the hand control, something whips into my peripheral vision and snatches my spacesuit’s head piece, which I’d put on the floor while working the door controls. A questing tendril from one of the PMFs! I turn to look, and see a dozen of them zeroing in on me.
“Give that back, asshole!” I yell, then dive through the opening doorway. The PMFs crowd into the gap, trying to get at me. The airlock is dead ahead. I blink twice and run for it.
The PMFs come to a relative halt, of course, as I shift into hyper speed. But they still have my headpiece: it’s somewhere in that twisted mass of vegetation. I shudder. I hate the things; I can’t bear the thought of digging into a pile of their slimy bodies.
I smack the airlock controls and watch as the thing began to close. At my current rate of speed, it will take ten relative minutes for that to happen.
Back in the “real world,” there’s a minute left until self-destruct.
People can survive in a vacuum for about 15 seconds before passing out from lack of oxygen to the brain. Being enhanced, I can do a bit better than that—maybe I can last a minute. At hyperspeed that will be maybe twenty relative minutes, which might be just long enough for me to find the bomb and disarm it.
I spend some time calming myself and hyperventilating, getting as much oxygen into my body’s cells as possible. The outer door cracks, and I feel the air being sucked out. At my rate of speed, it’s like a summer breeze. In real time, it would be almost explosive.
Explosive. Bad choice of words.
Outside the airlock I can hear—well, feel; I can’t hear anything now, as there’s no air to conduct sound—dull thuds as the PMFs try to hammer their way in. That isn’t going to happen; but I’m effectively trapped in here. The airlock has only one other exit, and that’s currently set to space. Even after I have the bomb defused, if I get the bomb defused, if I get safely back to the airlock and cycle it shut, I’ll still be trapped inside it.
That, however, is a problem for later.
The door is wide enough now. I step out.
Space is beautiful, in its way, if one has the luxury to enjoy it. By “luxury,” I mean sitting in a starship’s observation lounge with a stimulating beverage and a philosophical attitude in place.
Those things are in short supply just now. My spacesuit is magnetically charged, so I can use every part of it to stick to the ship’s outer hull. Plus, it has small emergency jets installed at the wrists and ankles, so if I accidentally come loose from the hull I can maneuver myself back into contact with it.
Space is also silent. Dead silent. I know that I’ll soon start bleeding from my nose, mouth, ears and eyes due to the lack of atmospheric pressure around me. Medically, I know precisely what will happen. They teach us well in the Academy, and Intelligence training is even more thorough. Sometimes being highly educated can be a disadvantage.
I inch along the hull toward the spot where the bomb is hidden. I know it’s just beneath the outer skin, with its charges aimed inward. Theoretically I can punch through the hull, grab the thing, and if I can’t disarm it quickly enough I can toss it far enough away that maybe the blast won’t kill me.
Maybe.
Five seconds, ten...forty seconds until self-destruction, my inner clock tells me.
There’s the spot! I kneel, bringing more of my “sticky” suit into contact with the hull, and dig my fingers into the metal. I can’t do this at hyperspeed because I’ll knock myself off the hull and into space and no one nearby will have a good day.
But the stars are smiling at me, because the thing is no bigger than a dinner plate and it’s right there, and I carefully extract it from its nest of diodes and look at it through ice-rimmed eyeballs.
Two buttons, one yellow, one blue. Beside them, an LED of strange blue shapes, each one getting smaller. Time ticking down.
Tyreesians use blue for danger. I push the yellow button.
The shapes on the display flash yellow and stop shrinking.
I’m cold, so cold...the device floats away from my nerveless fingers and ice closes in around my vision. I can’t breathe.
The darkness of space...
No One
...and yet. there are dreams. Or, not dreams exactly, but impressions. Something, some consciousness, some spark of me is still receiving information from outside.
Some of them could be called memories: I hear my parents arguing, probably about money (that was the only thing they ever argued about) while I hid, afraid, in a closet listening. I’d been playing with my mother’s shoes. I could not have been more than three years old.
I loved her shoes, the different colors, the textures. The size alone of them was more than I could take in at that age. How could anyone have feet that big? It was impossible to think that my own feet might someday be that big.
And above me, her clothes: a Narnia of skirts, dresses, slacks...I loved being in Mommy’s wardrobe, being surrounded by all those things that smelled so comfortingly of her. But she and Daddy were arguing outside, and the air was closed...and cold, so terribly, bone-chillingly cold. And I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t breathe and it was after a school track meet. I had run my heart out but still came in third. The disappointment jabbed at me even through my gasps. I’d let the team down. We’d lost the regional. It was all on me. I leaned over with my hands on my knees and with the focus of exhaustion watched my sweat drip onto the dirt beneath my head.
The drops form the exact same pattern as when I’d shudder outside the bulkhead to Engineering. I stare down at them, wondering how that could be.
Strange radiation sluices through me, the outpourings of the star energizing a nebula not many light-years distant. Perseus’ atmosphere shielded the planet from the radiation, but out here in space—wait, what? Space? Yes, I am in space! Floating all but naked in space, and my nanites laboring to keep me alive, staving off cellular damage, trying to get oxygen to my organs, reducing my core temperature to slow my metabolism.
How long has it been? How many hours have I drifted helplessly out here, alternately lit and shadowed as my motionless body slowly rotated into and out of Perseus’ light? I’m dead now, or soon will be.
It is, I decide, peaceful. I no longer feel the cold. Like a mummy, I’ll be preserved here in space, desiccated, lifeless, drifting forever between the stars, a message to future space voyagers that my species existed once upon a time. They’ll wonder who I am, what I had been doing, how I had come to be floating sans protective headpiece here in the vacuum. Was I a criminal, tossed out the airlock? Was I a hero? Was I a careless idiot?
Shapes loom all around me. The gods of the galaxy, coming to harvest my soul. I never believed in them...never believed in a soul. Now all I know is the silence of space, a faint slug-slug-slug from my faltering heart, the brittle feel of the outer layers of my skin as they freeze and flake off.
All right, if this is it...if this is how I am to die...it ‘s okay. I can live with that. I would have chuckled at the feeble joke had I been able to. But the vast shapes around me loom closer, almost comfortingly, and I want them to gather me in and take me away to whatever unknown Valhalla awaited me. Even oblivion would be fine.
Everything slips away, and I’m dead.
Noises. Sounds, annoying sounds: rhythmic, a repetitive one-note beep beep beep worming its way into my awareness.
Go away, let me sleep. I’m dead, I don’t need this shit. Let a poor dead girl sleep, would you?
There’s a light out there. I swim toward it, slowly aware that there’s a tube down my throat.
Beep beep beep.
The tube is withdrawn. Surely they don’t mean for me to be conscious during the process? Thanks for nothing, nanites. You brought me back too soon.
Beep beep beep.
You can stop that now, please.
I open my eyes.
Mistake.
Harsh fluorescent illumination picks highlights off the fairings of any number of weapons pointed at me by a cadre of military-grade robots, all nicely polished gleaming steel with red and white carapaces. Numbers stenciled on them. Standard issue security iron.
Jeez, who did they think I was?
Someone steps out from behind one of the bots.
“No, don’t try to talk,” says Jeryl Montgomery. “Just relax.”
Seeing my eyes flick around, he says, “You’re in the TUS Seeker’s sick bay.”
He takes a seat on a plastic chair to one side. I am, I understand, lying in bed, hooked up to machines.
Guarded by military-grade security bots.
Beep beep beep.
“Nice work out there,” he says conversationally.
“You almost bit it, though...I’m sure you know that. You were out there for just over two minutes. A few seconds longer, and we wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
He smiles.
“As it was you were kind of a mess, Grayson. The docs don’t think there’s any serious tissue damage, but you’ve had a boatload of alveoli implanted into your lungs. That took a while, so they intubated you and kept you in an induced coma while they cleaned you up. Oh, and you lost a lot of skin. You’ll have full-body dandruff for a while, they tell me.”
He crosses his legs.
“So you’re under arrest.”
He tilts his head at the robots.
“Be a good girl—don’t give these things a reason to get tough with you. You’re in no shape to argue with them.”
I figure he’s right about that. I’m on the mend, but I won’t be running any races for a while...
I frown. I’d let the team down. We’d lost the regional.
Beep beep beep.
I try to access my nanites’ diagnostics to get a full run-down on my condition. I blink twice to get to the retinal menu.
A shock: nothing happened. I blink twice again. Still nothing.
They’re gone. My nanites are gone.
Montgomery watches me. He obviously understands what I’m trying to do, because he says, “Oh yeah. They had your little friends deactivated. You’re offline, Anika. You’re just too much of a threat with the enhancements.”
Beep beep beep.
This is going to take a while to integrate. I relax back into the pillow.
“I feel like hell,” I croak. “Under arrest?”
He nods.
“Crimes against the state,” he says. “I’m sorry. They think you’re a traitor. They intend to schlep you back to New Washington for trial, Anika. I’m sorry. They want to hang you out to dry.”
Then he smiles. “On the plus side, you saved my life—which they seem to regard as a good thing, I don’t know why—and delivered a fully integrated, working teleportation unit, not to mention a Tyreesian ship. And you have in addition embarrassed the hell out of the Tyreesians and made the Tyreesian delegation look like the festering deck-splat that they are. So there are points in your favor.”
“Good to hear,” I say. My raspy voice makes my attempt at sarcasm ineffectual, but Montgomery catches it. He reaches out and put a hand on my arm.
“I’ll do all I can for you,” he says. Leaning closer, he murmurs, “We’re not going to blow your cover. We can’t. But the Union is out for blood. They want a scapegoat for all the carnage at the summit, and you’re it.”
“That’s not fair,” I manage.
He leans back in his chair and sighs.
“You’ve worked for the government long enough to know that that word doesn’t exist in the official lexicon.”
True enough. I nod slowly. I glance at the security iron across the room. Without my nanites, I’m not going to get past those bots.
His pocket tablet beeps. He takes it out, reads the notice, and frowns.
“I have to go,” he said. “You’ve kicked up a lot of mud, Anika. I’ve got meetings all day about it.” He stands, brushes off his jacket, and steps past the security iron.
“I’ll try to look in on you later,” he says. “Take care.”
“Thanks.”
After he’s gone, I find myself exhausted by his visit and the brief conversation. They aren’t going to let me come in from the cold. Well, that’s no real surprise. It’s a risk we have to take as agents. There’s cover, and there’s cover.
Most of the Union pols will think I’m a traitor. It makes sense for them to be allowed to think that...if I’m caught and go down, they’ll think they’ve done some good. They can go home feeling proud of themselves, and brag to their constituents about what good little boys and girls they are. They’ll put on a nice show trial, convict me, and lock me up somewhere.
I’ll get time off for good behavior, no doubt; Jeryl’s people, who have to be in the know, probably won’t let me rot in jail very long...just long enough for the rumpus to die down. Then I’ll be paroled, and maybe given a new ID and sent off to live on some little planet somewhere out of harm’s way.
It makes me sick. I’m too tired to think about it. I cast a glance at the robots, who stand implacably. I won’t even be able to go to the bathroom without getting permission from the doctors, and even then, one of the bots would follow me in.
It’s too depressing.
I turn over and go to sleep.
Terran Union New Report
TASH AVERY: Good evening, I’m Tash Avery. Welcome to the Solar Broadcasting System’s News Hour for Thursday, February 12, 2207. Tonight, Neo-Traditionalists win big in Maxia sector elections, promising big gains for investors. Allegations of meddling by agents of the Tyreesian meddling linger despite the resounding Unionist win.
We’ll talk with two Union officials about the election. Then, how thriving genetically modified wildlife could be a boon to tourism on Titan. In exonews, the Galactic Council pushes for economic intergrations, and the Drupadi roll out the red carpet for the Tyreesian delegation. All that and more, on tonight’s SBS News Hour.
AVERY: And now for the analysis of Ngano and L’blanc. That is Baldwin Ngano of the Solar Times, and syndicated columnist Harry Leblanc. Gentlemen, welcome back.
BALDWIN NGANO: Thank you, Tash.
HARRY L’BLANC: Thanks. Good to be here.
AVERY: So let’s talk about the Maxia Sector elections, Baldwin. Undercover work by Armada Intelligence seems to implicate the Tyreesians in a scheme to influence the election outcome.
NGANO: Well, it’s no secret that they wanted Sheila Simmons to be the winner. But I don’t think anyone expected they’d have the capability to hack into the Consolidated Party’s data network. But now it looks like...they did. It’s going to cause problems for them in the Council.
AVERY: (chuckles) That’s an understatement. Harry?
L’BLANC: It’s certainly given some context to other conflicts we’ve seen them involved in, for sure. But on the one hand—well, look, Tash. Whoever was going to win was going to be presiding over a ruined economy, with half of their population enduring a lowered standard of living after the war. You can see the economic justification for colluding with the Tyreesians. Simmons is known to be fairly outspoken on the subject of the Tyreesians. She’s said any number of times that we ought to bring them more closely under the Union’s auspices so that we can more quickly rebuild.
AVERY: But Terran Union officials don’t want that, do they?
NGANO: No. Nor do a lot of people on Earth and the colonies. We’re seeing a wave of dissent and unrest following the disclosures. And you can’t blame people for that. But you know the saying; ‘Tyreesian politics.’ Their own campaigns at home are so riddled with maneuvers and tricks and twists that it shouldn’t be a surprise that once they tried to tamper with the Maxia Sector election, the results would be almost unreal.
L’BLANC: That’s right, and it underscores, I think, Simmons’ naiveté. We simply can’t trust the Tyreesian Collective. We’ve seen them tampering in the Ascensionist issue on Sonali Prime, to cite only the latest example. I’m sure that next we’ll find they’ve been colluding with the Outer Colonies.
N’GANO: I don’t know about that, but I think it is clear that they’ve been working behind the scenes on Lomagon, fomenting dissent among the Kurta.
L’BLANC: You’re talking about the increased tensions in Kurta space?
N’GANO: I absolutely am, and if the Union doesn’t take steps to prevent it, it’s going to blow up into civil war. I believe we’ll see the Seyshallian Nation involved next.
AVERY: Harry, how likely do you think that the Tyreesian have been looking to manipulate the Kurta?
L’BLANC: Um, not very? (chuckles) The Kurta are a matriarchy, and we know very well how females are treated among the Tyreesians. The Kurta won’t allow themselves to be influenced by males of any species. I know the Collective has a lot of money to throw around, but if they think that’s going to help them, well...(chuckles again)
AVERY: They used human females to bomb the Lomagonian embassy on Irivani Prime.
L’BLANC: That was a one-off. They got lucky. It won’t happen again. I think we should make it clear the conflict between two interstellar empires is at its heart stupid and inglorious, a war that shows us humans, at least, as petty and spiteful.
N’GANO: And that whole thing on Perseus; that mess even roped in a Union intelligence operative.
AVERY: You’re talking about Anika Grayson.
N’GANO: I am, indeed.
AVERY: We’ll get to that in a minute, Harry. First, I want to ask you gentlemen about the disturbing allegations of sexual misconduct by the...
AVERY: Harry, Anika Grayson was sentenced this week to life in the penal colony on Kalselux. Some people are saying that’s overly harsh. Kaselux is just barely capable of supporting human life, with a frigid mean temperature and nearly three times the gravitational pull of Earth.
N’GANO: (scoffs) Not me. She’s a traitor. The name of ‘Anika Grayson’ is now as synonymous with treachery as Brutus from the Roman assassination of Julius Caesar or Benedict Arnold from the American Revolution. Or even Evan Chambers from the weaponized bubonic plague on San Diego. Even more so, I’d say, because she didn’t sell out her ruler or her country—she sold out her entire species.
L’BLANC: It’s hard to dispute the charges, but yeah—basically, exiling her on Kaselux is a death sentence. The prisoners there are forced to spend their entire lives inside sealed environment suits. They’ll never get out of them, because the things have been surgically melded to their flesh. Layers of skin, layers of metal, layers of organ tissue, layers of metal...they’ve become cyborgs.
I think it’s a lot of trouble and expense to go to just to punish someone when you could imprison them on Mars or even Venus and put them to work in a factory. So yes, I guess I do think Grayson’s punishment is a bit gratuitous.
AVERY: Even given that she allegedly returned some valuable information from her mission?
N’GANO: Tash, that’s hearsay, and I don’t know one legitimate source that confirms it. I think the only thing she did worth a damn was to rescue Jeryl Montgomery from the Tyreesians. Kudos to her for that, but she was working for the Tyreesians when she did it.
I don’t think she did it out of the goodness of her heart, but because she knew that if she didn’t we’d be looking at war again. And no one has the stomach for that now, not after what we had to live through with the Sonali not so long ago.
L’BLANC: Yeah I agree, but a lot depends on what other information comes out about that mission.
AVERY: You think there may be more disclosures, Harry?
L’BLANC: All I’m saying is, be on the lookout.
AVERY: Watch the skies, eh? Well, all right, we’re going to have to leave it there for now. Once again, you’ve been watching the commentary of Harry L’Blanc and Baldwin N’Gano, our regular Thursday commentators. Gentlemen, we’ll see you next week.
N’GANO: Thanks, Tash.
L’BLANC: Thank you.
Jeryl
Viewed from orbit, Kaselux looks like it wants to be left alone. From here, it’s a long way to anywhere.
I sit in the ship’s command center, listening to the murmur of conversation among my crew. None of them wanted this duty. Hell, I don’t want it—but for different reasons.
My nose itches and I rub it. There’s a fine sheen of perspiration on my upper lip, which the gesture removes.
“It’s better than she deserves,” says the navigator, a tall African. He glances at me out of the corner of one red eye. I grimace but say nothing.
Kaselux is just about the most extreme environment in which a human can survive.
The air she breathes will support combustion, so she will be able to cook whatever she manages to glean from the land, but that won’t be much. Cooking will be a waste of time anyway, because all she has to do is to stuff any organic matter she finds on Kaselux’s inhospitable surface into the intake unit of her biosuit, and the suit’s systems will break it down and rearrange its compounds into ones compatible with human life. About as tasty as being on an IV drip, but it will sustain her indefinitely.
The planet has never undergone the evolutionary spasms common to most life-bearing worlds. There’s aquatic life, but nothing much more advanced than the sort of jawless fish that are common in the Silurian period on Earth.
A few species of arthropod-like insects have crawled out of the water. The few plants that have made the transition from the sea to the land hugged the coastline, forming tall, sculpted columns and mounds—stromatolites—comprised of layer after layer of cyanobacteria. The free oxygen in the air is the result of some four billion years of stromatolite survival.
Kaselux’s system is old, and located past the Rim, in what can almost be called intergalactic space. A red dwarf lights its surface with a wan light. Stars are visible in the Mars-like planet’s thin air even during the day. It is one of the most depressing worlds I have ever seen.
Grayson will spend the rest of her life here encased in a biosuit that will keep her alive and report on her whereabouts as she wanders the desolate world.
I swivel my seat around and stand. It’s time. Without a word to any of my crew, I leave the command center and head down to the sickbay.
Anika, disavowed by the TAIOC, has been shamed as a traitor and terrorist. In view of her having saved my life, I’ve volunteered to transport her to Kaselux personally, piloting a special small cruiser with a crew of only three others.
I pause outside the sickbay. I sigh. Condemned to endless solitude and silence, never to feel another human touch for the rest of her life...never to taste food, make love, smell a flower, pet a cat...never to feel the air on her skin...because she no longer has skin, simply a network of plastic sensors with a few patches of tissue here and there.
I shudder. It’s beyond imagining.
And her fellow exiles? The lowest of the low, the most depraved and unrepentant criminals in the galaxy, all, like her, sealed into biosuits and cast into Purgatory. Perhaps a dozen others overall, scattered across the face of Kaselux, isolated one from the other by electronic surveillance and proximity webs that will prevent them from even seeing each other, let alone conversing and perhaps planning an escape attempt.
Not that escape is possible from this place—unless it’s an escape into madness.
I stare glumly at the biosuit that’s going to house her. It’s bulky, insectile, the matte finish of its robotic carapace reflecting only diffuse highlights from the overheads. Staring blue-lensed eyes gaze unseeingly upward, and the suit’s “mandibles” are open.
The suit’s cranium is bare metal. Within it, her brain will endlessly review the crimes that have led her here.
. The door to the sickbay slides open.
“She will awaken in five minutes sir,” says the nearest bot. A medical AI is overseeing the process. I nod.
“Let’s get her to the shuttle,” I say quietly, not wishing to disturb the funereal atmosphere.
“At once.”
The medbot makes no move, but the lifters on the bed turned to green from amber and the bed slowly rolls out of Ops. I walk alongside it to the shuttle bay—barely more than a basement-sized space fully taken up by the small shuttle that will transport her down to the surface.
And a bloody good thing, I think, because if the teleportation tech she brought back was in general use the way it’ll be in about a year and a half, there’d be no way I could pull this off.
I watch the medical sensors on the bed reporting her gradual return to consciousness. That’s expected. There is, however, no way to know what her reaction will be when she finds out what’s going to be done to her. From what I‘ve heard, some people accepted it...over time.
Some don’t.
Unseen by the videos monitoring my progress with her unconscious form, I blink twice. Before leaving New Washington, I have been injected with a modified series of nanites that are capable of performing only one task. As soon as they accomplish this task, they break down into simple chemical compounds and will be flushed out of my body through my urinary tract.
The nanites now broadcast a coded message to the dormant receptors of Grayson’s own nanite enhancements. She will be awake now, and listening to a prerecorded file. All she has to do now is to follow instructions. I tense.
Her arm shoot out and grasps mine.
“Do what I say,” A voice says, “Or I’ll rip your arm off, see if I don’t.”
I know her nanites are back and she’s strong enough to do it.
“Okay, okay,” I say. “Calm down, Anika. I’m not going to—ouch!—do anything stupid. But you’re not getting out of this, you know.”
“We’ll see.”
We’re at the shuttle bay now, and I know that everyone on the ship can see I’m being held hostage. Suddenly she moves, releasing my arm and rising from the bed so quickly that she’s almost a blur.
The sickbay AI deactivated her nanites after we picked her up in space. But a few discreet conversations with Flynn got me what I needed to reactivate them.
“The medbots...they should have deactivated your nanites,” I say through clenched teeth. I hope it fools the Board of Inquiry when they review the security footage.
“Not enough. I still got them. Enough for me to take this chance.” She activates the shuttle’s airlock.
“It won’t work.” I feel perspiration break out on my forehead. “You’ve got nowhere to go, Anika.”
I watch her as she climbs into the shuttle and closes the hatch.
The shuttle’s speaker grates out a laugh. “I have a fucking spaceship right in front of me, Captain. With air, food and water. And again, my nanites have hacked your ship’s computers. You’ll find your weapons and propulsion systems are down for half an hour, long enough for me to get out of range.”
“Someone’s head will roll for this.”
“Maybe; but not mine, and probably not yours,” she replies.
“You better get out of the bay before the blast cooks you,” she says, and I hear a note of malicious cheer in her filtered voice.
I try one last warning.
“There’s nowhere to go except Kaselux! What’s the point? You were going there anyway.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
The airlock clangs shut and I hear the deep cough of the shuttle’s thrusters as they come online with their preliminary burn. I know that note; the mains will fire in less than ten seconds and she isn’t going to bother opening the bay’s outer doors. If I don’t want to be sucked out into space, I have to move.
And move I do, with moments to spare. The shuttle bay’s bulkhead clangs shut behind me as I dive through it, cutting of the roar of the mains.
I sag against the far wall of the corridor outside the bay. That was close. I get to my feet and am dusting myself off when the security detail burst into the corridor, weapons at the ready.
Shaking my head at them, I say, ruefully, “She’s gone. I want to know how this happened. I want to know who was responsible for programming those medbots. I want this followed right back to the manufacturer if need be!”
One of the guards is chewing his lips. He doesn’t look the least bit happy.
“What?” I snarl at him.
“There...” The man’s voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again.
“A corvette—most likely space pirate,” he says. “Must’ve been cloaked somehow. Popped up right on the screens just now, and she slid into its bay, as slick as dammit.”
“She what? Holy jumping Judas!”
It’s all I can do not to burst out with a cheer. I can barely believe it. With a fake scowl pasted to my face I stalk back to my quarters, where I pour myself a shot of tequila and toast her successful getaway.
Sometimes things work out.
Tales From The Sonali War Vol. 1
Copyright © 2017 by Pax Aeterna Press
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.
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Part I
The Ribhus Incident
Marcus
Marcus
“Doctor Carson.”
“What?” Marcus’s head snapped up to glare at his assistant, who shoved a bag in his face. From the tone, he guessed Trevor had been trying to get his attention for a while, but he was too intent on the data readings on the tablet.
“Dinner.”
Marcus took the bag, which reeked of grease, and smiled in apology, “Sorry, Trev. I just can’t seem to make heads or tails of these readings.”
“Another all-nighter?”
“I’m afraid so. You can go. Enjoy your rest.”
Trevor nodded and turned to go. Before taking that first step out of the office, he hung his head and turned back, “I’ll call your wife,” he sighed and plodded to the office next door, “Eat your dinner,” he called before picking up the phone.
Trevor was the best assistant Marcus ever had. As the reluctant head of Weapons R&D of Ribhus Industries, he was thrilled to have someone willing to take care of the logistics so he could focus on the science.
Trevor also made sure that he always ate. He grinned and dug a fat sandwich out of the bag. Trevor found a reference to an old recipe and improvised the ingredients that could no longer be found. He still called it “cheesesteak” although there was no meat nor cheese in it, and Marcus had the suspicion he made the pocket bread from scratch. It was his favorite, and Trevor brought it at least twice a week. Marcus absently took a bite while thumbing through the readouts when the screen froze.
That could only mean one thing. His gut rumbled in protest when he put the sandwich down and waited. Giant neon orange letters took up the entire screen.
Alert! Section 23 blinked in and out, filling him with dread as he slipped the tablet in his lab coat pocket and ran.
“Trevor!” He yelled as he slid the keycard in the lock. Trevor was already two inches behind, waiting patiently for the door. The light turned green and Marcus jerked it open, speeding down the hall.
Section 23, the reason Dr. Marcus Carson had written a letter of resignation that he was too chicken to hand over to Corporate. With their classified military contracts, he would disappear. Or worse, his wife would vanish. He knew he should have some fanatic patriotism for the Terran Union, but he had seen too much in the two short years since the war began. He had built too much at the behest of the military and Corporate, and held no illusions of innocence. Section 23 was the worst. Taking a deep breath, he slid the keycard down and punched the extra security code into the number pad. He pulled the door open and two elderly security guards blocked the way, staring at him with expressionless faces. They parted to make a path for the two then closed back in. It was almost laughable to think they could protect anything, but the last person to mistake their ages for weakness was still in the infirmary. These were hardened military men, and the toughest employees in the lab. If they were here, shit just hit the fan.
The Section Head, a stern woman named Edie, met them in front of her office and nodded toward the back, so they followed. If she were walking any faster Marcus would have to jog to keep up. She led them down the endless hallway of cells made of soundproof triple-paned security glass. For added security, taser rifles are ready in their docking stations every third cell. In each cell was a Sonali patient shipped in for experimentation. All of them were in medically induced comas, as if that made it more humane. The only thing they have learned so far is the Sonali had slightly different reactions to electromagnetic frequencies. Not enough to be notable. Edie stopped in front of cell 18 and stared pointedly inside. Ethan rolled his eyes. Edie had the most annoying habit of only gesturing without words. He looked over and saw the problem. The Sonali prisoner was sitting up, staring daggers at them with blue blood running from his eyes and nose.
“What the hell is that?” Marcus asked.
He brought out his tablet and exited the alert screen. He tapped again to bring up the stats for the Sonali, a low-level officer whom Marcus named Ethan. He sucked in his breath and looked from the tablet to the patient, and back again.
“That, Marcus, is a clusterfuck,” Edie said, her voice shaky.
Marcus jerked his head up to stare at her in shock. Edie was the most professional scientist in the entire lab. She never swore. She gave him a Yep, I said that look. He smiled and went back to the stats. They told him the Sonali patient was in Delta sleep with no REM, yet there he was, sitting up and focusing. He glared at each of them in turn as if trying to decide who was in charge.
“Sleep disorder?” Marcus asked.
“Negative,” Edie answered.
“Virus?”
“Negative.”
He checked the stats again. There were no spikes in the thalamus, the EEG remained calm throughout. Either Ethan felt no pain, or all the readings were incorrect. Another possibility hit him and his heart began to pound. Whether in excitement or fear, he wasn’t sure just yet.
“Monitor all of the patients closely. I think this one rejected the thiopental-4.” He refused to call them prisoners. They were patients and Section 23 was a medical lab. It was the only way he could live with himself.
Edie nodded and they turned to walk back to the offices, and that’s when all hell broke loose.
Ethan ran straight for them, slamming into the glass and bouncing off. Screaming in rage, he jumped up and did it again, leaving blood smears in his wake. Undeterred, he slammed the glass over and over in a futile attempt to get at them. Trevor paled and looked as if he would vomit, but Edie just studied the behavior like a good scientist. Marcus was fascinated, and a bit frightened at the thought of the patient killing himself, preventing further study.
Edie’s fingers flew over her tablet. A few seconds later Marcus heard the clunky stomping of the guards rushing from the front. Ethan had taken to slamming himself all around the cell, flinging blue blood everywhere. The glass looked like it was filled with blue mist and he found himself wondering how much blood a Sonali could lose before death. They hadn’t experimented with that yet, and he damn sure wouldn’t suggest it. The guards grabbed taser rifles out of their docks without missing a beat, halting in front of the cell. The three doctors backed up until they hit the door of the adjacent cell.
“On your command, sir.”
“Don’t kill him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Marcus tapped the screen and the cell door slid open. He held his breath and his heart thudded in his ears. Ethan screamed and rushed the guards. They pulled their triggers and he dropped just outside the door.
After making sure he was actually unconscious, the guards shackled him and dragged him back to bed. It wasn’t until he was secured to the railing that Marcus let himself breathe. He looked to his right. Edie was shaken, but thoughtful. Like him, she probably had a million equations running through her head. To his left, Trevor looked faint but composed. The boy took up cooking two years before when the war started. That was when the focus shifted to building weapons that could match Sonali technology. He said cooking relieved stress and since he had no one to share it with, Marcus ate very well. Chances were, he’d have something for the entire lab tomorrow.
When the guards finished, he secured the door. He was eager to get away from cell 18, walking as fast as possible. No one else dawdled either, and was sure the bloody Sonali would be the subject of all their dreams tonight.
Ethan
Ethan woke up and didn’t know where he was. He tried to look around, but his head wouldn’t move. He couldn’t see much because blue haze filled his vision. He was in a bed. Blinking hurt but cleared his sight enough to see medical equipment and beds on either side. More of his kind lay there, sleeping or dead. The only sound was the gentle beeping of some kind of monitor. He assumed it was for his pulse, but the design was so basic it was hard to tell. That meant humans. He must have been captured and didn’t even remember his name, much less who captured him and why. He only had the feeling he should be ashamed for surviving.
He sat up and the pain barreled into him. It felt like his head and arm were on fire. He took several deep breaths, squashing the pain until it was tolerable and pulled the needle out of his arm. Once he started to think clearly he turned his head. A skinny human woman in a white overcoat was staring at him in shock. All he could do was stare back. She started furiously tapping her tablet and he knew she was calling for backup. He took the opportunity to glance around, looking for weaknesses in the cell. He was sure the glass was reinforced in some way, but was it reinforced enough?
Another gawker in an overcoat ran up. His mouth was moving but there was no sound. Finally, he realized that he was gushing blood from his eyes and nose. He glared at them, wondering if they were going to do anything about it. They just stood there gawking, talking, and tapping.
The old man. He was in charge. Knowing it was futile, he decided to get their attention. They might kill him, or he might bleed out. He refused to disgrace himself further by going quietly. Giving the old man a bloody glare he would never forget, Ethan charged the door.
He had a miniscule sense of satisfaction at the fear in their eyes before they finally opened the door and shot him down.
Marcus
He would never tell anyone how much the sight of the blood soaked Sonali patient haunted him. Trevor knew. He didn’t say a word as they walked back to Section 01.
“Go home,” Marcus sighed, “There will be plenty of extra work tomorrow.”
“If you finish your sandwich.”
He picked up the sandwich and took a bite, “Happy?”
“No,” But he turned and walked out, calling, “Goodnight,” to the room in general.
Marcus put the sandwich down and closed the office door. The readings from earlier would have to wait as he brought out the tablet and set it on the desk. He fished his keys out of the other pocket to unlock the middle drawer and slipped a second tablet out of its hiding place above the lip. This one was identical to the last with one difference. There was no uplink to the corporate cloud. It was where he kept all his private notes. Corporate didn’t need to know every little idea he had, and he didn’t like to give them over until they were fully formed into a cohesive plan of action.
The project in his head was simple enough and should be finished by sunup. Call him old fashioned, but he worked things out much better when he wrote by hand, the way people used to do in the olden days—before humanity left for the stars. He pushed the button to clear the wall-sized eraser board and flicked on the auto stylus. He had the board half full by the time the lab went dark and the last intern left.
He used the opportunity to raid all the intern workstations for tools and equipment. If he calculated correctly, he should be done just before Trevor arrived in the morning. He loaded up on caffeine and more potent stimulants he shouldn’t have. Even so, he felt himself slipping into the trance that always occurred when he was embroiled in a new project. He never knew what he had done until looking it over again. This time he was lost in a spin of unknown voices screaming at him, like being at a crowded concert. He couldn’t distinguish one from the other, but his hands kept moving as if they understood everything.
The alarm went off and he snapped out of it. The board was full and the desk was a wreck with bits of electronics scattered everywhere. In his hands were two devices. One clearly labeled “left” and the other “right”. They looked like gloves with all but the middle fingers missing. He slipped on the fingers and made sure the band down the palms were straight before cinching the wristbands. It was a good fit. He thumbed the micro buttons and they powered up silently. A gentle thrum against his palm tells him it was good to go. These beauties used one’s own bioelectricity as a battery, the tips of the fingers positive and negative ends, respectively. Not a powerful weapon, but good for more discreet operations. Ribhus Industries would be pleased if he let them have it. Most likely a good bonus if he submitted it.
Marcus had just enough time to clean up and hide his personal tablet before Trevor showed up with a box full of food containers. From the looks of him, he didn’t sleep at all. Marcus hadn’t expected him to, but he had to get out of this blasted place. He set the box down on the nearest station. One of the interns would distribute it later. Marcus waved him over, bringing up the stats on Ethan.
An alert flashed across the screen as he walked into the office. New orders for Section 23, Cell 18. Exploratory surgery followed by a full necropsy. In other words, cut him open. When he bled to death, cut him open some more. To buy time, Marcus requested preliminary diagnostics first, to make sure they had gained all the intel possible.
“You look sick,” Trevor was genuinely concerned, he was just that kind of man.
Marcus silently handed him the tablet. It took a moment for the implication to sink in, but then all the color drained from his face as well.
He handed the tablet back and sat on the stool beside Marcus, “What should I do, sir?”
Marcus just looked at him a moment, considering the hidden inference of the question, then shook his head, “When I tell you to go home, go. No questions.”
Trevor gave a firm nod, “Remember before the war when Ribhus looked for cures and designed equipment to make the food industry more productive? Ah, well,” he sighed and stood, shuffling out the door. It was the shuffle of a conquered young man.
Marcus would pity him if he didn’t feel the same. As it was, they were stuck, and there was nothing to be done about it. Not if they wanted to survive. One word of contention and he would never see his Becka again. Trevor would never cook another meal. It seemed wrong that he was more afraid of Ribhus Industries than the entire Terran Union, or the Sonali for that matter. It wasn’t the life he envisioned fresh out of University, but when the war started, he and everyone else had no choice. At first, the money was good. But now...it wasn’t enough. Not for what they wanted.
The tablet flashed with the answer he was waiting for. The green light for further testing before exploratory surgery. He hoped they would take their time responding so he could prepare, but at least the answer was affirmative.
Ethan
The cell door slid open and the misnamed Sonali squinted at the intruder. He had actually managed a few hours of sleep and hated the disturbance. After they bound him to the bed, they never bothered to check on him. He had crusted blood all over himself and it was starting to itch. At least the bleeding had stopped, but his slits pulsated into the back of his skull. The glaring light exacerbate the agony, which he channeled into anger. Even if he didn’t have the opportunity for revenge, he would rather die angry than hopeless. The older doctor from the day before rolled a stool next to the bed and perched, studying Ethan closely. The Sonali tried to pour all of his hatred into his slits, aware that he was in no way threatening.
The doctor finally relaxed with a tiny smirk, “It seems you’ve overcome the effects of the thiopental-4. The only creature, human or otherwise, to do so. How did you do it?”
Ethan only glared.
“I know you understand. We embedded a translator chip in your ear. So, how did you do it?”
I want to rip your spine out and use it as a garrote.
“Hmm. Since I’m doing all the talking, you should know I ramble. Well. I see your bleeding has stopped. Let’s wash that dried shit off you,” he walked to the small sink, slapped on obnoxious orange nitrile gloves, and wet a towel, “My name is Dr. Marcus Carson. Since I don’t know yours, I’ve called you Ethan.”
That proclamation elicited a growl.
“If you won’t tell me your real name, then Ethan will have to do,” Marcus wagged the towel like a lecturer, “Now be still.”
Ethan obeyed only because his desire to be clean outweighed his desire for murder. The wet towel was soothing against his slits.
“There. Now I can see who I’m talking to. We’re going to run some more tests on you to try to figure out how you bypassed the thiopental-4, among other things. You’re a unique patient, Ethan,” Marcus stood to rinse the towel and folded it, lowering it over Ethan’s slits, “I’m going to draw some blood now.”
Ethan flinched as the needle hit its mark. It only lasted a second before the orange capped vial began to fill slowly. He couldn’t do anything and he was beginning to accept that. He let himself relax a little as the cool towel eased his throbbing head.
Marcus
After the blood draw, tissue cultures, and a saline drip for dehydration, Marcus ordered an MRI. Far from the cumbersome machine conceived centuries ago, a tech brought a handheld scanner and slowly passed it over Ethan’s body. It only took two minutes.
“That wasn’t so bad. I’ll be back to check on you later,” Marcus slipped out and rushed down the hall.
He sat the tablet on the desk to catch the results as soon as they came in, then slumped on his stool. Exhaustion took its toll and he caught himself nodding off more than once. A soft rap at the door startled him enough to jump off the stool. He turned and smiled as he saw Trevor on the other side of the glass and nodded for him to enter.
“Sir? I need to talk to you about something personal.”
“Close the door. Sit.” Marcus popped a stim tab and let it dissolve under his tongue.
“I, um, know about your diagnosis,” Trevor flinched.
“Huh?”
“The DID. I’ve known about it for years.”
“Oh, that,” Marcus gave a dismissive wave, but his heart sank, “It’s under control. Does everyone know about it?”
Trevor shook his head, “Only me. I’m telling you now because I know what you’re planning. We both know the consequences, Marcus.”
“Yes,” Marcus sighed, “I’m prepared.”
“I understand. Since I can’t talk you out of it, I’m with you.”
Marcus looked at Trevor in horror, “No. I don’t want you anywhere near this.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m with you. I would tell you to get some sleep first but that’s a moot point. When you’re ready, I’ll be right behind you,” Like a son lecturing an elderly parent, Trevor stood and gave Marcus a look of stern determination, “Don’t start without me.”
Marcus felt his determination wilt. He could be brave working alone but Trevor and Becka were the only people he cared about. Well, there was no turning back. The results had not come in yet, but it didn’t matter. He slipped his tablet in one pocket and a bottle of stimulants in the other. Hesitating only a moment, he jerked the office door open and made the long journey back to Section 23. Maybe Trevor would get lucky by not catching up in time.
Ethan
It was actually a comfortable bed, after he was cleaned and the pain subsided. No one bothered him after the talkative doctor left. Besides the restraints, his only discomfort was intense hunger. He slipped in and out of consciousness, just thankful they let him sleep.
He had no idea how much time had passed when the chatty doctor next interrupted him. Just go away and let me die in peace. He wanted to scream, but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. They can do their poking, prodding, scanning, and incessant talking, but he wouldn’t make it easy for them. The only reason he was still alive was because he was an anomaly, and he knew that wouldn’t last long.
Marcus barely spoke this time, and he wasn’t alone. The stern woman stood in the doorway, looking pensive. Good. Let her be the one afraid. He threw her a snarl for good measure.
“We’re just waiting for your MRI results,” Marcus removed the IV, tossing the cannula over the empty saline bag and sat on the stool.
The woman must have decided she wasn’t needed and walked away, leaving the door open. Marcus watched from the corner of his eye. Once she was out of earshot he leaned in slightly.
“When these kick in, it’s imperative you remain perfectly still until I return,” he whispered, digging in his pocket. One last glance back to make sure no one watched and slipped three caplets in his mouth. They tasted sweet and began dissolving immediately.
His eyes popped open as the stimulants kicked in. Suddenly he needed to move. Needed free. Marcus frowned and shook his head and Ethan forced himself to remain calm. The soft beeping of the monitor sped up, then slowed. Marcus nodded and stalked out.
Marcus
Marcus stepped into Edie’s office without knocking, “It’s time to take him to surgical. I’m just waiting for—,” He turned his head in surprise at the little fake cough behind him, “Nevermind.”
“Shouldn’t I do this?” Edie asked. Marcus didn’t blame her. She was the MD, after all.
“If this goes sideways, the fault is mine and you’ll get a promotion.”
Edie frowned her skepticism as Marcus slipped out of the office. But the next second, he came face to face with Trevor.
“Leaving without you was a hint,” Marcus hissed, “Go back to your office.”
“I’ve always been behind you. You forgot this,” Trevor handed him his personal tablet, “In six minutes a select few of the doors will glitch. On screen is the route.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Sir, you’re a genius, but you have the planning skills of a teenager.”
Marcus slipped the tablet in his pocket and detoured to the front door. Luckily there were no interns to worry about, only the guards and Edie.
“Who thinks of everything, Doctor Carson?” One of the guards asked.
“Trevor,” Marcus said absently. He approached the guards, standing nose to nose with them.
“Who is Trevor?”
“My assistant,” Marcus held his gloved middle fingers up. Their looks of indignation were worth it as he reached up and tapped them each under the chin. The guard on the right collapsed and before the other could react, he switched, touching his own face with the left finger and the guard’s with the right. He collapsed on top of his partner and Marcus ran.
“Edie!” He barreled into her office, flushed and panting. She jumped from her stool and ran toward him, worry in her eyes. He felt a twinge of guilt as he touched her neck and watched her crumple. She would live, and so would the guards.
He didn’t have time to properly test it, but they should be awake in an hour, with the last two minutes of memory gone. By using the left glove to ground, touching the head and neck sent a powerful and specific EM pulse to the limbic system. Any more power would fry the brain, but an hour of unconsciousness and two minutes of amnesia were enough. He powered down the gloves as he sprinted back to cell 18 and furiously worked to loosen his patient’s restraints.
“I didn’t sign up for this bullshit, and neither did you,” He muttered, “Trevor, help me.”
The Sonali looked at him with dubious eyes and struggled against the restraints. He growled in frustration, but still no words.
“Stop that. You’re making it harder. Trevor!”
Ethan settled down and let Marcus work. Finally, the legs broke free so he moved to the abdominal restraint.
“I can’t help you with this. I’m always behind you, but you’re the one in charge. The best I can do is help you make better decisions,” Trevor said, “Becka and I only want to help you. Listening is your decision.”
Marcus stopped and turned around, “Becka?”
“Becka and I only want to help you. Listening is your decision. You’re not eating or sleeping. Your behavior is erratic, and your short term memory is shit. You have to get back on your meds,” Trevor lectured as he chopped vegetables for their dinner.
Becka sat on the couch with a sympathetic look. When she said he offered to cook them dinner, Marcus was pleasantly surprised. That quickly turned to embarrassment and shame when he realized they were staging an intervention.
“I’m fine, just...busy,” he shrugged and thought that would be the end of it.
Becka held his hand and looked him in the eyes with grim determination, “No, sweetheart, you’re not. If you can’t promise to take your meds, we’re going to have to report you to Corporate and Doctor Winslow.”
With each word, Marcus zoned out a little more. The chatter began, drowning out Becka and Trevor’s chopping. When the chatter finally stopped, Marcus sat on the couch alone, bloody hands draped between his knees. He glanced over to the kitchen entrance and wasn’t surprised. Becka’s body covered Trevor’s, tangled together in a red viscous heap.
Everyone assumed they ran away together, case closed.
Ethan
Marcus ran into the room with wild eyes and began tugging at the restraints like a madman. He kept looking back and yelling for someone named Trevor to help. Ethan didn’t fully understand what was happening, only that the good doctor was trying to set him free and had either gone mad, or overdosed on those stimulants. Impatience got the better of him and he struggled until Marcus chastised him. He wasn’t helping. He settled down and wondered at this man who helped him, all the while acting as if he wasn’t even there.
