by Nick Webb
“Oh? Which world is that?” Titus peered at the map, trying to recognize some of the stars.
“Destiny,” said Trajan, tapping a few buttons and zooming in on a large blueish star. The system’s technical data appeared next to it. “The Destiny system is home to one of our finest research institutions, Captain. Dr. Felix Stone directs it for us. The Imperial Cybernetic Institute. They answer only to the Emperor,” he said, glancing up, “and me, of course. Top secret, compartmentalization level ten.”
Titus moved closer to the map to read the technical data. The main planet looked forbidding. Average temperature of forty celsius. High winds. Mostly dust. Why in the Empire would anyone put an advanced technology center on a planet like that? “You say we have business there, Admiral?”
Trajan nodded. “Yes. To check up on the progress of Doctor Stone. For all his brilliance he is rather erratic. And depraved, if the stories are true. They say he likes to watch things bleed. Gives him a rise. But details like that don’t concern me. What I’m interested in is if he’s made any breakthroughs recently in his research. The Plan depends on it.”
The Plan? Titus opened his mouth to inquire further, but Trajan was already standing up.
“Captain, I came to realize something the other day. I was thinking about our old friend, Admiral Pritchard. The Rebels still adore him. They idolize him. He’s a legend. A cult figure, almost. And every day that he is not demonstrably dead is another day that gives the Rebels hope.”
“But sir, isn’t he dead?” Titus had seen the intel reports himself, and knew the likelihood was high.
“Possibly. But there is the uncertainty, and the possibility that he might be alive gives the Rebels hope. Something else to fight for. It reminds me of Old Earth history. During the Battle of Beijing in the Robot Wars of the twenty-first century, the last holdouts of the Communist army refused to capitulate for nearly a year after the fall of the regime, all because they thought the media reports of the death of the Communist leader were enemy propaganda. Even when contacted by highly placed officials in the government—the head of the army, even—the men refused to stand down, believing the appeals for cease-fire were a Western Robot ploy.”
Trajan continued his walk around his desk, swiping the top of it with his finger and then examining the digit as if looking for dust. He nodded approvingly.
He continued, “They didn’t give up because they believed they were right. They believed they could still win, and they believed that there was someone out there beyond the city who could still swoop in to save them at the last minute. All of those things were absolutely false, and yet they believed.” Trajan turned to face Titus. “The Old Earth Rebellion is the same. They are hoping for Pritchard’s miraculous return—it’s as if they think he’s hiding away in some corner of the galaxy secretly building a fleet that will fly in and sweep the Empire off the Earth and chase us back to Corsica.”
Titus hemmed. “And so you think that by letting the pirates kill Mercer and his companions, the mythos surrounding Pritchard will be damaged somehow?”
Trajan stopped pacing and fixed his eye on Titus. “Captain, please. I’m disappointed. You really have no idea what we’re doing, do you?”
Titus shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I thought that if the remaining Rebels on Earth see that it only took a few pirates to destroy the Phoenix, that they might reconsider their view of the Pax Humana, and would reconsider their refusal to believe that the November family killed Pritchard and destroyed the Fury last year.”
“Close, Captain. And yes, those are all worthy goals. I commend you.” Trajan nodded at him. “But no, my main goal is to prevent the creation of another Pritchard. The Rebels don’t need any more myths to idolize. No, Captain, the pirates are not going to destroy Mercer and the Phoenix, they are going to enslave them. They will be kept alive and well, and we will ensure video is taken of their enslavement and broadcast over all the news networks on Earth. The Rebels will see the man that would have been their hero in chains. Demeaned, demoralized, and dehumanized before their very eyes. The Rebels will see what happens when good people betray the principles of the Empire and succumb to the chaos of the pirates. And that, Captain, will help kill the Rebellion.”
“Very well, sir.”
Trajan continued his pace around the desk console, circling it and Titus, almost as if a vulture coming in for a kill. The Captain had half a mind to run from the room and steal a shuttle, fly it to Earth and find some mountain refuge where he could escape the Admiral’s madness, but Trajan continued. “We don’t kill causes by removing the leaders, Captain. We don’t snuff out ideas by killing their followers. We kill causes by attacking the cause itself. The people of Earth need to see what happens to those who reject the Pax Humana. I know you’d prefer to send our entire fleet right now to the Laland system and destroy the Phoenix in short order, but if we do that, then another Pritchard will arise. Another Mercer. And after we kill that one, another will follow. An endless bloodbath.”
Titus was surprised. He wouldn’t have thought the possibility of a bloodbath on Earth would cause the Admiral to so much as bat an eyelash.
“And besides,” Trajan sat back down and turned his back to him. “Once the people of Old Earth have seen the futility in fighting against the Pax Humana, then they will be prepared for The Plan. And Captain,” he continued, sensing Titus’s impending question, “you need not worry. I will tell you all about The Plan when we begin its implementation. But for now, focus on Mercer. And the Heron, wherever it may be. Dismissed.”