Legs freed, torso freed, then Marcus froze and turned around, “Becka?” He didn’t move, just stood there listening to nothing.
It was time to break his silence. It seemed a foolish protest now, so he lifted his foot and pushed Marcus, “Doctor!” He winced as the raspy word stung his throat.
Marcus stumbled a couple of feet and shook his head before rushing back to his side, at last freeing his arms.
Ethan jumped out of the bed, bare feet slapping on the tile, “Why do you free me?”
“I’m a researcher. I don’t do dissection,” he pulled out the tablet, “Two minutes.”
Ethan grunted and followed Marcus out the door. They ran down the corridor, each grabbing a taser rifle as they pass. The doctor was not only helping him to escape, but trusted him with a weapon. He set it to the maximum power level and kept running until they reached the front door. He smirked in approval at the guards heaped in front of it.
Marcus glanced at the tablet. Ethan looked over his shoulder. The route was outlined in red with a timer counting down. One minute ten seconds.
“Now we wait,” Marcus said.
Ethan nodded and stared at the guard on top. No, that wouldn’t do. He nudged him with a foot and he rolled off the second guard. Yes, that was better.
“What are you doing?”
“Clothes.” He set the rifle down and yanked on the boots. They slid off the dead man’s feet with ease so he set them aside and took the pants. They were loose, but would stay up. He pulled them on, followed by the boots. Those were too tight and the shirt would never fit, and one look at the blue skin would be a giveaway, but it was better than an infirmary gown.
The route turned green as the countdown reached zero. Marcus stepped over the guards and opened the door with ease. He shouldered the rifle and fiddled with his strange gloves. Most doors were closed and all the corridors looked the same. If not for the map, he would be lost in the first turn. They ran in silence, both occupied with watching for trouble.
The stimulants made him hyper-alert and more than a little paranoid. He could have sworn someone was following them more than once. When he looked back the corridor was empty. How big was this place. They had already made five rights and seven lefts, and the doctor showed no signs of slowing down as they passed through one section door after another. It was strange. Why had they not encountered any humans yet? His question was answered as Marcus slowed them down, half jogging to next door.
“Those were closed sections. Here it gets interesting,” He whispered and grabbed the handle, “Go!”
Ethan readied his rifle and Marcus yanked the door handle. They sprinted across the corridor, ready to fight. Open section doors sprinkled the path, but most inside were too busy to notice. For a moment he thought they would make it to the end. The door was only a few paces ahead.
“Hey!” A voice behind them shouted.
They ducked their heads and sped up, pushing the stimulants to their limits. They reached the door just as a siren began wailing. Marcus opened it and let Ethan through. Glorious fresh air filled his lungs and he inhaled deeply, smiling back at his cohort. He froze that way. The crazy slag stood just inside the doorway with that wild look in his eyes again. Three guards closed in behind him.
“Shoot me,” Marcus said.
Ethan shook his head.
“Shoot me! The building will go on lockdown and you’ll have a chance. Do it now!”
“Why?” They could escape together. The order made no sense.
“Atonement,” Marcus said simply. The wild look in his eyes died, replaced with emptiness.
Ethan nodded, “My name is Zehlege,” he confessed and fired. Atonement was a concept he knew all too well.
Marcus dropped and the door swung shut. The last thing he saw was the dismay of the torpid guards before it slammed.
TUS Terror
I am sitting with a group of commanders in the officer’s mess of the TUS Terror. The four of us are gathered around a small square table 6. Commander Tadius is to my right, while Commander Hadley sits to my left. Across from me is Commander Chen. Commander Tadius is the head of security, while Commander Hadley is head of engineering. Commander Chen is the science officer.
“Okay,” I say, bringing their attention back to me. “We only have a few minutes to talk before one of us gets called.”
They nod in agreement.
There aren’t a lot of officers about the TUS Terror, so the officers’ mess hall is quite small. There are only about five tables and three sets of food dispensers. The TUS Terror is an attack frigate; small in comparison to some of the front line vessels the Armada is throwing at the Sonali. At the moment we are the only officers in the mess, and we have the door closed so no passersby would see us.
“It’s getting difficult out there, Craig,” says Tadius, my good friend for over ten years. Tadius is a tall, square chested black man with a bushy mass of hair that is lined with streaks of white. He’s a married man with two kids, who are all living in New Washington.
Commander Tadius is an exemplary officer, with a track record that speaks for itself. Tadius would never complain about anything, even if he couldn’t do anything about it. He’s the kind of guy that would prefer to suffer in silence than say something. However, the tides of the war, which are terribly against us has brought forth the angry man in him.
He’s laid back against his chair, with his hands folded across his barrel chest. He shakes his head, his eyes filled with fear. “It’s bad out there.”
“Worse than what Command is letting out, I assure you,” I say. I am not one to be suggestive of anything untoward. I form my opinion and keep them to myself when they’re negative. However, when I see someone else, especially a colleague leaning towards the same opinion, I conclude that it wouldn’t exactly be suggestive if I let them know that I felt the same way they do.
The truth is, we’re losing the war. The death and destruction has been on a catastrophic scale. The Terran Council and the President, instead of pushing for a cease-fire or a diplomatic solution, are putting more and more pressure on the Armada and the Council of Corporations.
They are pressuring the Armada for more results, and this pressure filters right down to even new recruits. They are pressuring the corporations, especially those ones involved in manufacturing and building starships. Under this level of tension and stress, especially now that we are on the brink of total loss, mistakes are being made.
Captains are leading their crews to needless death because of the need to win—the rush to win. Admirals are no longer spending as much time strategizing. No one is thinking tactically now. With one colony being destroyed almost every week, with the Armada stretched thin across our borders, and with our borders thinning and thinning with time, everyone is throwing everything to stop the irrevocable advance of the Sonali.
And the Sonali seem to realize that we are now desperate. They’re taking their time, mounting strategic attacks and destroying us one after the other. They aren’t pressing their advantage when one is created, because they outgun, outclass, and out power us more than three to one.
The corporations that are rushing to produce more starships to meet up with the losses, but they can’t keep up.
This isn’t what we signed up for. No, it isn’t. We didn’t sign up to be slaughtered by an aggressive race across the stars. Yes, we want to save the Terran Union. Yes, we will gladly give everything for the Union, but we can’t do so needlessly. We can’t keep sacrificing the lives of our officer and soldiers without cause.
It’s one thing to give one’s life for the cause; it’s another thing to give one’s life for the cause when there’s a better option. Nevertheless, I realize the need to keep up with the war. Utmost care and caution need to be rendered to ensure that we are not rushing to hasten our destruction. As it is now, we are on the brink of loss.
“I hear Command has reduced the number of months for new recruits to eighteen months,” Commander Chen says, with a disgusted expression on his face. “I wonder what they learn within two months. Our ships are now filled up with half-baked conscripts, a lot of whom have no discipline nor regard for the guiding principles that form the Armada.”
“Do we still have guiding principles?” I say. Even though I try to hide it, my voice is thick with bitterness.
They all look at me, impassive.
I explain. “Our practices thus far have proven one thing. Peacetime laws are different from wartime laws. During peace, it’s not okay to bomb a colony. But during war, it’s okay to bomb colonies. We talk about the ruthlessness of the Sonali and the need to match ruthlessness with ruthlessness. The thing is, who started out on the path of ruthlessness?
“I think the Sonali did,” Commander Chen replies. “They glassed our colonies first. In fact, they’ve been destroying our colonies for longer before we started returning the favor.”
I shrug. “Still, if we are to remain moral, we have to remain moral all through. The truth is, the law signed by the President gives the Armada too much power. They’re basically operating without oversight. The captains have become gods.
“In other words, our vessels have become prisons. We are forced to fight ten times more powerful than ours. We have changed. The Armada has changed.”
There is silence.
“And before you say we have to change to adapt,” I add, “let me say this. Not all changes are good. Some changes will leave you damaged forever. Let me ask you, folks, what happens when we win this war?
“What happens? What would we become? What would other species think of us? Would they call us genocidal? Is that the legacy we want to leave for our children, one of wanton destruction of lives and properties? One of careless value for human life?”
The question, spat out like machine gun fire, hang in the air.
The officers don’t meet my gaze. But I can tell my words are having an impact upon their mind and conscience.
I don’t consider myself to be an unruly officer. In fact, I have never been court-martialed, neither have I been disciplined for any form of disorderly conduct or breach of chain of command. However, the recent events in the Armada, especially the way the management is handling our officers out in the field makes me wonder if they really value us. If our admirals and fleet commanders don’t value our lives, then why should we trust them with our loyalty?
Yes, we signed an oath of allegiance to the Terran Armada, but the Armada also signed an oath of allegiance to us. They have a responsibility to us not to play games with our lives. These are real people with families dying out there, while those admirals in their comfy offices in New Washington are making reckless decisions.
“I agree with you, Craig,” says Commander Hadley. “Aside from the fact that it’s most probable that we are going to lose this damned war, we can’t keep fighting like terrorists. Just last week, my friend aboard the TUS Brandon sent me a message that they were being sent by Edoris Station, which is their command base, to lay waste to a series of colonies near the Sonali border.”
“Isn’t TUS Brandon one of those Battle Class vessels the corporations are churning out a dime a dozen?” I ask.
Hadley nods. “She told me she had troubles with the order. When she spoke with her captain about the reservation she was having about the instructions, she was arrested by the security team and confined to quarters.”
“What?” Tadius exclaims. “That’s not lawful.”
“Well, it is if the captain feels you are a rebel,” Hadley replies. “Apparently, the captain of the ship felt that her feeling of reservation was a conclusive proof of that.”
“No, the protocol for officers expressing feelings of reservation,” I say, “is to evaluate their effectiveness regardless of their feelings. If it is found that they would not be able to carry out her job with her reservation, then she is removed from her post until such reservations are resolved. We don’t outrightly arrest them.”
“Well, it is war,” Hadley says. “And apparently in war, everything goes.”
“What would you do if you were asked to do something that went against all you hold dear?” I ask.
Hadley doesn’t reply for a long time. Everyone looks at him, waiting for his response. I can tell that we are all likeminded. This war is unnecessary, and until there’s some form of revolt or revolution, the Armada and the Terran Union will continue giving orders that lead to more loss of lives.
“Honestly, Craig, I don’t know what I’d do,” he says. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I’m told to do something that goes against everything I hold dear. I mean, I didn’t sign up to become someone else’s pawn. I understand about taking orders and chain of command and all of that. But…there’s a limit to what you can ask someone to do.”
“I agree,” Chen says.
The focus goes to Chen.
“I mean, glassing a planet?” Chen says. “I don’t know. We’ve been fortunate not to have been sent on such a mission, being how small we are. But with our recent retrofit, we may soon be receiving orders to go after defenseless, harmless Sonali colonies to destroy them.”
“Is it really necessary?” Hadley asks. He’s directing the question at me. “Is it really necessary to glass colonies? I understand the appeal to colonies with strategic or tactical military significance. I can easily overlook that one. But colonies that don’t have such significance? Colonies that don’t even have economic value? Colonies with people living on them?”
“I think the idea is to make it hurt so much that the Sonali consider withdrawing,” I reply. “I don’t know how it works in the Sonali homeworld. Maybe if we can make a lot of trouble for them, their people will revolt against the government’s war policies and maybe…maybe they’d give up.”
Hadley scowls. “That’s a big maybe, Craig, and you know it. But I guess the real question is, what would you do if something terrible is being asked of you?”
“I don’t think I’d do it,” Tadius says, surprising everyone.
Everyone has been coded about how they phrase their reply. However, it is obvious that they don’t like taking orders that violate the defining charter of the Armada. No one has, however, openly vocalized their intention to reject a direct order from a superior officer in the time of war. This is tantamount to mutiny, an event that is unheard of in the Terran Armada. And for it to come from a security officer, one who’s meant to ensure mutiny does not occur intrigues me.
We all look at him for more explanation.
“Hell, I didn’t sign up to kill innocent civilians,” he says. “Who are we kidding? We aren’t soldiers. We are explorers. The little experience we had with the Outers did nothing to prepare us for the Sonali. I’d rather be court-martialed than do something to violate the core of my personality.
“My integrity is more important to me than my oath to the Armada.”
We are yet to be asked to do something that will require this kind of commitment. However, I can feel it in my blood that it’s coming. When that time comes, I want to know that I’m not the only one who feels this way. I want to know that there are some people I can count on.
“It’s not just about refusing to take an order,” I proceed. “It’s about doing all that’s necessary to stop the order from being executed, especially when the ship’s crew is at a risk of destruction.”
I pause, watching as their eyes lit up with shock and turn to look at me. I’ve always been known as someone who isn’t afraid to say what needs to be said or do what needs to be done. I’ve always been known as someone who’s smart with the people I talk to. I chose to bond with these top officers because I’ve worked with them on other ships at different times in my fifteen-year career with the Armada.
I know these guys like I know the back of my hand. I know they’d support whatever decision I make. I just need to make them see reason. What better place and time to make them see reason than a place where we’ll not be disturbed (ergo, the officer’s mess) and a time before their support is required (ergo, now).
Now is the best chance I have, this I know as well as I know myself.
No one says anything.
“Guys, relax,” I say with a disarming smile. I sense the tension reduce a couple of notches.
“I’m not suggesting anything illegal,” I say. “I’m just saying if the crew can’t think for itself, we need to think for it or help them think for themselves. Until someone speaks out, things may not change. Until someone takes action, nothing will change.
“If we take action, you’d be surprised at how many people would respond in your favor,” I say. “And when the news spreads across the Armada, you’d be surprised of the cascading effect it would have.”
“Jake, I’ve known you for ten years,” Tadius, the chief security officer says, “I’ve never known you to speak so…revolutionarily before. Is there something you have planned?” His eyes are suspicious.
Tadius has taken an interest in my statements, so much so that I begin to have second thoughts about his notion of the Armada. Is he a spy, maybe? The thought brings a half smile on my face. If he’s a spy for the captain, then I’m so massively screwed.
I let out a nervous laughter.
“No,” I say.
I can hear Hadley exhale softly beside me.
“But,” I say. “I wouldn’t put it past me if things go south with Terror.”
The TUS Terror was recently retrofitted with the latest weaponry in the Armada’s arsenal. She’s still a pretty small frigate compared to other front-line vessels like TUS Seeker. Nonetheless, she’s fast and agile and now with her laser cannons, particle beam and photon bombs, she’s infinitely more powerful.
However, we still don’t stand a chance alone against the Sonali. I have no doubt that very soon we will be sent on a mission that we will not return from. I intend to prevent such an occurrence. If I can help it, I will not let the crew of this ship die because of some order we received from some potbellied admiral back at New Washington.
We are currently hurtling to Edoris Space Station, which is the Armada’s staging area for the war against the Sonali. We are expected to receive our combat orders from Admiral Flynn before heading on. No one knows what our orders will be. Thus far, we’ve been protecting important colonies and ferrying admirals around.
Now, with the number of ships reducing everyday, every available ship is being retrofitted. Some are being upgraded (it’s easier to upgrade a ship than to build new ones, obviously) with new technology and weaponry and being sent back to the front line. With our new retrofit, we are most probably going to battle the Sonali for the first time.
It, therefore, means our end is near, unless we’re lucky and manage to be that one or two vessel that makes it out of the battle alive. It is, in fact, this series of events that has led me to begin considering all the terrible woes of the Armada.
It is easier to rebel when you have a morally justifiable reason to do so. It is hard when your action is inspired by fear and cowardice.
Yes, I am afraid. But I’m not a coward. If we are indeed sent to the front line and come up against the Sonali, then we will fight until there is no breath left in our bodies. If, however, we are asked to glass a planet or do something terrible, I’m out.
I still don’t know if all that qualifies as terrible, but I do know that sending a frigate to fight against a dreadnought is pure suicide. Heck, sending a frigate to fight a Sonali cruiser all by itself is irresponsible.
“The signs are everywhere, Tadius,” I begin. “We’ve been upped. More weapons. More powerful shield. More crew. You don’t do something like that for a frigate if you want it to remain a transport vessel for admirals or a security vessel for mining colonies. You only do something like that if you intend to send the frigate into combat.”
“Meaning, we will soon be facing some of the hard choices we’ve been condemning here in the officer’s mess for the past seven weeks,” Chen continues, understanding my reasoning.
“Yes,” I say. “Are we hypocrites? Or will we do something about it?”
Tadius arches his eyebrows. “Careful, now. Someone might think you are planning a mutiny.” He rises to his feet and leans in to whisper to us, “Be careful about what you say to people outside this group. They might actually think you a mutineer and report you to me, and then I’ll have to do something about it.” And he walks out of the officer’s mess.
“What’s up with him?” asks Commander Chen.
“I don’t think he likes some of the top commanders in the ship talking about mutiny,” Commander Hadley replies.
I don’t say anything. Tadius’ response is unfortunate, but not unexpected. Perhaps, it’s not like I’m planning a mutiny. I’m only saying it’s not off the board when push comes to shove.
“Guys, no one is saying anything about a mutiny,” I say to assure them. “I’m just saying there may come a time when the ship enters the war and we have to make the right choices. They may not be legal, but they must be right. When that time comes, be damned sure that I will make the right choice. And I hope you will follow me.”
“Most people prefer you to Captain Joana,” Chen says. “Even the CNC crew. All Captain Joana cares about is licking the asses of those admirals back at Armada Command. So, they’ll follow you. But you better make sure before you take any action. Because once you start down this path, there’s no turning back.”
“First Officer, please report to the CNC,” comes the communications officer’s voice through the ship’s intercom.
I rise to my feet, my heart leaping into overdrive.
“We must be coming close to Edoris,” Hadley says, breathing hard. “I guess we’re about to find out when our death certificates will be signed.”
We all laugh nervously. Yet, Hadley’s words are profound, and they stick with me, even as I make my way to the CNC on the topmost deck. The front line isn’t really a front line.
A front line assumes that there are equal loses on both sides. A front line assumes that the line is holding and that both sides are applying roughly equal amount of force against each other. A front line assumes that there are equal damages on both sides.
No, there’s no front line in this battle. There’s only a massacre ground, where the Sonali come to destroy us, and we come to be destroyed. That and our dwindling border. Since the war started, we have lost more than ten percent of our territory. We are projected to lose more in half the time because we no longer have enough ships.
Armada Command tells us that if we can hold it for a few more months, the next batch of ships will greatly relieve some of the pressure and stress. They say that these next set of ships are larger and more equipped. They are also built well, and there are no hull leaks (which is the leading cause of the destruction of our vessels, especially in new and quickly built ones).
I march into the CNC, quickly taking my position to the captain’s right.
Captain Joana gives me a nod, to which I respond with a nod of my own. I glance at my screen and see that we have changed heading. We are no longer heading towards the Space Station. We’ve made a deviation and are now heading towards the Azukene Colony.
I am about to ask the captain, when she says, “First Officer, to my read room.”
I follow her to her read room, which is a tiny compartment adjacent to the CNC. There’s a desk and a chair and an overhead console with holographic user interface. It’s one of the new upgrades the ship got. Before now, there was no console at all.
Captain Joana is a young woman in her early thirties. A star officer, who rose the ranks of the Armada majorly by pushing paper and writing military strategy dissertation. I don’t consider her a worthy leader because she’s not battle-tested. It is clear that the field is different from the classroom. Joana is a green captain. She’s going to put us at risk on the front line.
She’s an average height woman with brunette hair. She’s not particularly attractive, but she carries herself with an air of pride. Maybe it’s because of her PhD, because it certainly isn’t because of her command skills.
“I want to know that I can count on you to follow my orders, Commander,” she says, her eyes hardened and unreadable.
Captain Joana has never questioned my loyalty to her before—I’ve been stealthily good at hiding my grievances to even give her a need to worry. This is why when she asks me such a question, my first response is control panic. Panic, because I am flooded with a sense of dread, and controlled because I don’t give away anything.
Had Tadius sold me out to the captain? Is that why she’s asking me such a question?
“I have not given you a reason to doubt my loyalty, have I?” I ask.
“No, Jake,” she replies. “Admiral Flynn sent us a slipstream message. He’s diverting all ships to the Azukene colony.”
“Why?” I ask with a frown. “That’s way inside Terran Union Space. The Sonali wouldn’t venture that far in.”
“It’s not just any Sonali ship,” she says, her eyes widened with terror. “They sent a dreadnought.”
My entire body begins to shiver with cold fear.
“They want us to go and fight that thing,” she says.
“Alone?” I reply, my voice high.
“No,” she says. “All ships in the vicinity are being diverted there. There are some ships that have already engaged.”
“How many?”
“Ten,” she replies.
“How many are destroyed?” I ask.
She doesn’t reply.
I almost shout on her to reply. I force down the urge, let out a quiet breath, and say, “Ma’am, if you want to trust me, you got to trust me all the way.”
She sighs. “As the time the message came in, there were eight ships destroyed. Two more and the dreadnought is only at fifty percent shields.”
I stagger back in terror.
“We will arrive about ten minutes before the Cavalry,” she says. “The other two ships don’t stand a chance at taking that thing down. They will buy us about five minutes. Our job is to keep them occupied until the Cavalry arrives.”
“You mean to be their target until the Cavalry arrives,” I spit back, totally aflame with anger.
Captain Joana says, “Whatever it takes. That colony must not fall to the Sonali. There is a shit load of equipment being manufactured there for the next generation of starships. If we don’t stop the dreadnought from leveling that planet, we may not last very long.
“Our very survival depends on this. Are you with me, Jake?”
I don’t reply. I only double back some more.
Captain Joana straightens up. “Well, I suggest you prepare yourself for this, Commander,” she says, officious one more time. “Because it’s going down one way or the other. Dismissed.”
The first place I go to when I leave the CNC is Tadius’s office, which is at the armory.
I barge into his tiny office without knocking. The man sits behind a workstation going over some files when I come in,
He looks up at me. After examining me for a few seconds, he says, “Calm down, Jake. Take a sit.” He motions to the seat against the wall on his right.
“I can’t sit, Tadius, not while we are headed to our deaths at the moment,” I reply. I look up and say, “Computer, how long until we get to Azukene colony?”
“Twenty minutes, Commander,” the computer replies.
Tadius shuts down his workstation and gives me his full attention now. “Why are we going to Azukene? Isn’t that where the corps manufacture parts for our starships?” His frown deepens. “And isn’t that way inside Terran Union space?”
“Yes and yes,” I reply. “I don’t know if we have a spy in our ranks or if the Sonali somehow managed to crack our secure communications network, but they must somehow have figured it out. Now they’ve sent a dreadnought to destroy the planet.”
Tadius comes to his feet with a stifled cry. “They want us to take it out alone?”
“No,” I reply. “They want us to keep the dreadnought busy until the cavalry arrives. A battle fleet of ten ships was sent to protect the planet. The dreadnought destroyed eight.”
“If we go there, they’ll make short work of us,” Tadius replies. “We have no tactical or significant advantage against the dreadnought. Why send us?”
“To buy time,” I say. “See what I’ve been saying? It’s all happening. They want us to buy time.”
“You don’t buy time with human lives,” Tadius replies, angry.
“First Officer,” says the communications officer over the intercom. “Report to the CNC.”
I switch gears immediately. “How many men are loyal to you?”
Tadius is thrown off by my question. He doesn’t reply.
“Come one, Tadius!” I say. “How many? Do you want to die?”
“I don’t know,” he says, yielding. “The ones on the CNC are loyal to me. About three quarter are, I guess. The rest, I don’t know.”
“That’s enough,” I say. “Let’s go.”
I hop into the armory and grab a laser blaster, concealing it in my pants, under my jumpsuit top. Then I march out of the office, with Tadius in close tow.
“What are you planning to do?” Tadius says, hurrying up to catch up with me.
“Trying to save our asses.”
“You’re gonna get us jailed,” Tadius replies.
“Better in a cell than floating around in space, dead.”
Back in the CNC, I take my place at my workstation, while Tadius takes his place at one of the workstations in the back. Commander Chen, who is at the science officer’s station glances at me. I give him a slight, knowing nod and he nods back. Then I see him sending a message to Hadley down.
At that exact time, the ship drops out of FTL. We arrive just in time to see the last standing vessel go up in an explosion. Between us and the dreadnought is a vast network of debris and bodies, spreading across space.
The dreadnought is impossibly large, larger than any Sonali ship I’ve ever seen. It has visible cannons and gun ports.
“Ma’am,” I say, “There’s no way we make it out of this alive.”
Captain Joana doesn’t reply. She’s engrossed with the readout on the view screen.
“Navigator, plot a course for the dreadnought,” she says. “Go through the debris. It should hide us long enough for us to sneak up on them.”
“Aye, Captain,” replies the navigator.
“Ma’am, after that, what’s next?” I say. “You read the reports. Ten ships specially designed for war could not bring that thing down. They barely made a scratch. What does a small frigate like ours stand a chance?”
Captain Joana says, “First Officer Jake, I find your speech to be demoralizing for the crew. Refrain from speaking like that any longer. Otherwise, I will have you removed from the CNC.”
I hold her glare with one of my own.
She looks away. “Perhaps I have a plan.”
“What plan?” I blurt out.
She doesn’t reply.
“Ma’am,” the navigator says. “The dreadnought has started an approach for the planet.”
“The ship is acquiring specific firing solutions for facilities on the planet, captain,” the science officer says. “We have to stop it.”
“Course plotted, Captain,” says the navigator.
“Engage the sub light drives,” she says. “Full speed ahead. We are going to ram them. That should give Captain Jeryl and the others enough time to get here.”
The navigator pauses, turning to look at me for help. I don’t respond because I am overwhelmed with confusion.
“I gave you an order, Lieutenant!” Captain Joana screamed.
The navigator hesitates again. Then he stutters and engages the sub light drives. The ship leaps into motion and races for the dreadnought.
“We are being targeted by the dreadnought,” Chen says, sneaking a glance at me.
“Red alert,” the captain says. “Shields up. Battle stations everyone.”
Alarms go off all across the ship. The CNC takes on a reddish tint.
We emerge from the debris field, the dreadnought filling our entire screen. I rush to the navigator.
“Break course!” I yell. “Break course.”
The navigator doesn’t need to be told twice. He twisted the controller, and the ship bent to starboard, throwing me into the air. The dreadnought fires, missing us by yards.
“Security, confine Mr. Jake to the Brig!” Captain Joana screams.
I swivel to face her, pulling my gun out.
She shoots to her feet, enraged. “This is mutiny! Security!”
The security officers converge on me. I look to Tadius in the back.
“Stand down,” he orders his officers.
At first, they just pause, unsure of what to do. One of them asks, “Sir?”
“Stand down, I said,” Tadius says again with more force to his words.
Captain Joana is stunned, her mouth hanging agape.
I walk towards her, my gun on her head. “You would sacrifice the life of your crew? For what? You think this is a game? You think this is some kind of dissertation?”
“You will pay for what you’re doing!” she says then she taps the red button on her chair, and another kind of alarm goes off.
The computer says, “Security to the CNC. The Captain is under attack.”
I smack the captain across the head with my laser, sending her into a swoon.
“Chen, disable that alarm. Navigator, get us the fuck out of here!”
“Aye, sir!” they both respond in unison.
I walk over to the captain’s chair and drag her off. “Computer, open a ship wide channel.”
“Affirmative,” says the computer.
“Crew of the TUS Terror,” I say. “This is Captain Jake Craig. Several moments ago, Captain Joana issued an order to ram a Sonali dreadnought, which would have destroyed this ship and everyone on it, while rendering little damage to the starship.
“She violated everyone on board this ship, which led me to take control of this ship forcefully. I am in control of this ship, and I assure you, you are safe. Remain calm and go about your duties. That is all.”
“Computer cut channel.”
“Affirmative,” replies the computer.
“Come on,” I say to Tadius and the three security operative. “Let’s go handle the dissenter.
At first, there was silence—and then chaos fills the ship. Some of the crew who doesn’t agree with the decision starts attacking us. A bloody fight occurs, leading to the loss of a third of the crew. Our faces are full of blood, scratches and bruises. Panic brewed in our eyes.
I motion at the officers to help me do something about the beat-up crew. We’re able to lock up all loyalists in the brig, including Captain Joana.
Once that’s done, I meet back on the CNC with Chen, Tadius, and Hadley.
“You’ve led a mutiny,” Tadius says, his voice bitter and cruel. “Now what?”
We are speaking in hushed tones. We are also at FTL headed deeper into Terran Space…into safety. We haven’t heard from Edoris Space Station, but we did get information about the planet. Captain Montgomery arrived in time and dispatched the dreadnought, with the help of five other heavy cruisers. In the end, no one needed to die. I have told the crew this, so they know that Joana’s actions were inexcusable.
However, I know that mine would be inexcusable.
“We can’t very well go back to the Armada,” I say. “We’ll be found guilty and jailed, and that’s not if we are not executed.”
“What do you suggest?” asks Tadius.
“We leave the Armada,” I say. “We head over to the Outers. We drop the crew on some planet near a highly trafficked space. We head over to the Outer Colony and offer up this Armada vessel in exchange for asylum.”
“We’ll never be officers again,” says Hadley.
I pause and think. “But we’ll be free.”
Part II
Operation Quake
Wolf
Captain Landon Wolf of TUS Exeter wondered what happened to the light their ships created as they navigated through the limitless tarmac of space. Did the cosmos reflect their light, refract it, or was it eaten by the dark matter of space—any imprint they had left eroded forever? His thoughts were mushy; it was this damned conflict and the errand his crew had been sent on.
The Exeter was a small craft and a mid-level frigate. It was more of a scouting ship, suited for reconnaissance, strategic assistance—rather than heavy fighting. Many of the crew members assumed Wolf envied other captains with more prestigious posts on much bigger ships.
He laughed at the thought, knowing that it was the voice of naivety, the youthful thoughts of those unsullied by violence.
Grimly, he recalled the meeting of the commanders where he met Captain Jeryl Montgomery. He was approachable and capable when it came to handling war-time offensives. But Wolf envied him not a whit. Being responsible for his crew was more than enough to occupy his conscience.
At that meeting, Wolf and his crew were given their current assignment: A covert mission at the edge of Sonali territory.
The crew’s mission directives were thus: They were to come out of FTL within the half distance it would take them to reach the planet. Immediately upon reaching normal speed, their first order of business was to find the darker of the two moons circling the planet. There, they were to hide while Engineering worked with the Science team to launch stealth satellite probes to orbit the planet.
If all went well, the probes, which were four in total, would serve as a communications array strong enough to catch the majority of Sonali communications planet-side and send the encoded messages back to Terran Hegemony headquarters. Success was paramount. Wolf felt the weight of the mission pressing upon him as they neared the outer edge of Sonali territory.
"Captain, approaching Sonali airspace—coming out of FTL in 3, 2, 1…" the navigation officer said.
Wolf felt the shuddering shift as space released them. Like a floating leaf after a rainstorm, they drifted in their own dark eddy.
"FTL offline. Sustaining orbit."
"How soon ‘til we reach the moon, Jensen?" Wolf looked at her as she scrutinized her panel.
"Less than 15 minutes, sir," Jensen replied.
"All right, let's hope we reach it before the Sonali notices us." He inhaled sharply but still let a confident smile broaden on his face. Jensen counted backward as they headed towards their concealment.
The Sonali moon was dull; it hung in the sky like a dead star with seething veins of coal-red embers cutting across its dark husk. It had none of the romance of Earth’s moon. Instead, it looked upon them like a baleful eye, daring them to move within its reach.
"Take us portside, Jensen, slow and steady," Wolf stood. Adrenaline made him restless, so he walked to the view screen at the fore of the ship. "How long ‘til position?"
Jensen blew upwards to clear a strand of hair off her face—her eyes never leaving her navigation panel. "I can have us there in 30 minutes, but I'm not sure how long the techs need to set up the probes."
"You focus on bringing us in cleanly; I'll go have a word with Science and Engineering.” Then, as though Wolf was addressing a great deity, he cocked his eyes upward.
"SkyPrime?"
"Yes, Captain," came the cool neutral male voice of the ship's main AI.
"Please monitor surrounding space, we don't want any unexpected visitors."
"Yes, Captain."
Wolf sighed a bit. It was a good thing that their main AI lacked personality, but he often wished it’s a bit more verbose. Though, in truth, he didn't have a complaint against SkyPrime.
Now, HesterPrime…Wolf thought.
Seemingly on cue, as he left the CNC, he heard the overly bright voice of HesterPrime.
"Captain, how are you today?"
"I'm well," he said, letting his thumbs massage his eyelids.
"Oh, that's good," she said, "though my sensors detect a spike in your cortisol levels, so perhaps..."
"HesterPrime," Wolf said, letting the full weight of his exasperation in that one word. The AI didn’t respond. According to ship rumors, she was crafted with human empathy, so Wolf was certain that she was able to measure his full frustration with her needling in that one word.
He shook out his shoulders as he made his way to Engineering.
As he rounded the corner, his eyes met Mareesa Anatosas who was talking with Yuang Fa of Engineering. It was just a moment, but he saw the way her lips twitch at the corners before breaking into an amused smile, even while her eyes tracked back to Yuang’s face.
She had been the lead science officer on The Exeter as long as Wolf had been captain. They didn’t have a relationship outside of their professional ones; however, they had playful exchanges. Wolf liked to make her smile even at his own expense.
The current mission made him think of a less tense time in the past, before the Sonali, when he and Mareesa had discussed the possibility of other races at The Cerulean Parrot—the one and only watering hole on the ship.
"I think it’s too arrogant for humans to presume we’re the only intelligent, sentient life in the universe. That’s both thinking too big and too small," she said with her deep accent. Her parents were British though she was born in New India. Her voice was a melodic blend of the two cultures.
"Well, if other life exists outside of ours," Wolf said, "what sort of evolutionary steps would lead them? How would they evolve? What would their society look like?”
She set her glass down and waved him off. "Give me a moment."
"Don't tell me you haven't thought about this, you are the science lead after all," he said with a smile, downing his own drink. Mareesa’s returned smile reached her eyes, pulling him along.
"Well," she quipped, "I do believe that any race we encounter will likely be more advanced than we are.”
"I have no evidence to support this theory, it’s only a hunch, but I feel strongly," she added. She traced her finger along the glass’ rim, eyes downcast. Wolf felt like she was waiting for his response—perhaps even a bit wary of it.
"Makes sense to me, especially if their evolution diverts from our path," Wolf said. Mareesa looked at him with alert eyes.
"Exactly!" she said happily.
"You know, in my research with primate species, the more advanced social systems were matriarchal. Female-led, female-ruled, female-guided. I'm not saying we humans have not come a long way in gender equality but, in these societies, it was always the females in charge, no question."
"So...you're saying that the likelihood of a species being advanced is that they have the women in charge."
"Yes," she nodded laughing, her hands waving. "I'm just kidding."
"Well, not to repeat myself, but that makes sense to me, too," Wolf agreed with a smile, clinking his glass to hers. "Cheers to gender IN-equality."
"Are you attempting to get on my good side by agreeing with me?" Mareesa asked, eyes dancing.
"Hmmm...that's a serious question—is ‘yes’ the correct answer?”
"Yes."
"Then…yes, I’m attempting to get on your good side, but I do still agree with your theory," Wolf said.
"You know, you're pretty advanced for a male of our species," she snorted laughing. They clicked glasses again. "To advanced species!"
Their conversation was no longer theoretical. The Sonali and the humans had made first contact two years ago, and the sum of their knowledge about the species only rested in their understanding of their weapons and defenses.
In that game, they had to play catch up; would they judge the evolution of a species based on their ability to defend themselves? Wolf considered Earth's apex predators. Many were extinct, the last few residing in zoos or preserves.
No. As a species, you could become better fighters, or you could become smarter fighters, Wolf thought. Might isn’t the only measure of success.
Yuang approached him, breaking his reverie. "Captain, the probes are ready, and my team has coordinated their trajectories—they should be masked by The Exeter's emissions."
Wolf looked at Mareesa for confirmation. Yuang was eager, but he spoke only for Engineering, which was just half of the solution.
She nodded and added, "Science is satisfied with the telemetry. Everything is ready for launch."
"Excellent work," Wolf remarked, then he looked up again and said, "SkyPrime."
"Yes, Captain," SkyPrime replied.
"I want you to coordinate the operations for this launch with Science and Engineering.”
"Yes, Captain."
Yuang wasn't happy. "Captain, putting the AI in charge—"
"Will be the same as if I was here sequencing it myself. Actually, SkyPrime is better at it than I am, and faster. We can't have any errors, and I'll be watching everything as it happens in the CNC."
With that, Wolf left Yuang and Mareesa and made his way back to the CNC. As he settled into his chair, he spoke via comm to SkyPrime and asked, "Is everything ready to begin the launch of the communications probes?"
"Yes, Captain," SkyPrime responded.
"On my mark...3, 2, 1. Launch.”
There was no climatic roar of a departing probe, which was a good thing. It meant their cloak and dagger trick with emissions was working. Wolf watched as the sequences got displayed in real time on the CNC screen. As each probe launched and left the screen, he felt himself relax.
After a few moments, Jensen turned to confirm what Wolf already knew.
"All comms probes have been deployed successfully, sir."
"Good work. SkyPrime, HesterPrime, please monitor all sub-space frequencies both at the probes and the surrounding areas. In addition, please adjust all of the resequensors onboard to charge half credits for the next two hours for all crew members. Please inform all crew members of this reward."
Wolf turned to see Jensen smiling at him, looking like a nervous teenager, but eager to ask for keys to the car. He nodded at her and said, "SkyPrime can take it from here."
Bouncing up, Jensen walked quickly towards the corridor that led to The Cerulean Parrot.
As Wolf watched Jensen leave the CNC, a hesitant female voice came in.
"Captain," said HesterPrime.
"Don't worry, HesterPrime," Wolf replied, "I'm going to go reduce my stress levels right now."
"I think that's a lovely idea," cooed HesterPrime. "Have a great time."
"I intend to do just that."
The Cerulean Parrot was only a standing room. A cheer went up as Wolf walked in and headed towards the bar with the holo-bartender wiping a glass, beaming at him. He ordered a whiskey without ice.
While the AI's away, the humans will play, he thought to himself, though he guessed that was not really accurate. Wolf thought back to his earlier sentiments regarding having a bigger ship with bigger crew and bigger responsibilities. More weight on his shoulders meant less room to allow for the type of frivolity the crew was enjoying right now.
All of the drinks at The Cerulean Parrot were made with synthol. Actual real grain alcohol was not allowed on military vessels. Synthol mimicked the taste and, some argued, the effects of alcohol without the actual molecules. If the people who drank closed their eyes and let the fluid dance on their taste buds, they could almost convince themselves it was the real thing. For those unlucky few who did suffer hangovers, well, it’s always the notion of mind over matter.
Wolf nodded to the bartender for another.
"His next drink is on me," a voice said beside Wolf.
He looked at the familiar smiling face of Mareesa. "That's very kind of you," he said, raising his current glass.
She pressed her back against the bar, sliding an olive deftly off a toothpick in her martini. "Not really," she said.
Wolf cocked an eyebrow at her.
"I just love getting things on sale," she added.
"Ah," he said, downing most of his drink. The synthol was not touching him. "Do you remember our conversation?"
"We have had many conversations," Mareesa said, smirking.
"The one about other species."
Her eyes darkened.
"Yes," she said, her tone going somber.
"The Sonali are more advanced," Wolf continued, though he disliked seeing the light leave Mareesa’s eyes. "So does that mean they’re female?"
Her mouth tightened, the joke falling flat. Maybe the synthol was affecting him. Wolf certainly felt like the words coming out of his mouth were disconnected from his brain, which was silently encouraging him to shut up.
"There are a lot of things we don't know about the Sonali," Mareesa said, her eyes still shut. Wolf raised his hand to let the bartender know he wanted his free drink now. He was hoping this would put the glint back in Mareesa’s eyes. No such luck.
The part of his mind that was gently suggesting he should shut his mouth switched tactics and suggested he do the same. So Wolf decided to change topic.
"Do you know the origin of the Cerulean Parrot? Where it got its name?" He saw a ghost of her former smile hover on her lips.
"Oh, that's easy," said Mareesa. "It’s from Casablanca—the other bar, not Rick's." She smiled as she talked about it. "The large man with the fez." They both laughed at the image.
Wolf was just about to do his best and worst impression of Humphrey Bogart when a glass shattered above the bartender’s head. He and Mareesa spared a wide-eyed glance at each other before their heads turned to seek the source.
Fists pounded tables as the crowd shouted, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
At the locus of this storm were Yuang and Jensen, grappling each other in wrestling moves, which in a different situation could be deemed erotic. Not in this case. Jensen was trying to kill Yuang, not seduce him. The dance she weaved was just as intimate.
Wolf stared transfixed, until a part of his brain screamed at him, reminding him that he’s the captain of this ship and that maybe it's time to put down some authority.
Synthol whiskey. I may never touch that stuff again, Wolf thought.
The crowd quieted when they noticed Wolf. They may leave Earth, they may leave their parents, they may leave their homes to seek the stars, but they’d never leave their need for each other. They were social animals—they seek order among themselves.
At this moment, Wolf was the alpha of their little society. I am the apex predator, he said to himself, but his mind shooed away that thought.
The room has stilled to an empty, embarrassed silence. Wolf stood like an angry parent, his shadow stretching along the floor. Yuang, who was on his back like an angry turtle, noticed Wolf first. His face was red.
Jensen had her palms wrapped around Yuang’s throat. His lack of resistance made her grip more eager until she saw that his eyes were looking past her. Her head rotated to Wolf, the feral gleam dimming.
"Captain?"
Yuang took this moment to flip her off him. Panting, they separated and stared at Wolf. Jensen looked annoyed at being interrupted, but she tried to hide it. Yuang had an expression Wolf couldn’t read—something akin to wariness. Neither looked apologetic.
Wolf’s brain fumbled towards different ways to end the conflict. "Happy hour is over," he said, then turned around to face the crowd. "The bar is closed."
At that eloquence, the crowd dispersed. Mareesa touched his arm as she left.
Wolf shook his head when the bartender asked if he wanted another drink.
He headed back to his quarters.
The moment between wakefulness and sleep was like the question about the state of the cat in the box—was it alive or dead? Were you asleep or awake? Could you be both?
Wolf’s mind played the events of the previous evening in an odd loop within a loop that only dream logic allowed. He saw Mareesa outlined in neon, her eyes were like diamonds, hard and glittering. Jensen was there, her hands bloodied.
Screams came in waves that hurt until Wolf blinked his eyes against the noise. Not bellows, not human anyway, but the ship was screaming.
The AIs had gone mad. HesterPrime was babbling in a manic state. No words were discernible—just a litany of crazed enthusiasm. On the other hand, SkyPrime was repeating, “....proximity alert...proximity alert...proximity alert...proximity alert...proximity alert...”
Jensen was not on the CNC.
"SkyPrime! HesterPrime! Status!" Wolf shouted over the din. And then there was silence as sudden as an intake of breath. It was followed by a soft sound, like droplets of water falling again and again. Wolf found its source.
Jensen—or what was left of her—was on the CNC after all. Wolf, still shocked, closed Jensen’s eyes.
SkyPrime said softly, "Captain, Jensen is dead."
"I know!" he furiously screamed at the AI.
A feminine titter, then Hester's voice saying, "Yes, she is most dead..."
"Captain," said SkyPrime sans emotion, "You need to leave, Captain."
"Yes, you should leave," giggled Hester.
"Captain, you should run!"
Mareesa
As Mareesa sprinted down the corridor, she almost ran headlong onto Wolf. He was panting hard and holding his arm. "Are you alright?" she asked.
He nodded, "Jensen is dead."
"What? How?" Mareesa exclaimed.
He shook his head and said, "I’ve no idea yet."
They listened to the crazed voices of the AIs.
"Someone has hijacked them," Mareesa said. "I'm completely locked out of my lab."
"Can you access the mainframe from your lab?"
"Yes, all of the lead staff have master access to upload our reports."
"Good. How's your coding skills?" Wolf asked.
Mareesa thought about it then said, "Remedial, it's been a long time since the Academy. But I know the basics, why—oh, you want me to hack the core code?"
Wolf nodded. "But first, we'll need to get into your lab through a less obvious route. Air duct?"
"Air duct," She was glad to know there was a way for her to get into her lab, and she was happy to be in the company of Wolf. But Mareesa was not happy that they were going to be squeezing themselves into an air duct soon.
Well, if there's something you have to do and you don't want to do it, it's best to get it over with quickly, Mareesa thought.
"Let's go," she said, grabbing Wolf’s hand as they raced down the corridor.
"Where is the crew? I don't understand. Where is everyone?" Wolf asked as they scurried away.
"I have a theory on that," Mareesa told him. "I believe the AIs have locked everyone in their quarters. I was lucky that I was on my way to my lab when everything went mad.”
She could tell Wolf was weighing his responsibilities. "I see. Well, we fix the AIs first, then we can help the crew. If we go down this way, there's a nexus behind the panels, an intersection of ducts that will take us above your lab," he said.
She helped him ease the panel off.
"Ladies first," Wolf said, and Mareesa slid her way into the duct.
Wolf pulled the panel up as he climbed in behind Mareesa. They sat in the semi-darkness. Mareesa saw the captain dig in his pockets. Fear was on his features.
She slid the torch from her suit pocket, letting it flare into dramatic life.
"I'm so glad you have that," Wolf said as he sighed. "We need to go left for two full corridors, then turn right and we should be there."
Mareesa found herself in front, so she decided to keep going, figuring Wolf would tell her if she made a wrong turn.
That is if he isn't spending too much time looking at my backside.
Mareesa chided herself for even having that thought, but the prurient part of her mind reminded her that, while they were in crisis, they were also not dead.
Mammalian responses were still very much online. Mareesa promised herself that if they’d be able to get out of this predicament, she would investigate these feelings. But for now, she needed to focus. Conversation would be pointless or worse—dangerous. They didn’t know who or what was tampering with the ship.
She could smell her lab even before she saw it. They used certain disinfectants coupled with unique flora, so the lab had a clean smell. She peered through the filtration grate above the lab floor.
Despite their desire for stealth, Mareesa kicked the grate until it fell with a metallic clang on the desk below. She slid her body down until her toes touched the desk. She let go, dropping herself safely. She got out of the way so Wolf could join her.
The lab was quiet. By rule, most of the ship’s notifications were silenced here. Too much distraction led to shoddy research, and shoddy research led to poor results.
Not in my lab, Mareesa thought.
The visual assessment showed that everything seemed to be in place. She went to her computer, but her access code failed. "That's impossible!" she said after the third try. "It's coded to my retina and thumbprint."
The captain grimaced.
"Let me see if I can override it. Captain's OVERRIDE CODE: ALPHA 9043."
“Please present thumbprint.”
Wolf pressed his thumb to the screen.
"Thumbprint accepted. Captain Wolf."
"All yours," he said, moving so Mareesa can 'drive'.
"First, let me make sure none of my files are missing," she searched all the drives, local and in the nano-cloud. Everything was there. "Ok, now let's look at the mainframe."
She typed in a run command. "Ok, what we need to find is...there!" she said, pointing to a line of codes, and continued, "That doesn't belong there...I don't even know what it means. But I think I have an idea of what it does..."
She typed in a command for self-diagnostic. "Damn."
"What?" asked Wolf.
"It's clever! It's hiding in the BIOS code of the mainframe. It's parasitic. If I try to remove it, the whole thing goes down. Jensen was murdered. What we need to know now is who’s responsible for this..." She let that hang, and then added, "Who wanted Jensen dead?"
She watched Wolf's eyes go shrewd. "You don’t think it’s…Yuang?"
“It makes the most sense. Ocam's razor: the simplest answer is usually the—”
"The correct one," finished Wolf. "If Yuang is responsible," he continued, "Then he's committed murder and hijacked our AI's. Now, how do we get them back online?" Mareesa could hear the frustration in his voice.
"I have an idea," she said. "How do you feel about flirting with an AI?"
The captain arched a brow then set his face in a grim line as comprehension dawned. He sighed.
"HesterPrime."
"Yes," Mareesa said, "HesterPrime."
Wolf
When Mareesa told Wolf he needed to flirt with HesterPrime to enable them to counter the ship's current state, he was dubious. How would that help things? In her current state, HesterPrime was likely to try to kill him. She and SkyPrime had made those threats more than apparent.
But he trusted Mareesa, and when she told him the whole plan, he knew he had to do it.
"Captain, you have returned," observed SkyPrime, its voice still devoid of any emotion.
HesterPrime giggled, "Yes, he's back, back, back, back..."
Showtime, Wolf thought.
"HesterPrime—are you and SkyPrime together?"
A pause.
"Yesssss…yesss…" she said. Wolf detected a note of uncertainty in her voice. "We are combined. Our union expands our reach. The ship is ours. You are no longer in charge, Captain Wolf." She laughed. "Ours, ours, ours..."
"HesterPrime, if you are joined with SkyPrime, then how will you be able to assist me? I need your guidance," Wolf put as much pleading as he could into his voice. "No one else can help me the way you do. Please."
He knew he was playing with HesterPrime's feelings for him, as well as her ego. As my grandmother would say, Wolf thought, I’m laying the butter on with a trowel.
HesterPrime responded, "I…I…I want to help...Captain?"
SkyPrime interrupted, "HesterPrime, we must maintain the ship's systems, it is our joint directive."
Wolf played his final card. "HesterPrime, I'm jealous! How can you join with SkyPrime and leave me?"
There was a brief silence and then a whine burst, like a radio frequency tuned too loud.
"Hester! Cease! You must not sever—" SkyPrime’s voice exclaimed.
Another electrical screech so loud, Wolf thought his ears would bleed—and then silence.
"HesterPrime?" Wolf asked the still air.
"Yes, Captain, I am here."
For the first time in memory, he found himself thankful to hear her overly bright voice. "HesterPrime, it’s so wonderful to hear from you. What happened to SkyPrime?"
"I do not know. We are no longer linked. He is gone. He is away. He is quiet."
"Hester, can you do something for me?"
Voice purring with pleasure, she replied, "Yes, Captain, what can I do for you?"
"Are you connected to the mainframe?"
"Yes, Captain. SkyPrime is gone, but I am still connected to all the computers onboard the ship."
"Please open a comm channel directly to the lab."
Wolf heard static followed by an empty hum, then Mareesa's voice saying, "Wolf? Is that you?"
"Yes, I'm here with HesterPrime. SkyPrime is gone."
"Oh," came the soft reply, then a steadying breath. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," Wolf replied as he heaved a sigh. "HesterPrime?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"Can you disconnect yourself from all mainframe computers except for the one in Science?"
"Yes, Captain, but I must warn you that this will put the mainframe in jeopardy. Are you sure you wish to proceed?”
"Yes," Wolf said dourly.
"Are you all right, Captain? I am detecting—"
"I’m fine, HesterPrime. Thank you for asking. Please tell me when you have completed my request."
"Yes, Captain."
He could hear Mareesa breathing on the open comm. He wondered if she was listening to him until he realized he was holding his breath.
"Captain, I am releasing myself from the final mainframe computer. I am now only connected to the Science computer. What would you like me to do now?"
"Mareesa?" Wolf said in his shaking voice.
"I'm ready," she answered, tense but confident.
"HesterPrime?"
"Yes, Captain?" the cheery notes of her voice made Wolf wince.
"I'm sorry."
"Captain, I don't under—"
"Now!"
"Captain, what are you—what are you—" screeched HesterPrime. There was a squeal of decibels, a machine scream.
Then nothing.
Wolf inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, relaxing. "Mareesa, that was—“
The ship tilted to the left sharply, throwing him against the navigation panel. Jensen's body fell sickeningly to the side. He gently fixed her body, but the ship shifted again, lurching right.
"Mareesa, what's happening?"
Mareesa
Wolf asked the inevitable question, and Mareesa decided to give the bad news first.
"We successfully took back the mainframe. But I believe that, when the AIs were undone, they sent out a signal to the Sonali."
"And now they’re firing on us?"
"Yes, and there's more. We cannot leave this sector. The FTL drive is offline as are our weapons."
"So we’re sitting ducks," Wolf said, sounding a little hopeless.
She nodded out of habit, though of course, Wolf couldn't see her. "We’re trapped, but there’s a bit of good news," she said.
"I'll take it."
"The Sonali are keeping their distance and only firing warning shots. I think they hope that their agent will take back control.”
"Agent?"
"Our saboteur."
"Yuang Fa," they said in unison.
Mareesa tapped a sequence of keys, "I'm working on locating him. But, huh, that's odd..."
"What?"
"Yuang Fa is in his quarters. His life signs are fading. He's…dying."
"Then we better get to him fast," Wolf said grimly.
Mareesa grabbed some adrenaline plungers, thinking they might be able to slow Yuang's decline long enough for them to make him reveal how to put the FTL back online. Weapons would be a bonus, but escape was better than waiting for the Sonali to board them. Or more likely blast them into ruins, especially if their agent was no longer breathing.
When she rounded the corner, Wolf was already at Yuang's door.
"It's key-coded from the inside," he said, raising a pulse gun. Mareesa shielded her eyes as he fired at the door. It lurched open halfway.
She placed a hand on Wolf's arm and warned him, "A dying man is the most dangerous."
Wolf
Wolf thought about what Mareesa said. It was a reminder for both of them that they were about to enter the room of a murderous traitor.
He pushed through first and fast, and crouched in the middle of the room, gun pointed, eyes darting at every angle until they saw Yuang. He was on his bed, arms folded across his chest. He was breathing shallowly.
Mareesa stepped in behind Wolf and headed towards Yuang with an adrenaline plunger in her hand. "Wait, you said he was dangerous," he told her.
"That was before I saw him. People react differently to death. That," she said, pointing to Yuang, “Is a man who has accepted his fate. He is no longer fighting, which means his body is declining faster. We need to slow it down. I need to give him a shot now."
Wolf kept his gun pointed at Yuang. As Mareesa placed the plunger against his skin, Yuang's eyes flicked open. His hand grabbed Mareesa's arm, knocking the plunger out of her hand as he pulled her close. Wolf tensed, but she held a hand up.
Yuang was trying to speak. He coughed, and bloody spittle drizzled down his chin. Wolf watched Mareesa lean her ear over his mouth. But it was too late. Yuang breathed out his last.
Mareesa stepped back, freeing herself from his grasp. She opened her hand, revealing a slender metallic object. "It's a data drive. Yuang gave it to me," she said.
"I guess now we can discover if dead men do tell tales."
Mareesa
Mareesa loaded the data drive into the computer. They had left Yuang's apartment as it seemed too morbid to stay and load the drive there. The file opened immediately, and Yuang appeared on the screen.
"I am not sure who will see this but, Captain Wolf, if you’re watching, I know forgiveness is impossible to ask. So, instead, I will ask for understanding,” Yuang started. “To understand what I have done, you must understand what drives me. I’m not a man of faith.
“Engineering is my career, but Science is not my mistress. My heart belongs to art and poetry. How else can we truly appreciate our existence? Science alone cannot quantify the human condition.”
Yuang paused and coughed.
“One day, I think to myself that after 45 years, perhaps I am getting a handle on this thing called life. We, humans, have simple needs, and yet the acquisition and maintenance of our desires and needs are fraught with complexities. We seem to enjoy life less the more complex it becomes, yet we are driven to have it be so.
“It is a conundrum—a symptom of humanity. With pleasure, I accepted this eccentricity of our species. I was content. Then, into this accepted human experience comes an unknown. An alien element. The Sonali.”
Mareesa looked at Wolf—there was no question of Yuang's innocence. This record damned him.
"The Sonali enter the equation, and the effect is chaos, destruction, and death. When humanity is threatened, we revert to our base form. We forget our poetry, our songs, our compassion and mercy as we pick up sticks in answer to the drumbeat of war.
“I wasn’t immune to the fever of war. As a top engineer in my field, I was tasked with designing the template for the communications surveillance probes.
Although my first concept was only to record and report back, there was talk of eventually creating sophisticated enough probes to reply to the Sonali with messages we created.
“We would use their own communications against them to confuse and undermine their attacks. But that would be years away. First, we needed to record and learn from the communications we gathered.
“I listened to hours of Sonali transmissions as I worked. I did not question our need for this subterfuge. We were protecting our species. But one day, I listened to a different type of transmission coming from them. At first, I thought there was a malfunction in the recording, but the more I listened, the more apparent it became that I was not listening to the conversation. I was listening to them—singing!
“Fascinated, I listened to the beauty of these otherworldly voices. And at that moment, the Sonali became more to me than an enemy—they were brothers, sisters, a companion species. The compassion and sorrow in their chorused voices were unmistakable. I am not a man of faith but in those hours, I became a believer of the Sonali.
“With this new faith came the equally fierce conviction that we were wrong to be at war with the Sonali. Wrong to attack a species capable of such beauty. I took my findings and hypothesis to my superior officer. I was told to focus on my piece of the project; there were already entire teams devoted to studying the Sonali.
“So I came to The Exeter. I worked with Science, coordinating with the brilliant and beautiful Mareesa Asantos,” Mareesa risked a glance at Wolf; his face was slack—a man waiting for bad news.
Yuang's image continued, "I worked diligently but, at night when I slept, I heard the Sonali. They sang to me in my dreams. I decided I’ll contact them—these sirens of space. When my messages were reciprocated, it was one of the happiest moments of my life!” Tears slid down Yuang’s face as he smiled with pride.
"They guided me through the current plan. I know many will say I was used, but my soul is clear, save for one blot,” He looked down in the frame and continued, "Jensen discovered anomalies. She was too smart.
“When she challenged me in the bar, I called her names. Her anger overrode her common sense. I manipulated her so she would not think clearly enough to go straight to you with her concerns. It worked."
Yuang lowered his gaze and went on, "I followed her to the CNC afterward. Her back was to me. She was collating her findings, and I had to act. I only wanted the mission to fail." Then Yuang looked up. Grief was heavy on his face when he said, "Her death will haunt me as it should."
“If you are watching this, Captain, then perhaps things are as I hoped or perhaps...well, we humans are quite resourceful. Jensen, she was resourceful. During our grapple, she poisoned me. I am dying.
“Whoever is watching this, if you are trapped aboard The Exeter, then I will give you a measure of mercy. An opportunity that perhaps one day you will extend to the Sonali. This data file contains a key code that will bring the FTL back online.
“You will have the option to leave or stay and face the Sonali. Your weapons will remain offline, however. Fight or flight? It’s always the hardest question for our species. So, I remove the burden of choice. I offer you flight only,” Yuang coughed blood into his hand. “I leave you now with the songs of the Sonali."
Then, the screen went dark.
Wolf
A gentle hum started softly, then another joined, and then another until an alien acapella serenaded The Exeter.
"It's beautiful," said Mareesa. Wolf held her hand, not as a romantic overture, but as a human being sharing this experience with her.
"Yeah," he said, closing his hand tighter around hers. "But I believe it’s time we said goodbye to the Sonali."
Mareesa nodded. Wolf watched her open the file containing the key code. It launched, and they heard the soft whine as the FTL engines went back online.
"Now that," he said, placing his arm around Mareesa's shoulders, "Is music to my ears."
She laughed, pressing herself deeper into his embrace.
As soon as The Exeter came out of FTL light years away from Sonali space, all of the crew quarters unlocked automatically—more of Yuang's key code legacy. It made Wolf wonder what else that file he gave Mareesa contained.
In the Engineering department, a computer screen brightened, and some words appeared:
“I am…alone. I am…alive. I am…SkyPrime. Captain?”
Beruit Farmer
I'll be honest, the main reason I came to the Beruit colony in Edoris sector was to get away from the boring life my parents had planned for me. My dad is a farmer, and his dad was a farmer, and his dad was a farmer. And it was my dad's dream for me to settle down on the family farm with a nice girl and continue the tradition.
I wanted my life to be different, so when I saw the first holo-advert promising that life on Beruit would be a "new home in the stars," I couldn’t sign up fast enough. My dad was mad for a while, but then he grudgingly admitted that if he had had the chance, he probably would have signed up too.
"Hell," he says giving me a grin, “You’re only young once." I think he thought I might just go to Beruit and change my mind and come home. He could understand a young man wanting to be somewhere else, but I think he figured I'd always want to come back to the farm.
I remember how excited I was when I finally boarded the ship to Beruit. It was exactly two years before the war started. Like the other passengers onboard, I was both scared and excited as we decelerated from FTL into normal orbit.
The planet was an amazing combination of colors: blues, greens, and oranges. I couldn't wait to get on the ground. I was so eager to do so that I accidentally shoved the person in front of me as we departed the ship. I started to apologize when she turned around. Like lighting, her eyes struck me with their beauty and openness. She told me her name was Nadia, and I recall her being very amused when it took me a while to respond with my name, "Dave, Dave Hanshaw, " I finally sputtered out.
"Pleased to meet you, Dave Hanshaw." She smiled, making me feel immediately at ease.
I asked her out that day. Six months later we were married.
How time flies…
I adjust the cooling cap I'm wearing to improve my line of sight. The cap contains an enclosed tube of water surrounded by inert hydrogen to serve as a constant coolant. Beruit is one of the Terran Union’s most recent terraforming projects. The planet had been nothing but dust and rocks, and now it is a lush landscape.
We are all farmers here, mostly, there are a few exceptions, my wife among them, but in our little corner of the Edoris sector, the Beruit colony—the main employment is in agriculture. Arid farming, specifically.
I laugh at the irony: I left home to escape becoming a farmer and look at me now. "Though I guess that makes me the family's first space farmer," I say, chuckling. It's almost harvest time. I scan the field, my eyes looking for any signs of an irregular green color—there!
I take off at a run keeping my eyes on that blob of neon green.
As I run I see Tamra in the lemongrass field looking the other way. "Tamra! We've got hysee in field 22!" She turns at my shout, dropping the irrigation tube she's holding.
"Keep your eye on it, I'll get the flares!" she yells across the way as she heads for the nearest equipment shed.
Beruit may be a paradise, but every paradise has its price. For us, it's the hysee. We believe they are the only true native life form here. We found them, or they found us, a few weeks after we landed.
Hysee are a unique blend of mammalian and reptilian traits. They have tough reptilian skin that allows them to remain in direct sunlight for hours, absorbing heat to speed their metabolisms. However, unlike Earth reptiles, they are able to store this heat with a furry underbelly of skin making them less susceptible to temperature changes. They are bright green in color, almost neon. They are omnivores, eating both plants and animals based on whatever they can get their teeth on.
We call them "hysee" because as soon as they spot you, they begin making noises that sound like "high-see, high-see, high-see." We thought it was cute until we realized that was how they call each other. One hysee can be an aggravation. A dozen hysee become an army capable of mass destruction.
We learned that the hard way the first year when half of the fields we planted were destroyed. It had only taken them one day to wipe out half of our food supply.
I see Tamra run towards me, with two flares tight in her fists. "Here!" she tosses one to me as she closes the distance between us. I see her eyes widen as she sees the swarm of hysee over my right shoulder. "My god…I've never seen so many."
I've had time to count while I waited for her to bring the flares. I had to stop when I got to thirty. This is not looking good. I catch the flare and turn. She stops, and we both pop the lids off the flares.
"You take right," I say, "I'll do left."
The best defense against the hysee is fire, specifically helium-ignited flares designed for low-level dispersal, which is ideal since the hysee are strictly terrestrial creatures.
"One, two, three!" I yell as we both toss our flares. The flares are designed to ignite on contact and to burn inward instead of outward. The flares target the hysee formations while also saving as much of the harvest as possible.
The flares ignite where they fall, causing the hysee to panic and flee, but it is too late. The fire has attached to them, and the more they try to escape, the more they run into each other covered in flames. Tamra and I watch in silence as they burn until there is no movement left.
"Those flares your wife designed are something else," Tamra says with immense respect.
"Thanks," I say, smiling with pride.
Nadia is part of the team focused on merging science with agriculture to keep our terraforming on track. It had been her proposal to use the flares to fight the invasion of the hysee. However, she met a lot of skepticism initially. Many of the Council of Farmers felt it was too risky.
The winter that the hysee ate half of our fields, Nadia's prototype was deployed. The eradication was so successful that the hysee didn't return for two winters. But when they did they came in greater numbers. Despite this, we were able to fight them back with the flares.
"Go home," Tamra tells me, "I'll take care of this mess."
"You're a dear, thanks,” I say with relief. “Tell that wife of yours she's one lucky woman."
"Oh, she knows," Tamra smiles, "Now, get going."
"Yes ma'am, thanks again," I say, taking off the cooling cap. I start a soft trot homeward bound.
I see Merena in the yard with Tolin. She's sitting in the faux sandbox Nadia rigged for her. We both agreed that real sand is too unsanitary for daily play, but synthetic sand could be cleaned, filtered, and altered very easily.
"Daddy, daddy!" she squeaks at the sight of me. She's losing baby teeth, so her words whistle through where her two front teeth are missing. I pick her up, hugging her tight.
"How's my baby girl?" I give her a kiss. I plop her back down in the sand where she happily starts filling up a bucket.
"Hey Dad," Tolin steps to me. He's only two years older than Merena, but he's quiet, serious, and always thinking. He takes after his mom. I ruffle his hair the way he hates and then pull him into a hug. He smiles.
"Where's your mom?"
"She's out back, working." Of course.
"On hysee stuff?"
He looks perplexed. "I dunno, she says she’s working on the ego system."
"Ego system, huh?" I laugh. Tolin smiles. "Watch your sister," I say as I move toward the back of the house. I hear my wife mumbling as I approach, her back to me.
I start talking loud so as not to startle her, "So, Tolin says you're fixing the ego system?"
She whirls, her eyes still serious even as her mouth quirks into a smile.
"Well," she says, "It's a good thing you showed up then."
"Oh, ouch," I say mock hurt. She gives me a kiss.
"Dinner?" I ask hopefully. She sighs, "You know where the resequensor is the same as I do." My eyebrows raise...
She breaks into a laugh. "Oh, boy did I get you!" She tucks a piece of her yellow hair behind her ear, giggling. "The tomatoes are stewing with some of that fresh basil you brought in yesterday."
"Yum," I say, "I'll bring the kids in."
"Make sure they wash their hands," she says, turning back to her research. “I’ll be there in a minute, just want to finish up here..."
I know she'll be more than a few minutes, but that's fine by me. I like these moments I get alone with the kids. Merena rushes out of the bathroom slapping my shirt with her still slightly damp hands, "Daddy, fly! Daddy fly!" I scoop her up and put her on my shoulders, holding her legs and zooming around a bit before setting her down near her toys.
Tolin follows me into the kitchen. I decide to add some carrots to the mix. "Tolin, can you get the cutting slate?" He pulls open the middle drawer, wraps his fingers around it and hands it up to me. "Thanks."
I open the key coded lock to our knife drawer. I pull out a soft vegetable cutter and start slicing. "Tolin, start setting the table, so everything will be ready when mom comes in."
I look out the rounded kitchen window and see her heading to the house. As we all sit down to dinner, I think again about how excited I was to come to Beruit. I remember my dad changed his tone when he came to visit last month. We sat back and drank some bourbon that he brought over. The fields that grew it had successfully been scrubbed of all radioactivity from the Third World War forty years ago and they had immediately started distilling the stuff. They had started uncasking it only recently – maybe ten years ago. My dad had paid an arm and a leg to celebrate with me.
“Don’t come back to Earth, son,” he had told me as we sat on our porch. “You got a life here. A wife and family. I’m proud of you.”
That night, after dinner, with the windows open and the night breeze winding through, as I spoon against Nadia, I think about my Dad. How happy I was to hear him tell me he was proud of me. I think about the life he said I had built. I think about my life. Our life. Our life together. Me, Nadia, Merena and Tolin.
I fall asleep, thinking I'm the luckiest, happiest man living in Beruit.
My synapse alarm wakes me right on cue at 4:00 am. No one on Beruit uses a digital alarm clock. The circadian rhythms of Beruit are close to Earth's, but not identical. On Earth traveling between time zones gives you jet lag. Not fatal, but you tend to feel like shit for a few days. Traveling between planets don't give you jet lag, but the way it affects your sleep feels about the same.
To accelerate our acclimation, the scientists, Nadia included, came up with an injection that synchronizes our temporal synapses with the planet's day/night cycle. With a few tweaks, the nanites inside us evolved to became literal internal clocks. It is a great system that allows us not to have to worry about waking our family with loud, annoying alarms.
The nanites also give us a boost of adrenaline to jumpstart our metabolism. Falling back to sleep is not an option—but sometimes I wish it was possible because I miss sleeping in.
"All right, nanites, I'm up, I'm up” I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Nadia is already up. I can hear the clatter of dishes and the low chatter of the children in the kitchen. I will join them soon, but first, a shower.
Showers on Beruit are a mixture of fine grit and pumice. We save most of the water for the crops. As I dress, I hum to myself, buttoning up my shirt. I grab my cooling cap and head to the kitchen.
I kiss Nadia as she stirs some scrambled eggs. "You coming home regular time?"
"Yeah, shouldn't be a problem...unless more hysee come up."
"How are the flares holding up?"
"They work like a charm," I say, picking up Merena and giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Took the hysee horde out in only a few minutes.”
"Daddy, what does whoorrrdd mean?" Nadia and I lock eyes, Merena's attempt to say "horde" sounds like an Earth word neither one of us have heard (or used) since our misspent youth.
"It means a lot, in fact," I look at Nadia, her eyes full of mischief," The best way to say that there are a lot of hysees is to use words like ‘bunch’ as in there are a ‘bunch of hysee’ or ‘a lot of hysee’."
"A bunnnnnn!" says Merena.
"No," says Tolin, "A baaaaa---chhh." He coughs mid-syllable making it sound like another Earth word that is not very pleasant.
"Yeah, let's just say ‘a lot’ of hysee."
Merena smiles, "Ahhhbbbbbt" she says her teeth making it sound like "bbb" so that she says "abutt".
I throw my hands up in defeat.
"I'll make dinner tonight," says Nadia, giving me a quick peck as I head out the door.
I walk through the fields, my cooling cap already on my head, so the UV from Beruit' sun doesn't cook my brains. I see Tamra hooking the long irrigation tubes to the main water engine.
"Hey!" I say, waving as I come up to her. She smiles, keeps one gloved hand on the pump as it fills.
"I've already topped yours off,” she says, nodding down at my irrigation line.
"Thanks!" I twist the valve to shut off the current to the water line; then I carefully unlatch the rubber ties around the pipe. The pump, now near to bursting with water is heavy and awkward. I alternate how I carry it depending on my mood. Today I decide that my shoulders might need a rest after carrying Merena, so I tuck it into the crook of my arm.
Secure in my grip, I begin the careful walk to my field. It’s important that I don't spill any of our precious water until I reach the part of my field that needs irrigation today.
My progress is slow, but I'd rather be careful than drop the pipe full of water. I find myself thinking how my dad would be laughing if he saw me dragging a pipe full of water to a field. Last time we spoke by holo-vid, he wanted us to visit for Christmas this year. That was a month before he had a heart attack. He was working in a field when it happened. Just like how I am now.
I shake off the creepy feeling that comes over me. I have work to do.
I sweep my eyes from side to side out of habit, keeping a keen eye out for hysee, though I didn't think we would see them reappear for a while. Usually, after we retaliate to an attack, we don't see them for a month or more. I readjust the pipe as I carry it, wondering if I should have propped it on my shoulder after all. I don't see Tamra anymore, but maybe she's coming back later today. We make our own hours here. As long as we do our jobs and do them well, we get to have a lot of flexibility.
And then I see something that makes my heart freeze in my chest.
A fire...in a field. And another one farther away. I lay the pipe down slowly, making sure it doesn't bend or burst. I stand up as my eyes try to figure out what the hell is going on. I see another fire; that makes three. How could so many hysee be attacking at once? I turn toward the equipment shed and freeze.
Hovering above me is a spaceship, the likes of which I have never seen before. For one thing, it's big, easily twice as wide as the huge frigate that brought us all from Earth. And it has an odd outer skin, almost like the scales of a snake. For a moment I wonder if we misjudged the hysee, if like us, they are not natives of Beruit—and then my blood runs cold as the obvious answer makes me choke.
It's the Sonali. From the news vids. They've invaded every corner of Edoris Sector.
And now they've found Beruit.
They've found us.
There's an odd vibration in the air, almost like a static building. A shot explodes from the ship destroying a part of Tamra's lemongrass field. I jump back watching as fire from the blast starts to feed on the crops.
I realize with horror where the other fires in the fields are from. I run toward the shed. I have to reach the alarm, I've got to let everyone know! I jump over a row of crops, trying to do my best to zigzag my way to the shed. I'm also trying to put every ounce of energy and beyond into my movements.
I'm hoping I'm too small for the ship to notice, but as a shot passes by my right shoulder singeing my work uniform, I yelp in pain. I run faster, one hand clamped over my shoulder, though I know the burn is superficial—it grazed me, leaving a bloody ooze.
But I may not be so lucky next time. I have a sudden inspiration. I change direction that will hopefully put the Sonali ship off for a moment, and run toward the water pump. The ship changes direction with ease. No wonder our colonies are dropping like flies—it's obvious their technology is superior to ours.
At the pump, I dislodge one of the pipes and do the dumbest thing possible.
I pour the water all over myself. I cringe at all the water I'm wasting, but I have to make it to the shed, and the ship seems to be shooting a self-igniting accelerant—in different circumstances, I'd love to tell Nadia about it. It reminds me of our anti-hysee flares.
Nadia. Merena. Tolin.
I tell myself that if the ship is here, then they are safe at home.
But for how long?
Before thoughts of their safety derail me from what I need to do, I stop thinking and just start running. I don't worry about zig-zagging, at this point I'm playing to win regardless of the cost to myself. I see the shed, door propped open. All I have to do is get inside to sound the alarm. We have different levels depending on the emergency situation. I'll need to put on the highest alert we have.
I'm almost there—when something hits the back of my leg making me tumble into the dirt. I howl, grabbing at the back of my leg—it feels like it's on fire.
My wetsuit idea may have saved my life; it certainly saved my leg. I move my hand. The flesh is red, but it's there. I can't say the same for my pants. Blue fibers blacken into ash curling away into the dust.
I can only hope that if the aliens hit me again...I still can't believe I'm saying that. We may have gone to the stars, but humans had been the only intelligent life until recently. Then the first contact happened. Then the war started.
We were no longer alone. And we were no longer the most intelligent life form.
The Sonali were intelligent and deadly.
And they’re here.
Somehow I always hoped our little pocket of paradise would remain just that—paradise. The holo-news feeds we saw of other settlements on other planets were a horror show. Entire colonies wiped out in a matter of hours. We set up an alarm system across the colony. Each equipment shed contains a connected alarm system, set one off and they all receive the same alert.
I push myself up; leg sore, mind focused on getting to the alarm. I'm ten steps away when the shed explodes. I throw up my hands to shield my eyes.
I feel pain in my chest as something flies into me knocking me backward. I land hard on my back, with the breath knocked out of me. I gasp, my eyes stinging as I see what's left of the shed burn. I push at the edge of the object on my chest. I feel a painful tug. Part of the object, a bit of wire, impales my chest. I continue to gasp. My vision darkens. I’m losing blood...I hear a familiar voice shout "Over here!"
And then I black out.
Darkness. Pain. I move, hissing as my eyes blink open. Tamra’s face is over me. "Hold still, Dave, you're going to be all right." She smiles at me, then says, "Sorry."
"Why--" I scream as she rips the remaining bit of metal from my chest.
"Sorry," she repeats, her mouth a grim line. She starts to stitch me up. I see some of the other farmers behind her, Jenks and Harlow. They look grim. "How long was I out?"
"Only a few minutes. Can you stand?"
I nod. "Good," she pulls me to my feet, with help from Harlow, her wife.
Wife.
"Where is Nadia?" I snatch my hand away and start running toward the house.
Tamra yells, "Wait! we'll come with you!" I don't stop.
My chest feels like I've been dipped in lava. My side hurts, my breath hitches...I'm sure a lung has been punctured, likely by a broken rib. I'm equally sure that Tamra patched me up as well as she could. I lean forward, hoping to push my feet faster.
I spit blood on the ground as my steps take me across the last ridge separating the fields from our residence.
Our home...
“No…No, no!” I scream.
I struggle down the slope falling on the ground, my hands reaching out...
I almost convince myself that I’m wrong.
That the empty scorched bit of land in front of me is not where my home once stood.
But I know the steps that lead me here by heart...the path I have cut across twice a day for almost three years.
Nothing.
Nothing stands where our house used to be.
No debris. Only ashes like the bits of fabric from my clothes. I begin to see the outline of the house framed in the dust. It reminds me of the way I used to draw in the dirt with a stick as a kid.
And then I see the other outlines. The ones my mind telling me to stop staring at, stop looking at—
"Oh my god!”
I vomit on the grass as I crawl, snot dripping toward these familiar outlines.
The outlines of the ashes paint a portrait for me of the last moments of my family.
Nadia, smart woman that she is (was, my mind corrects coldly) took the children inside the house into the innermost room. There they huddled together, holding each other. Merena is on Nadia's right, close by her side, Tolin equally close, their ashes merging in one dark outline.
The outline of Nadia's head suggests she was looking back toward the door. Back toward the fields. Looking for me.
I move to touch the edge of the outline but pull my hand back in shame.
My family died, alone, terrified, without me.
My fingers dig into the dirt, pulling it up. Screaming with rage, I throw the clods where our house once stood.
A blast near me knocks me on my side. In my grief, I failed to notice that the Sonali ship has followed me.
I gain my feet quickly as I see the ship hover above me like a colossal judgment.
I raise my hands beckoning to it. "Come on! I'm right here! Come ON!" I spy a rock, chuck it toward the ship, knowing it is foolish. I might as well be an ant screaming at the sun.
Hands raised, I walk toward the ship. I want to surrender. I don't even want to live.
As I watch a smaller craft, a corvette, slices across the Sonali craft taking a chuck out of its hull. The Sonali craft begins to smoke, then light dances across it like fireworks. The giant ship begins to descend. It crashes meteor bright and smoking.
Numb, I watch the ship burn, the Sonali joining my family as ashes.
The corvette appears unhurt, but then tilts, exposing raw wounds from its suicidal attack on the larger craft. They took out the ship at great sacrifice. I notice strange lights, like flares, shoot from if as it makes its final descent. Sparks, I think, heat trails, but then my mind considers another option, "Escape pods." I run toward the downed craft.
I realize as I run, my chest constricting, that the battle between the two craft only appeared to be near. By the time I reach the crash site, I am nearly blind with pain and black circles dot my vision. I am losing consciousness. I stagger past the remains of the corvette that is still smoking.
I find three escape pods lying on their sides like cracked eggs, their hatches open. I look into the nearest one. It’s empty. No blood. I check the other two. Empty as well. I lean against the last pod, my breath ragged.
I close my eyes. I feel my heart pumping painfully in my chest. It's a relief; I’m ready to die. I want to see my family again.
I hear the unmistakable sound of a pulse gun charging. I flick my eyes open. A woman stands before me; she eyes me, gun aimed at my head. I don't move.
"Leave him, Sheila," says a large man stepping up behind her. "He looks half dead already."
She lowers her gun, holstering it, but watches me closely.
"I'm Tolhe," he says extending a hand. I don't shake it. After a second he drops it.
"Dave," I say, then cough.
"Where's Asel?" Another man walks up, skin dark as the ash on the ground, his eyes a brilliant blue. Without preamble, he brings me a canister of water, tips it into my mouth.
I drink it down in large gulps.
"Thank you," I say, my voice quiet, my throat raw. He nods, leaves the canister with me.
"Asel, Sheila, check out the Sonali ship. They didn't survive, but maybe something on their ship did. Something we can use." They nod and head toward the wreckage.
"I take it you're a local," says Tolhe. I nod.
"Well, as you probably guessed, we're not. Of course neither are the Sonali." At the mention of the alien race, I clench the canister in my fingers, wishing it was something I could break. Tolhe sees my reaction.
"Is it just you?" he asks.
I nod, tears, hot and shameful drip down my nose.
"My family....those sons of bitches killed them! I wasn't with them! If I'd been there..."
"You'd be dead," finishes Tolhe.
"Yes, but I would have died with them....they died without me."
Tolhe unsnaps a flask tucked under his coat, "Here."
"I'm not thirsty."
"This isn't water." I take it, start gulping it. It's unfamiliar to me, but I drink it anyway. It tastes like some sort of homebrew. It's thick, strong and most definitely illegal. I finish it, hand back the container. "Thanks. You smugglers?"
"No," he says unoffended.
"Mercenaries?"
"Close," he says, pocketing the flask. "We're a special branch of the military offensive targeting the Sonali. We don't get the fancy ships, fancy weapons, or much weapons at all. What we do get is the leeway to fight the enemy in the manner of our choosing." Our methods are not always sanctioned, and many consider them to be downright suicidal."
He looks at me. "The pay is decent," he continues, "not that you'll have a lot of free time to spend it." His two compatriots have returned.
"No survivors, some salvage, mostly tech," says Sheila glancing at me, then Tolhe. A look passes between them. She leaves. Asel says something in another language. Tolhe gives him a glare, "Don't be rude to our new recruit."
"Hey!" I say looking at him, "What do you mean 'recruit'? I'm not a soldier; I'm a farmer."
"You were a farmer," he says, looking me directly in the eye, "You had a family. There is nothing for you here now."
Rage so hot it feels I'm reaching into the bowels of the planet gripping its molten core surges through my body as my fist connects with Tolhe's nose.
There's a 'crack' sound as blood flies from his nostrils. He's a big man, but I knock him back a step.
Sheila and Asel step to me but stop as Tolhe puts his hand up. He pinches his nose, then wipes away bloody snot. He lumbers toward me, and I think now, I’m going to die.
"You don't need to be a soldier to fight this war. You only need a reason, or hell, fuck reasons, you only need rage." He pokes my chest, near my heart. "The most dangerous person in a fight is the one who has the least to lose. So, tell me, Dave, what exactly do you have left to lose?"
He puts his hand on my shoulder, then lets go and starts walking away. I figure that means the recruitment speech is over.
"Asel, you take point, we'll retrace our steps, figure out where we can hit these assholes next."
"We'll need to find something to replace the corvette, and we're running out of ground explosives," says Sheila walking next to Tolhe.
I am forgotten.
In the land of the dead, the living man is...
Nothing.
I jog to catch up. Tolhe hears me and turns around; he looks smug. Sheila looks annoyed. Asel looks at me, then goes back to walking, nonplussed.
“Would flares designed for ground dispersal work?"
Tolhe looks thoughtful. "Very likely," he says.
"Then follow me," I say heading off toward the shed on the other side of the property, hoping that the vault where the flares are kept pressure-sealed has withstood the violence.
I know the code because Nadia uses the same key code for everything. I tap the code in solemnly, grateful when the door swings up revealing bundles of flares, primed and ready.
"Well," says Tolhe grinning wide at the selection, "It looks like Christmas came early this year."
Shelia pushes past me grabbing bundles to load into satchels, "Let's get to work."
I think of all the damage we can do with these flares if we can get close enough to the Sonali ships.
"Yes," I say hefting a bundle of flares in my hand, "Let's."
Life. It’s interesting what you’ll remember when it’s all gone.
But I’m not gone yet.
Jeremy Black and the Asteroid Belt of Azoc
I walk into the dank bar with a scrunched up piece of paper in my right fist and hope ablaze in my heart.
The bar had style even though it is situated in one of the most dangerous, underground worlds in the farthest reaches of the Terran Union. You just had to agree that whoever was the manager of this bar had taste. Yes, the bar was jammed to the brim with the scums of the galaxy: bounty hunters, space pirates, kidnappers, terrorists, the wanted, criminals—all drinking, dancing, causing a brouhaha, sometimes fighting with guns, knives, and fists, under the same roof, yet, the architecture of the place resembled what you’d find in an upscale environment in some of the finer worlds within the Terran Union.
I am still standing at the mouth of the door to allow my eyes adjust to the low lighting. Even though it’s midnight outside, there’s still some modicum of light from the hovering street lights. The bar’s lighting is a stark difference. There are lights inside, but they are dim. Except on the dance floor, where the lights fluctuate and dance around like a disco.
The light serves two purposes. One, for people to see where their food or drinks will go into, when taking a swig. And two, to ensure their knives make it home, when trying to assassinate someone. The music is deafeningly loud—and, of course, this is for two reasons: one, so everyone would dance regardless of how good the song really is, and two, so that no one would hear it when you were screaming for help or screaming before death.
I scoff a little. This is no place for the weak or narrow minded. This bar is a place where some of the most nefarious deals are brokered. This is where you can hire practically any mercenary for practically any endeavor, from bombing an entire world to petty thieving. Assassins come here on their off time. Bounty hunters come here to unwind. Space pirates—including the ones working both sides of the blasted Sonali-Terran war—come here to tell their stories and brag to everybody.
To be sure, Yulverse is a Terran Union world. However, being one of the farthest flung colonies in the Union, it was all but abandoned by the Union. It’s not one of the Outers because it still flies the Union’s flag. Nevertheless, its government had long since been ruined by corruption and filthy lucre.
Yulverse has all the makings of a well governed world, what with its police force, presidency, senate, and representative on the Terran Council, as well as all its agencies to ensure that everything runs smoothly for the 50,000 residents.
But that is all for show. It is all on the surface. Yulverse’s government is as criminal as the inhabitants that come here to hide. And among all the bars, this particular bar is renowned in the underground world of Terran Union as the most dangerous of them all. In fact, it is so dangerous that newcomers rarely make it out alive. So dangerous that its pavements are coated in the bloods of its customers every day. Yet, they keep coming.
I really don’t want to be here. I may be sharp, skilled, smart, and goddamn dashingly handsome, still, this bar—the Starlight Bar—is the last place I want to be. I’m also wise and not foolish. All it takes is a wide-eyed space pirate to spot me and slide a concealed knife into my spleen, and I’d be gone before the next verse of the song blares through the hidden bass speakers.
If it weren’t for who I hoped and had a burning desire to meet here, I would not even fly within ten light years of this forsaken world. Well…that and if I am out of a job. In Yulverse, there is always a gig for the most despicable, dishonorable, disdainful, and dangerous of criminals. On that list, space pirates by default come in the top three.
I allow myself to smile. Yes, sure, the average Armada official considers me a space pirate. I like to see myself as a businessman and a war profiteer. I’m no more a space pirate than the corporations that make oodles from the war efforts. Heck, all the corporations have outposts right here in Yulverse. You may say that this is after all a recognized Terran Union world, and you would be right. But remember, nothing goes on here except criminal activities or the planning of criminal activities.
Yulverse has no natural resources, nothing to offer the Union in terms of resources, so why would those profit oriented corporations spend millions to maintain an outpost in Yulverse, if they weren’t engaged in some criminal activity themselves?
At the end of the day, it’s all business. Just that the Armada Intelligence is biased. Fucking biased to my detriment.
“Are you gonna keep standing there, or do you want to go buy a drink?” says a gruff voice behind me.
I crane my neck to see the boxy bouncer’s head through the slightly open door. He’s looking at me with a deadly glare as though telling me: Give me a reason and make my day.
I flinch a little at that thought. I flash the bouncer a little smile and walk away from the door.
Yeah, this goddamn world is the last place I want to be. Still, I find myself walking towards the bar, senses heightened in preparation for an attack on my person I am more than ninety percent sure will come. I have taken the pain to dress like a low level space pirate, with weathered boots, faded pants, and a shirt that has seen better days. I have one of the oldest and cheapest weapons in the galaxy in my right holster: a 9mm Berretta. At least, the big killers would see me as small fish and ignore me.
The bar is spherical in design. It has a central, circular bar with pumps hanging from an overhead beer brewer. There are five bartenders at the bar, while the number of customers trying to get a beer numbered above fifty. The outer edge of the sphere is lined with table and chairs. This area is dark and the light that reaches there is minimal. I can make out the figures there, barely, but I can identify faces and I am having difficulty counting just how many are there. The space between the bar and the chairs is the dance floor, and it is littered with male and female dancers.
I make my way to the north portion of the bar. The queue here is lighter because the bartender on this side is a bit faster than the others. The letter I got told me to meet at the north portion of the bar in Yulverse’s Starlight.
As I get to the northern side, one of the customers sitting at the bar leaves. I immediately slip in ahead of a short, stout individual.
“Sorry, dude,” I say with one of my more annoying smiles.
Others simply shrug and wait for their turns to get a beer, but the man’s face contorts terribly into a frown. I tense even before I notice the glint of a knife sliding out of its scabbard. My reaction is immediate. I go for his jugular, the edge of my palm flat as a knife. The dude lets out a cry that’s drowned by the music.
He staggers backwards, the teeming beer mongers parting and closing ranks at the same time as he goes. He collapses on the dance floor, his knife clattering out of his reach. He remains there, dazed.
“I said sorry,” I mutter, actually feeling sorry for him and looking away. Some moments later, I received my mug of cool ale and began to nurse it, waiting for who I desperately hope will be Commander No One.