Captain Titus saluted, and spun around to make a hasty retreat. As he made his way to the bridge and to Ensign Evans at the long-range communications station, he considered ordering the man to let him know whenever he had news to pass directly to the Admiral, but then he thought better of it. Admiral Trajan valued his game of private strategy and subterfuge, and would not look kindly on Titus’s attempt to act as intermediary.
He sighed, and handed the pad to the waiting Ensign. Bit by bit, he felt his authority aboard his own ship slipping away from him.
***
Ben caught his eye. “Captain, they’re not Imperials. But there’s a lot of them. And they’re closing in fast on the Sphinx.”
“Are they jamming us? Why can’t we hear Anya?” he demanded.
“Unknown. Can’t get a source on the jamming signal.” Ben looked down at his console and pressed a few keys. “Captain, the new ships are firing on the Sphinx. I’m counting twenty-one vessels, ranging in size from a light carrier down to a handful of corsairs and mini-frigates.” A hint of a smile pulled at his cheeks, the first Jake had seen on him all day. “And they’re beating the shit out of her, sir.”
Jake nodded, turning to smile at the screen. “Best news I’ve heard all day. Ben, redirect fire back at the Sphinx. Let’s not let them have all the fun.”
“Woohoo!” Came Anya’s voice over the comm. “You seeing this, bridge? Hold on, we’re gonna go help out. Can’t let them have all the fun!”
He watched the battle unfold as the Sphinx, starting to drift out of control, lurched with multiple explosions. Yet she still put up a stiff resistance, redirecting fire towards the small armada of frigates and freighters that now swarmed around her, pelting her with a barrage of torpedoes, ion beam cannon bursts, and railgun fire.
And then, in the blink of an eye, it was over.
“They’re gone, sir. The Sphinx has shifted away,” Ben said, with as broad a smile as he ever let slip past his stalwart veneer.
Jake turned around with a grin wrapped across his face. Glancing at the tactical octagon, he gave a thumbs up, and the entire station of officers cheered, beating the air with exuberant fists—even Ensign Ayala, which to Jake looked a little out of place, like a Buddhist monk at a heavy metal concert.
“Sir, perhaps it’s a bit premature for celebrations?” Ben said, still scowling at his console display. He put a hand through his perfectly gelled, sensible hair. “This is da
mned peculiar, Jake.”
The clapping died down and Jake walked over to the tactical octagon and peered over Ben’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“The ships. They’re moving towards us, but not all of them, and not all to the same spot. It’s like they’re flanking us—some of them went back past our stern, others below and yet others above.” He glanced up at his friend. “It’s like they’re flanking us to keep us from moving. Don’t they know we can shift away at a moment’s notice?”
“Are they charging weapons?”
“Negative. We’ve got no indication of hostile—”
Ensign Falstaff interrupted. “Sir, they’re hailing us. They’re requesting visual,” he said with a curt nod, his longish brown hair swishing slightly.
Jake raised an eyebrow. The custom in space was to communicate with audio only, a custom started by the Belenites, in fact, in the first few decades of exile from their destroyed homeworld. Somehow, it had caught on among most of the Thousand Worlds—Jake supposed out of solidarity.
“Put it on screen, Ensign.”
In place of the red giant star and the smattering of freighters and cruisers appeared a man straight out of the novels Jake liked to read as a kid. A cowboy hat covered the man’s stringy hair, scars stretched across the gaunt, weathered face, and a sly smile pulled at his sunburned lips.
“Imperial Cruiser! I am Captain Volaski.” Jake noticed a thick Eastern European accent, possibly Russian. “If I may ask, why were you firing on your fellow ship?”
Jake approached the center of the bridge and stood next to his chair—he’d still not gotten used to thinking of it as his. In his mind, the chair was still reserved for Captain Watson, even though he knew that was silly.
“Captain Volaski, I’m Captain Mercer of the USS Phoenix, formerly the NPQR Phoenix of the Imperial fleet. I’m happy to say that we’ve commandeered our vessel from the Imperials and impressed it into service of the Earth Resistance Fleet, hence the battle you so fortuitously stumbled upon. If I may ask, sir, what is your business in this system?”
Captain Volaski maintained the tight-lipped, sly smile. Jake wondered if the expression was simply a permanent feature of the man’s sun-beaten face, or if there was something more sinister in the man’s thoughts.
“Business, Mercer, no more. My brethren and I regularly patrol the less populated stars of this sector for, er, let’s just say business opportunities.” The last word rolled off his tongue, thick with the Russian accent, as if he were a salesman in an infomercial back in some seedy bar in San Bernardino.
Jake rolled his eyes. “So you’re a pirate, then.” It wasn’t a question. In Jake’s mind, the one benefit of the Pax Humana enforced by the Empire was the suppression of the roving bands of pirates, both of the organized variety and the lone wolves that roamed the settled parts of the galaxy like hungry hunting packs.
The sly smile lessened a bit. “We prefer the term trade syndicate, Captain Mercer. I assure you, our activities are entirely legitimate. We provide security to caravans of goods and raw materials and ensure their safe arrival at their destinations, as well as trading in various items that the Empire frowns upon.”
“So, you’re smugglers too,” said Jake.