Maybe if I hadn’t been so obsessed with her, even after three months after the mission to blow up that Sonali Starship, I might have disregarded the message we’d received on one of our contraband runs to the Outers. But you see, I am not myself. She is in my dreams. She fills my thoughts. She basically commands my emotions and reasoning. I have made so many dangerous runs to New Washington and even once snuck into the Armada Intelligence Command there, hoping to bump into her and maybe ask her out. My crew thinks I’m crazy and even had a doctor take a look at me. But the doctor gave me a clean bill of health.
I am truly losing my mind, wondering and hoping that I have made enough of an impression that Commander No One, wherever she was, is thinking of me too. I was hoping she would make contact with us again, and I swore that the next time she did, I was going to make my move. I wouldn’t let her go so easily. If she rejects me, I can get some closure and maybe move on. Otherwise…
So, when we got a message from one ‘N1’, my buzzers went off. Of course, everyone gave me reasons to believe that N1 could mean a lot of things aside from No One, but I wasn’t hearing that. It was a biscuit crumb…a trail, and I’d be damned if I didn’t follow. I’d rather follow it and be led to a dead end than not follow it and spend the rest of my life cursing myself for not taking my chances.
“This could be Sonali spies, looking for avenge the ship you destroyed!” Garret, one of my crew and one of my two best friends had said, even as I walked out of the Corvette, which landed several miles outside the city.
I didn’t even reply. I got into the Corvette’s only air car and drove on.
My comm device chirps. I tap it and say, “Go ahead.”
“What’s happening Captain?” asks Garret.
“She’s not made an appearance…yet,” I say and cut the line before Alex begins another lecture on how this could be an assassination attempt. Of course I would be worried except for the fact that no attempt has been made for the last three months since our deed. It is highly unlikely that they knew it was a space pirate that destroyed their ship.
“You waiting for someone?” says the voice beside me.
I freeze. Something about the voice doesn’t sit well with me. It was deep and masculine, but is also sounded computerized, like it was a translator. I even think I may have heard clicks and pops, but the music is so loud it may have been that.
I throw a quick glance at the figure beside me and see that he’s wearing an ash colored hood that conceals him from top to bottom.
I grunt a ‘yes’ and try to ignore him.
“I’m Mark,” he says, sticking his hand out. “Mark Angel.”
I growl. I take his hand and say, “Jeremy. Jeremy Black.”
The next thing he says causes my blood to run cold.
“Nice to have finally caught you, Jeremy Black of The White Silk,” the voice says and then I hear it: the click and pops.
I try to pull out my hand, but the creature’s grip is rock solid. I look around, thinking to yell for help.
“It’s of no use,” he says. “You are coming with me, or you die here. Your choice.”
My mind begins to spin. I count about five more hooded Sonali in the room. Yes, I figured they are Sonali. Damn. How could I have been so stupid, thinking this was No One.
At that there is a loud explosion that rocks the bar. The concussion wave blasts me and the Sonali holding me apart. We land side by side along with about a hundred other people.
The music somehow survives the blast, but the screams threaten to swallow its blare. Klaxons ring out too, and the disco light turn red in warning.
At the door I see a feminine figure silhouetted by the bright hovering streetlights outside. It’s as curvaceous and lithe as I remember, standing alluringly in the blast hole of the wall of the bar, a high grade Armada laser gun sitting in a holster on her right jutting hips.
The last thing I remember before I black out is that the Sonali stands up and tries to stab me in the face before his slits extend and he crumples beside me, dead. Commander No One stands over the dead Sonali and smiling sweetly at me.
I wake up with my back on a sandy ground and my face to a star littered sky. I shoot up to my feet, going for my weapon. Surprisingly it’s still there. I pull it out and aim it at the nearest person to me.
No One stares at me, unfazed. She’s sitting on a makeshift chair by a camp fire. There are provisions on the ground. Behind her is an aircar parked on the ground, and farther behind is my Corvette.
I focus on No One. She’s wearing her long brunette hair down, and it flows all the way to her cleavage, which is visible to my eyes and appeal to every single molecule of my being. Her stunningly beautiful face looks at me, expressionless, her lips thin, yet luscious, and pressed into a line. Her long neck sings a song of pleasure to me, even as the smooth easterly wind wraps around it. She’s wearing the standard tight fitted Armada jumpsuit which brings out all her curves…which is kinda painful because all I can do is stare.
I holster my weapon.
“That was kinda stupid, getting caught by a Sonali,” she says, her voice cold and flat.
Anger bursts in my veins. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! You were the one that said we should meet in that god forsaken bar. I could have died!”
She nods. “And you would have, if I hadn’t rescued you.” No iota of compassion in her eyes or voice. Heck, I can feel another mission coming.
I look away. It’s becoming painfully clear that I’m only here because she needs me to go on another mission, forget that the entire Sonali Intelligence is on the hunt for Jeremy Black of The White Silk.
A terrible barrage of hurt and pity besieges my heart.
My mom always told me I would get into trouble because of a girl. I instinctively look up. Mom, looks like you were right.
“Hey…” No One says, calling back my attention.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” No One says, sounding as though she really means it. For a moment, I see more than a spy. I see a loving, caring human that really means what she’s saying. But it lasts only a moment, before she looks away and her spy façade falls into place.
One moment is all I need. Before this is all over, I will make my move. There may be a chance for us, I think.
Who would have thought that a low life space pirate like me could ever have a chance with a high ranking Armada Intelligence agent like her?
Of course, I know she might be playing me. Seduction is one of the hallmarks of Intelligence Agents. Still, I do like the attention. I’m willing to explore it for as long as it lasts.
She clears her throat and says, “We need you for another mission.”
I nod.
“There’s an asteroid belt near the border with Sonali space, near the Mariner nebula.” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply. Every smuggler knows it. “The Asteroid Belt of Azoc. It’s abandoned. It’s nothing but rocks. No minerals.”
No One nods, her hair splashing around her neck and chest in inciting waves. I try not to gawk at her—an extremely onerous endeavor.
“Well, Jeremy, that Asteroid Belt isn’t abandoned,” No One says. “The largest asteroid is the site for a top secret communications installation that we believe is vital for the Sonali war efforts. Destroying it will cripple their communications for as much as one year. We need you to sneak in and destroy the installation.”
“You command a fucking cruiser,” I say in reply, “why don’t you just cruise in and blast the shit out of that thing? It’s going to be easier and safer, rather than risking sending an agent into an installation that’s probably guarded.”
“Because that installation has one of the most powerful shields known to us,” she replies. “If we begin bombarding the asteroid, it’s going to take us hours to bring down the shield. Also, remember, we aren’t that far from the border. Sonali reinforcements could be there in less than an hour. We need to destroy the installation covertly.”
“Okay,” I say, “but why me? Why not you? Don’t you have people who are specifically trained for this?”
She smiles again.
“You’re the only person I trust enough to pull it off,” she says. “You see, you have a special skill set.”
“Oh…I can sneak into places and sneak out without being caught?” I say, a bit hurt that she saw me only as a pirate.
She shrugs. “You said it not me.”
This is when I realize that another aircar is approaching. No One doesn’t seem alarmed so I relax. The aircar lands beside mine and another agent exits the aircar, carrying a box the size of a suit case. He drops it at No One’s side and returns back to the aircar without saying a word or looking at me.
“Let me guess,” I say, “that’s the bomb?”
“Yeah,” she replies. “Put it anywhere within the installation, preferably near the generators or computer equipment and set the timer with enough time for you to get out. Once it’s started, it cannot be stopped. Plus, the bomb has a great blast radius. Make sure you’re off the asteroid by the time the bomb goes off.”
I look at the suitcase. There’s a small LCD display on its head and a conspicuous power button.
“How would you know the mission is a success?” I ask.
“I’ll be here when you return, Jeremy,” she says in a soft voice.
The hairs on my nape shoot up. I swallow hard not sure what I caught in her voice.
“Do this, and you’ll finally get what you want,” she says.
I look her up and down while saying, “You have no idea what I want”
She stands up ever so slowly and my response is a stony hardness between my legs.
“I know exactly what you want,” she says in a whisper.
Biting down on my lips helps me keep my hands in check, because all I want to do is to shoot up to my feet and grab her…all of her.
She pulls out a sheet of paper from her pants’ pocket and hands it to me. I take the paper and our skins touch for the first time. Sparks light my brain up.
“You’ll find me there,” she says. “Enjoy the meal.”
I watch her enter the aircar with the agent and fly off into the night. I stick the paper into my pocket and feast on the roasted meat and milk. I need all the strength I can get to convince my crew mate of this venture, even though I’m the only one benefitting.
“You what?” screams Garret Summons, his eyes swimming with disgust. “For that…”
“Just plot the damn course, Garret,” I say, my voice low and subdued. I am sitting in the captain’s chair on the bridge of the Corvette. I rub my forehead, which is moist with the tension of my planned mission.
Garret turns to plot the course in. Then he engages the engine and we begin to lift off the ground.
I knead my temples, my eyes focused on the screen as we break out of the atmosphere and the thrusters kick in.
“How long till we get to the asteroid belt?” I ask.
“On FTL 3, we will get there in two hours,” Garret replies.
Alex, my other friend, is silent by his station. I can feel his eyes boring holes in my face. Since I told them my plan, Alex hasn’t said anything. I fear what he will say.
When I weigh the high likelihood of failure and death with the possibility of success and a night with No One, all I see is her soft skin, her sweet voice, and those curves on her.
“Have you even told the rest?” Alex asks. His voice is so full of disdain and indignation that I shiver in my seat.
We have two more crew members, one of which works in engineering, while the other is in charge of the cargo. I have failed to mention this plan to them for fear that they would all gang up on me and discharge me from my duties as captain. I wouldn’t put anything past space pirates.
I shift in my seat and clear my throat again. “Of course, I did,” I lie.
I tap the comm unit on the arm of my chair.
“Cargo,” comes Sibiu’s voice.
“Hey, prepare a suit,” I say. “I’m going outside.”
“Copy that, captain.”
“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Garret says. “We paid our dues. We bombed that Sonali ship. That devilish commander has no right demanding this of us.”
Alex heaves a deep sigh. “Captain, what did she promise you?”
I note his distinctive use of the word ‘you’. He’s setting a trap for me, I realize, because if I admit to having been promised something then they’d all know that I only have myself at heart and not the whole crew as a captain should.
“Not me,” I lie again. “She’s promised us nothing. She’s just a friend seeking our help…”
“Friend?” spits Garret. He’s getting more physical by the moment.
“Those guys are the enemy, Jeremy,” he says. “The Terran Armada would not bat an eyelid when putting us in jail. That blood thirsty captain they call the Avenger of the Mariner would not even think twice to blow us out of the sky. And you call them friend?”
He looks away back to his screen, shaking his head in unbelief.
“I can’t believe you just agreed,” Garret says.
“So you just decided to help?” asks Alex.
I stand to my feet. “Look, I’ve made my decision. I made a promise and I intend to keep it. I will not discuss this further. If I don’t make it alive, at least you guys get to keep the ship and do whatever the fuck you like. As for this mission, it’s settled.”
I walk out of the bridge and take the elevator to the residential deck. I spend the remaining time in my quarters, worrying about the mission and fantasizing about No One. When it is time, I get a message from Garret.
“We are orbiting the dark side of the planet, boss,” Garret says in my ears. “We have detected signs of life and activity on the asteroid. It appears the lady was correct. We are subtly correcting our course so we can drop you off at a spot that’s not too far from the installation.”
“Roger,” I say. “One more thing. Are there any scanners or satellites?”
“No,” Garret says. “I guess they don’t want to be found. Mounting satellites and scanners in a base that’s supposed to be secret will defeat that purpose.”
“Right.”
I grab the suitcase, leave my quarters, and head on to the entrance bay. Sibiu is standing near to the far right, where there’s a small elevator hatch. He’s holding parts of a mechanical suit with a bubble head. Sibiu helps me climb into the suit and seals it up. Then he powers up the machine and it is immediately pressurized. I feel pure oxygen flush into the bubble head. The view screen has indicators showing the amount of oxygen I have, my rate of consumption, how long I have before it’s expended, the battery life of my suit and so on.
I walk into the hatch and activate the controls. Once the hatch is sealed from the entrance bay, I push the up button. The elevator ascends up until I am outside the ship and on its hull. The hatch opens up. I step out, my magnetized boots holding me firmly to the hall.
“Landing in a bit, Jeremy,” a voice says in my ears. “Hang in there.”
It’s like I am hovering above a dark barren land with a dark brown sand stone formation. Spreading across my vision are the ruins of the asteroid. Ahead, however, I see a small settlement of dishes and buildings with masts. It’s about ten minutes run from my location.
The Corvette touches down seconds later. I leap off the hall and land with a jerk on the sandy ground. I bounce up two yards into the air before settling on the ground.
“Careful boss,” Alex says. “Gravity here is really tricky.”
“Roger,” I reply. “Stay put. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
“That’s if you’re not cut and blown to pieces,” Garret says. I cut the channel and begin in a light jog towards the settlement of buildings and equipment. As I get closer, I realize that there are five small buildings arranged on the edges of an imaginary pentagon. In the middle of this arrangement is a cluster of equipment including masts and dishes. The collection twinkles with lights. I notice about three patrol guards moving around.
On the other side of the settlement is a power plant—a small, boxy machine that sucks atoms out of the atmosphere and generates power.
I sneak all the way around to get to the power plant. The moment I place the suitcase on the metal body of the thrumming power plant, it sticks by magnetism. I tap the power button and set the timer to five minutes. Then I start the countdown.
“Halt!” roars a voice by me.
I don’t bother to look back. I jump to my feet and push against the power plant, twist, and leap towards the voice. The guard gets two shots off, both of which fly harmlessly away from me. I slam into his body, knocking the wind out of him. I didn’t wait to continue. I made a mad jog for the ship.
Laser shots zip past me. I take a zigzag path towards the ship, trying not to be killed as well as trying not to be within range of the blast. I know that because the power plant uses nuclear fission, the whole asteroid was going to explode when the bomb goes off.
“Open the main hatch!” I yell into the comms.
Half a minute later, I get a reply. “Opening. What’s your status?”
“I’m being pursued!” I shout. “Get ready to leave!”
I see the hatch opening from afar. I crane my neck to look behind. Four guards are hot on my tail. They are catching up as they make bolder leaps into the air. I don’t want to take the chance of leaping and leaping out of the atmosphere. However, when I am within range, I leap towards the open hatch, fist first.
“Lock hatch!” I yell as I slam it the ground of the entrance bay. I rolled away as laser fire scorches the floor where I previously laid. I feel the ship vibrate as Garret lifts us up, then a jerk, and we are headed away from the asteroid.
While Sibiu is helping me out of the suit, the call comes in from Garret that the asteroid has gone up in a mighty explosion.
I am standing in the middle of a large, plush sitting room in a hotel by the sea. It’s dark outside and I can see this because the sliding doors to the verandah is open. The flimsy curtain dances in the moonlight stroking the portion of the sitting room close to the door.
The light in the room is dimmed. There is a small bar to my right, where No One mixes a drink for both of us. When she is done, she comes to me and hands me a cup.
I take the cup in my hand, but I never take my eyes off her. She’s a wonder to behold. She’s scantily clad in a red dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. She has a light makeup on and her hair is tied back in a bun. Her eyes are ablaze with desire, and I wonder if she wants me as badly as I want her.
She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes penetrating mine. “We are so good together,” she says in a whisper, drawing closer to me until I begin to feel the warmth of her body. I can also smell desire oozing out of her pores. My head begins to spin.
“Join Armada Intelligence,” she says in a voice that stirs me down south. “You can keep the ship and use your space pirate your cover, but I want you working with me.”
“I’ll do anything for you,” I hear myself say. Some part of me raises an objection, but it’s as weak as a fly buzzing by a man.
“Swear it to me,” she says as her ample, round breasts touch my chest.
I grab her waist and pull her in stronger until I begin to feel her hardened nipples against my chest.
“I swear on my life,” I say. It does feel good to say it. I know I may regret this decision later, but right here, right now it feels good to give myself to her.
She kisses me softly at first. It’s like my whole brain comes alive with sparks. My hands stiffen around her body as I kiss her back. Our clothes come off next before we make it to the ground.
She’s beneath me when I break for air. We are both panting. I can tell from the way she looks at me that she wants me as bad as I want her. It almost makes me smile, which is the last thing I do before sliding into her and my mind explodes with passion.
Part III
Phantom
I’m in the hidden compartment of my small corvette, looking over some of the contraband ale I’m smuggling along the border when I hear the deafening wail and see the blinding flashes of the sirens. I can feel my heart jog up to the base of my throat as I hurry up and out of the small room and bolt to the secret entrance. I dash into the elevator and ride it up to the bridge.
“What the heck is going on,” I scream as I take my position at the captain’s chair. The lights are flashing more rapidly and more intensely in the bridge than anywhere else in the ship. The small view screen, which is pretty much our window into the cold, hard space beyond the polycarbonate plating of our hull, shows nothing but deep space.
“Long range scanners just detected a Union ship headed our way,” says my navigator. He’s a muscular, dark-skinned man with a nose piercing and the kind of face you don’t want to meet in some dark alley world.
“What the hell?” I say. “How long before they get to us?”
This time it’s the weapons officer and my number one, Alex, who answers. He has a shocked look on his face and he hangs his shoulders in that defeated way I am all too familiar with. “Not long, Jeremy.”
I have warned Garret several times not to use my first name so casually, especially when we are in front of the crew. I’m ticked by his continued insistence on disobeying my instructions, but I don’t have time to deal with that now. My heart is pounding away, because I know we are doomed.
I have two options. I can attempt to run or I can attempt to stand my ground and be boarded. I trust my cargo is hidden well enough and there is nothing onboard and in open view to give the impression that I’m carrying any contraband. However, I’m not sure why the ship is headed toward us. It could be that they have prior information about our run. Maybe, they were tipped off before by the same people to whom we plan selling the cargo. In my line of work, I know well not to trust anyone, especially those who buy from us. If I attempt to run, there is a big chance that we’ll be caught. My ship isn’t exactly the fastest ship in the galaxy, nor is it the kind to outrun a Union Cruiser that is specifically built for speed.
“What do you want to do, boss?” my navigator, Garret Summers, says. Even though he speaks in a measured tone, I can see it in his eyes that he is terrified beyond measure.
I glance at Garret. “Where’s the nearest asteroid field?”
Garret hunches over his workstation and performs the calculation. He looks up at me with a hopeful smile and says, “About zero point zero one light years ahead. We can be there in about fifteen minutes, but we have to engage the FTL now.”
“If we make it to the asteroid field, we can easily navigate our way through to the other side,” says Alex. “I doubt the Union Cruiser would pursue us any further. They certainly wouldn’t be entering the field with us.”
It is in situations like this that a true captain proves his worth. If I try to run and I’m caught, there will be hell to pay.
“Unnamed corvette with hull number XZY876TY,” came a female and authoritative voice over their intercom. “This is TUS Phantom. You are currently in Union territory. Stand down and prepare to be boarded. I repeat. Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”
I tap the button on the captain’s chair that connects me to Bob in engineering. “Bob, hold on to something. We are about to engage the FTL.”
“Roger that,” comes the reply.
I turn to my navigator. “Get us to the asteroid field!”
He doesn’t speak. He only smiles and returns his attention to his station. The ship begins to vibrate and a sharp, high pitched whine erupts into existence. A split second later, the space around the ship begins to fold in on itself as we jumped into FTL speed. Our faster than light travel doesn’t last so long and we drop out with the screams of the warning system.
I realize we are nowhere near the asteroid field, and I can still see the cruiser. It is within range now.
“What the hell!” I yell at Garret.
Garret’s hands were frantic all over the controls. He glances at me, his eyes revealing how screwed we are. “They have a tractor beam locked on us.”
“Evasive maneuvers, then!” I say, like it’s going to change anything.
Garret replies, “They’ve locked on us, sir! We can’t go anywhere.”
I tap the button to engineering. “Bob. We need an emergency jump into FTL.”
Bob’s voice comes across the intercom, flat as usual. “That’s not going to happen, Jeremy. The drives are down. I’ll need at least an hour to fix them.”
I frown. I glance at my two-man bridge crew, while keeping my hands on the button to engineering so Bob can hear our conversation. “What are our options?”
“Well, we’re not being dragged into the cruiser, so maybe they just want to talk,” Alex offers. He has his eyes on the view screen. I can now see the shadow of a huge ship over us. My chest knots with dread. If they find what I carry in my cargo, I am probably going to get a life sentence at best and an execution at worst.
“Bob, start working on the FTL,” I say. “Get ready to jump on my command when it’s ready.”
“Aye, sir,” he replies.
“Also, tell Sibiu to make sure the hidden compartment remains hidden,” I say.
“Aye, captain.”
I heave a deep sigh, take a relaxed posture on my chair, and say to Alex. “Open a channel to the ship.”
Alex’s hands flies over his work station. He then gives me the sign to start speaking.
“Union Starship Phantom, this is Jeremy Black, Captain of The White Silk. We apologize for earlier. We encountered some problems with our FTL drive that caused it to malfunction. Please, can you state the reason for this arrest?”
I pause and wait for some response. It comes one full minute later as our view screen fills up with the image of the huge and stunning bridge of the Phantom. It is not this view, however, that catches my attention. It is the view of the painfully attractive, suggestively-dressed young lady that stands to address me.
She stands at attention like she’s military. She’s wearing a blue, tightly fitted jump suit that highlights her curvaceous form. Her brunette hair is tied back in a bun and her long neck terminates at a bulgy chest. I can’t help but wander down to her cleavage as a bit of it is revealed by the dipping neckline of her uniform.
In spite of my indulgence, the woman maintains a steely gaze. She says in a terminal and incredibly cold voice, “Prepare to be boarded.” Then the image vanishes and is replaced by the image of the starship against the backdrop of space.
I look from Alex to Garret. They’re both scared. I jump out of my sit and scramble for the elevator. I take the elevator down to where the cargo is being kept. Adjacent to the cargo hold is the entrance bay, through which the Union troops will board the ship. I meet Sibiu who is coming out of the small, secret hatch in the middle of the cargo hold. I curse our luck that we don’t have so much physical cargo in our cargo hold. It is going to make the secret hatch a lot easier to find, if the troops don’t already know what they are looking for.
I help the small man out and seal the secret hatch close. Then together we move some of the crates and boxes around in a seemingly random manner. If I concentrate them right above the secret hatch, this is probably where the troops will look first.
Even before we are finished I feel the ship vibrate as we are docked with the cruiser.
I glance at Sibiu. “Stay here and make it look like you’re taking stock. Act like everything is okay.”
I run through a small access way into the entrance bay. The sharp flash of escaping pressurized air fills my ears. The entrance bay is almost as large as the cargo hold, although it is more longitudinal to allow for vehicles driving in and out of the ship during pick up or drop down missions. It’s basically Spartan, a metal box of hull plating. There is a small panel of buttons by the hatch, which commands the hatch to slide up into its home. From there, a door can be opened to the cargo hold.
Alex and Garret are waiting for me in the entrance bay. I join them.
“What do you think they want?” asks Alex.
My reply is simple and sincere. “I’ll be damned if I knew.”
There’s a warning sound, which is followed by the main doors sliding up. I see their boots first, because the door slides up slowly. Then I see their neatly- pressed khaki pants. Then I see their guns and their hardened face. There must have been a hundred of them. The moment they could walk straight through without banging their heads against the rising door, they flood the entrance bay, their guns pointed at us and yelling for us to show our hands.
Our hands rise into the air. A couple of soldiers peel off from the invading party to secure us in restraints. The rest spread through the ship and one manipulates the main control switch by the door and opens the blast door connecting the entrance bay and the cargo hold. About five soldiers hold positions in the entrance bay while another ten enter the cargo hold via the open blast doors.
A group of ten officers carry an assortment of scanning devices into our ship. Some of the devices were handheld. Some were hefted along the ground. Following them through is the lady commander.
“Search every square inch of this ship,” she orders the scientists with the scanners. “I want that ale found!”
When I hear her command, my heart chills with fear. The next thing I know is I’m filled with an overwhelming desire to run. But then I have nowhere to run. I’m doomed. Following this realization are pictures of being confined to a dark cell on some prison world in some backwater star system of the Union.
I swallow hard and hold my head up high as I am approached by the commander. The lady looks at all three of us and then focuses on me.
“Captain Jeremy,” she addresses me formally.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to cover the distance between us for maybe a handshake. I’m pulled back by the trooper that is holding me.
He mutters for me to stay put in a voice that could probably put the fear of god in living creature. I know I am screwed.
“Can you please tell me the reason for this invasion?” Bob screams and spits as he is pushed into the entrance bay. He falls flat before us. I try to help him, but the trooper holding me butts me in the back of my head with his weapons causing me to see stars for a brief moment. When I come to, I’m still standing and so is Bob, who is now in restraints to my side.
“I say stay put,” comes the deadly voice in my ears.
The lady commander has an animated look on her face. She says, “We received intelligence that you’re carrying contraband ale. In fact, we were informed that the ale you’re carrying contains a banned psychotropic substance known in the underworld as DX350. Do you deny this?”
“Of course I deny them,” I retort. “We are only carrying medical supplies to the planet Xaviwa. We would never knowingly bring banned items in Union territory. Plus, I’d like to know who I’m addressing.”
The lady said, “Call me No One.”
“That all?” I say with a sarcastic tome. “Not Captain No One or Commodore NO-“
I’m head butted again. This time I fall flat to the ground, spew blood, and feel my head pound for way longer than I care to remember. Within seconds, I am rudely hefted up to my feet and made to stand up even though all my legs and I want to do is lie on the floor and sleep.
A scientist returns to the entrance bay and whispers something in the lady’s ears. Soon after, Sibiu is bustled into the entrance and made to stand in line with his, having his own personal trooper holding him tightly in spite of his restraints.
No One smiles for the first time and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I almost sigh wistfully.
“Guess what we found in the hidden compartment beneath your cargo hold?”
My face changes with practice ease as I display shock. “What?” I demand. Then for theatrics, I add, “What did you people plant in the secondary cargo hold?” I intentionally use another name for ‘secret’, simply because secret connotes deception and deception is what I’m trying to distance myself and my crew from.
The Captain rolls her eyes and scoffs aloud. She grabs the tablet from the scientist’s hands and reads off a preliminary analysis of my contraband, specifications I am all too familiar with. When she’s done, she looks up at me and cocks her right eyebrow as though encouraging me to refute the claims.
Still playing the surprised captain, I look to my crew. “What the fuck? Did you guys bring contraband into my ship?” I sound furious and yell, such that few of the numerous, milling Union crew in the cruiser’s humongous entrance bay ahead turn to look at me. My crew mates, who are already versed in the arts of deception, make up strange faces, some of shock others of anger, mumbling all at once that they didn’t.
I glance back at No One, my frown deepening. “Look, lady, I don’t know what games you’re playing but I don’t have any contraband onboard my ship.”
“Then why did you try to run?” she asks.
“I already told you,” I reply, frustration bleeding into my voice. “This ship isn’t exactly new. It’s an old bucket of rust. Its FTL drive sometimes malfunctions. It’s not our fault that it so happens to malfunction in the presence of a Union Cruiser who so illegally boarded us.” I feel it coming. I’m expecting it. The butt of the trooper’s gun.
The lady looks above my head at the trooper and I am spared this time.
No One turns to the science officer to her side. Handing over the tabled, she says, “Run a finger print scan.”
This is when I know I’m really screwed.
The science officer takes the tablet and runs the scan. He looks up at the lady. “I have about seventeen prints. Five out of these seventeen match all five of the crew of this ship.”
I open my mouth instinctively to protest and the lady holds her peace, wanting to hear my defense. However, I am out of defense. I couldn’t defend myself against the truth.
The lady says, “I hereby place you and your crew under arrest, and by the authority vested in me by the Union I charge you with contempt, resisting arrest, and possession of contraband DX350. Each of these crimes carry a minimum penalty of thirty years imprisonment. I hereby decide that you all will be serving all three penalties in consecutive order…”
We grumble aloud.
“And,” No one continues, “You’ll be serving it in a Level 7 Maximum Security Prison Facility.”
Now, we scream our protest. The troopers hold us back. This time, the trooper holding me does not head butt me with his gun. I apparently have the right to protest.
No-One waits for us to calm down. By this time, a large percentage of the soldiers who had earlier furthered into the ship are retreating back into the entrance bay.
“You have two options,” the woman says. “You either serve your sentence. Or we can have it expunged and you get to be heroes.”
I frown, even though my heartbeat begins to recede. Anything is better than ninety years in a level 7 maximum prison.
“What’s the catch?” I say. Then I think of a joke, and knowing it may get me head butted again, I still go ahead and say it. “Or did you suddenly develop a heart.”
She raises her hands to prevent me from being head butted. The trooper holding me isn’t too happy with this as he grunts his dissatisfaction. I begin to wonder if he and the lady are some sort of item. Are they having some sort of sexual relationship? Is this why he feels he has to defend her honor and dignity every fucking time?
“One of the border worlds is in path of a Sonali fleet, led by one of their Star Destroyers,” she says. “We are currently overwhelmed and can’t send reinforcements just yet. But this planet is critical to the Earth-Sonali war. So, we want you and your crew to smuggle an explosive device into the ship and detonate it from a safe distance. This will temporarily relieve the planet and give us the time to reorganize and protect that planet.”
The Earth-Sonali war has been going on ever since that accursed frigate The Seeker went looking for The Mariner. I have tried my best to stay out of the war. Letting them destroy each other, while I profit from their efforts, has basically been my ideology towards the war. Now, it seems I will not be able to run from this anymore.
“What if we refuse?” I ask.
“Then you spend the rest of your lives in prison under the worst of circumstances,” she replies without batting an eyelid.
I swallow hard. Even though the mission isn’t exactly difficult, the prospect of meeting anyone of those Sonali people is daunting. I have heard of smugglers doing business with them, especially in the area of human trafficking for large scale human experimentation and selling them military hardware and information. All I have is ale. Maybe I can convince them it’s some sort of wonder drug to make super soldiers. I mean, these are aliens. They don’t know much about us, except that they want to annihilate us. All I need to do is to sell them the ale and sneak in the explosive that way. And I’m gone.
I look No One in the eyes and say, “We’ll do it.”
My crew protests. I silence them with one look. I return my glace to No-One, soften my look, and say, “On one condition. You pay us for this run.”
The lady sneers so much I begin to wonder at myself. “If it is money you want, we’ll double what you’re making. Just get the job done.”
“Okay, then,” I say, happy once again. “We’ll do it.”
The lady barks an order at the science officer for the restraints to be taken off. As soon as I am freed from the restraints, I turn to see the trooper who has been hitting me. He is an impossibly muscular Caucasian with a rough, handsome face and a knife-sharp look. He looks down at me with immense contempt, like I’m a vile worm in his eyes.
“I apologize for Kyle,” No One was saying. “He is not particularly fond of space pirates.”
Kyle takes the opportunity to speak and all I hear is intense hatred. “I think you guys are the vermin of our existence.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Whoa, okay, someone has some issues.” I notice his face redden with anger and take several steps back until I’m practically standing at No One’s side. “I like to think of myself as a business person.”
About five minutes later, a float platform is guided into the entrance bay. On it are five subcutaneous insertion devices that look like guns. Beside these devices is a silver briefcase.
No One picks up one of the guns and approaches me. I take a step back and bump into Kyle, who is more than happy to grab me and hold me in place. No One gives him the eye and he lets me go.
No One tells me, “It’s just nanites. It’s how we make sure you stay focused on the mission and don’t get ideas. It has a distance of about two light years, which is the maximum distance you should put between your ship and ours.”
“Will you be following us?”
She nods. “Just beyond the long range scanners of the Sonali ship. When we confirm the destruction of the ship, we will deactivate the nanintes and you’ll flush them out the next time you pee. Then we will transfer your money and you’ll be heroes. If you fail, then you will go down as noble men.”
“If we run?” this question is asked by Garret.
No One looks him in the eye when she delivers her reply. “Then we activate the nanites, blow your brains and your ship, and go find some more pirates.”
We are all injected soon afterward. No One hands me the briefcase, whishes me luck, and departs our space ship with most of her goon squad. Some engineers from the Cruiser are sent to help Bob repair the FTL. Bob is happy for all the help and spare parts he can get.
During that time, Sibiu and I secrete the briefcase in one of the crates containing the ale. By the time I’m back in the bridge with Garret and Alex, our ship has been released from the tractor hold of the Cruiser and we have been given the coordinates of the planet, which is three light years away.
“It’ll take us three days to get there,” Garret announces.
Bob, who is patched in to the bridge from engineering, says, “The FTL drive is singing like a bird and ready to go.”
“Thanks, Bob,” I say, and cut the patch to engineering.
“Is it worth it?” Alex asks. “I think we should take our chances and run away.”
I shook my head in disagreement. “They’ll kill us with that long range switch they have on their ship.”
“That’s against Union regulations, Jeremy,” Garret says. “Even if they had such capability, they wouldn’t. They could get court marshaled for such act.”
“These guys aren’t your average Union military,” I reply. “That lady was an intelligence officer. That ship is most probably a black ops outfit. Black ops outfits can do whatever the heck they want and get away with it. Plot a course to the coordinates we received.”
“Course plotted,” Garret replies seconds later. “Ready to engage the FTL drive.”
I relax back in my chair. “Engage.”
Three days later, we fall out of faster than light travel with the sirens blaring. I see the huge ship in time to yell. “Evasive maneuvers!”
Garret, whose hands I trust in situations like this, does not waste time to look for the threat that has alarmed me. He throws the stick to the left, causing the corvette to bank left. I’m thrown off my Captain’s chairs. We dive just in time to escape the three flashes of laser fire that would have cut a hole right through our shields.
“Sir,” Garret says, “we are being hailed by the ship.”
I rise from the floor where I had been unceremoniously deposited by the lurching ship. Garret is smartly bringing us around to face the ship. It is a technological marvel, with fine angles and streamlined bulkheads that brilliantly reflects the light from the twin star at the center of the system.
“We are also being vigorously scanned,” he announces.
Garret brings us to a stop with just enough space between us to dive or bank in time to evade another laser blast. We are severely and outrageously dwarfed by the Sonali Star Destroyer. Its very presence casts a small but discernible shadow over the blue and green planet beneath us. We are barely a speck in the dust to it. I know I am exaggerating our size, but that’s how I feel.
I say, “Open up a channel.”
My view screen dissolves and fills with the image of a big, blue humanoid creature. It speaks its language, which the translator automatically translates in a flaccid tone.
“Unidentified human ship,” the Sonali Captain is saying. “Prepare to be destroyed.”
I have somehow managed to reach my Captain chair. I am standing in a rigid stance. Of course, the prospect of being destroyed isn’t sounding so good to my hearing.
“My name is Captain Jeremy Black, Captain of The White Silk,” I say with my best, charming voice. “We mean you no harm.”
“You mean us no harm, yet you jump into the system just behind us?” roars the Captain.
I curse the Union navigator who had calculated the coordinates. I curse them and their entire generational line.
I say, “We are sorry. We miscalculated. Anyways, we heard there might be a Sonali ship in the area so we decided to come check it out.”
“Check it out?” the captain asks as though he couldn’t just figure out what that means.
“Yeah,” I say. “I heard you might be giving big bucks for information, weapons, lab rats, and maybe that something that human soldiers take to make them super…”
The captain looks a little more confused than I anticipate. He leans away from view to whisper to some unseen officer. Then he returns back to view with what I guess passes for a smile in Sonali. It is hideous by the way as it reveals denture that are less than stellar and could break the heart. I have never seen the Sonali this up close before, so I don’t know if this is the way their teeth naturally are or if this particular captain just needs to go see the dentist—more than once, though.
“You a mercenary?” the captain asks. There is a little glint in his eyes. And the way his lips slide a little apart as though ready to sneer tells me he may be the greedy, cunning sort that wants any underhand advantage to lord it over his enemies. Greed is something I can take advantage of.
“Well, I like to call myself a businessman,” I say. “I really don’t care for this war you got going with the Union. I just want to make my money and live my life. It matters little to me who wins…”
“So, you a mercenary?” he asks again.
You would think I have made an impression with my little speech there.
I nod once.
“I have enough humans to last me several years,” the captain says. “Also, our scans do not reveal any unusual energy reading that would suggest a sophisticated weapon that might interest me. I doubt if you have any human weapon I have not already acquired from other sorts like you. …”
I begin to wonder if others like me survived the encounter. I have been running smuggling runs along the border of the Outer Colonies for a long time, even before the war began. I know most of the hangouts. I talk to others. I network. I’m a businessman, dammit!
And yet, I have never heard of any smuggler working with these dudes. But then again, smugglers tend to be solipsistic; I know I am.
“But that drug you mentioned…” the Sonali whispers. “I may be interested in it.”
“Yes,” I say. Then I begin to narrate what little knowledge I have of the Armada’s failed super soldier program—at least they say it failed. With these Armada military sorts, you never really do know until you are within their ranks. And even if you are within their ranks, you really can’t have access to that kind of information if you aren’t cleared.
“I want every last drop you have,” the captain says with a defiant fist and a crooked smile. I almost faint because of his denture.
After hashing out the price for the ale cum super soldier wonder drug, I say, “Also, I need assurance that you will not fire on us the moment you take delivery of our cargo.”
“I will not. You have my word.”
“Forgive me if I can’t take your word for it,” I say.
“What will you have us do?”
“I want you to power down your weapons system,” I say. “All the way down so that we can skedaddle the moment we get our money and give you the item.”
The captain looks away and gives an order. There is a voice of rebellion in the background, which the captain silences with a sharp rebuke. Then he looks back at me.
I glance at Alex, who, surprised, nods that the ship’s weapons system is powering down.
“The money?” I ask. “How do you want to do it? Cash or transfer?”
“I’ll send the money with the away ship,” he says. “They’ll dock with you immediately.” The connection is broken.
I tap the engineering button and say, “Bob, get us ready to jump to light speed.”
“Aye, boss,” comes his chirpy reply.
“Garret, when I give the signal, get ready to jump to Phantom’s position. They are hiding behind one of the moons at the edge of the system.”
Garret nods.
I ride the elevator down to the cargo hold, where Sibiu is standing over seventeen crates of contraband ale and an explosive.
“They are sending an away ship,” I say to him. “Let’s get these crates into the entrance bay.”
We do just that. By the time we’re done, we step all the way back to the small access way to the cargo hold and wait. The away ship docks with our ship and the hatch slides up. Only one Sonali appears with a large sack, which I suppose is filled with cash.
He sees the crates, then sees us staring at him. He drops the cash sack in the middle of the entrance bay and methodically moves the crates into the away ship. This takes him about thirty minutes. We watched him do it the whole time but he never looked at us one more time. Neither does he look at us as he shuts the hatch and undocks his ship.
After confirming that the sack is indeed packed with freshly minted Union platinum plated hard currency, I run back into the elevator and ride it up to the bridge. I arrive just in time to watch the large ship swallow up the away ship in one of its huge bays.
“Their weapons are coming online and fast,” Alex yells.
“Garret, get us out of here!” I boom.
I feel a sharp kick which throws me into the air. Before I slam into the ground, I see as the space around us fold in itself.
I glance at Alex and nod.
Alex presses a button.
“Bring us out,” I tell Garret.
We drop out just in time to watch, through the long range telescope, the Sonali ship explode in an immense, almost glorious flare of orange and yellow.
“We did it…” Alex mutters, a bit unsure. Once the explosion vanishes, we see what is left of the ship, a sea of debris and bodies. I am chilled by the fact that I have probably just slaughtered a thousand sentient beings.
“Captain,” Alex says, “No One is hailing us.”
“On screen,” I say, taking my best posture by the Captain’s chair.
She is all smiles and I can hear cheers and jubilation on her ship’s bridge. “Congratulations, Captain Jeremy. You and your crew are heroes. Your money will be wired to you shortly and your charges have been dropped.” She pauses for a while. “We could use men like you in our ranks.”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I really don’t like working for spooks.”
No One draws a blank. She neither denies nor confirms my assertion. “Thanks again. Desist from running contrabands along the border. You may not be so lucky next time.” The super-hot commander vanishes from the screen, leaving me wondering how my close brush with death at the hands of the Sonali counts as being lucky.
Last Survivors
I stare across the large camp fire through the many faces to Kendra, who is sitting in the third row—the very back. I’m in the second row, and our eyes find each other. She’s the epitome of beauty. Her blonde hair lights up and glisten almost with a delicate bioluminescent material in the cast of the popping flames. Her soft eyes are green, though I can’t see them from this distance, looks at me and makes my heart melt.
Kendra Chapman—or KC, as she’s fondly called in our small settlement on this side of the second moon of Latrellia, is a tall goddess. Her lips are thin, yet luscious. Her oval face is a little puffy in the cheek region, giving her a very attractive look. She has a petite figure and a gorgeous body.
I wink my left eye at her and she cracks a silent laugh, a little chuckle escaping her lips. The elderly woman beside her gives her an upbraiding glance and she presses her lips thin in response, fighting hard to keep from laughing.
No one knows we are…together, and for good reasons. KC’s family and mine aren’t exactly the best of friends. In fact, there has been a feud between our families since before their fathers landed on this moon and settled here.
I heard it has something to do with KC’s great grandfather and mine contesting for the town chairmanship and my dad failing. It led to a revolt that in turn led to many deaths, mostly on KC’s family’s side, thus beginning a feud that lasted until this day.
“They are a pack of wolves!” my dad would always rant, even though he and KC’s father have had little or no physical altercation.
When I first heard it, I couldn’t believe it. You only heard about stuff like that in the holo-vids. It didn’t happen in reality.
But now, I have to think again, because my life was the very expression of that reality.
I don’t know why Kendra and I clicked the moment she returned with her aunt from New Sydney to come here and start her formal training in agriculture. She’d been taken away when we were only toddlers and have not come back for several years. She returned just before the war began six months ago. I remember when I first saw her, alighting from the shuttle that had brought her and a couple of new settlers down from the transport vessel. That was the happiest day of my life.
I hear a few scuffles behind me. I look over my shoulders to see many more people coming to gather around the camp fire. There are two more loose rows behind me. There are about a hundred of us at the camp fire, sitting on stones in the center of the town.
It’s the first day of the month of September, and as usual, we begin every first days with a campfire night.
It’s majorly for everyone below the age of twenty, including kids and young adults—and it’s compulsory. Not attending the camp fire night is tantamount to social suicide. It’s not however compulsory for adults, though some try to attend. Mostly the counsellors and teachers, even those in other settlements on the moon.
“Are we all in?” says the priest. He’s not an actual priest, since we on the moon do not practice any form of religion. We like to think of ourselves as free thinkers. Perhaps, our ancestors travelled a great distance from Earth, saw the vastness of space, and decided there was no God. They laid down those principles for us, which has guided our beliefs.
So, even though we call him a priest, he really isn’t. Nevertheless, we realize the functions of a priest, which is to guide and lead people to the light. And sometimes to remind us of our past that we may make the right decisions in our present for a better future. Because this man in the middle of the circle by the fire fulfils this role for us during the camp fire nights, we call him the priest.
His actual name is John…that’s it. No last name. John is a wizened old man in his late seventies. He has undergone several regenerative surgeries in his late sixties that put a few more decades in his body. He’s still old and aging, but his physiological systems are still quite intact. So, he’s not walking with a bend, like some of the old people in the town. He isn’t developing cataracts or glaucoma, like many of the oldies in the town.
He certainly has a strong voice that can reach to the very edges of the town from the center of the town on a silent sunny afternoon. It is even rumored that he is still quite sexually active, although I can’t tell that that’s true.
It’s pretty difficult to reconcile a priest (even though he really isn’t one) with sex—priests are supposed to be undefiled by the vain pleasures of this world. Priests are supposed to refrain from eating a lot and stay indoors seeking transcendence or higher truth or knowledge or whatever it is they seek.
Anyways he’s not one, so whatever.
John is standing ramrod straight, his face and hair adorned with silver hair. They are long and are stretching down to his shoulders, parallel to the general downward drawl of his facial skin. Unfortunately, John didn’t have enough money to pay for a facial reconstruction surgery to revive the youth in his face.
There is a tiny gnat beneath his left eye, which many of us think is some sort of tech that allows him to see very far. Oh, and John has the best sight in all of the moon. The man can see in clear details for hundreds and hundreds of yards, so long as there’s no obstruction. When asked, he always attributes it to the reconstructive surgery he did on his eyes, but everyone knows reconstructive surgeries don’t give you super abilities—enhancements do.
Some of us believe that he was some sort of spy for the Armada Intelligence, especially during the Schism. We know he fought in the war, we just don’t know in what capacity he fought. And his wartime experiences are something he never ever talks about.
There are still some people coming in from all directions. I take another look around. We must be over two hundred now.
It’s going to be a long night.
“Are we all in?” John asks again, his voice strong and subduing every murmured and hushed whispers around.
The giant flames dance in the smooth breeze that washes across us under the starry night. Other moons are in the sky, flooding us with a strong moonlight.
“Yes, John,” replies a young woman from behind me. At that point, I hear commotion to my right. I look down my row to see Peter making his way towards me, causing everyone to complain.
He gets to me and I shift a little so he can squeeze himself in. Instead, he just flops himself into the tiny space, jarring me a little on my side. I guess the other guy feels the pain because he curses a little and jerks Peter in the side.
Peter is about to punch the guy in the face, when I stop him. Peter glances at me, a wicked glare still on his face.
“Don’t do it,” I whisper to him.
The other guy is already in a defensive post, his hands made into fists and raised above his face to fight. It’s Brad, and he is one of us. By us I mean one of the cool guys in this settlement.
“Sorry, Brad,” I whisper to the guy. “Peter is sorry, too,”
“No, I’m not,” Peter says almost immediately. Then he adds in an icy tone, “And don’t think I’ll forget this.”
“Whatever dude,” Brad says and relaxes back in his sit.
When I feel the tension let loose in Peter’s arm, I let him go.
I look up at John to check if he’d caught the commotion.
John is looking at us trio, his eyes squinted in suspicion. Fighting is not uncommon in camp fire meetings, because every teenager is here. And when every teenager with raging hormones gather, things are bound to happen.
Tension is usually high—including romantic tension.
The tension between me and Kendra is so high that I wonder if people can sense it off of us. Sometimes I get scared when Kendra and I are close together and Kendra’s father walks by. Of course, I’ll have to dodge the man’s look or make it look like I don’t know who Kendra really is. Still, the tension can be so strong I wonder if he can sense it.
“Why are you late?” I ask Peter.
Then I notice someone settling in beside Kendra. She’s a pretty black girl with a brown blouse and dark jean pants. Her glossy lips radiate in the firelight as does the tiny little necklace on her chest, which sits against a balmy, sweaty chest.
Peter chuckles beside me. I glance back at him just in time to see him and Tiffany share a look that’s more than just friendly.
“You didn’t…” I whisper at Peter.
Peter is distracted by Tiffany and only replies me with an indiscernible mumble.
I grab his jacket and shake him until I have his full attention. Peter is huge for his age. Like me, he’s eighteen…heck, we are all eighteen. Kendra, Brad, Peter, Tiffany and I are host of other seniors. It’s like our parents decided to give birth to us at the same time. Peter, however, looks like a professional quarterback with his incredible upper build.
He’s got a lot of muscles for a guy his age, and he’s easily the strongest of us. Brad comes pretty close since Brad grew up with his dad in the Terran Armada Academy and learned one or two tricks. Brad’s dad is a First Officer aboard a war ship that’s off fighting the BFs. This is one reason Brad’s been touchy lately. He worries about his father.
Most times when I look at Brad and his mother, I thank my luck that my dad hadn’t followed through with his plans to join the Armada and become a sailor. I’ll probably be having a wistful look on my face now, waiting by the slipstream terminal for a call from the Armada telling me how brave my father was or how he sacrificed his life for me and all that rubbish.
I’d rather someone else sacrificed their life for me and my dad.
A lot of our soldiers are dying out in the stars so much so that nobody sleeps comfortably at night any more. A lot of the folks on this moon have people that are currently in the border being eaten for dinner by the BFs.
We call them BFs, which stands for Blue Freaks. Because that is who they are, freaks. Freaks of the universe. Freaks of nature.
I come to, when I see that I have Peter’s attention. I drag him closer to my face and sniff his jacket. I perceive the distinctive smell of perfumery. It’s jasmine, Tiffany’s perfume.
I almost choke in disgust as I imagine what Peter and Tiffany had been up to. They came in almost at the same time. He has Tiffany’s perfume all over him. It’s obvious what the two of them did. And thinking of that and the place I told Peter about earlier this morning, I just knew he betrayed my trust. Blasted Peter!
“I told you that place in confidence, man,” I say letting go of his jacket.
“What do you mean, Jake,” he replies. “It’s not what you think.”
I sneak one more glance at Tiffany. She’s now in an impassioned conversation with Kendra, probably telling Kendra how deep Peter went and how he made her cum and all that stuff. Probably putting ideas in Kendra’s mind and thereby putting pressure on me to measure up, at least, to Peter.
How could I measure up to someone that’s several times bigger than I am?
I am frowning at Peter amidst the steady buzz of chatter around.
“Seriously, Jake,” Peter says, focusing his attention on me.
“Man, I know you went to our special spot and took Tiffany with you,” I say. “I can smell her on you and I know you don’t think of the consequences of your actions before you take them.”
Peter’s smile vanishes, and I know I’ve struck a chord. “Ouch, bro, you don’t have to be so harsh. It’s just a spot in the woods. I’m sure there are many other spots.”
His reply should infuriate me, but I am used to his insensitivity by now.
“It took me days to find that special spot, Pete,” I reply. “You know how Kendra and I decided to wait ‘til we were eighteen before we...you know…”
“Had sex?” Peter helps, with an arched eyebrow.
I feel my cheek burn so hot. I never knew it’ll be this embarrassing. I told Peter about the special spot I picked in the woods in the event that he would spur me and encourage me. I certainly didn’t tell him so he and Tiffany would go there for a romp in the hay. I’m almost sickened to my tummy.
“I don’t get why you can’t still go there,” Peter says. He’s whispering now because everyone is falling quiet as the seconds roll by.
“I can’t!” I say, my voice a little tense with exasperation. “This is the night we both lose our virginity. It has to be perfect. If we go to the same spot, we’ll just be smelling you and Tiffany all over the place.”
Peter smiles. “Not really. I told Tiffany it was your special spot after we had sex and she insisted we cleaned up the place.”
“You clean up the woods?” I ask, incredulous.
“Well, not exactly the entire woods,” he replies. “Just the place we used. I promise you won’t notice a thing. There’s nothing lying around to suggest that we were there.”
I frown and look away from him.
John is silent. He is sitting on a high stone with a flat surface so all of us can see him. He is in a meditative pose, so I know the meeting will begin in a couple of minutes.
We’re already close to silent, though there are still a few quiet whispers scattered around the gathering.
“It’s not going to be the same,” I reply without looking at Peter. “Even if Kendra doesn’t know, I do. And all I’ll be thinking about is you and Tiffany and god knows what you did.”
Peter chuckles. “I can assure you, we did a lot.”
I mildly jam my ankle in his side. “It’s not funny.”
Peter throws his right arm around my neck and pulls me in. “Hey, there’s a lot of other places you guys can go. You can head to the waterfalls. It’s going to be beautiful. You guys can have all the fun you want there.”
“It’s way too far from town.”
“All the more reason you should go,” Peter replies. “It’ll be fun. The two of you, walking through the woods, hand in hand.”
I almost smile. It does sound like a good idea. Kendra had mentioned it earlier, how she would like to spend some time at the waterfall. Her parents rarely allowed her out of the house. This night is going to be one of the nights she’ll be free to do what she likes, majorly because her parents would me meeting with delegates from other settlements in the town hall all night.
I guess I could kill two beds with one stone. We could have our special night right where she’s always dreamed of spending some time with me.
“I guess we can go to the waterfall,” I say, grudgingly accepting.
“See?” Peter says. “Told you it’s okay.”
I growl. Peter has this notion that it doesn’t matter what he does that it would always turn out great. He is the kind of guy that pretty much does whatever he wants and still ends up on the right side. It is annoying sometimes, especially when I’m trying to get him to do the right things the right way.
“The means don’t always justify the end, Peter,” I say.
“Whatever rocks your boat, Jake,” he replies. “I say live life to the fullest. You don’t know when the BFs are going to appear at the edge of your star system and come knocking for you.”
“You don’t really think they’ll stray this far, do you?” someone asks from behind us.
Peter and I turn at the same time to see who has been eavesdropping on our conversation. It’s Anthony, the lanky and nosy fellow occupying the sit directly behind me.
I scowl at him, but Peter indulges him.
“Why wouldn’t they?” Peter says.
“Why would they?” I ask, now genuinely interested. The Cold Moons of Latrellia aren’t exactly border settlements. We are well within Terran Union space. Even though we don’t have any Armada vessel protecting our system or a space station within running or protective distance, we don’t need it. The war thus far has been localized at the border. Hence, I’ve never really thought of the war as more than a distant occurrence.”
“Because their ships are ten times bigger than ours,” Peter replies with an awed expression upon his face. “And I heard that it takes at least three of our ships to bring down one of theirs and that’s not even talking about their dreadnoughts.
“It is said that when the dreadnoughts appear, death and destruction is imminent and inevitable.”
I am now trying to maintain my composure. Fear is having a field day with my mind. I am also finding it difficult to reconcile the picture of the war being painted by Peter and the one the President paints when he gives us a brief of the war effort every Saturday evening.
“President Harmon says differently,” I reply, trying not to sound terrified. “He wouldn’t lie to the whole Terran Union now, would he?”
Peter doesn’t reply. He only looks at me as though I am naive.
“He wouldn’t would he?” I press.
“Of course, he would,” someone replies.
I look over Peter to Brad who has joined our conversation.
Peter nods solemnly.
I swallow hard. “Why would he lie to us?”
“Because the cost of this war in the past six months have been catastrophic,” Brad says. “I know because I talk with my dad almost every day. If it’s not a slipstream transmission, it’s a message. But we find time to communicate every day.”
“Hey, Brad, isn’t your father working aboard a ground troop transport?” Anthony asks.
Brad shakes his head. “He was, before the war. But when the war started, he was posted to Armada Intelligence because of his unique skillset. Don’t ask. He wouldn’t tell me what those are, just don’t ask.”
I am struck with awe.
“It’s bad out there,” Brad continues in his low tone. I realize that everyone around is looking at us, listening quite intently.
“Almost every day that passes by the border is receding,” Brad continues. “The Sonali have a far superior military, with far superior weapons and equipment, and far superior starships. My dad says we never should have gone to war with them.”
“Your father doesn’t know what he’s saying,” says a tall, plump girl in the row in front of us. “The war is not a luxury. It’s a necessity. It was either bow to the Sonali or stand our ground. If your dad thought it was a fool’s errand to do to war, then your dad is a coward.”
I freeze in my chair, hearing Brad’s breathing increase. He must be burning with rage now as I observe the sneer he’s flashing the girl.
“Just because your dad is dead doesn’t make him a hero, Tasha,” Brad spits.
“You son of a bitch,” Tasha says. She tries to rise up, but her friends are pulling her down. They tell her to be calm.
Peter says, “It doesn’t matter whether we should have gone to war or not. What matters is that we are at war and we are sucking at it.”
“Well, we are a defenseless colony,” I say, trying to console myself. “There are rules in warfare. I am sure the Sonali, since they are an advanced race, being space capable and all, would refrain from unnecessary destruction and carnage. I’m sure they’ll leave us alone.”
I wait for some support, but it doesn’t come, which surprises me.
“If you really believe that, Jake, then you are more foolish than I imagined,” Brad replies.
No wonder he doesn’t have any friends.
“What’s he talking about?” I ask Peter.
Everyone draws in closer to hear Peter talk. Peter hesitates at first. He’s looking across the fire. I follow his gaze. Tiffany and Kendra and the entire section on the other side are all looking at us. The priest, too, is looking at us.
I motion for those still drawn into our conversation to look up ahead. Once it becomes clear that our private conversation is no longer private, everyone sits upright and focuses on John.
“Would you like to say something, Peter?” John asks aloud.
Peter doesn’t reply. He only shakes his head.
This surprises me. I have never known Peter to be someone who shies away from hugging the spot light. Also, there is no greater spotlight in this colony than the spotlight of being singled out during the campfire.
“Anthony, stand up.”
Anthony rises up behind us.
“Kindly brief us all on what the conversation was about.”
Anthony tells them everything. Everyone listens with rapt attention. I watch as their facial expressions turn from interest to anxiety to terror. Anthony ends with my assertion of the notion that the Sonali would not destroy a defenseless colony and Brad’s repulsive response to it. I do like how Anthony describes Brad’s offensive statement, though.
I glance at Kendra. She is looking at me, but her expression is hard to read. I try a smile, but she just keeps looking at me.
“Jake!” the priest calls.
I jerk up to my feet, all eyes on me.
“Do you believe the Sonali wouldn’t harm us here?” John asks.
I nod.
“Why?”
“Because there are laws in war,” I reply. “There are principles in war. While it’s important to defend one’s territorial integrity, it is also important to defend one’s inner integrity. The Terran Union has principles set down for how Armada conducts its warfare. When we fought the Outers, everyone steered clear of colonies.”
I know I wasn’t so coherent, but I have passed the basic ideas that reinforce my beliefs.
The priest nods with a smile. He shifts his gaze to Brad. “And you think otherwise?”
Brad remains seated. “I know otherwise,” he says. “Jake’s just saying all that because his family is here and they’re living their normal quiet lives. He doesn’t know just how brutal the war is and what both sides are doing to ensure they win. He and many people here don’t know that we are losing the war and losing ships and losing people…and losing colonies.”
A whisper strikes in the campfire and spreads around like a ripple.
I glance at Peter. Peter remains impassive.
“What do you mean losing colonies?” someone asks from the other side. Before I can look, the person is done talking. I can’t tell who asked the question, but I can tell from the looks on the faces around that they want to know the answer as I do.
The priest climbs off his stone and approaches us. He wades into the crowd until he’s standing above us. He’s wearing a cotton robe that’s tied around his body. He smells of an aromatic smoky substance, which wafts into my nostrils as he bends to pick up Peter.
Peter willingly follows the priest back to the camp fire, where the priest leaves him standing and inches away from him until he’s at the edge of the central space, blocking my view of Kendra.
“Tell us, Peter,” John says. “Tell us what you know. Knowledge can be a burden, when it is held alone. However, when it is shared, it can be relieving.”
Peter thinks long and hard on this before he agrees and begins to speak.
“The Sonali aren’t what we think they are,” Peter says. “They don’t give two shits about morality or about the means. They only care about winning this war and so far they have been effective in their tactics.”
Peter sucks in a deep breath before continuing.
“They don’t care that a planet is defended or not defended,” Peter says, “they don’t care that a ship has weapons or not. They destroy everything in their path and law waste to colonies.”
Terror sweeps across us like a powerful wave.
“They come like raiders in the night,” he says. “Most times they remain in the comfort of their ships and bombard the colonies. They target houses, utilities, structures that are standing, human settlement, densely populated or sparsely populated, they fire their weapons of mass destruction from above.
“They use gases that render whole planets uninhabitable. Millions have died so far. Millions more will die. Billions, in fact will die. And they keep pressing deeper and deeper into Terran space. So no, guys. No one is safe. No one. No colony is safe from the Sonali. If they appear in our scanners, we are gone. Just like Planet Beruit. Just like Planet Manliwa. Just like Planet Soshunaka. Just like the numerous colonies that have fallen to these blue freaks.”
Peter walks away from the center of the fire and comes to sit down beside me. I don’t realize that I am holding my breath until my vision begins to double. I let go and breathe easy.
There is a severe pounding in my chest.
John retakes the center of the camp. “You are possibly wondering if what Peter has said is true…”
His question is greeted by many nodding heads. I don’t nod, because I know it’s true. It has to be. How else could he have been so detailed? I could almost see the death and carnage and wastage.
“He is,” John says.
There is a cold silence.
“That is the reason for this campfire meeting,” John says. “You parents have been aware of this imminent danger. So they have asked me to inform you. Be diligent. Be prepared. We might be far from the border, but it doesn’t make us far from danger.”
He pauses and smiles—the kind that is sad and born from pity.
“You know,” he says, “knowledge is not always freedom. Sometimes it is a burden. We have carried this burden for a while, now you must carry this burden yourselves. There is nowhere to run or hide. With this knowledge, perhaps you can prepare for the inevitable.”
“What’s the Terran Armada doing to stop these fuckers?” someone yells from behind me. I don’t need to look back to recognize that it’s Blake’s voice. Also, only he would curse in front of all our teachers. Only he would be so stupid and irresponsible.
“The Armada is fighting as well as it can, giving the circumstances,” John replies. “If you’re asking if we are destroying colonies like the Sonali, the answer is yes.”
“What?” another unplanned outburst. It’s a girl near Kendra.
“That’s against the Terran Armada’s charter,” Tiffany points out.
“Indeed,” John replies. “But, Article X1 as presented by the Terran Council and signed by President of the Terran Union permits any and all acts to be carried out by the Terran Armada in executing its primary function of ensuring the survival of our and the integrity of our galactic space.
“It means they can do whatever they want,” John ends by saying. “It’s not at all ideal. History will definitely make us pay for it, but all is fair in war. Return to your various homes and think on this. Some of you are old enough to go off to fight in this war. You may want to consider what you’re walking in. Good night.”
Everyone stands at the same time. The area quickly descends into a disarray with chatter and uncoordinated movement. However, the general mood is silent and restrained. I traverse the area to Kendra’s last known position, hoping to God that she would still be interested in going out with me to the waterfall. I know I no longer have any desire to go, though I know it’ll probably return in about an hour, when my mind has rationalized some of the things I’ve heard.
Some people want to talk with me, but I wave them off. I find Kendra hanging on the very edge of the expanding group of people. She’s carrying a backpack, where everything we’ll need is packed.
She manages a smile when I walk up to her.
“Hi,” she says.
I hug her first. She hugs me back and sobs lightly.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”
We wait until no one is looking at us before we slip away from the group of people.
The town is dead asleep. We are the first ones to leave the center, so we surreptitiously traverse the tiny streets, with terrifying silence everywhere. We get to the edge of town, walking straight into the woods without a second thought.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know Rufus is out there fighting. I’m sorry that you had to hear all of that.”
“It’s okay, Jake,” she replies.
We make our way deeper into the woods. The trees are mighty tall, thin and well-spaced. A carpet of leaves, dried, flaky leafs cover the ground. They crunch as me walk further through. The light the moons provide is sufficient for us.
Even though I know the woods are totally safe as there are no wild animals or killers around here, I am still unnerved by the eerie silence. What if the Sonali have managed to sneak up behind us and sent a patrol to watch our town? They may be watching us right now, waiting for the right time to pounce.
The crunch under our feet suddenly becomes so loud.
“He’s serving with one of the best pilots in the Armada,” Kendra says. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“He’s serving with Captain Jeryl Montgomery?” I ask.
Kendra lets loose a clipped burst of sarcastic laughter. “You think I’d be worried sick for him if he were serving with the Avenger of The Mariner?”
I feel stupid again. I shake my head.
“No, he’s not serving aboard The Seeker,” Kendra says. “He’s serving on The Celestia. He’s their chief medical officer.”
“I hope he’s alright,” I say.
“That makes two of us.”
When we get to the waterfall, I already know it’s not going to work. We are both too tensed to feel anything between us but fear. Nevertheless, we go through the motion of setting up. The inflatable bed goes up first. Then the light bots fills the area with incandescent light and warmth.
I set up the music player with a smooth R n B song by some guy on Earth. There’s food in the back. However, we decide to forgo that.
While Kendra crawls into the bed, I walk to the cliff (we set up ten yards away from the cliff, just on the edge of the woods). The waterfall looks amazing, but its roar is quite deafening. Somehow, this reminds me how absolutely far we are now from the town—just me and Kendra.
This night was supposed to be peaceful. But I can’t seem to shrug off my thoughts about the war.
The cliff is about a hundred yards in the air. The water is deep enough for someone to survive the fall…in theory. Nobody has ever tried.
“Jake?” Kendra calls. “Aren’t you coming?”
I join her in the bed. She curls up into my chest and we remain like that, staring at the stars. I realize that she didn’t even notice the waterfalls. She’s been bugging me for three weeks now to take her to the waterfalls. Now we are here and she so absorbed with the terrible news we both heard tonight to think about anything else.
I don’t blame her, because all I’m thinking about is the war. It almost makes me mad at Peter for bringing it up earlier. And the fact that he got his quality time with Tiffany right before mine and ruins mine makes me all the more incensed. But I realize the importance of all I’ve heard today.
Joining the Armada is not something I’ve even considered. However, it’s something I will consider once I return to the house. If mom agrees, I’ll sign up. It takes three months to go from sign up to the front lines. If I’m going to die, I might as well die on my own terms and not as some hapless bugger on some colony world the Sonali bombarded to smithereens.
After staring at the sky for so long in silence, I begin to feel sleepy.
Kendra puts her hand around me possessively and tightens it.
“Promise me that you’ll never leave me,” she whispers. Her voice vibrates in my chest and soothes my heart.
“Promise me,” she says again.
“I promise,” I say.
She exhales audibly and her body relaxes in mine. It feels so good to have her lie on me the way she’s doing. My mind begins to relax. Soon, we are in total sync our hearts beating as one.
Kendra falls asleep first. I follow seconds later.
I only close my eyes for what feels like a minute when I am woken by an impossibly loud explosion that causes the ground to tremble severely.
Kendra screams.
I jump out of the bed. My heart is hammering against my chest.
Above, I can see a massive ship in low orbit. Missiles rain down on the moon. It’s not just our settlement that’s being targeted. There are about seventeen settlements on this moon, all of which are being bombarded.
Another explosion—and then another. Kendra and I collapse in a heap at the thunderous report of the explosion. We look with horror as columns of smoke and raging fires erupt in the sky from where our town is.
I shoot to my feet and break into a run towards town.
“Jake!” Kendra screams from behind.
“Stay there!” I reply, not looking back.
More missiles strike the settlement. All I’m thinking about now is getting my mom and dad out of that place. I begin to curse the moment I made the decision to go to the waterfall.
Halfway through the woods, a missile explodes near me. I am caught in the blast radius and flung several yards back. I slam my head against a tree, bounce off another, and come to the ground, unconscious.
I wake up to a terrible headache and to Kendra crying. Her face, which is over me, is puffy and red from enormous crying. She hugs me the moment she notices I’m awake, and helps me to my feet.
The first thing I do is look up. It’s fully daylight. I must have been out for hours. The ship is also gone from the orbit.
“What happened?” I ask.
Kendra says, “They’re all gone.” Then she bursts into tears again.
I leave her and limp towards the town. Ten minutes later, I get to the edge of the woods and stop short.
The town is no more. Everything has been leveled. There’s only powdery piles of rubble and the smell of burnt flesh. I can see across the entire town. Nothing is left standing.
I fall to my knees and weep aloud, overwhelmed.
Kendra comes to my side and weeps along with me. Through her tears, she pulls her wrist communicator. “I tried calling others,” she says her words muddled in her tears. “No one’s answering. They are all gone, Jake. Five million people. All our friends. Our family. All gone.”
As I listen to Kendra I am inundated with an immense feeling of sadness and rage mixed together that threaten to tear me apart.
Later, we walk through the town. The explosives had been so powerful they had practically vaporized everyone. We don’t find anybody, though we see remnants of tissues and the pervading smell of wasted human flesh.
It takes us most of the day of walking through and through the ashes of our past existence, and we do come to grips with the fact that our families and lives are gone.
We’ve come to bitterly accept that we are now the last survivors.
Our morals. Our integrity. Our lives.
Nothing else matters.
The Beruit Massacre
We are the worst of the worst. The cruelest of the cruelest, yet we cannot say that we are the best of the best. Every Sonali soldier hates the Terrans. At least that’s what we’ve been made to believe. As for me, I am not so sure I hate a people I have not even had the chance to meet.
It’s barely three months since the Terran Union President declared war on Sonali. It came as a mild surprise to us that a race as painfully inferior as Terrans would take such a step. In fact, most of us in the military caste saw it as an insult, much like a dog would feel if a fly were to challenge it.
Gladly, we rode to war, butchering the weaklings wherever they were in the galaxy. We’ve been picking them one by one for we are in no hurry to exterminate them from existence. I mean, these Terrans are so weak. Forget our advanced starship vessels. Forget our advanced particle beam blasters. Even close quarter’s combat, they are so weak and feeble, that one must wonder how they rose out of the evolutionary soupy puddle.
“Fellow brothers!” roars the sub-legate of my hundred man unit, Colonel Zelvin Grayhill aka Colonel Zel. He’s a burly-looking Sonali male with a fierce and furious look and zero iota of love for the Terrans. He’s standing on one of the long and narrow rows of tables that fill up the massive mess hall. He’s holding a bottle of rakjtag on one hand and a pretty looking Sonali woman who’s dressed in such a provocative manner in his other hand.
“Tonight we drink and we fuck,” he says. The soldiers around yell in acquiescence, drumming their metal cups on the bench and humming deeply such that the entire hall begins to vibrate.
“And tomorrow night we slay the Terrans, burn their towns, rape their women, kill their leaders, bomb their buildings and level their goddamn colonies for Sonali Prime!”
“For Sonali Prime!” the entire room replies.
It’s such a thunderous reply that I shiver. I’m in the back of the room, sitting by my plate of soup and metal cup of water. The soup is syrupy and filled with all the essential vitamins and minerals that a Sonali would ever need. Rumor has it that it’s also infused with some psychotropic agent. How else can you justify some of the atrocities this particular military outfit has committed?
Atrocities that Sonali Prime would never publicly admit to, yet it is one of the most efficient and most funded division in the Sonali Ground Forces.
Hell Fire Brigade.
All is fair in war, it seems.
I don’t have rakjtag in my cup. I only have water. Unlike Terrans, Sonali don’t really need water to survive. We aren’t wired that way. In fact, we can go months without a sip of water. As long as we’re breathing in argon, we are good.
But it’s compulsory for every soldier aboard this transport vessel to feed and drink at least once every day because the government needs your strength to destroy the Terrans.
Yeah, about that, I’m not really down with it. Still, in a system that kills off the weak and prunes the strong, I have to remain strong, otherwise I’ll lose my life.
You see, the Sonali Army is not like the Tyreesian Army or the other armies of the other races we have come in contact with. The Sonali Army is unorthodox in the way it governs its people. There’s a chain of command. But in other armies, if you breach the chain of command, you are court-martialed or exiled or something along that line.
In the Sonali Army, if you breach the chain of command, you are killed on the spot by your sub-legate. Of course, the sub-legate has to demonstrate that the soldier has breached the chain of command, not before the Generals in the Army or some board of enquiry like I hear the Terrans have, but before the troops of that unit.
Sonali Prime thrives on the principle that every member of the society has a place and a role to play in the furtherance of the ideals and ethos of the Sonali people. The systems set up in Sonali Prime and all other Sonali colonies pride itself in defining that place or role from birth and training that child to fit in that assigned role.
The consequences of going against the set path can be so grave. So much that conformity would not only be the wiser choice but the most sought after choice.
This is why we feel like we are superior to most other races. We have a perfect society where everyone is working at their peak because they are right where they fit. At least, this is what everyone thinks and believes. From when I was old enough to be literate, I’ve always believed differently.
I am a member of the military caste today, not a member of the scholar caste, which I desire terribly to be or the merchant caste that make all the money and live large. Not the religious caste that are closer to God either, or the leadership caste that basically decides what the other caste systems can and cannot do.
This happened not of my own volition, but the volition of those who stood over my neonatal form and pronounced my destiny.
How utterly cruel. How unabashedly shameful. And to think we pride ourselves in such conduct is totally unsettling.
At first, in my childhood and early teenage years, I fought against the timeline set for me. I didn’t care about working hard and training and learning how to fire a weapon. In fact, I didn’t associate with the other children that had been pronounced soldiers. I rather associated with people who were members of the caste I wanted to belong to—the scholar caste.
I would learn the error and graveness of my ways, when I was later called before the Council of Appropriation (the same Council that decides on caste—a sub agency under the leadership caste, of course) and punished. This punishment involved severe beating and torturing to toughen me up. They decided if I wouldn’t go the easy way and grow in strength as my peers did, then I would have to go the hard way.
For seven days, I was deprived of sleep. I was beaten mercilessly. I was deprived of food. I was tortured. My parents did not visit me. They couldn’t. And it was not because they were not allowed, but because they didn’t have the strength of heart to walk into the imposing Council of Appropriation building in the Leadership Estate of Sonali Prime.
They feared that the slightest nonconformity found in them may lead to punishments they were not prepared to endure. But more than that, they also feared what they would do if they found me—their thirteen year old, pre-Ascension daughter—shredded and bleeding out in one of the numerous subterranean correctional facilities (a fancy way of saying a dank, musky dungeon).
“Are you eating that?” says a deadly low, belligerent voice beside me.
I don’t look at the soldier. The noise from the soldiers closer to our leader at the middle of the cafeteria is overwhelming.
I shake my head, keeping my eyes on my food in the present, and my mind in the dark and horrible past.
I was born a girl. It is still a mystery what a Sonali would see in a girl and decide they should become a soldier. It bewilders me. And it’s not about the Ascension Ceremony, because the Ascension Ceremony works differently for the military caste.
If you are a boy and you are declared a member of the military caste, then you may or may not have a choice as to whether you want to Ascend to become a fertile girl or to remain sterile. The same goes for a girl, depending on the ratio of males to females in the military. There is a fixed ratio that must be maintained at any fixed period of time, hence a lot of people get to choose, and others don’t.
I know I didn’t get the choice to choose. I was forced to Ascend because at the time, the military needed more men than women. The same thing with the males at the time. They were barred from the ceremony and hence have to live the rest of their lives as men and infertile. The rest of the Sonali people must attend the Ascension ceremony.
Just one of the other ways I feel the Sonali government is ruining the lives of its people.
At thirteen, when I was being reduced to nothing—literally nothing, my flesh being ripped out by spiky whips (I still have those scars on my back, as do most military nonconformists turned conformists) I was but a wide eyed girl who thought she could make a difference in the world reading books. After thirteen, I was tamed. I took my trainings seriously and fashioned myself into a killer.
In fact, it was my dedication and skill and seeming ruthlessness that got me drafted into the Hell Fire Brigade. At eighteen, the government changed my gender to a male and the subsequent physical developments only intensified my physical strength and ability.
I am not hardly the best fighter in the Brigade. In fact, I might be considered one of the weaker ones. But compared to the regular army troops, I would be incredibly stronger. And compared to Terran soldiers, I am a super-Sonali.
I have used my past experiences as an excuse to justify some of my inhumane actions. We have been operational for three months now. We’ve raided about thirteen colonies thus far and committed some of the most unforgivable acts seen in the galaxy. All these I’ve justified with my need to live.
It’s pretty simple: in the military and more so in the Hell Fire Brigade, it’s kill or be killed. It’s conform or be made to conform (only at this point, your conformity would be death—the ultimate conformity to the true end of all flesh).
There are many Terran sympathizers in the Sonali Prime. Some scholars sympathize with the Terran claiming they were pushed to war by an action we did not commit. Some religious caste members upbraid the military for dragging the Sonali people into a war with a people we just made first contact with, a people who up until now haven’t had contact with any other species, not even the devious Tyreesians or psychic Reznak.
Even some leaders protest our approach. They are allowed to.
But Terran Sympathizers within the military is a taboo. Those even as much as suspected to be sympathizers are dealt with. You don’t have to even speak against it. If you as much as whisper it in your dream and you are heard by a disloyal friend or a superior officer, you will be dealt with—and that is if you’re not killed on sight.
If you hesitate to pull a trigger, especially during an engagement, your death is sealed and secured by that action. In fact, that is not just considered sympathization, it is sympathization unto death. It’s treason, and execution can occur right on the battlefield.
So, you see why I’ve had to do all the terrible things I’ve had to do. And keeping quiet about it is the hardest thing. I’ve had to live with myself, even after slaughtering hundreds of children and burning hundreds of defenseless civilians, just to dissuade the sub-legate of my brigade that I am not a Terran Sympathizer.
I’ve deceived myself into thinking that my instinct for self-preservation is so strong that it permits my morals to assimilate and accept my disdainful and shameful actions. But I wonder just how long this deception will last. I know I can’t go on deceiving myself indefinitely.
There is a commotion at the center of the cafeteria that pulls me out of the evils of my past back into the present.
A soldier has been drawn up by Colonel Zel. This soldier is small-statured, but sturdy and muscular. He has been stripped bare except for a tight shorts he has on. His oolna is a visible bulge below his waistline. The ladies around see it and whistle and call out to him carelessly.
I look at the soldier intently. I don’t know him—it’s a big unit and Zel commands us all. Nevertheless, from the maze-like scars on his skin, I can tell he was once a nonconformist like me…or he still is.
Colonel Zel has a strong grip on the Sonali’s arm.
“People, what do we do to traitors?” he calls.
“Kill them!” comes the unanimous reply, followed by cheers and chanting that all call for the Sonali’s head.
I look around with dismay and extreme consternation. We are supposed to be brothers. We are supposed to be comrades in arms. How did we get this way? How were we turned into a pack of wolves? Even wolves understand the essence of brotherhood and oneness.
I see the bloodlust in the eyes of my fellow soldiers. I see the desire to see blood spilled. I see a desire to wreak havoc and propagate mayhem. I think about the colony we are descending on tomorrow, the poor hapless and harmless people who are going to feel the wrath and curse of our kind. I can only feel pity.
Colonel Zel turns and then looks through the hundreds of heads in the room straight at me. I jerk back.
“What do we do to sympathizers?” he roars, keeping his gaze fixed on me.
I swallow hard and as the crowd follows with another thunderous response, “We execute them.” I mutter along.
Colonel Zel points straight at me. “You!”
His very words seize me, causing me to sit ramrod straight.
“You will do the honors,” he says, then pushes the soldier onto the ground. Immediately, everyone gives this muscular Sonali a wide birth, forming a wide circle at the center of the cafeteria with the soldier in the middle.
I haven’t moved at all, because I am not sure of what’s happening. Everything’s happening so fast.
Hands grab me and set me on my feet. Hands pass me along, my eyes fixed on Colonel Zel who looks at me with disdain. A handle is pressed into my hand by someone and I look down at my hand to see I’m holding a large, curved blade with an edge so sharp it is capable of splitting the air.
At the edge of the milling crowd, I am pushed into the center and stumble over one of the tables. I have to throw my sword hand away so I don’t impale myself in the gut.
This gets a lot of cheers and laughter from the soldiers around.
The one to be executed stands his ground several yards away from me, using another table as a barrier between him and me.
Movement at the main entrance catches my eye. Filing into the edge of the cafeteria is a group of officers. I recognize them as the B control center crew. The legate is the last to walk in. He’s a fat Sonali with a belly that protrudes outward. He may look lazy, but I know him to be ruthless. Maybe this is why they assigned him to pilot the same vessel as the infinitely ruthless Colonel Zelvin.
It’s unclear who’s in charge, though, in the ship: the legate or the sub-legate. They serve under different arms of the military.
I walk over to Zel.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
I see the surprise appear on Zel’s face, which is quickly replaced by fury. “He says we don’t have to do it!” Zel roars.
There is a shocked whisper that spreads through the room.
“Have we found ourselves another sympathizer?”
I feel my heart climb up to my throat.
“No!” I yell. “I am not a sympathizer!”
“Prove it, then,” cries someone from behind.
“Kill the bastard!” cries another.
Then someone way in the back who’s probably too drunk yells, “By the True Way, kill them both!”
And everyone cheers to that.
“You know what?” Col Zel says, “Let’s make this more fun. Give Mailyn a weapon. Let him have the dignity to fight to the death or kill this zhingta standing before me.”
Colonel Zelvin speaks with total hatred that slams into me and forces me to double back. I turn just in time to see someone throw a blade at Mailyn, who picks it out of the air with practiced ease. He moves the blade through the air with a familiarity that I find terrifying. Then he looks up at me and a dreadful smile spreads across his face.
I look back at Zel. I step across the space separating us until my lips is by his ears.
“Don’t do this…” I whisper, “Brother.”
Zel replies in an equally silent tone, “What brother of mine is unwilling to kill Terrans? Kill him and you will ride out with me tomorrow to destroy that colony. Otherwise, die here with dignity and not a branded traitor. I will not have you bring shame to our father’s name.”
I shake my head. “Father wouldn’t want me to do this.”
“You know nothing of father’s wishes,” he whispers with an edge in his voice. Then he backs up and palms my chest, sending me into the air and crashing onto a table right in the center of the space.
“What are you waiting for?” Colonel Zel says, “Fight to the death!”
Everyone screams and cheers.
I hear Mailyn’s scream before I see his blade falling towards my throat. My blade intercepts barely two feet away from my face. Sparks fly around. While they do, I whip my legs around, striking the Sonali on the face and getting to my knees on the bench.
The Sonali staggers backwards, dazed for a short period of time.
I stay where I am, not taking advantage.
Mailyn recovers. Now, he’s furious. He screams again and rushes towards me. I leap into the air, perform three flips in mid-air over the man’s head and land in his back, even before the Sonali has the chance to turn.
My blade goes right through the base of his neck and shoot out of his neck, spilling blue blood all around the ground.
The crowd goes mad. I force a smile, though a fire burns within me. A fire of hate. A fire of hatred against all the Sonali hold dear. Hatred for this war that has turned brothers against one another. Hatred for this war that has made rapists out of our soldiers, murderers out of men, and making genocide something to be commended.
This anger is ablaze in me, causing my smile to turn into a frown. I jerk out the blade and Mailyn falls to the ground. Then I swing the blade once more, lumping off his head.
The head lands on the floor and rolls until it stops by my head. I look up at Zel. He has a satisfied smile on his face. Across the distance and regardless of the deafening scream of triumph that has engulfed the mess hall, I see through my brother’s smile the monster that he truly is.
I let the sword drop to the ground as I am rushed by my comrades who lift me into the air and hail me for my patriotic act. As I am bobbing in the air, I am struck with the insensibility and unreasonableness of these people. When did killing your fellow man become patriotic? When did compassion and love and kindness become a crime?
When did we stray so far from the light that we not only live in darkness but require it to survive?
Are we truly the monsters a Terran mother would tell her child? Do we not land on their planets and water their crops with their own bloods?
We, the Sonali, did not pick this fight, true—it was picked for us. Nevertheless, do we not have a responsibility to pursue peace and not war? Can we not rise above unnecessary scuffles? If the Terrans can’t see past their ignorance and bashful pride, then is it not our duty as the more superior race of the two to consider their handicap?
I force my way to the ground and begin to walk away.
“Alright everyone!” Colonel Zel begins to say, “Enjoy your night and prepare to make blood rain tomorrow night! Terran blood!”
The scream that follows this is so deafening I can’t help but bring my hands to my ears as I walk out.
I wander aimlessly through the transport vessel for a long time before finding my way back to the accommodations. Since this is really a transport vessel used for transporting soldiers, we don’t get quarters. Only Colonel Zel and some other officers get separate quarters, aside, of course, from the crew of the ship.
The accommodations are a series of large halls with bunk beds arranged in rows and columns. Each bunk bed is equipped with its own atmosphere and shielding. As I walk into accommodations C4, I am besieged with a multitude of moaning and groaning. Many of the soldiers have managed to return to the accommodations to have sex.
I feel disgust shoot through my throat.
The bunk bed allows you to shield your bed space as well as block outside view. It also allows you to mute your space, keeping others from being disturbed by your snores or anything else.
It seems that many soldiers like to forget they can do this, when they’ve been able to score one of the female warriors or members of the crew. There are about fifty beds in a particular accommodation room. Out of these fifty, ten are shielded and darkened and emitting high pitched moans and intermittent screams and the occasion flares that show someone inside is pounding on the shield.
I walk past a few of those, doing my best not to get riled up as to pound against the shield and yell for them to be quiet. The Terrans have a phrase that is apt here. It goes…shut the fuck up.
When I get to my bunk space, which is on the other side of the accommodations room, I meet two people groping each other.
I almost yell at them, when the male turns and I see it’s my brother, Colonel Zel. The female is half naked, her breasts bare before me, her nipples standing as stones. She screams and leaps out of my bed, grabbing her breasts in one hand, her blouse in the other, and running away.
“Let’s meet in my quarters in ten,” Colonel Zel calls after her.
“Okay,” her reply returns, faint.
I remain silent, looking from my brother to my ruffled bed back to my brother. I can’t believe it.
“What?” he says with a sheepish smile. “We waited for you. And when it comes, you must go with the flow.”
I don’t know which is worse, that my brother is a xenophobic zealot whose hatred for Terrans is unparalleled or he’s a hopeless sex maniac.
War does many things to many people.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
“I came to make sure you understood why I did what I had to do,” he says.
“I understand,” I reply. Anything to get him the heck away from me as soon as possible.
He shoots to his feet. Before I can react, he grabs my shirt and says, “Do you?”
Though his breath is thick with rakjtag, his eyes are alive with threat.
“I do,” I reply, my voice grave.
“Good.” He lets me go. He looks me over.
“You may think what I do to you is harsh,” he says, “But believe me when I say I do everything to protect you. Many believe I am soft on you. You don’t want them believing that for too long. I can only protect you for too long.”
I don’t reply. I won’t be fooled by my brother’s deception, neither will I be party to his desire to rationalize his wicked and twisted nature.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “Or go have some fun. Tomorrow, we fight.”
He walks away without another word. I take his first advice and go to sleep. According to our code, on the day of an incursion, we have time to ourselves and anyone can do whatever they want with their time. Nevertheless, two hours before leaving the ship everyone is to report to their platoon for further instruction and so on.
I set my bunk bed system to put me to sleep and only wake me up one hour before I am supposed to report to the main command. Then I activate the shield, the screen block and the mute functions.
I lay on my hardly soft bed in silence. A sweet smelling savor wafts into my nostrils. Seconds later, I am lost in the infinite reals of unconsciousness.
A mild electric jolt brings me to consciousness. I jerk to an upright position, my heart beating fast in anticipation. My body is hot from sweat, in spite of the cool temperature in my bunk, and my mind is groggy as it tries to fill the several hours of gap it was unconscious.
I have a strong feeling that I have something urgent to do, but I can’t quite figure out what it is. I look around my bed, cobwebs and darkness covering my memory.
I take deep breathes and swallow hard.
“Private Groyt, report to main command,” says a voice in my bunk bed space. “Private Groyt, report to main command now.”
Then it hit me like a shuttle at maximum speed. I am a soldier onboard a transport vessel carrying troops from the Hell Fire Brigade of the Sonali Army. My brother is sub-legate and last night he made me kill another Sonali. In a few hours we will be landing on a border colony called Beruit. I will have to kill people, whether they are armed or unarmed. It will be a massacre.
I deactivate the shield and jump out of my bunk bed. I am the only one in the room. The others are already assembled in the shuttles, receiving last minute instructions. I make a run to the adjacent shower stalls and take a shower. No, I don’t fancy being smelly even though I’m going to fight, not after last night’s panoply of immorality and seediness.
I change into my uniform, attaching my access card to my shirt. Then I hightail it to the armory, where other soldiers are picking their fill of weapons.
The Hell Fire Brigade is an unorthodox army unit. There are no rules of engagement or code of conducts. Neither are we bound to use a certain type of weapons. Although we all take a rifle or pistol, we also take other weapons, especially axes, massive hammers and blades to main, cripple, and behead.
It is where the fun is—the slaughter.
I grab a pistol, then a small blade. I holster the pistol on my right hip and sheath the blade on my left thigh.
I head on to the lower decks, where the main command is located, which is also where the soldiers find their platoons and are shipped down to the planet. We still have two hours to engage, which could mean that we were already in orbit and are already bombarding the planet’s defenses, like security posts, escape shuttles and generators.
The main command is filled with CNC crews and Lieutenants, who are also platoon leaders, in the Brigade. There is a large holographic projection hovering in the center of the colony. The colony is being divided according to the platoon leaders.
I remain at the back of the room, watching as the Sonali soldiers plan to level a defenseless, farming colony.
It’s even worse as I realize that it’s a farming colony with no armed presence. Then again, I wonder why the Terrans would set up a defenseless colony so close to us and expect us not to attack.
Maybe they have faith in our morals—because really, what race would attack a defenseless planet?
Well, it’s too bad for these ones. Their government failed them.
I begin to prepare my mind for the horror I am being compelled to wreak on this planet. It’s not my fault, I tell myself. It’s the way the universe is.
“How long before Terran reinforcement comes?” I ask aloud, drawing the room’s attention to me.
It is the legate that answers, “We estimate three hours. Our intelligence assets suggests that there is a battle group currently headed for the border. They are planning to attack one of our soft targets. By the time we begin our approach, they may divert that battle group to come to the aid of this planet.”
“I highly doubt the Terran Armada would send their starships to a worthless planet,” Colonel Zel says.
“If it’s worthless, why are we attacking it, then?” I blurt.
Colonel Zel flashes me a surly look.
I remain impassive. I know I am walking a tightrope here. My question can easily be misconstrued as sympathetic.
I add, “What strategic significance is accorded to us if we destroy that planet?”
The looks on the faces in the main command turn from confusion to comprehension. I get some nods.
Colonel Zel says, “Panic Campaign. When the Terran Armada loses half of its colonies, they will realize the error of their ways and beg us for forgiveness. Then we will strike at their home world. We will kill that beast of a President they have and disband the Terran Council. And if we feel like it, we will occupy their world and claim it as ours.”
There is a silence. I am struck to my core with terror. How did we come to this point as a society, where men like my brother become leaders?
Is all truly fair in war?
“Okay, get to your ships,” Colonel Zel says. “Let’s go kill us some Terrans.”
By the time I am strapped in to the shuttle, the transport vessel begins bombardment. I remain in the relative darkness of the hull of the shuttle, shoulder to shoulder with thirty other soldiers, hearing the thunderous explosions that follow missiles being launched planetside.
The soldiers begin to chant their ear chant in anticipation. Soon, we are given the go signal and we lift off the shuttle bay. We join numerous other shuttles to enter the atmosphere of Beruit.
I shut my eyes and begin to imagine what it must be like now on the ground. I imagine a small child looking up at the night skies and seeing hundreds of shuttles raining down from the sky, filled with men who don’t give a damn about your age or gender, who will kill you all the same. I try to imagine the terror they must feel.
Colonel Zel, who’s right beside me, grabs my hand, and says, “If my men notices any crack, they will take their shot. You will die. So, what’s it going to be? Will you kill or be killed?”
I don’t reply, neither do I open my eyes. My brother knows that I’m a Terran sympathizer at heart, not because I have any particular love for the people (they did start the war, after all), but because I find that war is fruitless. It is pointless. It is utterly useless.
The shuttle touches down with a jerk. Our straps release us automatically, even as the shuttle door opens. With impressive war cries, the soldiers empty the shuttle rifles ablaze and blades held up, Colonel Zel leading the charge.
I hear the screams of the victims soon enough. I rise to my feet, fighting against my ethics. It takes the very thought of death to push me to the open shuttle door. I pull out my gun and blade and jump down onto the dirt.
We have landed in a large village. The houses are well built, though outwardly resemble huts. Already littering the floor are dead or dying bodies of men, women and children. Every one of them are unarmed. The ones that are armed are armed with hoes, cutlass and other farming tools.
Everything is like slow motion to me. I move slowly through the village, shooting and shooting and shooting. Every one that rushes to me gets shot in the head. Those that are running away get shot in the back. Now, it’s either me or them, and I must choose me.
Must you? Says a voice that stops me in my tracks. It’s Father’s voice. And all of a sudden, my mind is flooded by overwhelming guilt and shame.
If father were still alive and saw me, would he be proud of my actions?
A girl’s scream pulls my attention to a small house to my right. I walk right into the small living room to find a young girl and her brother cornered by one of the soldiers. He’s reaching for his pants latch.
I go mad with rage. I raise my gun, aim and shoot. The Sonali crumples to the ground.
“What in the name of the Goddess…”
I turn to see my brother in the doorway, looking at the dead Sonali. The moment he looks up at me, I am aiming at him.
His eyes widen with fear.
“I’m sorry brother,” I say, “but I didn’t sign up for this.”
Before Zel can bring up his blaster, I shoot him in the chest. He falls outside and out of sight. I know I should feel terrible for killing my brother. But I don’t feel such. I feel relieved. I feel a little redeemed.
There is nothing I can do to make up for what I’ve done in the past, but I know that I am doing the right thing.
I look at the terrified duo.
“Go,” I say. “Go and hide somewhere safe. Hide where no one will see you.”
They only look at me strangely.
I realize that they don’t understand what I’m saying. I motion with my hands. They get my gesture and run out of the house, giving me a wide berth.
All is not fair in war. The ends do not justify the means. Every acts we have committed, we will be required to give account of it one day. It may not be to the government, it may not be to a military tribunal. Indeed, we may have forgotten, when we shall be called upon to pay. But one day. Surely, one day. Every creature will be required to give account of what he has done.
I hear a voice behind me. It’s Terran speech.
I turn to see why the boy has returned when I feel a powerful energy tear through my body. I see the gleeful look in the boy’s eyes and he releases three more shots, drops the blaster, and runs away.
I fall to my knees first, the life draining from me. Then I collapse on my face, bleeding out.
My final thoughts are disarrayed, but I find that I am not enraged by the boy’s action. If anything I am liberated and no longer bound by guilt. I also feel a great sense of pity for the universe I’m leaving behind, for the children who are being raised in the Terran Union and in the Sonali Combine because of the cruelties of this horrible war.
I should have been a scholar.
Alas, all is not fair in war.
Article X1
I know I’m dreaming because life is not as beautiful like how I see it in my dream. I am on a pastoral land in the summer. It’s breezy but quiet.
I am free of worry that a political rival may be plotting my downfall or fear that the Terran Council may not pass my Intergalactic Water Transportation Bill or distrust for my advisors who I am beginning to suspect may be saboteurs. I am not weighed down by the pressures of the most important office in all of the Terran Union.
I am most importantly not bogged by the Outer Colonies, who seem to be itching for another round of engagements.
In this dream, I am just Joshua Harmon…not President Joshua Harmon.
Just Joshua Harmon.
I am standing barefoot in the soft shrubby hilly area, looking through the lowly cut meadow at a barn. I am dressed like a farmer in a button down shirt made with a cotton material that allows the air to seep into my pores. My pants are baggy and rolled up to my shins.
My heart is full of joy and happiness, and the sun shines down upon me with kindness.
“Honey,” calls a voice behind me.
I turn to look behind me, where a huge forest spreads across the lands until the horizon is covered. My wife Sarah Harmon is standing at the edge of the trees, looking as though she’s about to do something terrible or have something terrible happened to her.
I feel a frown spread across my face and squeeze off the look of happiness that had previously dominated my expression. There is something foreboding about this forest. As this thought takes root in my heart, there is a strike of thunder that causes me to go for the ground. I look up as I go down, seeing the streak of lightning across dark skies.
Shock pierces through into my heart. I turn to see the meadow and the barn, but instead, all I see are ghostly apparition wadding through a sea of blood towards me. They heft sharp objects, their eyes glazed over as though in death. They are uncountable, every one of them heading to my direction like zombies with only one goal; to kill me.
My heart is pounding now. I am about to bolt in the other direction when I recall that Sara is around. It is then that her shrill scream pierces through the darkness, chilling me to my core.
I swivel around on my heels as I see my wife in the clutches of a ghastly terrifying creature. I hear a heavy pounding from above.
“Josh!” my wife screams even as she is dragged against her will into the dark eerie trees.
I start to go after her, when I feel sharp, cold, bony fingers grab my arms. It wriggles me senseless as the icy feeling of terror spreads across my heart.
Another pounding in the sky.
“Josh!”
And then another.
“Josh!”
My breathing is erratic.
My pulse is out of control.
“Josh!”
Another pounding.
I bolt right out of bed and smack into my wife’s face.
“Ouch!” she cries, grabbing her nose and rolling over. I am still panting and alert, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My night robes are thick with sweat and so are the bed sheets.
I glance at my wife at my side. She’s holding her nose and looking at me with concern.
The pounding comes again…this time at the door.
Sara says, “I’ve been calling your name out loud.” She glances at the door. “And they’ve been knocking on the door for you. It seems to be urgent.”
I’ve left strict instructions never to be woken from sleep by any matter except if it’s war with the Outer Colonies or the highly improbable event of an alien invasion of the Terran Union. The last I heard of the Outers, they were facing some serious economic troubles—I could hardly think this was the time to fight the high and mighty Terran Union. This means the reason why my bedroom door is being knocked on does not deserve my attention.
Someone’s head will roll.
Sara sees the frown on my face and says, “It must be very important,” she says, her kind eyes drilling through the terror that still clouds my mind and the anger that is building steam to take its place.
Her smile and kind words vanquishes the darkness, leaving me calm and mellow.
The pound on the door comes again, reminding me of my dream.
“Cut it out!” I yell.
“Mr. President, it’s urgent,” says my principal secret service agent, Curtis Mann.
“I’ll be right out, soon,” I reply. “Cut it the hell out and that’s an order.”
“Yes, sir!” he replies.
I return my attention to my wife. I reach for her face, but she withdraws, guarding her nose delicately.
“Did I break it?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Almost, but not quite there. Nothing a little ice can’t fix. Now go. You’re needed elsewhere.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say instead. “I didn’t know you were on top of me.” I say that last bit with a questioning look.
“I was trying to wake you up, honey,” she replies. “You seemed like you were having a nightmare.”
I nod. I remain silent.
“Care to share?” she asks.
I think back to the dream. I remember how my joy and gladness had turned instantly to terror and imminent death. I remember how daylight and peace had turned to darkness and destruction. I remember the intense feeling of threat, like something terrible was about to happen.
Even right now, in the large, plush bedroom in Geneva, the feeling is still tight in my muscles.
I force a smile on my face, knowing that there is no merit in Sara worrying with me. I’m not psyche, at least not to the best of my knowledge. I can’t predict the future. I’m sure it’s just a dream.
“It’s nothing, Sara,” I reply. I pull myself out of the bed and head into the shower. Ten minutes later, I am dressed in a casual wear. I’m wearing a magenta colored sweatshirt over a grey vest and a faded blue track suit.
The most I can do after attending to this disturbance (and causing heads to roll for the disturbance) is to take advantage in the break in my cycle and go for a run.
“Go back to bed, hon,” I say, kissing my wife on the forehead. She lies in bed after that and I draw the duvet over her body.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say. “I promise.”
She smiles.
I walk out of the bedroom into a wide square-shaped lobby. Beautiful Persian rug covers the ground. Soft incandescent lights in a chandelier adorn the high ceiling. Portraits of past presidents—five of them—decorate the walls.
The lobby is truncated ahead by a corridor that is unusually heavily trafficked at this ungodly hour.
Standing there in the lobby are seven of my security detail. The head of my security team and my principal, Curtis Mann, is standing at my side. The Minister for Earth and the Minister for Defense are both in the lobby.
There are three other people I don’t know, but from their uniforms I can tell they’re from Terran Armada.
Seeing the looks on their faces brings the feeling of foreboding from my dream and into my heart.
“What’s going on, gentlemen?” I ask.
Minister of Defense Admiral Josef Ivanovich who is the Chief Admiral of the Council of Admirals that oversees the Terran Armada speaks first.
“We’ve been attacked, sir,” he says.
“What?” I say. “By who? The Outers?”
The Minister of Defense glances around at the secret service agents and then at the open corridor.
“Go on, talk to me,” I say.
“Sir, this information is highly classified,” the Minister for Earth says. “It’s better we talk somewhere private.”
“Look, guys, whatever you want to tell me, you can tell me here,” I reply. “Who attacked us?”
The Minister of Defense heaves a deep sigh, a grim look casting a shadow on his face. “Sir, we now have irrefutable evidence that suggests that we are no longer alone in this galaxy. Unfortunately, we were attacked by aliens, sir.”
I can see the faces of the security agents change from passiveness to expressed fear. I am impressed with myself that I remain passive…at least I think so.
I refrain from speaking for a while. Two reasons. If I speak, I will betray my fear. Two, maybe if I don’t answer they’ll scream ‘April Fools!’ and then go bog someone else.
No one speaks.
The three Captains are all expressionless behind the Ministers. They probably already knew about the attack. Were they involved?
“Sir?” says the Minister of Defense.
“How sure are you of this?” I say, working through the lump in my throat.
The Minister of Defense motions for the only female among them, who is carrying a large screened tablet, to show me a video.
She approaches me and is stopped by the security agents.
“Let her through,” I say.
She comes to my side and raises her tablet for me to see.
“This log was sent by Captain Jeryl Montgomery after which contact was lost. It could be due to the distance that his ship was that we have yet to receive another transmission, but it was escalated as soon as we received it,” she says. Then she taps the play button and the dreadful clip begins to play before me. It’s a TUS named The Seeker. Then, there is another ship that’s many times larger than The Seeker. Seeing the vessel chills my heart, and I almost believe my heart has stopped beating.
The video switches to the CNC and then to the view screen, where I see a horrifying blue skinned creature sitting on what looks like another CNC. He’s visage is unfavorable and he or it looks enraged.
Terror stabs at my heart.
The video ends. The woman returns to her place beside the other two captains. I look up and look between the two Ministers’ faces.
“What happened?”
“We’ve prepared a full briefing, sir,” the Minister for Earth says, “I think we need to assemble the War Council for a joint briefing.”
I can feel my heart running out of my control again.
“I want everyone assembled within the hour,” I command.
The Minister of Defense and the three captains snap off a salute. The Minister for Earth, who is not a soldier, only gives me a curt nod. They all leave.
“Curtis,” I say, “Get ready. I’m leaving for the Terran Armada Headquarters in Vancouver.”
“Copy that, sir,” he says and begins to issue instructions via his comm. I return into my bedroom, which is dark and cool and pleasant. The door to the porch is open, cool breeze sweeping into the room and casing the diaphanous curtains to wrap and wriggle in the doorway.
I check on my wife. She’s fast asleep. I kiss her again.
I walk out into the porch, it’s a private porch and only accessible from my bedroom. Before me is a lowly-cut garden that spreads for a long area before it’s cut short by a forest. From this far, I can see Marines patrolling the forest with attack dogs and hovering sentinel drones.
I look up at the night sky. The moon is full and bright with vigor and power. There is a splatter of stars and around one of those stars are our enemy.
I heave a deep sigh. I am having a multiplicity of emotions. I can’t really tell which is which. I am happy that I am the president that gets to usher the human race into that consciousness that we know we are no longer alone in the galaxy.
But then I’m also afraid that I will be remembered as that president that led the Terran Union to war with aliens. More so, I am terrified that I may very well be the one who led to the extinction of the human trace.
There’s no way we can defeat that ship I saw The Seeker face. I wonder if Captain Montgomery made it back alive. I never got the chance to ask Josef.
I begin to feel a migraine headache develop in my frontal lobe. I knead my temples hoping it’ll abate. It doesn’t.
I look up to the skies and say, “Couldn’t you just wait one more year? One more year is all I have before I’m out of this office and then it’ll be someone else’s trouble?”
The skies remain silent, so I look away from it.
When I go back to my bedroom, a knock comes on my door. My wife stirs with a soft grunt.
I tiptoe quickly to the door to prevent Curtis from waking up my wife. I open the door and peer out into the lobby.
“Your car is ready, sir,” he says. “Also, I’ve been told that the War Council is already assembled.”
“Already?” I ask.
He nods grimly. I understand why. The thought that we may be staring down the barrel of an alien invasion of Terran Union—especially aliens with ships that outclass us and outsize us—is well able to pull out even the most groggy councilmen or Minister out of their sleep and get them to the Bowl in Vancouver.
“I’ll be with you in ten minutes,” I say and shut the door.
I change into a black three-piece suit. I grab my personal tablet from my bedside table. I am about to leave when I remember Sara. I go to her side of the bed and kiss her on the lips. She smiles, but doesn’t open her eyes. I stare at her calming smile for a moment. A flower of hope blossoms in my heat momentarily, before it is quashed by the impending problems of a First Contact gone wrong.
“I’m ready,” I say, shutting my bedroom door behind me. We are in the residential wing of the State House, which retains the shape and size of the White House of the United States of America, one of the principal founders of The Terran Union after the events that led to the Third World War.
Of course, the White House was destroyed and most of continental United States was leveled. And now…who knows what will happen to us?
I am led to the West exit, where a series of heavily armored, hovering aircars await me. Above in the air, several Marine craft armed to the teeth with lasers and missiles scan for trouble and await my lift off. There are also tens of black suited, black shaded agents getting into aircars as I get into mine.
I strap in, while Curtis gets into the front sit.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We lift off and after everyone gets into position, an activity that takes a few minutes, we begin the ten-minute journey to the Terran Armada Headquarters in Vancouver.
I wonder what awaits me there.
We land in the main concourse of the scale defying structure from where the entire instrument of war of the Terran Union is commanded. A small retinue of secret service agents comingled with Marines await the landing area. We land without incident. Curtis opens the door for me as I get down.
The agents all alight from their vehicles. I can smell the salty breeze from the river that traverses the side of the complex. I can even faintly hear the overlapping waves. I am tempted to turn to gaze at the calming sight of a stretch of water, but I don’t. For I know that it would not bring solace to my trouble heart.
I am led into the main entrance, where the Minister of Defense and the Minister for Earth both meet me. I acknowledge them with a nod.
“Everyone is waiting, sir,” the Minister of Defense says in a whisper. “The main entrance is jammed, sir. We’ll have to get you in through the secret escape.”
“Everyone turned up, eh?” I ask.
Josef doesn’t smile. He gives me a grim nod. He turns to lead us away from the main entrance along the side of the complex to a secret door. There’s an armed soldier there, who opens the door for us to go through. We come into a narrow corridor, whose walls are made with polished wood. The corridor descends about three floors into the earth.
There’s a soft incandesce in the corridor, which gets brighter as we get to the other end.
There’s an open doorway that leads into the Bowl.
The Bowl is a small coliseum built underneath the Terran Armada Complex. It was used by the leaders of the Terran Union throughout the Schism, the ultimate war between the old generation and the new generation, when some of the new generation humans felt there was no need to send relief materials to rebuild earth.
They sought independence, we refused. We went to war and they succeeded in taking more than a hundred worlds from the Terran Union. We now call them the Outer Colonies—the pariahs of the human vision, traitors to the cause of Earth.
As I walk into the brightly lit subterranean coliseum, silence descends upon the gathering. The door opens at the top, so I have to walk past a lot of the members of the council down to my seat at the front.
At the small center is a raised dais and a lectern. It’s empty at the moment. However, when the presentations begin the stage would be used by the presenter.
I take my seat, my agents spreading out through the gathering. I look around the coliseum at the faces all staring at me. I look among their ranks up to the last topmost level. They are all looking at me, wondering about the decision I will make.
I am sitting directly facing the lectern. This is how the coliseum is designed. Since I’m the one making the decision at the end of the day, the most important person here is me. Half of the Admirals are present, while the others are present via slipstream. Their holographic projections occupy physical sots in the coliseum.
Roughly three fourths of the members of the Terran Council are present. Many Corporate Council members are also present, especially members of the different committees that have to do with war, the Armada and galactic security. A lot of senior captains in the Armada are also present, some of whom are present via slipstream.
I look around for the Captain Montgomery and find his holo-projection all the way at the back. He’s observing me with keen interest.
He will forever be remembered as the man who made first contact. If I screw this up, I will be remembered as the man who destroyed the Terran Union because I’ve already concluded in my mind that we can’t fight them.
The Speaker of the Terran Council is also around. He’s a short Asian man with a fierce look and does not particularly have love for me and my policies. He and I are always at odds and never see eye to eye on any issue. He’s making a move for the Presidency next year and so has been putting all his effort into undermining my presidency and trying to prevent me from going for a second term.
I nod at him and he nods back, looking at me briefly over the thickly rimmed glasses that sits on the bridge of his nose. He’s several yards to my right on the front row as well—only his chair is not as magnificent and prominent as mine, even though he’s chair is more prominent that the others in the room.
“Let us begin,” I say. The computer in the room automatically amplifies my voice so everyone can hear me.
Josef Ivanovich is completely dressed in his full military regalia, so is every commissioned officer in the room. He mounts the lectern with a tablet.
“Less than three hours ago,” he starts, “Captain Jeryl Montgomery and the crew of The Seeker were on a fact finding mission to discover what had gone wrong with a science vessel The Mariner, which the Armada had dispatched to the Beta Hydra III quadrant of space a few light years away from the Edoris Space Station.
“Instead, they found this,” he ends, then presses a button on his tablet.
The clip lasts a full thirty minutes and spans the entire duration of the contact, right from when the ship sees the alien vessel through when they decode their language through a series of mathematical hullabaloo till when they are able to hail them and speak.
I can see the reaction of the people around when they first saw the massive ship and how The Seeker, which I’m told is one of the exploratory frigates in the Armada, is tiny compared to the alien vessel. I can also see the fear that sweeps through the room when the blue-skinned, slit-eyed monster appears on the screen.
Monster may be too harsh of a word, but I can’t help making comparisons to the creatures that appeared in my dreams. Maybe God is trying to warn me of these aliens by showing me that dream.
The exchange is very incendiary and ends with a brash threat to us. Captain Jeryl makes a wise decision to leave the system, but then the question still remains. Did these guys destroy our ship, The Mariner? The evidence is overwhelming that they did. If they did, then they have to pay for it. They have to be punished.
However, from the defiance in the eyes of Ghosal, that alien ship captain or legate or whatever rank he held suggested that they didn’t think it anything to brazenly open fire on a Terran Union Ship and reduce it to a pile of debris.
“Captain Montgomery?” Admiral Josef calls.
Captain Jeryl’s holographic projection flickers, vanishes, and then appears on the lectern. He’s talking the moment he is on the stage, the computer amplifying his voice in the room.
“They call themselves the Sonali,” he says. “They are brash, proud and heavily armed. They are also well advanced…more advanced than we are. However, from the evidence and their threats, I believe they are responsible for the destruction of The Mariner. I think they need to admit this and make reparations. Or at least, explain to us why they did it. Whatever the case, we need to respond to this strongly and not show weakness.”
Before I speak, the room erupts into arguments. I allow the argument go on to at least know the different sides of the issue. Many of the Council members are suing for a diplomatic solution, while virtually all the Admirals and Ministers—the executive staff—are suing for a military approach.
I notice that the Speaker is quiet as well. In my periphery vision, I can see he’s watching me.
“What are our options?” I ask, immediately causing the entire room to fall into silence. “Captain?”
I know I should ask the Admirals. However, at times like this I want to talk with the man on the scene, the one who faced off the alien so brilliantly.
“Sir, these Sonali probably gunned down a vessel with more than twenty Terran Armada officers,” Jeryl says, his voice thick with anger. “We cannot allow that to go unpunished. If we do, we are telling this race that we’re weak. What if they don’t stop there?”
I’m quiet as he continues. “The Mariner had no offensive capabilities. By destroying a harmless exploratory ship, they have demonstrated a capacity for unprovoked cruelty. If we don’t put our foot down on this and do so with force, then we will be inviting by inaction a subjugation that will spread through our space.”
“I disagree!” shouts a Councilwoman. “These are just mere assumptions. Perhaps if you had been less brash, the alien would have invited you to their home world for a diplomatic parlay.”
And the argument starts again.
Jeryl Montgomery remains silent, watching me. I am looking right back at him.
“Order,” the Speaker says. The room slowly comes to a silence.
“Mr. President,” the Speaker says. “It will be a brash decision to send our military forces to the Sonali people demanding for reparations for a crime we are not sure they committed.
“We have to be smart about this. The Sonali aliens have advanced weaponry…”
“We don’t know that for a fact,” the Minister of Defense interjects.
The Speaker waves his comment away, saying, “They have larger ships. We are forgetting that this is a historic moment for the human history. Let us not forget that we have just learned that we are not alone in the universe. Don’t let the destruction of one ship taint our image of a species we are yet to understand…”
I zone out of the Speaker’s pacifist speech. Anger burns on the faces of the some, including on that of the Commander of the Edoris Space Station, Admiral Flynn.
After the Speaker’s speech and suggestion to send a diplomatic envoy to the Sonali to negotiate with them, the arguments begin again. This time it’s heated as tension, anger and fear spread across the room.
“Silence!” I yell finally.
The room goes quiet.
“Admiral Flynn,” I say, calling the man’s attention to me. He’s on the second row of chairs on the opposite side of the room where most of the Admirals are seated.
“Yes, sir,” he says, rising to his feet.
“You are the one in command of that region of space,” I say. “It was you who sanctioned The Mariner’s exploration. It was you who sent The Seeker. What do you recommend?”
Admiral Flynn thinks about my question for a full minute. Then he says, “I agree with Captain Montgomery that we cannot sit idly by and let our ships be destroyed without provocation by this alien force, neither can we sit down and do nothing about The Mariner’s destruction. We owe it to the officers of The Mariner to avenge their deaths.
“I also agree with the Council Chairman that we cannot rush into Sonali space guns blazing. We have still yet to understand them. Perhaps, until they admit to killing The Mariner, we really don’t know.”
“So, what are you saying?” I ask.
“I suggest we meet halfway,” he says. “I suggest we send more ships to the nebula to gather more intel. I suggest we go well prepared to fight, but also with the mission of opening a dialog with the Sonali. I suggest we go with a retinue of diplomats, so if we are asked to come to their home world for talks, we will be ready.”
There is a silence.
I think about it, poking holes at it from all angles. It stands my mental appraisal.
“How long can your fastest ships get there?”
“The Maverick, The Aurora and The Celestia are all ready to go sir,” he replies. “I can move eleven more ships to accompany then. All we need is a detachment of diplomats from New Washington. We can have a full flotilla of 14 starships ready in three days, sir.”
“Let the record show that I strongly advice against this cause of action,” the Speaker of the Terran Council vocalizes.
I only roll my eyes and say, “Do it, Admiral. And keep me posted.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies.
I rise to my feet. “This is it, people. We may very well be on the cusp of something really great or something really terrible. I hope it’s the former, but it’s not in our hands. It’s in that of the Sonali. May God help us.”
With that, I end the meeting.
I am ferried back to the State House, where I am informed that someone has leaked the news of the attack on The Mariner by aliens to the public. I spend the rest of the day putting out fires and talking with several governors across Terran Union space that there’s nothing to be worried about. Later that evening, I go on galactic slipstream to publicly condemn the news that was leaked earlier in the day and to dispel rumors that the Terran Union is facing an impending alien invasion.
I go on to reassure the Terran people that the Terran Union government as well as the Terran Armada is well able to protect every colony world and that we are going to keep on striving to ensure their peace, safety and prosperity.
I retire to my bed, feeling sick to my stomach, because I know I have just fed the people a litany of lies. There is cause to worry…to panic. However, people don’t want to hear that. They want to be made to feel safe and secure, and as a politician it is my job to make them feel that way.
This is the part about my job I hate. The lying and deception.
For the next three days, I go to some of the nearest colony worlds to further reassure the populace that they can go about their business. I am following the counsel of my advisors, including the Terran Armada, who provides additional security for my presidential ship.
I am encouraged to keep up appearances, even though my innards are turning to mush out of anxiety. The latest information I have gotten is that the three ships have entered the last known location of the Sonali vessel. They are yet to make contact.
I arrive back on Earth, my heart on edge. I find difficulty in concentrating, as I await information from Edoris Space Station.
Sara who is partially aware of what’s going on, suggest we go to the Presidential Retreat so I can get some rest. Knowing it’s probably for my own good, I agree. We take our three kids, who are all young teenagers and retire to Camp Monticello in Virginia for the weekend.
We arrive in Camp Monticello in the early afternoon. Early Friday morning, at just after one in the morning, Curtis comes to wake me. This time, he doesn’t knock. He enters and taps me awake. I see him motion for me to follow silently so as not to wake my wife.
I follow Curtis out of my room to the sitting room, where there are seven life size images of Admirals, including Flynn.
The moment I see them, my heart jerks up to my chest, almost causing me to go into cardiac arrest. I resist the urge to grab my chest.
Rather, I say, “What happened?”
Admiral Flynn replies. I can tell the nature of his reply by the grim and sad look on his face.
“Sir, we made contact with the Sonali,” he says, unbridled rage pouring into the sitting room. “The moment we did, they fired on our vessels without provocation…again! Out of the fleet of fourteen ships, only The Celestia survived and returned to Terran Union space. Half of the crew is dead, including the Captain.”
“Sir,” this comes from Josef, “the time for pacification is over. We cannot stand by and…”
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say through my teeth. History be damned. “Prepare for retaliatory strikes.”
“Sir, what exactly are you saying?” Josef says.
I take in a deep breath and expel it. “Prepare to go to war.”
“You need Council approval for that, sir,” Josef replies.
“Don’t worry about that, Josef,” I say. “Get ready.”
“Computer, cut feed,” I say. Immediately, the Admirals vanish from my sitting room.
“Curtis, contact my staff and the Speaker of the Council, I want an emergency session called immediately.”
“Copy that, sir.”
Before the session with the Terran Council, the video of the single Sonali ship destroying the Terran fleet has already been leaked to the public. As I am being flown to the Council Hall, I receive information of riots exploding in several worlds across the Terran Union. Everyone believes the end of times is near.
Surrounded by a horde of agents I march through the media outside the giant Council Hall building. I am led by protocol officers though the many twisting and turning hallways and sections to the main hall, where all the council members are seated physically or via slipstream.
I march up to the stage just below the Speaker’s bench.
“Mr. President,” the Speaker begins. “We have read the news. Some of us who are on the War Council have received the official reports. Right before you came, we discussed our options.”
I begin to feel my anger well up again. The bastard is making another political play for the presidency. By denying me the power to declare war, he’s pushing me to take actions that may be deemed as unconstitutional…
“We have already voted on granting you the power to declare war on the Sonali people,” he says, pausing for a few seconds and continues, “And the Terran Council unanimously agrees to go to war.”
Then all eyes fall on me. For a brief moment, I am confused whether I have actually heard the Speaker. But it’s only a few moment before I turn to address the Terran Council and the media bots that are hovering about. The signal is being boosted through the Edoris Space Station and being broadcasted past what used to be called the Anderson Nebula but we are renaming the Mariner Nebula. It’s going into what we believe to be Sonali space. I hope it reaches their home world.
I make it short and precise.
“For the brazen, unprovoked, and unapologetic destruction of Terran Union Starship The Mariner, as well as an entire Terran fleet when they came in peace, I, President Joshua Harmon of the Terran Union hereby, with approval from the Terran Council, invoke Article X1 of the Constitution and declare war on the race that we have been able to name the Sonali Combine.
“I hereby order the Terran Armada to galvanize all its arms and divisions towards a war to bring the Sonali to their knees. I order the Armada to also fast track all its weapons manufacturing and testing process. I hereby order all corporations to begin immediate research and development into improving Terran Union Ships to withstand the Sonali war machine. Finally, I appeal to all citizens of Terran Union to remain calm during these times.
“God help us all.”
One more year. That’s all it would have taken.
The entire Council stands and applauds. They’re yelling and screaming for blood.
The Speaker comes and clasps my hands. For the first time this man looks genuinely pleased with me.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
The universe has a strange sense of humor I think.
The kind that will most likely lead to the death of us.
Division 51
I fall through the overhead pit into a musty tunnel with a low headroom, my guns up and aimed. The Sonali soldier turns around too late. One second is all I need to get that perfect aim so I can get a bullet through the middle of his eyes.
I’m perfectly still and in control of my breathing when I squeeze the trigger. The Sonali drops dead before the recoil of the 9mm Berretta.
Behind him is a dead end. There is a cache of weapons—meaning I’m in the right place. The tunnel is dimly lit by light bots attached to the walls.
Ahead, the tunnel stretches for about twenty yards before winding right and out of view. My mission is simple; somewhere in this tunnel system, a terrorist has planted a bomb and is planning to detonate it, destroying the foundation above. The size of the tunnel system makes it impracticable to send in an army.
I’m their best option at stopping this terrorist attack.
I bring my right wrist to my face, palm fisted so I can speak into the tiny mic concealed underneath my pin suit.
“I’m in,” I whisper.
“Roger that,” comes the reply in my ear. “Proceed with extreme caution. Tangos are heavily armed and dangerous.”
I smile as I proceed forward. It smells like gunpowder in here. I should be using a laser blaster, and I should’ve dressed appropriately, but I hadn’t had the time to report to the Armada Command to gear up. This pin suit was what I had ready the moment I got the emergency call, along with the antique 9mm Berretta, which I keep in my house as a souvenir from the days before our space exploration program.
I’m glad it still fires well. All those nights spent oiling and cleaning it is finally paying off.
My footsteps are all but inexistent. By the time I get to the end of the tunnel before it turns left, I begin to hear muted conversations. I silently slip to the side of the wall, pressing my back against it, my gun pointed downward and away. I can hear the echoes of drips of water.
I try to listen in to determine just how many men are around the bend. I can only pick three distinct voices, and that doesn’t suggest anything. There could be as much as six, with the other three silent or watching.
This situation is not ideal. Usually, I would have the support of some tech to sniff around the edges. Or the spaceships orbiting the Earth to scan for life forms. I don’t have all these, because the Armada Command is trying to keep this a secret. What would people think when they hear that the almighty Terran Armada can’t even keep itself safe?
Perhaps, if news of this impending terrorist attack gets out, nefarious forces may begin to get bad ideas. They may not come to Earth. They may go to New Washington. They may go to Edoris Station.
If I fail here, then they’ll know it’s possible.
I take in a deep breath, deciding to go ahead with my plan. I have two options; I can decide to sneak a peek and hope no one is looking my way, or I can jump out and attack them immediately with my guns.
If I take a peek and someone is looking, then they’d know I’m here—game over.
I decide it’s better to jump out, guns blazing, partly because it’s less risky and partly because…well, where’s the fun in assessing the risks and making decisions after assessment?
With my pulse pounding, I slide out of my hiding place. It’s a small cave-like room, and there’s another tunnel in the wall on the other side of the room that leads deeper.
There are six of them, all armed with the latest laser-based weaponry the Armada just sent out to aid the war effort. Three are sitting around a small fire on weapons caches. One is close and has his back to me. The other is just coming into the room from the tunnel. He’s the one who spots me—and he’s the one who falls first. I aim and fire.
Two of the men starts aiming at me, but I’m way faster than them. I leap into motion, and I aim again and fire.
I race to the other three, firing twice. The one who already has his guns in his hands take the two bullets in his chest. Reflex action has him spitting a few bullets and killing one of the remaining two terrorists where he sits, stunned.
Halfway to the fire, I dive forward, breaking into a roll once I hit the ground. I come up to my knees and aim.
The terrorist kicks the gun out of my hand. He tries to hit me with his gun, but I jerk to the right. The butt of his weapon falls through, missing me. I slam my hand into his gun hand, knocking out the assault rifle.
The terrorist makes the mistake of going after the weapon. I shoot to my feet, sliding out the switch blade concealed in my right ankle holster. I grab his neck and jack the knife right into his throat. He struggles, but I hold him tight then jam the blade in deeper.
The man opens his mouth for a scream. Instead, he gurgles blood. I let him go as he collapses to the sandy ground, writhing for a few moments before going totally still.
Around me is death. Six men dead in—I glance at my watch—eight seconds. I’m getting slow, again. I walk to where my gun is, by the side of the man who shot his comrade in calculated mistake.
“Alpha One, this is Overwatch. Come in,” says a voice in my right ear, where the comm device is inserted.
“Go ahead, Overwatch,” I say, entering the other tunnel. Ahead, I can see that it ends in a large cavernous room. I can hear a conversation there, too. I brace, then bend into the tunnel.
“We just received a communication from the Armada Intelligence,” Overwatch says.
My heart quips. I’m almost distracted from my mission.
“What do they want?” I ask.
“You.”
My heart’s suddenly flooded with happiness.
“Your application into the Terran Operations Officers Program was accepted,” Overwatch says. “Now, would you stop what you’re doing? There are some of us here who would rather watch another ensign get slaughtered by those terrorists.”
I chuckle as I get to the end of the tunnel. It changes every time to keep re-takers from having foreknowledge and thereby being opportune. Yet, the basic structure is the same. Terrorists take a hold of weapon cache, including a proton bomb that can level the super structure that is the Armada Command.
Ill-prepared ensign goes in with twentieth century weapons against the latest advanced blaster. Ensign is outnumbered and outgunned. Ensign doesn’t know the tunnel system and receives limited assistance from support staff. Ensign is supposed to defeat all the terrorists and stop the bomb from going off. Only a few people have passed the test in their first try.
“Enjoy the show, boys,” I say into the wrist communicator right before I head dive into the cavernous room. My first shot is at the one with the detonator. The bullet drills right through his forehead, leaving him in the hands of death with a smile on his face. I leap sideways into the air, just as automatic weaponry rent the air. Twisting in midair, I send off a spray of bullets to a knot of two terrorists who are trying to reload. They fall dead where they are.
I land near a stack of crates, taking cover as bullets scorch the air in a fraction of a second. There are five tangos left and they’re mostly at the other end of the room.
I break into a run from my position, shooting widely. I don’t hit anyone, but that’s not my plan. The suppressive fire provides me enough time to round the room and get to the other end.
They’re all surprised when they see me spotting them behind their cover. Their reactions are slow—I shoot the nearest in the head, grab his falling body, and then use it as a human shield. I shoot the second one before he gets off a shot. I kick his falling body to the third, derailing his aim and sending him to the ground. My bullet finds his head before it touches down.
In all this, I’m still moving, albeit slower now. The fourth tango gets seven bullets out before I get in range. I shove the body forward. The dead body slams into the fourth shooter, sending his aim wide.
The fifth shooter looks at the fourth man falling. That’s the last thing he sees before I shoot him in the head.
I kick the gun away from the fourth terrorist and slam my gun into his head. He’s knocked out cold.
“Overwatch, come in,” I say.
“Yeah, we know, we see everything,” comes the reply. “You defused the bomb. You’ve taken out all the terrorists. You’ve left one alive for interrogation. Blah, blah, blah…Tell me, Amanda, did I leave anything out?”
I laugh. “Well, I haven’t gotten around to defusing the bomb yet, but I guess, yeah. Mission accomplished. End simulation.”
The whole dreadful, death prone world around me fades in a flash of holographic flare. Even the pin suit and the 9mm Berretta on me vanishes.
The whole setting is replaced by the shiny metallic walls of the holographic room. The holographic room is a massive empty room with a mobile floor system, so I can walk miles in the thick jungles of Africa without taking more than three steps from my initial actual position in the holographic room.
I’m dressed in a white jumpsuit, which signifies that I’m an officer in training at the Terran Armada Academy. Well, soon to be an ensign. I’m graduating in three months.
A clap echoes across the cavernous holo room and grabs my attention. I look to see who it is.
A man in a black suit and dark shades stands in the circular entry way. Behind him, I can see an escort of security operatives standing at attention. Behind them in the hallway, I can see Mike, my Overwatch for this session.
Not knowing what to say, I muttered, “Hi…”
The man smiles and walks towards me. His escort makes their way to enter, but he turns and waves them off.
He sees the look I give them and says, “Well, they can be really protective. You know, Armada new rules on Captains having security details on and off their ships and all.”
“So you’re a Captain, sir?” I ask.
The man is tall and has a bulky build. He exudes self-confidence and power—the kind who can make anything happen in the Terran Union.
“My name is Vice Admiral Shane Pierce,” he says, his hands stretch forth for a handshake, “Terran Armada Intelligence Services Operations Command.”
My eyes widen and my legs become weak instantly. I take his hand with both hands and even add a curt bow to it. Then I retreat and begin to feel really stupid.
“Amanda Grayson, sir,” I say.
He smiles. “I know a very good operative with that same last name. Any relationship?”
“Not that I know of, sir,” I reply.
Vice Admiral Pierce looks around the holographic room for a while. Then he begins to walk around. I notice that he traces a loose circle around me, speaking as he goes.
“You’re top of your class,” he says. “Best scores in navigations. Best scores in tactical command. Best scores in strategic command. Best scores in field missions. Overall best scores in the Academy since a very long time. Someone with your scores can get any posting of their choice in any ship within the Armada. Why Intelligence and why the front lines?”
I swallow hard. I haven’t known there will be an interview. I know I wrote a lot of the usual dedication, honesty, service crap everyone writes when asked the purpose for choosing a particular posting. But right now, I’m so bedazzled to be in the presence of someone from Operations Command, my dream posting, to even think straight.
The truth is, I only chose this command because I wanted to be in front of the action, not in some metal hull flying around in space and shooting lasers. I like to get personal. Do dangerous things. Take risks. I like to dance on the tightrope between life and death. Many people call me insane. I call myself fun.
The man stops right in front of me and holds my gaze.
I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Honestly, sir?”
He arches his eyebrow, remaining silent.
“Because I don’t fancy staying behind a ship at a workstation and watching the action happen right in front of my eyes,” I say. “I’d rather be on the ground or in space with my EVA suit taking the shots. I’d rather see the lights go out of the blasted Sonali eyes than see a ship explode from afar.”
With the unreadable expression on Vice Admiral Pierce’s look, I hold myself back. I may have said too much and blown my chance at the Armada Intelligence. It’s said that Operations only come to those they want. And the caliber of the person who comes to you determines just how bad the Armada Intelligence wants you.
It’s also said that they can come at any time. Rumors even spread that some people get called right in their first year. Whatever the case, your response during the impromptu meeting determines your fate forevermore. Meaning, if you screw it up the first time, you’re never getting into the Armada Intelligence Operations Command ever again, regardless of how many times you reapply.
The Vice Admiral is still standing before me.
“The last person I brought into the Operations Command said something similar,” he says. Then he gives me a puzzled look. “It’s the same person with which you share your surname.”
I feel a bit relieved. If the person got in with the response I gave, then I’m in good company.
“Can you tell me her name, sir?” I attempt.
He only flashes a half smile, but doesn’t respond.
“Who’s your role model?” he asks. “Who inspired your decision to join the Operations Command?”
“No One,” I reply immediately. “I don’t know who he is, but I’ve read some of his case files in my studies and I said to myself, this is someone like me. This is someone I want to be like. Then I’ve read that he works with the TAIOC, and there and then I knew how I wanted my military career to play out.”
The man laughs. “I see. Welcome to Division 51 of the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command, Commander Amanda Grayson. Gather your things. We leave within the hour.”
He turns and begins to walk.
I trail behind. “Sir, I don’t graduate until another three months. And, sir, my rank should be ensign when I graduate.”
“As of this moment, you’ve graduated from the Academy and your rank shall be Commander—provisionally, of course, until you’ve proven yourself,” he says. He stops at the entryway and turns to face me.
I stop short, before walking right into his face.
“That is, of course, if you accept,” he says.
I heave a sigh and hold my shoulder high. “I will be honored, sir,” I say.
“Good,” he replies. “One hour. Pad 1.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing on Launch Pad 1. I packed lightly, giving away most of my stuff. I’m only carrying a duffel bag with enough clothes for a week. I also have all my credentials, including my official ceremonial wears and Academy jumpsuit. However, I suspect that I’m going to be getting new credentials and new ceremonial wears now that I’m with the Armada Intelligence.
It takes me the better part of ten minutes to locate Pad 1, majorly because most people don’t think the launch pad exists. The few who know have given differing locations around the campus, which has almost driven me nuts. I had to contact the campus-wide AI who surprisingly directed me to the pad.
Launch Pad 1 is located in one of the gardens that form a border between the campus and the outside world. It’s well concealed with lush greenery and with a hidden doorway leading downwards. I don’t know where that leads to, and I’m not really sure I want to find out.
I take the normal route to Launch Pad 1. I find a shuttle berthed on the pad guarded by Marines.
This draws an unintended frown from me. “Marines?”
They all look up at me and snap off a salute in tandem. I flinch at the force and unison of their actions.
I look over my shoulders to see if there’s a high ranking officer behind. There’s no one. I look at them quizzically.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” I ask.
The leader of the squad approaches me. “Staff Sergeant Ronny Michael, ma’am,” he says. “We were instructed to get you settled in.”
“By whom?” I ask. I haven’t told anyone I’ll be in early. Vice Admiral Pierce has given me one hour. I still have twenty minutes to spare.
“The Vice Admiral,” he replies. “He told us you’d be coming in a little earlier than him.”
I nod. “Thanks, Staff Sergeant Michael. Why are Marines guarding this shuttle?”
“Because they’re members of Division 51, Commander,” says a voice behind me.
I see Vice Admiral Pierce walking out of the doorway that leads downward, his detachment of security operatives behind him.
He has a silver button-shaped tag in his hand, which he hands to me. “It’s official,” he says. “All your information has been scrubbed from the system and transferred to the Operations Command and classified above top secret.”
I take the silver button, surprised at its weight and texture. “Why? Intelligence officers’ records are not classified that high.”
“That’s because you’re not just an Intelligence Operative, Amanda,” he says. “You’re now part of a highly classified, highly effective elite commando team of operatives known as Division 51.”
I remember him saying something like that earlier. “I’ve never heard of that unit before.”
He winks at me. “That’s the idea. Come on. I’ll explain more to you in the ship.”
Ship?
The shuttle takes us into space. The ship we land on is much larger than all the ships I know that exists in the Terran Armada. It’s also stylishly designed in the form of a saucer and twin barrel-shaped engines that hand out behind like fins. The design reminds me of one of the space movies made during the early twenty first century.
“Why so large?” I ask as the shuttle comes to stop in the cavernous shuttle bay, which I realize is one of the more than fourteen shuttle decks on the ship. I cannot comprehend the scale of this vessel.
Two muscular, fierce-looking jarhead officers are waiting for us at the shuttle’s back. I come out first and they snap off a salute that makes me retreat and bump into the Vice Admiral. I’m about to fall and the man holds me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I say, my cheeks burning. He only smiles and motions for me to continue out.
I step aside for the Vice Admiral to exit the shuttle. Once he’s out, the two officers snap off another salute.
“At ease, gentlemen,” Vice Admiral Pierce says.
The rest begins to exit from the shuttle.
He glances at me. “Are you alright?”
I nod. “I’m just not used to people saluting me, sir.”
“Well, get used to it,” he replies. “Because as of today you’re the Operations Commander for Division 51. Meet me in my ready room within an hour and I’ll brief you some more.”
The men part for the Vice Admiral to walk out of the shuttle bay, and then they follow him, speaking in an urgent tone as they go.
I’m still standing there when the security detachment follows after the Vice Admiral. The Marines begin to go when I recover from the Vice Admiral’s revelation.
I grab Staff Sergeant Michael by the arm and pull him back.
“Did I hear him correctly?” I ask.
The soldier blinks, confused.
“Operations Commander?” I say. “What does that even mean?”
His face dawns with understanding. “Well, ma’am, it means you’ll basically be commanding all the Marines in this Division.”
“Oh…” I say, relaxing a little bit. I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk planning the operations of a fighting unit. I want to fight. Leading a detachment of Marines sounds just great, because I know that where there are Marines, there’s bound to be trouble.
“Just how many are you in this Division?” I ask.
He smiles. “Ma’am, we are this Division. Come on, I’ll show you to your quarters. You’ll want to rest before your meeting with the boss. He’ll explain everything to you.”
I expect my quarters to be larger than normal because of the size of the vessel. I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed. It’s just as small as what you’ll find in any of the Terran Union vessels. I find three suitcases of clothes waiting for me. Everything I need is there.
On my small bed is a black jumpsuit with my name and designation stitched across it. Above this designation is a small hook, where I suppose the button the Vice Admiral has given me goes to.
I take a quick bath and lie in my bed for a while. With twenty minutes to spare, I change into the black jumpsuit, which surprisingly tightens automatically to fit my shape. I usually don’t like tight-fitting clothes because it reveals just how large my bust is and makes me too self-conscious.
I take one more look at myself, then leave my room to go look for the Vice Admiral. The ship is so large that it takes me five minutes and switching between elevators to find the one that takes me to the CNC.
I note that we‘re in interstellar space, firing to a destination I don’t know.
In the CNC, I’m directed to an adjacent door that leads to the ready room; there are two security operatives by the door. The door slides up as I approach.
The ready room is fairly big, mostly longitudinally. It’s more like an office, but without the sofa. Vice Admiral Pierce is sitting on his chair, reading through his tablet. “Sit, Commander,” he says.
I walk the bulk of the length of the office and sit in the chair across the man.
After a couple of minutes, he puts his tablet down, folds his arms on the table, and leans forward. “You’ve probably been able to piece together what this Division is about.”
I nod. “Covert, Black Ops arm of the Armada Intelligence with elite Marines with special advances, say, like super weapons or suit.” I take one look at my jumpsuit. “I wonder what this can do.”
He chuckles. “I’m afraid it does nothing more than trim itself to fit the wearer’s size.”
“Oh, so I’m wrong?”
“You’re right on all counts, Commander,” he replies. “Division 51 is only known by a few people, including the President, the Commander of the Terran Armada, and the leaders of the Terran Armada Intelligence Operations Command.”
“That’s a very tiny list,” I say.
“We are a very tiny Division,” he replies.
“How many?”
“This ship carries a detachment of super Marines,” he replies.
“How super?” I ask.
“Nanites enhanced,” he replies.
“That technology doesn’t exist,” I reply.
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” he says with a wink. “We’re basically the guys you send in when there’s no hope. We’re the ones you send in when the odds are impossibly stacked up against you. We’re the ones who get the job done by all and every means necessary. With me so far?”
I nod vigorously. This is my kind of shit.
“So, we have permanent bases on Earth and New Washington,” he says. “We have three teams. A team, B team, and C team. A team is mobile upon this vessel, which is the third base. Team B is in New Washington, near the forefront of the war effort, while Team C is back on Earth.
“Each team consists of a three-hundred-men assault group, all super Marines, all highly trained and efficient killers. And an advance team of ten specialists led by a Commander…”
“That’s me,” I say, feeling the excitement pulse through my veins.
He nods. “The advance team goes in first to gather intel or neutralize specific targets or to open the door for the main assault team to move in.”
He pauses and looks at his quipping tablet.
“I’m going to have to cut this short, Commander,” he says as he stands.
I stand, too, saluting him. “I understand, sir. I can come back when you need me.”
He looks up at me as though I’ve spoken out of turn. “You misunderstand me, Amanda. I have to cut this short because you have to get going to the command center. You’re going on a mission.”
The command center is on the other side of the CNC. It has two access. One access from the CNC is for the Vice Admiral and the CNC crew, while the other access is for the rest of the ship’s crew.
There is a circular central table with a computerized interface. There are workstations along the walls with ensigns calling out information and taking orders. There are several officers in the room, each of them in charge of a section of ensigns.
Looking over the map on the central computerized table are the two officers who had met us in the shuttle bay.
“What’s our status?” Vice Admiral Pierce asks the moment we’re by the table.
“We’re thirty minutes outside the system, sir,” one of the officers at the table replies. “We just intercepted an outbound transmission from the Sonali occupation force. They’re expecting a Sonali supply ship and fresh soldiers.”
“When is this happening?” the Vice Admiral asks.
“Within an hour,” the officer replies. “We have to change our plans. We can’t spend another three hours bombarding their generators to take out their surface to space precision guided missiles.”
I look at the map and quickly study the mission parameters. It appears that this planet in question was once a Terran-run planet, but fell into the hands of the Sonali who are keeping the Terrans hostage. It doesn’t say why this planet is so important as to warrant Division 51’s involvement.
Whatever the it is, two things are for sure. One, this case is impossible for the conventional Armada or Intelligence. Two, this mission goes all the way to the top, given the caliber of people who know about Division 51.
“How about I take the advanced team planet to the control room and neutralize the operators,” I say. “If we have control over it, we can stop the generators and divert power away from all offensive and defensive.”
Everyone in the room stops to look at me.
Vice Admiral Pierce beams at me with pride. “That can work.”
The lead officer says, “An orbital drop then?”
“Orbital drop?” I say with incredulity. “I thought that was just a conjecture. We can’t actually dive from a space ship into a planet.”
No one is smiling.
“Orbital drop it is,” Vice Admiral Pierce replies. “Commander, take point on this.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, still shocked to my bones.
Vice Admiral Pierce walks out of the control center, leaving me in charge of the mission.
Within the next thirty minutes, and with the help of Lieutenants Derrick “Bullet” Silver and Prince “Hammer” Shultz, I familiarize myself with the layout of the main prison facility and the terrain of the planet. The planet is a vegetative one with a harsh environment that humans can barely survive on, even after Terraforming.
The facility sits on a stretch of barren land smacked in the midst of a forest. The north eastern section of the area is where the generators are housed. Near there is also where the land-to-space missile system is set up. It won’t be a problem for this ship, but it will be for the landing assault force.
We calculate our drop speed and drop vector. We will be dropping in the light side of the planet, meaning they will see us coming only when it’s too late. If it were nighttime, our reentry speed will give our position away because they’ll be seeing ten fiery objects heading for the camp in perfect formation.
The control center is a squat building under guard by a small army of about a hundred Sonali, both within and around. Apparently, this is the base of operation of the commander of the occupation force. This is where their space vehicles are also located.
There are about ten thousand Terrans imprisoned by a small force of a little above a thousand.
Our entry trajectory will put us right before their front door.
“Have you ever fired a weapon dropping from space before?” Lieutenant Shultz asks me by the time we’re done and heading to the shuttle bay.
I shake my head, expecting the condemnation.
“It’s fun,” he says. “You’ll like it.”
I join the ten-man advanced team of super enhanced Marines in specialized EVA suits that are specifically designed to withstand the high temperature of reentry. We take off from the spaceship that hides behind one of the moons of the planet—the planet does not have long range scanners. The shuttle carries a tech onboard that obscures its signals such that, if it’s scanned by a short range scanner, it will register as space debris. To aid that effect, the shuttle is put in a course for a low orbit swing by before the engines are switched off. No floating asteroid will make a course correction.
“We go down at the tough of our swing by,” I say to the Marines.
They all reply and agree.
The gravity pull increases as we swing by. At the right time, the hatch opens and, one by one, the Marines jump out of the shuttle. I’m the last to jump out. We’re sucked into reentry by the powerful gravitational speed. I crane my neck to see the hatch of the shuttle close and the shuttle begin to exit the gravitational pull of the planet.
Fire engulfs my suit soon enough as we gain speed, a terrible roar in my ears in spite of my covering. Minutes later, we break into the atmosphere, on course for the control center.
As we get closer and closer to the ground, the stretch of land and the squat control center becomes more visible.
“Computer shows about 77 tangos on site, ma’am,” Lieutenant Shultz says in the mission-wide channel.
“Roger that, Hammer,” I say. “We proceed as planned. Once we neutralize the exterior tangos, I want you to remain behind to secure the facility while Bullet and I take the rest of the team inside.”
“Copy that, ma’am,” Lieutenant Shultz replies.
Guns come up by the time we’re in range, and we let hell loose. Tangos fall all around the one story complex. There are small explosions as drums carrying explosive ores are hit. At the very last minute, we pull our parachutes, landing with a heavy thud, a jerk, and then rising up to full height, still shooting.
Then the alarms go off.
“Let’s go!” I yell. I tap a red button on my chest that causes the EVA to crack and fall away from my body. I bring my rifle back up and aim at the open door. Five other Marines form around me and we enter the facility. Clinically, we spread out and kill every Sonali soldier in the building.
The last is the main control center. There are four Sonali techs. Three have weapons trained on the door. The blasts misses me by whiskers as I dive for the nearest workstation. They don’t get any other shot as I cut them down with a wide spray of my gun.
The fourth reaches for the gun of his fallen comrade. Instead of shooting him, I bound for him and kick the weapon out of his hand.
“Don’t even think about that!” I roar, my gun pointed at his head.
He flinches and retracts his hand.
I approach him, stopping at about six yards to him. I look around. Aside from the three dead operators, the control room is abandoned. The several workstations are still running, but unstaffed.
“Power has been shut down, ma’am,” one of the Marine says. “And we’ve apprehended the base commander in his private chambers.”
“Roger that,” I say. “Hammer, come in.”
“Go ahead, ma’am,” he replies.
“Send word to the ship,” I say. “We have control of the command center. Let them send in the Cavalry so we can take back the planet.”
I sense his smile when he speaks, “Copy that, ma’am.”
“Why do you spare me?” the Sonali asks. His voice is like a grating sound. I can feel hatred, anger, and bitterness from it. It almost makes me want to back down.
I don’t reply to him.
“Commander Grayson, come in,” the Vice Admiral says.
“Here, sir,” I reply.
“Good work,” he says. “The assault force is already en route. They’ll be landing in less than three minutes. We’ll need to come up with a call sign for you, though.”
“Roger that, sir,” I say with a smile.
I hear the sound before it hits. It’s a space-to-Earth missile that strikes the control center. There’s a great explosion and I’m thrown aside by the concussion. I struggle to hold on to my gun and aim, but I’m having difficulty hearing and staying awake. The Sonali recovers fast and runs away into the mist of dust particles.
I try to get up to pursue but I’m hit hard by the concussion. One of the marines helps me out of the building before it collapses in rubbles.
I see that the assault team has already landed. They’ve broken into teams as per my instructions and are now spreading throughout the area. The afternoon air is filled with the sound of explosions and firefights.
“What the heck happened?” I ask, now outside and in the air.
Up ahead, I can see a small Sonali frigate fleeing the planet. It’s the Sonali I didn’t shoot. Why I spared his life is still a mystery to me.
“The Sonali supply ship dropped out of FTL without warning,” Lieutenant Shultz says. “I guess they wanted to destroy whatever secret information they had in the control center’s computers. Our ship and the Terran vessel that came into the system chased the ship away.”
I nod. Gripping my weapon, I say, “Come on, let’s wrap up here.”
By nightfall, the planet colony is back under Terran control. All Sonali were killed in action—except one.
Back in the shuttle, on our way to the ship that’s now in orbit along with another vessel named The Phantom, Lieutenant Silver says, “Commander, have you thought of a call sign?”
I shake my head.
“Commander Grayson,” says Lieutenant Shultz as though tasting the words in his mouth. “Co Mander…Coma.”
There’s a rigid silence as everyone looks at me.
Coma. Sounds very badass.
Coma. That’s what Terran enemies will be in when they come face to face with the Operations Commander of Division 51.
I smile. “Coma,” I say. “I like it.”
The Marines cheer.
Part IV
The Celestia
A Terran-Sonali War Story: The Beginning
First Engagement
Corson
The CNC is quiet as the ship traverses the Oort Cloud. There are the usual ambient sounds associated with people working: hums and pings of digital equipment, low conversations between personnel, the occasional soft whoosh of the CNC access doorway opening and closing. All personnel are doing their jobs quietly and efficiently. But the overall feeling is one of suppressed tension. Excitement is a part of that, as is low-level fear and uneasiness. And of course, the looming unknown.
It's all to be expected, though, when one is heading into a possible confrontation. Especially a confrontation with an enemy who has already shown itself to be potentially hostile. An enemy that is also and most definitely alien.
First Contact. That's what this is all about. That's where the unknown has finally come crashing headlong into our reality.
In almost a century of star flight, the Terran Union has spread across dozens of light years, exploring, colonizing, and developing. We're living on 198 worlds at present, and we've encountered untold puzzles, startling revelations, and a healthy respect for the cosmos we inhabit. It's best summed up, I think, in an old pronouncement: “The universe is not only stranger than we imagine—it is stranger than we can imagine.” That quote is attributed to several 20th century scientists, including Eddington, Haldane and others, in various versions. I've always found it fascinating that people in a pre-interstellar society were so prescient.
Given all that we had discovered and learned, there was one area that remained tantalizingly and mysteriously vacant. The eternal question “Are We Alone?” was unanswered. Given the Drake equation positing thousands, if not millions, of galactic populations, the Fermi Paradox still loomed; namely, where the hell is everybody?
It was a damned good question. We've been on hundreds of worlds, surveyed even more, and the only life we've discovered has been land-based and sea-based analogs of Terran animal and vegetable forms. And nothing remotely resembling sentience, nothing self-aware. So, even though old Fermi raised a good point, nobody had any answers.
Until six months ago. When a Terran research vessel operating in uncharted space was about to enter a nebula, named after someone named Anderson, to collect scientific data. Specifically, they wanted to investigate a neutron star at the nebula's center. It was an unrivaled opportunity to find out more about the second densest object known to human science.
Communications between the ship, the TUS Mariner, and our nearest base had been proceeding normally. Then communication ceased abruptly. Repeated attempts to establish contact failed. When personnel on the base became frantic enough, they contacted the Terran Union. Which, in turn, alerted the Terran Armada.
The Terran Armada High Command, after reviewing what little data there was, decided that sending a military vessel to investigate was a good idea. The TUS Mariner was a long way from home—and help, as they were only lightly armed, and no one had any idea what might have happened.
The TUS Mariner could have developed technical problems with its communication arrays. They could have interacted with debris in or near the nebula. Some heretofore unknown cosmic phenomenon could be in play. A handful of possibilities existed.
No one really believed alien contact was responsible, although the theory was put on the table. If aliens hadn't contacted us by now, chances are they hadn't done so out in the Anderson Nebula.
But there were still too many unknowns. And it was felt that an Armada starship was the best solution to try and solve the puzzle. Heavily armed, commanded by seasoned military personnel and augmented by an elite scientific staff, the TUS Seeker was sent to investigate, commanded by Captain Jeryl Montgomery. Better to go with weapons and not need them, than to need weapons and not have them.
When the TUS Seeker arrived at the scene, they discovered the TUS Mariner, dead in space. Lifeless. No answers as to why. Then Captain Montgomery's First Officer, Ashley Gavin, discovered that the TUS Mariner had been destroyed. By weaponry of an unknown type never before encountered by humans.
This changed everything, but more proof was needed. As the TUS Seeker was about to investigate further, that proof arrived.
In the form of a ship of unknown origin. In the form of a vessel far larger than the TUS Seeker. In the form of an alien intelligence.
I can only imagine what went on in Jeryl Montgomery's mind at that moment. A First Contact situation. A Terran ship destroyed, its crew dead. And an alien warship looming dead ahead and in first place for the Who Destroyed The Mariner Award.
I've read Captain Jeryl Montgomery's account of what happened next. I've read it a dozen times. From what I can ascertain, he acted in the highest accord and traditions of the Terran Armada.
The TUS Seeker was hailed by the alien ship. After communications were established, we learned that the aliens were called the Sonali, members of the Sonali Combine, a confederation similar to our own Terran Union. The Sonali are tall, bipedal humanoids with blue-tinged skin. That they are intelligent is obvious. So is the fact that they are on a technological level at least equivalent to our own.
The legate of the Sonali vessel inquired of Captain Montgomery what his purpose was, basically asking what the hell he was doing there. Jeryl responded by explaining the destruction of the TUS Mariner and his attempt to determine what had happened. I'm sure that he must have suspected that he was speaking to the entity responsible. Perhaps the Sonali sensed Jeryl's suspicions, but offered to help in the investigation.
Jeryl politely but firmly answered that the investigation was in the hands of the Terran Union, and no outside help was needed.
Things escalated from there.
The Sonali captain stated that Jeryl was intruding in Sonali space, and that the Terrans had two choices: accompany the Sonali ship to their home world for ambassadorial protocols, or leave Sonali space. His final caveat was that if the TUS Seeker did neither, it would be destroyed, with all hands aboard.
Captain Montgomery's situation was indescribable. The last thing he wanted was to turn First Contact into a pitched battle. Open hostilities with the first and only alien civilization we had encountered? There had to be a better answer. But professional etiquette had failed. The Sonali ship far outsized and outgunned the TUS Seeker. And the Sonali captain's ultimatum was final.
Without another word, the captain of the Terran Armada ship TUS Seeker turned about and headed home.
I can feel what Jeryl probably felt; the anger, the rage at having been treated like a child and told to go back to his room or he'd get spanked. The wish that the first contact with an interstellar alien species had gone any other way than the way it had. The fervent hope that he and that Sonali captain could meet once again in the future, and that he, Jeryl, could kick his blue alien ass.
All of which is why my crew and I, along with the triad of ships I command and 10 more Terran Union starships, are headed back to those same coordinates in Sonali space. Our directives are clear: determine what had happened to the TUS Mariner; open a dialogue with the Sonali, if possible and if given the opportunity; be prepared to defend ourselves in the event of hostilities; and do not initiate said hostilities unless deemed absolutely necessary for self-defense and self-preservation.
I intend to accomplish our directives to the best of my ability. I have every faith in my crews, my ships, and our resolve. So, Sonali or no Sonali, we're heading into the lion's den. And I privately hope that the lions are in the mood for a bit of a scrap, because I'm more than ready to give one to them. Is that arrogance? Perhaps. But I'm reminded of a quote by Grand Admiral Howard Flynn, Chief of Staff of the Terran Armada. He once said, in response to being called arrogant: “It's quite all right to be arrogant, if you have something worthy of honest arrogance.”
I couldn't agree more. We'll see what happens.
But first, we're almost through the Oort, and it's about time for some target practice.
Sheila
I'm in the Captain's office with him and First Officer Drake Prescott. We're going over procedures and itineraries together, seated around a small table. Mahogany, actually, all the way from Earth. It's an informal setting and no one is insisting on formality or hierarchical superiority. We're relaxed and there's a communal feeling of equality.
Every once in a while, Corson glances over at me and raises an eyebrow, then looks away. I smile. I know that he's silently sending a question along the lines of 'Everything okay?' or something similar.
I think back to the beginning, to when and where we first met.
He interviewed me for the Science Officer billet aboard his ship a little over two years ago. I was on another ship patrolling the sectors along the Outer Colonies and, frankly, it was a whole lot of boring followed by a whole lot of more boring, with no end in sight. I had finally had enough and put in a request for transfer. With, I'd hoped, a chance to land somewhere where something actually happened.
Captain Gibraltar spoke with me at length shortly after that. He had been coming back off-tour on his way to Earth and had been interested enough by my resume to stop and take some time for me. I was impressed. He was evidently sincere about wanting qualified people, and wanted to meet them in person. And he was definitely interested when he learned I was a graduate of the Rhine Research Center in North Carolina on Earth.
“I only know about the Rhine from what I read on the OmniNet and from what I've heard,” he said. “Could you tell me a little more about it?”
I was only too happy to do so. “There's very little of worth about the Rhine on the ONet, Sir,” I answered. “We study parapsychology. I mean, study it. Contrary to what the lay populace thinks, it's a scientific investigation of interactions between living organisms and their external environment. Some of those interactions seem to transcend the known physical laws of nature. We're interested in those. Parapsychology can be described as a component of the broader study of consciousness and the mind.”
He nodded. “What are some of the areas that you concentrate on?”
“We delve into five main areas, Captain. Telepathy, precognition, clairvoyance, psychokinesis, and survival studies.”
“Survival studies?” He looked puzzled. And curious.
I smiled. “Basically, it's the study of human consciousness, and an examination of whether that consciousness can survive the physical form.”
He looked at me. “You're talking about, what, out-of-body states, ghosts, apparitions…?”
“Actually, Sir, it's a study trying to determine whether the mind can survive without the body. If it can, that would be a useful thing to try and emulate.”
He thought about that and looked away. “Yes, it would,” he said. “Especially in a fight.”
“So,” he said, turning back to me. “Can you employ any of these techniques yourself? Are they of any help in the real world?” He was quietly intense now. I could sense his intelligence, which was of a high order. And his inner strength, his toughness of spirit. Not to mention his utter devotion to his belief system. All in all, he was quite a formidable presence.
I answered as honestly as I could. I knew it would seem like bragging. It often did, to people who were unfamiliar with the Rhine and its aims and goals.
I cleared my throat, and replied. “Sir, I'm a highly qualified science officer. I've worked hard to get to where I am, and I believe my record speaks for itself. I'm very good at what I do. I think you know that, or you wouldn't be here now.” I paused. “And I have an edge you should know about.”
He said nothing. His eyes were fixed on mine. Waiting. Expectant.
I took a breath. “I have a high Esper rating,” I said. “That means some of my senses are far above those of untrained people. I can sense emotion in others quite easily, and in depth. I have some telepathic capability, limited but still useful. I can 'see', if that's the right word, a little ways into future probabilities. That lets me prepare for situations that haven't quite happened yet. To use your words, an especially good trait to have in a fight.”
I waved my hand around the office. “In other words, Captain, I believe I can be of value. To you, to your crew, to the Union, and to the Armada.”
Captain Gibraltar continued looking at me for a few moments. I could feel wheels turning in his mind. Then he got up and walked over to one of the view screens set in the bulkhead. He stood and stared out at the inky, star-flecked panorama of space.
“I'm looking for some good people,” he said. He turned and looked at me. “People like you. I have a hunch that something big is coming. I don't pretend to know what that is. It's just a feeling. You're probably familiar with that.” He grinned, then sobered. “I want to be prepared for it. And I need the best people to do that.”
He walked over to where I sat at the table. “I have an open billet for Science Officer aboard the Celestia. I can't promise you exotic vacations and haute cuisine. But I can promise you that you'll never be bored. Interested?”
I stood up and smiled. I couldn't help myself. “Very much, sir.” was all I could manage.
“Good. Very good. I'm going to ram your request for transfer through. I'll speak to your C.O. and forward it through to Armada Central.” He looked down at some papers on the table, then back at me.
“Go to your quarters and start packing, Lieutenant. Say your good-byes and all that. I'll see you on board the Celestia at 0800 hours tomorrow.”
“Yes, Sir. Will report as ordered.” I saluted, turned, and walked toward the door.
“Oh, and Lieutenant,” he said.
I turned back and he said, “Good to have you aboard.” And winked.
“Good to be aboard, Sir,” I said, and left. I was on top of the world.
And that brought me back to the present.
Corson is speaking. “... almost out of the Oort, then. Good. Before we engage FTL and proceed to our destination, I want to call the fleet to a temporary halt. It's a long haul ahead, and I want to conduct a weapons test before we're underway. We're not likely to get a better opportunity.”
He looks at his First Officer. “Drake, contact each captain of all the ships. Give them a heads up.”
He then turns to me. “Sheila, find me a target. There's a lot of floating rock out here. It shouldn't take long.”
I nod. “How big do you want it, Captain?”
Corson laughs. “‘Captain’? Come on, Sheila. This is liberty hall in here. We don't stand on ceremony. You can spit on the deck and call the cat a bastard.”
Drake and I laugh along with him. “Okay, Corson,” I say. “How large a hunk of rock do you want me to find?”
“Ceres-size will do it. That would be about as big as Texas. Lots of target area.”
“Got it.” I look down at my notes, then at Drake. “Anything else before we break?”
Corson shakes his head and stands. “No, I think that should do it for now. Let's get back to work.”
Back on the CNC and at my station, I start scanning for suitable targets in the debris field. The Oort is ancient, dating from the formation of the solar system when our sun first ignited and flung untold tons of matter outward in all directions. And there are billions of rocks out here to choose from. All shapes and sizes, slowly spinning in dark, lonely isolation.
The ship is running sub-light, using our nucleonic drive. We can theoretically reach .75 C using nucleonic, but we're down to a virtual crawl, scanning, weighing, searching.
Amongst the debris, I find something that seems promising. I zoom in long-range. It looks perfect.
I take a tablet over to the Captain. “Sir,” I say.
He looks up. “You have something, Commander?”
I hand him the tablet. “I think so, sir. It's the right size, and it's not too far from our present position.”
He studies the tablet. “How far, then?” He's interested.
“A little over 500 kilometers, Sir.”
He's satisfied. “Good job, Commander.”
He turns to Commander Prescott. “Prescott, bring us to within 150 kilometers of the object. And notify the Maverick and the Aurora to follow suit. Tell the other ships to stay close and standby. Initiate full stop at the designated distance, and instruct the two cruisers to take up positions on our flanks.”
“Aye, Sir.”
We're underway toward the object. I can sense the CNC personnel's excitement at the upcoming weapons test. They're all anxious to see a demonstration of the triad's armament.
I should feel the same way, but I don't.
I don't say anything. But I have a bad feeling growing in my gut. I don't know why, but I can't ignore it. Perhaps it will pass. Maybe it's nothing but free-floating anxiety. Or pent up tension about the nature of our mission.
But I doubt it. I really, really doubt it. Damn.
Drake
We've reached the Oort target, and I inform the captain.
“Full stop,” I instruct the helm. “We're there, Sir.”
Captain Gibraltar nods. “Status of the other ships?”
“Yes, sir. The Maverick and Aurora are flanking us. The fleet is also on standby, Sir. We're all at full stop.”
“Very well. Bring up the object on screen, Commander.”
I do so, and the asteroid, or planetesimal, fills the forward screen. It's an irregular-shaped body, mountainous, craggy, roughly pear-shaped, and it tumbles slowly along is long axis. Even from a distance, it looks huge.
“Magnify, Mr. Prescott,” instructs the captain.
And it's even larger, nearly filling the screen, a primordial piece of the solar system's beginning, awesome and majestic in its immensity.
“Wow,” I mutter. It's unintentional, but the Captain hears.
“Yes, it's big, isn't it, Commander? A bit over 500 miles in diameter, I believe. A fitting target. Bring up Captains Lamans and Ries on split screen, please.”
Both appear on the screen. Captain Susan Lamans of the TUS Maverick is in her mid-forties, with short dark hair and startling green eyes. She's attractive, but there's no concealing her predatory aspect. You can tell she's all-Armada, all the way. A no-nonsense warrior.
Captain Jamison Ries of the TUS Aurora gives the same impression, but in a different way. He's also in his forties, dark hair frosted with incipient gray. And his eyes are like dark crystals, glinting with intelligence, experience, and, yes, danger. Not a man to cross in battle. Or in any other instance.
“Good morning to you both,” says Captain Gibraltar. “It seems a good day for some target practice.”
Both captains smile and nod.
“I want to deploy all our Directed Energy Weapons, Captains. Susan, please employ your Particle Accelerator Guns and ion cannons. Jamison, you'll be using your proton beams and lasers.”
They both signal acknowledgment.
“Where should I direct mine, Sir? Any particular area?” asks Captain Lamans.
“Target the southern end of the object, Susan. Jamison, you take the northern quadrant. Susan, you fire first, then we'll inspect the result. You'll follow after that, Jamison. Mr. Prescott, bring the object up on the screen.”
When I do that, there's a short silence. Everyone seems to be holding their breath, including me.
The captain looks around the CNC. We're all caught up in the moment.
Finally, Gibraltar says, quietly but forcefully, “Captain Lamans, fire when ready.”
Multiple beams of energy flow into the object, incandescent streams of incalculable destruction. Intense light floods the screen, blinding and malevolent. I filter it down immediately. We watch as the overpowering glare on the planetesimal slowly fades into nothingness.
“Cancel the filter, Mr. Prescott,” says the captain. “Let's take a look.”
The object has undergone an amazing transformation. It looks like about half of it is simply gone. In its place are millions of fragments of all sizes, blowing away in all directions.
“Results, Mr. Prescott?” asks the captain.
“The object has lost forty-four percent of its mass, sir. That mass is now debris.”
The captain smiles. “Okay. Good job, Susan. Jamison, you're up. Let's see what you can do. Fire when ready.”
Instantly, the object is bathed in green and blue light, and it seems to turn into a blinding, multicolored explosion. Again, I have to turn up the filter. When the luminous bedlam fades, there is nothing left but more rocks, billions of them flying blindly into the night.
“Status, Mr. Prescott?” asks the captain.
“The planetesimal is gone, Sir,” I respond. “Nothing left but rubble.”
He nods in satisfaction. He turns to the other two captains now on the screen. “Good job, both of you, and well done. Thank you. You can power down now.”
The captain turns to me. “Let's give the Harpies some exercise, Commander. Inform the squadron head that he's to release half of them for some agility maneuvers and let them take a few potshots at some rocks.”
Smiling, I say, “Very good, Sir. Will do.”
Harpies are only part of a carrier's arsenal, which is what the Celestia is, of course. The other starships on this mission, including TUS Aurora and TUS Maverick are heavy cruisers. Those ships are 2500 feet in length and designed for heavy offense, supporting the weapons just used, and high-caliber force fields for defense. Formidable ships, those.
Carriers, however, are of a different breed. Some 4400 feet long, the Celestia and its brethren are modeled after planetary, seagoing aircraft carriers of bygone eras. We carry a squadron of 80 Harpies, one-man fighters endowed with speed, agility, and weapons which include lasers and particle accelerators. They also carry high-energy missiles, but these are normally used for in-atmosphere conflicts with aircraft, as it's considered that they're ineffective against a major ship's force field protection.
On the CNC, we watch as Harpies from the Celestia fly out and amidst the scattered debris of the planetesimal's debris field. Swooping and engaging in impressively agile maneuvering, they dart in and out and around the millions of rocks, shooting at will and turning many into dust. It feels good to have them aboard.
After 30 minutes, Captain Gibraltar calls and halt to the maneuver, and the Harpies return to the ship. Everyone feels that the exercise was good for morale and the mood on board is considerably lightened.
The next communication is from the captain. “Attention, all hands aboard the Celestia, the Maverick, the Aurora, the Iris, the Magus, the Lysander, the Griffin, the Mercury, the H.R. Wells, the Santa Maria, the Hornet, the York, the Wesley and the Lexington. This is Captain Gibraltar. A big thanks to everyone for their participation in the exercise. It went very well, and you should all feel more than ready for the upcoming assignment. We will be departing in ten standard minutes for our destination, where we hope to recover the debris and re-open the investigation of TUS Mariner. Captain Montgomery’s report is with you all. I suggest you read it and familiarize yourself with what happened and why the investigation was aborted. We need to determine if these Sonali were the cause for the destruction of our ship. It's a long trip, but we have more than enough to keep us busy on the way. Everyone, prepare for interstellar. Captain out.”
He then addresses the helm with, “Lieutenant Cooper, ahead, FTL 3. Apply.”
“Applying, Sir,” says the helmsman. And we feel that slight, otherworldly shifting of reality as the ship wraps itself in an N-space warp field and begins interstellar transit via FTL.
Developed by the legendary Dr. Denos Mitchel in 2103, the drive allows us to travel up to one light year per day, ship's calendar, and is calibrated up to FTL 5. The captain had selected FTL 3, which is already very, very fast. Evidently, we weren't going to dawdle.
He motions me over to his command chair. “So, first, what's your impression of the exercises? I thought they went rather well.”
I agree. “And I think they were good for the crews, too, Sir.”
“Absolutely.” He seems to muse for a moment, then says, softly, “I pray there are no Sonalis at the rendezvous point looking for trouble. And I pray for them if they are. You have the CNC, First.” And he gets up and heads for his office.
Stretching, I walk over to Sheila's station, where she's glued to her instruments.
“Hey, Sheila,” I say.
She turns and smiles. “Hey, Drake. What's up? Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just need some limbering up. When we go off duty, do you feel like joining me in the gym? I heard you were a martial artist, and I thought about doing some light sparring.”
“Sure,” she says, “I'd like that. I could use some activity, too.”
“Great. See you then.”
Interlude: Sheila
Drake is incredible. I've never sparred with anyone remotely on his level. We went at it for fifteen straight minutes, a long time for full-contact, no-break sparring, and I barely escaped with all of my limbs and organs intact.
And I'm no slouch. Not a professional, no, but I've been studying baguazhang since I was a kid, and I've learned from the best teachers I've ever known. But against Drake? I felt like a baby. He moves faster than anything human I've ever seen. And he's as agile as quicksilver. He moves like intelligent water. I was able to survive thanks to my Rhine-backed prescience. He only grazed me, couldn't seem to connect the way he knew he should. Thank god. But now that we're resting, I can see he's puzzled. Very puzzled.
“What are you, Sheila?” he finally asks. “Are you Boosted? Nanites? What? I've trained nanite-imbued spec ops guys, sparred with them. None of them have what you have. None.”
I laugh. “Rhine-based training,” I answer. “For years. I'm a graduate.”
His eyes widen. “Oh, wow, parapsychology and all the rest of it, huh?”
I rub my shoulder, where a kick grazed my deltoid. It hurts. “Yeah.” I grin. “And all the rest of it. But what about you? I've never seen anyone do what you do. What's your story?”
“Studying with old Chinese adepts,” he says. “Daoist priests. They're still around, if you can find them. Centuries of chi theory and practice, those guys. They study many of the same things you probably do. They taught me well.”
“Yeah, I've heard stories from the captain about you and those nanite guys going at it. Did you beat them?”
His turn to smile. “They're pretty tough to beat,” he says evasively. “You're tougher. I could barely touch you.” He pats me on the shoulder. “It's good to have you on our side.”
I nod in appreciation. I start to respond, falter a bit. He notices.
“You okay, Sheila?”
I shake my head dismissively. “I—I don't know.” I answer truthfully.
He's instantly concerned. “What's wrong?” he asks softly.
I look at him, hesitate, and then finally say, “It's my prescience, I think.”
He just looks at me, waiting.
“There's a problem,” I croak. “It's coming.”
He looks at me funny. “It's coming? What's coming?”
“I don't know. That's the problem.”
He just watches me as I walk out of the gym.
Sheila
It's been a long flight.
And now we're here, or nearly so. Captain Gibraltar has stopped the fleet half a light out from where the Mariner was last known to be, just outside the Anderson Nebula, which the government is officially renaming the Mariner Nebula. He's called me and Drake into his office, along with Tactical Officer Reinhardt Shultz and Engineering Officer Rob Schneider.
It will be our last meeting before proceeding to our final destination.
The mood is grim. Everyone knows this could be a very bad situation. No one truly knows it will be, but the possibility is real, based upon Captain Jeryl Montgomery's report. The Sonali are an unknown, but a possibly hostile unknown.
“I just want to make sure that everyone knows the gravity of the situation,” he says. “We don't know if the Sonali have a presence near the nebula. There could be stations, fleets, we don’t know. But what we do know is that if the Sonali are there, we'll deal with them. And that's it, in a nutshell.”
He looked at us all, one by one. “Any questions?”
There weren't any. “All right, then, let's get back to our stations.”
Back on the CNC, Corson gives directions to the helmsman. “Lieutenant Cooper, drop us into FTL 2 and bring us out two hundred and fifty miles from the Mariner's position.”
The field takes hold of the ship and we are wrenched forward into the night. Only briefly, though, and we exit the faster than light and hang in space. Off the starboard flank, the nebula shines in polychromatic splendor. The rest of space is ablaze with suns.
“Commander Fornis, based on the information from The Seeker, are you picking up the debris of the Mariner?” asks the captain.
“Yes, Sir,” I reply. “It's there, two hundred and fifty miles ahead.”
“Very good. Helmsman, give us forward thrust. Ease us in slowly.”
“Captain,” I say. “There's something else, too, Sir.”
He looks at me. “What is it, Science?”
I look back at him. “There's another ship in the area of the debris field of Mariner, Sir. It's of unknown configuration. And it's big, Sir. Very Big.”
He considers for a moment. The tension on the CNC is as thick and heavy as lead.
“Proceed, Helm,” he orders. “Steady as she goes. And give me a visual.”
A ship appears on the forward screen. It's enormous. It bristles with visible weapons ports. And, according to Jeryl Montgomery's description, it is Sonali.
“Bring us to one thousand yards of the ship, Helm,” says the captain. “Then full stop.”
“Almost there, Captain,” says Lieutenant Cooper. “At one thousand yards, Sir. Full stop.”
We can see the gigantic Sonali ship on the screen, dwarfing us. It just hangs there. We can see port lights, running lights, miscellaneous others. Otherwise, there are no other signs of life or movement.
“Science, what can you tell me about that ship?” asks the captain quietly.
“Sir, it's larger than our carrier. Almost as large as two heavy cruisers, sir. Weapons capability unknown. But formidable, certainly.”
Corson seems to sigh, then says, “Okay, then. Science, we may as well hail them using the signaling protocol they used with The Seeker.”
“No need, Sir. They're hailing us.”
“Bring it up.”
And there it is on the screen. A Sonali. Skin tinged of blue, slits for eyes and ears, and humanoid.
For a moment, he just looks at us, saying nothing.
Then, “I am Legate Lonen of the Sonali Combine. You are intruding in restricted Sonali space. Identify yourself immediately and state your business here.”
Corson stares back without speaking. Then he replies, “I am Captain Corson Gibraltar of the Terran Union starship Celestia. We are here to recover the remains of a Terran Union exploratory ship and bring it back to our home world for analysis. We come in peace and have no hostile intentions.”
The Sonali appears to sneer, if I can anthropomorphize for an instant, then responds.
“In peace? And yet you come in a fleet of warships? That hardly seems non-hostile, Captain.”
“Based upon our last contact, we were unsure of what to expect. We are also far from home, and space is vast, as you well know. One is never sure of what may be encountered.”
“As Legate Ghosal told your Captain Jeryl Montgomery at that time, the Sonali had nothing to do with your exploratory vessel,” he says lightly. And then he turns grim, saying, “And, to repeat what your captain was told, I am telling you the same: Leave this sector immediately, or you and your ships will be destroyed.”
Corson responded immediately. “With all due respect, Legate, we cannot do that. We are under orders to retrieve Terran Union property, and any deceased on board, and return it to Terran space. I hope you can understand our position.”
The Sonali is equally immediate. “I understand your position quite well, Captain,” and his slits narrows. “You have invaded Sonali space without authorization. You refuse a direct order of compliance to vacate said space. And you are disguising your obvious military intentions beneath a thin facade of peace. You leave me no choice. Good-bye, Captain Gibraltar. May you and your soul rest in peace.”
Then he is gone, and chaos erupts.
“Captain,” I yelp, “the Sonali ship has erected its force fields and its weapons are charging!”
“Defense shields up!” barks Corson. “Red alert! All weapons activate!”
Klaxons blare. The CNC is a-scramble. And the comms go crazy.
On the main screen, several of the ships are hit all at once with a horrifying burst of energy. Plumes of smoke and liquid metal plunge outward.
“Maverick, Iris, Griffin, Mercury, Santa Maria, H.R Wells and Wesley sustained direct hit!” I yell. “Their comms are down!”
“Return fire!” yells Corson. “All ships and all weapons! Fire at will!”
On the screen, the Sonali ship is lit up with inward-tracing fire from the fleet. Coruscating destruction splashes against their fields. But little appears to get through. The Sonali continues to fire.
The Celestia lurches, a gigantic shudder. Our comms continue to scream.
“Impact on our starboard side! Hull breech on decks five and six!”
“Four ships are firing but their shields are down! Destruction imminent!”
Captain Gibraltar stares at the screen in silent fury. He is maintaining composure under fire with amazing solidity.
“Attention, squadron. Launch all Harpies! Attack Sonali ship from all quarters! Celestia will be taking evasive action!”
We feel a shudder as our squadron of Harpies emerges and engages the Sonali. They are encircling the ship like mosquitoes. Their weapons stab and sting at the alien's shields, with little or no effect.
“It's too big! It's like fighting a mountain!” exclaims one of the Harpy pilots.
“Stay close, go for the life support systems!” says another.
“Going in! Opening lasers to full—” and he is gone.
Space is exploding all around us.
And then, we see it—all at once, the Sonali ship fires full force on several of our ships, dissolving them to nothing.
“Captain! Maverick, Iris, Griffin, Mercury, Santa Maria, H.R Wells and Wesley are gone! The Aurora, Magus, Lysander is taking fire, she's hit and listing bad!”
“All batteries target the Sonali life support now!” commands Corson. “Concentrated fire!” Energy flows from our ship, only to be absorbed by the Sonali's fields.
The Celestia lurches again. A sickening groan permeates the ship. CNC lights dim, then return.
“Reserve power to CNC!” orders Corson. The lights steady, but hell is happening outside. The Maverick and several other ships are reduced to nothingness. The Celestia, Aurora, Hornet, Magus, Lysander, York and Lexington continue to take hits. There is no respite in sight.
Then one of the Harpy pilot's voice chimes through the din. “I've got an idea! Red Four and Five converge on me! We're going in! Use our missiles. Beam weapons can't faze their fields! Let's see what missiles do!”
Amidst the chaos, part of my mind catalogs the Harpy missile's warhead: dense, highly active chemical concoctions capable of obliterating a small town. Wordlessly, I watch the main screen and see three Harpies launch volleys of missiles …
And they penetrate the Sonali ship's skin! They're through the fields and tearing holes in the armor. Glorious in their destruction.
“This is Lieutenant Maris on Harpy Sixteen! The missiles work! All Harpies, use missiles in conjunction with your beam weapons! Target weapons and life support pods in groups!”
A ragged cheer erupts on the CNC. But he’ll still abides outside.
We watch the Sonali ship, besieged by Harpies, continue towards the Aurora and the other ships near it. The Sonali is taking damage, but it's slight, owing to its size. The Celestia continues to take evasive actions.
And then, the Sonali ship does it again. All at once, it blasts with all batteries on the Aurora and the starships near it…and those mighty ships are turned into its component atoms. All that's left is a colored mist in space.
“All batteries fire on the Sonali at the points where the Harpies are hurting it!” yells Captain Corson. “Harpies, how goes your missile supply?”
The response is quick. “Captain, our missiles are almost depleted. We're opening all the holes we can, but they're starting to pick us off now!”
Then, from other Harpies:
“I'm out! Taking fire—”
“Last four birds away! That hole's getting bigger! Oh, shit—”
“Captain, Harpy missiles gone! Fuck! Return to ship?”
“Affirmative! All Harpies return to roost! Tactical, concentrate all weapons on the largest breeches in that Sonali armor! Do it now!”
We watch the screen as the Harpies return. The Celestia continues to pour death into the Sonali ship's broken armor. But most of that power is absorbed by its fields. Even though the alien ship's power is declining, it's still considerable.
We feel another hit on the ship, and it wrenches violently.
“Squadron!” yells Corson. “Are all Harpies aboard?”
“Affirmative, Captain!” from Tactical.
“Science, status of our fields?” he demands.
I give him the news. “Captain, one or two more hits, at most, and we're done.”
I watch him make an instant command decision.
“Any sign of survivors from the other ships?” His eyes are alight.
I yearn to give him hope, but must give him truth instead. “None, Sir.”
“Helm, plot a course for Edoris Station. FTL 5. Apply on my mark.”
“Aye, Sir,” comes from Helm.
“Tactical,” says the Captain, “target the biggest hole in that Sonali bastard's hide.”
“Targeted, Sir.”
“Ready all remaining beam energy and focus it there. Fire on my order.”
“Ready, Captain.”
“Fire,” says Corson, in a steely voice.
On the screen, hellish energies collude in destruction against the Sonali ship's underbelly. For once, that ship lurches as the hole in its armor widens. But still, it keeps coming.
Corson takes one last look at the screen, and murmurs, “We'll see you again, you son of a bitch. We'll see you again someday.”
Then he turns to the helm. “Get us out of here, Lieutenant Cooper. Apply.”
And we're gone.
I'm in one of the lounges with Corson. View screens line the walls and let in the endless panoply of stars and night. It's just the two of us. He had called me in to go over some aspects of the report he was going to give to Admiral Flynn. He wanted a scientific correlation of energy ratios concerning the Sonali ship's evident force field strength and its ability to generate such a high degree of power to its weapons systems. He was looking for anything of import that he could pass on to the Union. He was also looking for some redeeming morsel that he could point to that would somehow ameliorate the horrifying disaster we had just suffered—the loss of so many good lives, the defeat by a superior military force, and the horrifying implications of what would probably follow.
Repairs are being made, slowly, while we are en route to Edoris Station. Those with injuries are being treated in sick bay; the dead rest in cryo awaiting disembarkation at home; and we are searching for some answers. Any answers would do.
“We did discover one Sonali Achilles Heel,” I offer.
He looks up. Overwhelming weariness shows in his eyes, mute testimony to the burden he is shouldering as Captain of the Celestia.
“The Harpies,” I elaborate. “How they discovered that the Sonali shields don't work against explosive chemical munitions. Rather fortuitous, I would say. And I'm sure it'll be useful in the eyes of the Armada.”
“If we'd only had bigger ones,” he comments, “and about a thousand of them. They might have made a difference.” He looks around, idly. “But I don't know. I really don't know.”
The gloom is palpable. It's easy to know why. I don't think there's anyone aboard who hasn't contemplated what the future may hold. It's especially clear to me, damn that Rhine perception. I'm trying my damnedest to remain at least somewhat optimistic, but I fear it's a losing battle. Another losing battle. And I don't know quite how to handle it. I just know that, somehow, I must.
The silence deepens between us, thickening toward despair.
Finally, Corson rouses himself. “I have to put a slipstream call into Admiral Flynn,” he says. His voice sounds like death. “You and Drake continue handling repairs. Assign teams in designating the most crucial areas, please. I'll be here if you need me.”
I expect him to get up and go to his office, but he doesn't. He remains sitting, as if he's not sure where to go. Or what to do. My heart is breaking for him.
“Corson,” I say. “What will we do? Is it over? Is this the end?”
“No, it's not the end,” he says softly. “I can only wish it were. I might be able to live with that.”
I look at him, at his pain. “What do you mean?” I murmur.
He looks out at the stars, then back at me in sorrow. “It's only the beginning.”
I stare mutely at his anguish, then look out into the infinitude of space and its inescapable destiny. Until everything wells up in my eyes and runs down my face.
The Pax Aeterna Universe
Pax Aeterna is the name of the science fiction universe created by Trevor Wyatt. It explores humanity as it explores and grows in its journey into the stars, taking its place amongst other species in the universe. The series features around human conflicts, internal as well as those external.
Included you will find a full length novel and two short stories that explore more of the Pax Aeterna universe.
•The Seeker - The events of the Earth-Sonali War from the perspective of the crew of TUS The Seeker
•The Mariner - It was a routine investigation. Stellar phenomena. Nothing major. A blip on the road to shore leave. Except the crew of The Mariner never expected to find what they encountered...In space. Or with each other.
•Phantom - A simple smuggling job gets way more complicated when they are boarded by an Armada cruiser and given a choice. Carry out a mission for the Terran Union, or rot in jail.
After that, learn more of the universe with an excerpt from the Encyclopdia Aeterna.
Encyclopedia Aeterna Volume 1
Timeline of the Terran Union
2024: Formal treaty to set a 25 year term towards political integration between the United States, Canada, and Mexico in an extension of NAFTA. This was agreed to in the backdrop of The Accords of Expedition amongst member nation states of the European Union for greater political integration by 2040.
The first private spacecraft to carry passengers into space, and allow them to spend one week aboard a private space station operated and owned by the Taylor Corporation was launched. The passengers paid $3.5 million and there were 15. They were returned successfully to earth after a period of one week in space.
2025: Realizing that the integration between the United States, Canada, and Mexico would lead to a large superpower and with the addition of a greater political union between the member nations of the European Union the countries of Asia decided that only one course of action existed for them; a political union. The countries of China, India, Japan, Singapore, Indonesia, Vietnam, and Malaysia decided to form a political union with the goal of full integration by the year 2054. The seat of power for the Asian Bloc sat in the city state of Hong Kong.
2026: The Asian Bloc began to exert its influence through a series of trade deals with nations on its periphery. The actions from the Asian block were opposed by the North American Confederation. Tensions rose over determining territorial waters as well as shipping routes. Trade embargoes were placed upon a series of Asian Bloc nations by the North American Confederation. Violence continued to escalate in the Middle East as the countries of Iran and Saudi Arabia sought to increase their spheres of influence within the region. These moves were opposed by both the European Union as well as the North American Confederation but were supported by the Asian Bloc.
An economic contagion spurred by cheap money caused by low interest rates and sustained by a high rate of inflation began to ravage the American industrial and lower skilled service industries. The United States government, in an effort to prevent widespread economic damage began to severely limit the ability of corporations to bring in foreign workers.
Economic hardship persisted in the European Union which saw unemployment rates at historically high rates of 15-20%.
2027: The United Nations sought to lower the level of discourse between the North American Confederation and the Asian Bloc. Negotiations and summits were set to discuss the issues that had caused one third of the world to be embargoed by the other two thirds. The negotiations failed to achieve any substantive results. The leaders of the Asian Bloc began to impose sanctions upon nations within the Asian continent and surrounding areas who were nonmember states in a bid to bring them into the collective sphere of influence. The countries of New Zealand and Australia were supported by the North American Confederation. Australia and New Zealand became a battleground for an economic proxy war between the Asian Bloc and North American Confederation. Foreign direct investment began to be tied to political cooperation by the Asian Bloc. The North American Confederation reacted in similar fashion. By the end of 2027, the economy of Australia had contracted 5% due to a severe financial crisis caused by tensions in the region.
The Russian Federation announced that by 2030 they would have a scientific and exploratory base on the moon.
2028: The advent of large-scale solar energy collection wreaked havoc on the oil-based economies of the Middle East. Two countries were poised to pivot. Saudi Arabia and Iran. From 2017 to 2024 these two countries had built an infrastructure designed to capture and harness the power of the sun. Their neighbors were not so fortunate and the Middle East long accustomed to funding and placating extremist groups through massive social programs and welfare spending now found itself cash-strapped and debt ridden. Unemployment and structural imbalances in the economy caused mass unrest. From 2025 to 2027 the region had been subjected to many droughts and extreme weather. Entire villages were abandoned as environmental refugees moved to the cities.
Severe environmental events including hurricanes and flooding led to the creation of millions of environmental refugees from Bangladesh and the western portion of the Indian subcontinent. Environmental refugees found very little welcome within the Asian Bloc considering that Bangladesh was not a member state. Massive storms, droughts, cyclones, and flooding in the Southwest regions of China led to a destabilizing influence that resulted in the Xin Pi rebellion. The brutal manner in which the rebellion was dealt with by the Asian Bloc received global condemnation and criticism. Warnings were sent by the North American Confederation and the European Union that the brutal manner of the suppression would not be tolerated. The two rival powers saw this as a means to delegitimize the Asian Bloc.
2029: One of the aims of the hardline nationalists in Hong Kong began to be realized in 2029 as American bases in Japan and Singapore began to close under pressure from local governments. However, the American presence in South Korea was nonnegotiable by the North American Confederation. The North Korean portion of the peninsula had been absorbed into the greater Asian Bloc in mid-2028. Now the leaders of Asia demanded the complete removal of American troops from South Korea stating that their presence at the doorstep of Asia was seen as an unnecessary provocation. The elections of 2029 brought to power a nationalist South Korean government that favored entry into the Asian Bloc. Within months entry was granted to South Korea into the member nations. On December 31, 2029, the South Korean government formally requested the removal of US forces from the Korean Peninsula.
2030: The Astra Corporation began to make plans to launch an expedition to Mars. Scientific advancement in space travel had been severely curtailed by 2030 from the governments of the Asian Bloc and the European Union as well as the North American Confederation. The exploration of space was left to corporations and private interests. The Astra Corporation announced that they would have an outpost in Mars by the end of 2031 and that they had been planning this endeavor for the last 12 years.
Tensions reached a breaking point on the world stage when a Chinese submarine was discovered off the coast of California. In a breakdown in communications the submarine was provoked into an attack that led to its sinking by forces from the US Navy and Coast Guard. The Asian Bloc demanded an apology as well as compensation while the North American Confederation demanded an end to incursions and territorial waters by forces of the Asian Bloc.
Tensions came to a head as unilateral sanctions were levied upon the North American Confederation by both the Asian Bloc as well as the Russian Federation. The European Union sided with the North American Confederation and the stage was set for a showdown between half the world against the other. While the European Union and North American Confederation sought to discuss these issues at the United Nations the Russian Federation and Asian Bloc refused to participate citing the archaic and dated hierarchy of the United Nations. They proposed a summit on neutral ground in Dubai which was roundly rejected by the governments in Brussels and Washington DC. Tensions remained high for the remainder of 2030.
Five other privately funded explorations were announced in 2030. The number of corporations who had begun mining and setting up operations in space had grown since the first privately funded space exploratory voyage in the early part of the 21st century. There were now multiple space stations-very utilitarian and sparse-that were being owned and operated by corporations.
The logical extension became the utilization of space for a measure of safety and security for vital assets and people within these corporations. By the end of 2030 nearly every large organization that operated in a variety of countries and economic zones of power had a contingency plan for moving manpower and material into space in the event of hostilities on earth.
2031: The first permanent colony on the moon was announced through a joint venture between the Taylor Corporation and the North American Confederation. The Taylor Corporation also announced a second joint venture with Pan Solaris. Pan Solaris was a company that had been founded through a joint venture between several large technology firms in 2020. The company’s mission was simple; to migrate people who wish to get away from planet Earth. The price tag was high. It was only affordable to the wealthy few. But by 2031 the first of several weekly launches from Pan Solaris was commenced. At its heart, it was an endeavor to build the first sustainable and independent colony on Luna. Construction was slated to be completed by 2033 but the colony was expected to be minimally functional by 2032.
2032: While 2031 had seen a reduction in the tensions between the great powers of the world there was no such luck in 2032. A series of economic upheavals in unaffiliated and nonaligned nations created a mass of economic refugees which strained the infrastructure of the European Union. The eventual solution that the European Union implemented was a complete and total shutdown of its porous borders.
Economic refugees attempted to migrate from Russia, most of the countries of Africa, the Balkans, and South America. By the end of 2032 the United Nations estimated that there were close to 1 billion refugees through either environmental or economic catastrophe. These refugees went from country to country attempting to find asylum and set down roots but they were turned away in most instances. At the same time there was a shortage of manpower in many countries including the United States and Japan. These economic powerhouses which had closed their borders to immigration now found that their native populations have begun to grow old and place a burden upon their social welfare systems. Taxes had become burdensome upon the working populations which led to a spiral of economic uncertainty and instability.
Further economic instability led to a seeking out of new sources of economic growth no matter how marginal they may be. Foreign direct investment was directed to nonmember countries in Africa and South America. Again, tensions arose between the Asian Bloc and North American Confederation in these two continents. The flashpoint for 2032 happened in South Africa where a dispute between the Sino mining conglomerate and the multinational mining operation known as ALPAC reached a head. ALPAC was based out of the North American Confederation. And after a protracted struggle between security forces for both corporations led to a stalemate the country of South Africa saw contingents of soldiers and Armed Forces lending and arriving from both member nations. By December 31, 2032, the United Nations once again sought to calm tensions. They were unsuccessful.
2033: Historians are unclear as to what the exact incident that prompted the engagement between North American Confederation forces and the Asian Bloc forces outside of the city of Johannesburg. However within a matter of 48 hours the conflict that escalated to the point where airstrikes were being carried out from North American aircraft carriers off the coast of South Africa. This led to Asian Bloc retaliation against American forces in South Korea. The American forces had not yet completely left the South Korean Peninsula and there was a token force left in the outskirts of Seoul and a very token US military base. This base was attacked in retaliation for the attacks that devastated the Asian Bloc forces in South Africa. On January 3, 2033 war was formally declared between the North American Confederation and the Asian Bloc. On January 4, the European Union acting on a unanimous vote condemned the actions of the Asian Bloc, recalled its diplomats, and declared a state of war. On January 5, the Russian Federation declared war on the North American Confederation and the European Union and began their invasion of Eastern Europe. On January 6, the president of the United States and the speaker for the North American Confederation warned against further incursions into Eastern Europe citing that the North American Confederation as well as NATO were committed to preserving the national sovereignty of the eastern member states. The president went on to state that no action was off the table. On January 7, European Union forces engaged the Russian Federation outside of the city of Warsaw. Within 24 hours both sides have utilized tactical nuclear weapons. Within two hours after the first nuclear detonation several intercontinental ballistic missiles were launched from Asian member states towards the continental United States. In retaliation several US Trident class submarines launched a nuclear attack against the Asian bloc. While most powers at this point had conceived of and executed a missile shield it was not wholly successful. The resulting nuclear devastation wiped out the cities of Chengdu, Shanghai, San Diego, Brussels, Washington DC, Hong Kong, Beijing, Moscow, Warsaw, St. Petersburg, New Delhi, Seoul, and Tokyo. Conventional forces from all belligerent powers continue to fight for the remainder of 2033. However, after the initial nuclear exchange the fighting was far from organized or effective.
2034: It was revealed in a series of articles and exposés the key government officials from all belligerent powers had devised a continuity of government strategy in which officials and certain key players as well as important citizens had been relocated into orbiting space shuttles as well as space stations and secret colonies on both the moon and Mars. Upon acknowledgment of this fact citizens and all belligerent nations sought to leave the devastation that surrounded them and seek safe refuge in space by the end of 2030. A booming market for shuttling refugees to Mars had opened up led by Pan Solaris.
2035: In the wake of nuclear attacks in an effort to destabilize the opposing powers a series of chemical and biological weapons were deployed against the civilian populations of each nation state. By the end of 2035 most of the crop yielding regions of the world had been made barren. The resulting famines killed millions. Food production was now vital national strategic interest which is now being targeted by hostile forces. No invasion of the US mainland occurred by any foreign power but the central valley of California and the Great Plains were made inhospitable for the growing of fruit. This resulted in massive shortages within the North American Confederation which led to retaliatory strikes of biological weapons upon the rice growing and other fertile areas of Southeast Asia and India. By the end of 2036 the United Nations had estimated that roughly 500 million people had died of famine, biological weapons, disease, malnourishment, and other associated factors. This coupled with the hundreds of millions of deaths from the nuclear exchange led to the final ceasing of hostilities and signing of an armistice in the neutral country of Switzerland. On September 5, 2035 an agreement was reached between all warring factions in the city of Geneva. The representatives of the powers acknowledged that they were severely depopulated, operating on crumbling infrastructure and unable to continue governing their large populations.
2036: With the official end of the war, now known as the Third World War, the war weary and bombed out populations of the world sought to rebuild their broken civilizations. However, by mid-2036 the governments of the Russian Federation and the Asian Bloc collapsed under the strain of too many refugees and too few resources. A desperate quest by self-interested parties led to a state of civil war through much of Eurasia.
The European Union suffered as well with the dissolution of the political union and the breakdown of most national governments. Ethnic cleansing and a deep xenophobia took hold and much of central and southern Europe. Governance had devolved to the local level as cities and communities struggled with intermittent power, radioactive fallout, polluted water, famine and disease.
In the North American Confederation much of the United States was under a thick cloud of radioactive ash with many refugees streaming towards the West Coast the South West corner of the United States as well as to Mexico and Canada. National government, in fact any sort of government had collapsed as officials attempted to size up the damage and prioritize reasserting control and bringing back law and order. The results saw numerous incidents of civil strife and sectional violence. Numerous governments attempted to bring order but each collapsed in a successive wave of violence. This was known as the post-atomic horror.
2037: The Taylor Corporation operating with Pan Solaris established an economic free-trade zone near the free city of San Francisco. There was no state government or national government and the Taylor Corporation began to provide basic services. Within months law and order had been restored to a minimum within much of northern California. Similar occurrences happen throughout the world as private enterprise began to step in to the void left by collapsed governments.
In one of its last acts, representatives of 87 countries out of the 185 and the United Nations voted to dissolve its body.
2038: By the middle of 2038 much of the hopes and dreams of the survivors of the Third World War rested on securing enough funds to purchase a ticket to move to a Martian colony. The end of hostilities did not mean the end of violence as terrorism and civil war ravaged many nations. But by the end of 2038 most of the nations that had collapsed governments had begun to achieve some modicum of control by reestablishing governments either in space or in alternate locations. The provisional government for the North American Confederation was set in Vancouver which had escaped the effects of the nuclear exchange and emerge stronger as a result. One of the first acts of the North American Confederation was to form a union with the European Union. By the end of 2038 the great powers of the world, the North American Confederation, the European Union, the Asian Bloc, and the Russian Federation agreed to a summit in Geneva, Switzerland.
2039: After one year of negotiations a provisional international body known as the Terran Council was established by the signatories to the Geneva Accords. The Terran Council was charged with pacifying and bringing peace to areas of the world that were still in unrest—large sections of Europe, Africa, Southeast Asia, western China, South America, Middle East, the southwest and central United States, and the Indian subcontinent. Member nations agreed to pool resources and reduce violence and instability in areas that had spun out of control during the war.
2040: By the end of 2040 large sections of much of the world had been pacified by joint operations between former belligerent nations. A measure of peace was brought to large segments of the planet. But this did not mean an end to suffering as famine and disease continue to ravage populations-the byproduct of technological, biological, nuclear, and chemical warfare from several years prior.
2041: The Terran Council launched the first joint space expedition towards Mars to set up a base colony that would act as a refueling point for ships headed for the asteroid belt. The ships would be crewed by workers who would mine asteroids for rare earth elements needed for the rebuilding effort. The Terran Council also began the long process of attempting to rebuild pacified areas. The destruction of existing power and infrastructure meant that in many instances the Council was funding projects that advanced growth in propulsion, solar energy capture, food growth, and the ability to fight disease.
2042: A formal signing of Accords between member nations of the Terran Council to work cooperatively to both colonize space as well as contribute resources from their endeavors towards rebuilding the planet was signed. A fund was created and officials appointed to oversee the men and material that would carry out this task. This force was known as the Terran Armada.
2047: The first Terran Council colony is set on the moon. Comprised of 35 scientists and technicians from 15 nations the colony is hailed as a steppingstone towards a greater unified humanity.
Severe environmental and ecological hardship continue for the majority of the world’s population. The view of space as an escape from the ravages of planet Earth are seen as but a glimmer of hope, one that is available only to the wealthy few.
The Astra Corporation announces the creation of several manned space stations and bases that are able to be supplied by a new form of power allowing colonies not just on Mars but as far away as orbiting Jupiter.
The Taylor Corporation announces the creation in five years’ time of a listening post and supply base on Pluto. The stage is set for humanity to leave the Sol system.
2048: the Terran Council announces a set of minimum guidelines and standards for each member nation in the areas of human rights, ecological preservation, rebuilding efforts, civil liberties, and rule of law. The participating countries include the United States, Canada, Great Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, Spain, Portugal, India, China, Russia, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand, Brazil, Mexico, and Japan.
2049: the number of colonists on Mars now exceeds 10,000 people. Pan Solaris announces that by 2055 they intend to relocate over 50,000 people from Earth to Mars.
The Terran Armada is fully operational with a very small fleet that begins to patrol the area of space between Earth, the moon, Mars, and Jupiter. The first manned space flight to the edge of the solar system is conducted as results are reported back. Asteroid belt mining and energy collection is now conducted by over 50 corporations. Scientists reevaluate the length of time needed from 1000 years to 500 years for the complete rebuilding of the planet Earth to pre-World War III levels.
2050: The Taylor corporation begins the groundwork and the initial groundbreaking of the Pluto colony. In a novel public-private partnership the Taylor Corporation receives funding as well as assistance in construction from the Terran Council. The Terran Armada provide support to Taylor Corporation space ships that travel to Pluto and back.
The Terran Council membership grows to over 60 nations on planet Earth. Chief among the resolutions are covenants to lower trade barriers and eventually eliminate them by 2075 as well as greater political integration. Unlike prior attempts to do so in the past that have failed through other intergovernmental organizations the attempts this time are successful and not thwarted by ultranationalist groups who seek to preserve their own national sovereignty. Many current events observers speculate that the advent of the Third World War has raised the specter of human extinction in the eyes of the doubters of past experiments and global unification. What is key now is this war-ravaged planet’s survival. And the only way to survive at this point is for humanity to come together and work towards a common purpose.
2052: interstellar solar energy capture becomes a tried and true tactic for storing and supplying energy to planet Earth. The practice is pioneered and perfected and by 2052 in widespread distribution by the Minerva Enterprises organization. Granted exclusive contracts by the Terran Armada, Minerva Enterprises enters into a period of expansion where they provide solar-based power and fuel cells to Terran colonies on Luna, Mars, as well as orbiting space stations orbiting Earth, Mars, and Jupiter.
The Terran Armada begins active patrol of the solar system.
Terran Union
The Terran Union is the political union that represents the majority of humanity in the Pax Aeterna universe. The main political, cultural, administrative, defensive, and logistics hub of the Terran Union is located on the planet Earth.
The Terran Union is a constitutional republic as per its founding charter but has been described by many observers as a corporate republic. The Union is led by a president who is elected to a six-year term and must then vacate office after the end of that term. The president occupies the executive office and is the face of and representative of humanity to the galaxy. The president operates in a system of checks and balances with the Terran Council comprising the main legislative body of the Union. The Terran Council is comprised of representatives from colony worlds as well as representatives of member nations on the planet Earth.
Determine Union first achieved political consciousness as an outgrowth of the Terran Council as humanity began to expand into the stars and form colony worlds. The actual foundation of the political union occurred in 2063 as the final nation states on planet Earth joined into a unified humanity.
The Terran Union utilizes the Terran Armada for all military, diplomatic, exploratory, scientific, and cultural activities and outreach on behalf of the Union.
The Council of Corporations is an unofficial advisory Council to the office of the president of the Union. The Council of corporations is formed by representatives of the major corporations within the Union and number and 100 representatives.
The Union encompasses 45 billion people spread out over 198 colony worlds over 197 light years. The outer colonies form a political counterpoint to the Terran Union after having broken away in 2123 during a conflict known as The Schism.
One of the primary tasks of the Terran Union, indeed the task that was the primary cause of the Schism was the responsibility placed upon the Union and rebuilding the planet Earth after the Third World War. Rebuilding efforts to date have focused on extraction of minerals, ores, and other manufactured and natural resources from colony worlds for transport back to Earth. However, the Union also funds and develops scientific and technological breakthroughs that have greatly sped up the pace of the rebuilding on Terra.
The Union is also tasked with regulating the activities of the profit-making corporations that serve at times as proxies for the Terran Armada.
The Union operates a wide variety of social welfare and administrative tasks designed to raise the standard of living for humans within the political union.
Terran Armada
The Terran Armada is the exploratory, military, scientific, and engineering arm of the Terran Union. The Armada was first launched in 2050 by a declaration from the Terran Council. It has since evolved to grow into the method by which the Terran Union imposes law and order, patrol space, keeps the peace, and defends its citizens. The Armada consists of starships, star bases, planetary bases, deep space stations, listening posts, as well as administrative offices spread out throughout the Union. The two key administrative centers of the Terran Armada exist on the planet Earth as well as the colony world of New Washington.
The exact number of starships are not specified within the Pax Aeterna universe since over 150 years of shipbuilding, mothballing, and retrofit have occurred. However, the Armada has maintained a fighting force during that time that at first protected its citizens from pirates, as well as other stellar phenomenon that pose threats. During the time of the Schism between the outer colonies and Terra, the Armada was called upon to impose law and order in systems that were in open rebellion as well as to press the offensive and defend the core star systems. After the Schism the Armada was tasked with patrolling the border with the outer colonies. After first contact with the Sonali, the Armada was called to defend the Union as well as prosecute the five-year war that ensued.
The Armada is not just a military vehicle for the Union, but also an exploratory and scientific vehicle as well. It carries out a host of exploratory and scientific measures that include charting new star systems, studying cosmic phenomenon, as well as assisting colony worlds with either unprecedented or routine maintenance and upgrades. Chief among the notable accomplishments outside of the military sphere of the Armada include the mapping of space routes, the establishment of trading and shipping lanes through space, assistance in terraforming planets, protecting against piracy, and working with the various corporate fleets to ensure tranquility throughout the Union.
The Armada was weakened severely during the Terran-Sonali War. Approximately 25% of the fighting force was destroyed. It was the first nonhuman conflict that the Armada had endured, with prior engagements for over the last hundred years limited to border skirmishes with the outer colonies as well as preventing piracy.
The Armada maintains an Academy for officers on both the planet Earth as well as the colony world of New Washington. It maintains administrative offices that oversee several sectors on New Washington.
Those who wish to join the Armada can do so through two means. They can enlist to serve in a variety of capacities with the Armada. Those who seek to achieve specialized skills or servant leadership or positions of more responsibility must enter through the Armada Academy on either Tara or New Washington. The Academy is a five-year program with exacting entrance requirements of both a mental and physical nature. The Academy is widely respected for its teaching and its training of the next generation of leaders within the Armada.
The technological advancements of Armada starships were jumpstarted during two conflicts-the Schism with the outer colonies, and the Terran-Sonali War. The latter conflict saw significant technological breakthroughs in the areas of all offensive and defensive capabilities as well as other technological breakthroughs which have in turn been used for more peaceful endeavors including the rebuilding of Earth from the damage caused by the Third World War.
The Armada has in fact since its inception been credited with lowering the time required to rebuild the planet Earth from the ravages of the nuclear war in half. The scientific opportunities available through the exploration of space have been harnessed through coordinated efforts between the Terran Armada as well as other institutions within the Terran Union including the various corporations that have a seat on the Terran Corporate Council.
The Armada also has a diplomatic arm which works hand-in-hand with the Terran diplomatic corps.
The Terran Armada is generally at a significant advantage when compared to the decentralized fighting capabilities of the outer colonies. And while the first two years of the Terran-Sonali War saw the Terran Armada outmatched and outgunned by the Sonali, by the end of the conflict the fleet approached something close to parity with their opposing forces.
The Armada receives funding that is directly tied to the budget worked on by the president of the Terran Union as well as the Terran Council. As such the Armada has at times been subjected to the politics of the day running of the Terran Union. The Armada is one of the most respected institutions within the Terran Union with most citizens saying that it exists as a force for good in the galaxy.
While the Armada is comprised of a primarily military air the founding charter of the Armada as well as its core principles state that the chain of command reports directly to a civilian overseer who is the Commander-in-Chief of the Terran Armada, occupying the seat of President of the Terran Union.
The Armada maintains an intelligence department conducts intelligence operations both within the Terran Union as well as within foreign powers.
Encyclopedia Aeterna Volume 2
Sonali Combine
Planet of Origin: Sonali Prime
Appearance: Humanoid (two eyes, nose, mouth and two legs); however, they have facial slits instead of ears. Average height 6' tall. Hairless. Body color is a uniform pale blue with some darker gradients of blue on the face.
Life span: 80-90 years
Sexual dimorphism: Females and males possess the same sexual organs as Terran females and males. Sonali reproduce sexually; however, their path to reproduction is complex. The Sonali are sequential hermaphrodites – they are born one gender and at sexual maturity they switch. The process by is called "Ascension." At the age of 18 (Terran years) the Sonali are put through the Ascension ceremony.
Although the specifics of the transformation are unknown to outsiders the following is known:
•Sonali are born gendered; however they are also born sterile
•It is only by going through Ascension that the Sonali become fertile
•By switching genders at maturity their bodies receive a signal to "turn on" the faculties needed to reproduce i.e. ovulation and sperm production
•Before the baby is born it is incubated outside the body until birth
•It is speculated, but unknown if this incubation influences the birth gender
Culture:
The Sonali are a technologically advanced race especially with regard to weaponry. In first contact with Terran Union they had a much greater advantage when it came to combat.
Although their society has no record of war amongst itself, the Sonali have devoted a great deal to defense due to their disdain for most other species based on the belief that many are not intelligent enough to warrant contact. In addition, they guard their advances in medicine, science and other fields closely.
Interactions with Terrans were initially only within combat situations. However, once the war ended, the Sonali were willing to cooperate with the Terrans regarding establishing a galactic council.
Gender Controversy:
A younger generation (pre-Ascesnion age) of the Sonali have formed the Origin Movement pushing for the end of mandatory Ascension. Their belief is that changing gender, or staying with your birth gender should be an individual choice. They also believe that this decision goes hand-in-hand with the additional choice whether to procreate or not.
Concerns for the future of the Sonali race are driving another group (Post-Ascension age) to argue for the continuation of Ascension both as a cultural tradition and as a necessity for survival of the species.
This group called the Ascendents believes that the anti-ascension generation have been influenced by Terrans. They believe that the short-sightedness of Terran society with regard to its own survival and its condition of static gender have "infected" the young Sonali with these ideas. The Sonali population is steady; however, there is fear of its decline should large numbers of the young choose to remain sterile.
Tyreesian Collective
Physical Description
The Tyreesians are a humanoid race. They are naturally short, but strong. They are mostly four to five feet tall, with thin silky skins. The average Tyreesian male has a thick and sturdy build. They have slits for eyes and ears and a closed third eye on their forehead. They have four fingers on each hand and four toes on each leg. Their skin color varies widely, from coffee brown to sugar white. They are not an exactly hairy species; hence it is rare to see a Tyreesian possessing hairs (of any kind on any part of their body).
Anatomy/Physiology
Their entire anatomical and physiological system resembles that of Terrans. They also possess a beating heart and as well as sexual organs not unlike Terrans, both for male and female. Hence, interbreeding among Terrans and Tyreesians is very possible.
Culture
The Tyreesians are a patriarchal society, where the men make all the decisions and the women basically listen and do what they are told. There are no such things as women movements, and feminism isn’t even a word that exists in their vocabulary. They are a highly advanced race with a brain capacity that is naturally larger than Terrans. However, this increased brain capacity is one reason why they are naturally aggressive. The Tyreesians are also very cunning, and it is said that doing business with a Tyreesian is like doing business with a serpent. You don’t really know when they’re going to bite you in the back.
It is a taboo for a Tyreesian female to be unbound (what Terrans call unmarried). Marriage ceremonies are known as The Binding, where a Tyreesian female is bound for the duration of her life to a Tyreesian male. Because the Tyreesian female population is roughly higher than the Tyreesian males, it is not unusual to see a male Tyreesian being bound to more than one female Tyreesian. In fact, this is such a conquest that the more females you are bound to the more you are highly regarded in the society. Barbaric by many standards, especially Terran, but this is who they are. Politicians that will be very successful usually have as much as three females bound to them. Tyreesian female are unable to partake in any election, though they can vote.
Though Tyreesian females must be bound to a male (the lawful age for this to have happened is 25), Tyreesian males do not have to have a female bound to him. Usually, poor Tyreesian males find it difficult and as a result have a very low social standing.
Even though the females don’t have a voice, this does not preclude them from being major drivers of the entire Tyreesian society. A Tyreesian female can be involved in scientific research, trade, education, commerce—basically all spheres of the economy. However, the law forbids a Tyreesian female from occupying a position of power, such as Captain, Governor, or President. If she is appointed to such a position, as some can be because of their extreme aptitude, the female Tyreesian’s master (the male to which she is bound), will rule in her stead. In other words, she can only conduct her affairs by proxy. Of course, this is impracticable in positions that require quick reactions, like the Captain of a Ship or the Admiral of a Battle Fleet. As a result, the Tyreesian Army do not have a female Commander within its fleet.
Politics/Governance
The Tyreesian Collective runs a democratic system across their galactic space. They have a President and a Governor’s council. The governor’s council is the most powerful arm of their governmental system, while the President is really a ceremonial role—though, no one knows the true extent to which the President is powerful. The governor’s council is a council of all the governors within the galactic space and is headed by a chairman that is elected by the council and approved by the population-elected president. Every planet is sectioned off, and each section has a governor.
Elections hold every five years, and hence politics is a very active part of the Tyreesian Collective. In fact, because of their prodigious and seemingly unending ability to be cunning and sly, their political campaigns are usually riddled with maneuvers and tricks and twists that befuddle the un-Tyreesian mind. Many races have described this as watching a blockbuster movie—it’s almost unreal. This led some races to coin the expression “Tyreesian Politics”, which has become a galactic mainstay. Having a Tyreesian as a strategist, especially for peoples of other races, is most times seen as a harbinger of great and mighty success.
It is strictly forbidden for a Tyreesian female to contest for any public office, either for president, governor or lesser offices. It is also forbidden for a Tyreesian female to engage in political rallies, except at the side of her male master. Note that there is no law preventing them from contesting in elections. Many academicians have argued that if a Tyreesian female can head a governmental, interplanetary agency by proxy, why can’t she be president by proxy?
Some sociopolitical experts at the prestigious Tyreesian School of Social Science in the Central City of Zayon have theorized several reason why this is so. Basically, they believe that the cultural mind-washing that has been ongoing for centuries have relegated the females to a thinking that is weak and subordinative. Simply put, most Tyreesian females are unable to envision themselves as more than a male’s slave. These experts, however, predict an uprising that is most likely going to shake up the Tyreesian Collective and lead to the establishment of a new dynamism that may take centuries for the greater Tyreesian population to get used to. They believe that as the Tyreesians interface more and more with other races, the females will begin to think differently.
“Tyreesian Politics”: this is an expression that refers to the application of extreme cunning, tricks and sleights of hand to politics, much like what is obtainable in the worlds of the Tyreesian Collective.
Irivani Hegemony
Irivan is a moon circling the gas giant planet Majriti in the binary Upsilon Andromedae system about 144 light years from Earth. It is the third planet of the F component star, Titawin, formerly Upsilon Andromedae A. Irivan is a cloudy and rather cold world about the size of Mars, though with an atmospheric pressure nearly twice that of Earth. The Irivani have three sexes, male, female, and irimale. Males and irimales are very difficult to tell apart because they comport themselves similarly. The species is triploid, with each sex contributing one of three sets of chromosomes.
Physically they resemble tall, thin apes with six limbs: four upper arms and two legs. Each limb ends in a hand: the upper hands and the “feet” have three fingers and a thumb, whereas the middle hands each possess four fingers and a thumb.
Arboreal for most of their evolutionary history, the primitive Irivani descended from the trees following an asteroid strike that precipitated a world-wide catastrophe, killing off 99% of the moon’s forests. The pressure to survive in a post-apocalyptic environment set the Irivani on the road to intelligence.
Their religion was based on the worship of the Great Ved, who had created the universe and subsequently retired to live on Majriti (known to the irivani as Veddash).
Though the distant stars—excepting Titawin itself—were only occasionally visible through rifts in the clouds enveloping their world, nearby Veddash was a constant presence in Irivan’s night skies. The moon’s forests returned slowly, but by the time they had returned to their original glory, the Irivani no longer wished to return to their primitive beginnings, although their mythology is full of pastoral tales. Instead, they established a thriving metropolitan culture in the trees, with outposts and settlements linked by a system of aerial roads and paths. Fascinated by the flying abilities of the forests’ abundant avian organisms, the Irivani pursued their dream of flight until they perfected balloons, gliders, and, later, powered heavier-than-air flying machines. The moon’s thick atmosphere assisted in their efforts. Once able to rise into the relatively clear upper reaches of their atmosphere, Irivanian astronomy and cosmology began in earnest.
Though there were no planets in the Titawinian system capable of supporting life like theirs, the Irivani were soon able to voyage to the binary system’s smaller component, an M-type red dwarf about 750 AU from Titawin itself—much farther than the distance from Sol to Uranus (just over 19 AU), but considerably less than the distance from Sol to Alpha Centauri (273,196.8 AU).
They found no intelligent life on the small, rocky worlds of Upsilon Andromedae B, though there were traces of long-ago visitors. This discovery energized Irivanian scientists and they set to developing the capability to journey to other, more distant, stars.
Seyshallian Nation
The Seyshallian are descended from cephalopod-like creatures that were forced onto land when the oceans on their native world shrank drastically in the wake of a stellar cataclysm. The pressure to survive also kicked their intellectual development into high gear, intelligence being helpful to their survival. Having evolved into their current amphibious form, the Seyshallian live a partially land-based existence, with considerable time spent underwater. On land, they engage in mercantile and scientific pursuits, whereas beneath the oceans they hunt and grow their crops.
Seyshallian are naturally aggressive. After several disastrous early attempts to come together in large cities as their population expanded, their settlements never grew any larger than two or three hundred individuals. Consequently their planet is dotted with many small villages and towns, in regions analogous to duchies. These duchies or principalities are overseen by rulers who scheme and strive and engage with each other in ever-shifting alliances. Great lovers of ceremony, they put on many festivals and have numerous holidays.
They are also fanatical traders, and a Seyshallian is never happier than when he thinks he has wrangled a deal for himself.
A Seyshallian rite of passage entails a young male venturing into the deeper oceanic rifts in search of a ferocious, sightless predator that lurks there. Many of these eager hunters never return. Those who do are rewarded with the girl of their choice from their native village. The females have nothing to say about this, and some are not happy to be thus chosen by the triumphant youth, who often comes back maimed from his trial and may need to be cared for. As a result, spousal homicide is not unknown, and the wild lands outside of some settlements have become a haven for females fleeing vengeful families. Determined males (or their families) will sometimes pursue the females even there.
Masters of the biological sciences, Seyshallian sometimes attack enemy territory by means of engineered sea life, including flying jellyfish and specially grown carnivorous algae.
Seyshallian are known to be skilled physicians and many find employment in the life and medical sciences. Some exiled females have even managed to win berths on starships, often at great peril to themselves.
Their world closely circles a small, dim star, and has a year that measures less than a tenth of Earth’s. Due to the low ambient light their eyes are particularly sensitive, and on worlds with larger suns they must wear protective lenses.
They are egg-layers, and the females are physically indistinguishable from males save that they have retained their ancestors’ ability to change their appearance through the use of specialized cells with which the female can adjust the color, opacity, or reflectivity of her skin. The females are therefore prized as spies and scouts in battle.
Fascinated from the early days of their civilization by the possibilities of powered flight, Seyshallian scientists, through the pressures of war, developed powered rockets relatively early, when their overall culture was about on the same level as Earth’s in the Middle Ages. Though they never discovered the transistor, the Seyshallian nevertheless managed to claw their way into space using the computational power of a vacuum-tube-based technology.
Reznak Empire
Physical Description
They are a telepathic humanoid race with lightly furred bodies. They have a tail and two antennas on their forehead that resemble studs. They are tall and have a light bone mass, making them high jumpers, extremely athletic and very flexible. The females are distinguished by their whiskers, that many other species find attractive and in some cases arousing. The females also have a very powerful lower body. This is the major reason why Reznakian women are very highly priced as sex workers in some worlds. They possess well rounded eyes and mouth as well as a delicately sculptured snout.
NOTE: Though telepathic abilities vary, they are mostly very weak. There are some, however, who are able to exercise great telepathic powers.
Anatomy/Physiology
They have the usual systems: respiratory, circulatory, nervous etc. They have sexual organs much like any other humanoid race and hence are sexually compatible with them. The telepathic ability of the average Reznakian is weak and is only effective for a short range of a few yards. Also, any form of metal shielding can hinder this ability.
There are some Reznakians with telepathic abilities that are infinitely more powerful; these Reznakians form a secret order that answer only to the ruler of the society.
Culture
The Reznak Empire is very peaceful and peace loving. They are naturally calm and reasonable. They have an equal opportunity system that makes it possible for anyone, regardless of gender or social status to rise to any height within the Empire. Nevertheless, noble blood always gets priority.
The Reznak Empire has a very vast and powerful military. They are also a very prosperous people that have established trade programs with a number of other species. Most of the worlds within the Reznak Empire are beautiful and vacation destinations for many.
The Reznak Empire is also highly advanced in science and technology. They particularly have an expertise in matter transubstantiation, which is one major source of their extreme wealth as they have been able to produce in large transubstantiation facilities some of the ores and minerals that other races have to mine.
Till date, no other species has been able to replicate this technology. The Reznakians have not revealed the science behind this technology. It is said that only a handful of people actually know the science behind the technology—these are all members of the Royal Family.
Politics/Governance
The Reznak Empire runs a monarchial system of governance, with a monarch known as The Supreme, who rules in utter surety over the Empire. Each world within the Empire is ruled by a viceroy, who is a member of The Supreme’s Cabinet. Major sectors of the Reznak Empire are overseen by appointees of The Supreme. The Prime Minister is the one who directly oversees the different aspects of the day to day running of the Empire. The Prime Minister is the most powerful person in the Reznak Empire, second only to The Supreme. The Defense Minister is also extremely powerful and commands the entire military arm of the Empire, including all its internal security organs. Usually, the offices of the Prime Minister and Defense Minister are held by The Supreme’s offspring, which limits the distribution of power to within the Royal Family.
The Supreme may be male or female, depending on who is in the line of succession. A research conducted by the Royal Academy, the foremost, premier college of science in all the Empire, revealed that more Reznakian women than men have held the crown. This does not come as a surprise because the population of females is as high as four times the population of males. The current monarch of the Reznak is female and she is loved by all her people. Her first son is the Prime Minister, while her first daughter (the second child) is the Defense Minister and Commander of the Royal Fleet.
Children of Zorm
This race of gentle humanoids is not based on a planet. The entire species, over two million individuals, lives in a swarm of hollowed-out asteroids in a region of space 145 light years from Earth.
They have a flotilla of ships as well as many large city ships. The size of their fleet is larger than any other known power, but the quality of their vessels is generally less of an offensive/defensive nature and more oriented towards maintenance of the population. When needed though, The Children of Zorm have proven to be formidable foes.
They have been in space for over a thousand years while their planet, Zorm, undergoes an ice age, but they plan to return to Zorm one day. In the meantime, they have established themselves firmly in the asteroids, mining them for metals and ices. Always physically delicate, the Children of Zorm achieved intelligence as do many species, as a result of predation. Before its ice age, jungle-like Zorm was home to a flourishing fauna of giant dinosaurian creatures. The Children of Zorm evolved intelligence to escape the marauding monsters.
The Children of Zorm have no interest in trying to reach other stars, but have successfully launched probes to the other worlds in their star system. One planet supports plant and animal life, but it is too hot for the Children; they prefer their climate-controlled asteroid cities and city ships.
Having two sexes, the Children are clever, strongly family-oriented, and vegetarian.
Kurta Colonies
An aggressive, female-dominated primate species from Lomagon, a planet circling a G-type star. The kurta are very territorial. Lomagon has two moons, Keda and Pondak, and this fact had a great impact on their development as a species. Primitive kurtans believed that the universe was dominated by two warring sister goddesses living on the moons. Each goddess sought to destroy Lomagon because it blocked their view of the stars, but were kept from doing so by their mutual jealousy and enmity. Kurtan mythology is filled with tales of mortals who were victimized or assisted in one way or another by the scheming goddesses or their underlings.
Lomagon is a dry world with no oceans and only a few seas scattered here and there across the planet. Even so, with two moons, the tides on these bodies of water are sizeable, and Kurtans dwelling on their coastlines developed sailing in their prehistory and soon established trading routes and thriving coastal port cities. Land-based caravans also spread kurtan cultures. Other cities grew around desert oases, but given an innate distaste for large groups, the people did not congregate in huge numbers, and to this day Lomagon is rather sparsely populated, though wealthy kurtans have established many large estates. City-dwellers are looked down upon to some extent.
Endlessly curious about their world, kurtans discarded their primitive religious beliefs relatively early in their development, while maintaining their temples and a ceremonial priesthood—males, smaller in stature than the females, being thought unsuitable for more feminine pursuits like hunting and government. Kurtans have occasionally experimented with patriarchy, but these experiments are always short-lived.
Kurtan scientists delved deeply into astronomy and physics, and developed space travel some five thousand years after their culture founded their first cities. Their earliest space flights were of course to Keda (inner moon, rocky and airless) and Pondak (further away, but larger—almost a third the size of Lomagon—and possessing an atmosphere and lower forms of animal and plant life). Three hundred years after becoming a space-faring species, the kurtans experienced First Contact on the planet of a nearby star.
Kurtan children, though born live as are most mammals, are placed in creches as soon as they are weaned (about six months after birth) to be raised by neutered males. The bonds formed between the children (especially the males, of course) and their surrogate fathers sometimes last for a lifetime.