Captain Volaski let out a slow sigh. “If you want to call it that, then fine. When I saw you firing on that ship, Captain, I didn’t think you were particularly the law-abiding type. Especially not arbitrary and cruel Imperial laws.”
Jake cleared his throat. The man was right—they did spring the Phoenix out of a tight spot, after all. “My apologies, Captain Volaski, I did not mean to offend. We are happy you’re here.” Jake tried to sound genuine. In reality, he didn’t trust pirates in the slightest. They were the lowest form of life in the galaxy—the Thousand Worlds were settled and built by men and women of grit and gumption, while the pirates merely leached the spoils. Travel in the galaxy was a dangerous thing indeed before the Empire showed up.
“I understand your concern, Captain Mercer.” Volaski seemed to read his thoughts. “There are hordes of ships out here that you would do well to blast out of the sky. The shipping lanes, at least when the Imperials aren’t looking, are a wretched hive of villainy and piracy. I echo your sentiments: we are glad we found you here. I’m not sure we could have taken out that heavy cruiser on our own.”
Most definitely not, thought Jake. It would have taken twice as many smaller ships to take out the Sphinx, probably more when one considers all the fighters the cruiser could hold.
The man pulled his cowboy hat a little lower over his hair and glanced out of view of the camera, and nodded once before turning back. “So, Captain, where are you headed? As a ship on the run from the Empire, I assume you’ll have need of supplies? Might I ask, how is your stock of provisions? Can we assist you in any way?”
“We have plenty of food and water, thank you. And if we don’t get into a railgun battle with an Imperial cruiser every other day we should be fine on munitions,” he lied. In fact, over the past hour they had run dangerously low on railgun slugs. But Volaski did not need to know that.
“Indeed. Very good. Do you have a destination in mind?
Jake shifted uncomfortably. “Our itinerary is our own. I hope you understand.”
Volaski nodded. “I do. I assure you that you’ve got nothing to fear from us. We’re on the same side now, Mercer. Very well, if we can be of no more assistance to you, I think we’ll be going about our business.”
Jake suddenly remembered his conversation with Alessandro during the morning’s game of chess. If they were to have any tactical advantage over the Imperials they would need the full capabilities of their next generation gravitic drive restored, and at the moment the thing was scaled down to the abilities of a regular one, only far more inefficient due to the non-optimal gravitic field configuration Alessandro had put it in.
The only way to get it back up to its full potential was to completely rebuild the substrate of the crystal matrix, and that meant a whole shitload of neodymium. 99.999 percent pure.
Jake turned away from Volaski, then paused, and glanced back up, “Unless you might know of any sources of rare earth metals. We’ve found ourselves in need of some raw material. Nothing urgent, but it’s just one more thing on the grocery list, so to speak.”
Volaski’s sly smile opened up into a full-fledged grin. This one far less vaguely-sinister looking. This one spoke to Jake of one thing and one thing only.
Profit.
“Well you’re in luck, Mercer. I know of a source of rare earths that likes to keep his dealings discrete. In the Filmore Sector, just a couple dozen light years away towards Arcturus, which is doubly good for you as it is in the exact opposite direction of Imperial space. It’s just outside the official border, in fact.” The man couldn’t help but rub his hands together, and his cowboy hat bobbed up and down as he nodded enthusiastically.
“Thank you, Captain Volaski. Give me a few minutes to consult with my staff to see if it’s not too far out of our way.”
“Ok. Don’t be a stranger. Volaski out.”
Jake turned to look at Ben and Po who stood erect at their stations.
“I don’t like it,” said Ben right as the screen shut off.
Not surprising. Ben was the cautious, almost paranoid one, perhaps having to do with socializing so much with the gun and prepper crowds back on Earth. He smiled wryly. Perhaps they all should have hung out with the prepper crowds more—if there was ever a time to be prepared for a breakdown of society, it was probably then, as the Empire would likely respond to the Battle of the Nine with ruthless brutality. Earth was still in a whole lot of danger, in spite of their spectacular escape.
“Me neither, but it’s tempting, to be sure,” said Megan Po, holding an elbow with one hand and adjusting her neat bun with the other. “The pirate groups are sworn enemies of the Empire, so in a way it makes sense for us to work together, but we’re playing with fire, Jake. We have no idea who these people
are or what their motivations might be.”
“I think I have an idea about their motivation,” Jake said, remembering the man’s enthusiastic smile at the mention of commerce. “But I agree, we can’t trust them, even after their chasing off the Sphinx. But if we can get some neodymium out of them, well, I think it’s certainly worth the risk.”
Ben stood firm, and his frown deepened. “Captain, I advise against it. We can find our own source of neodymium. We don’t need to put ourselves at the mercy of pirates.”
Jake frowned. “Our own source? How? The way I see it this is us finding our own source right now. And we won’t be at their mercy. Ensign Roshenko here can have coordinates entered for a gravitic shift if things look likely to get nasty.”
Ben stuck out his lower lip and would have frowned further, if it were possible. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Po?” He switched to his XO before Ben could respond to his jab.
“Ok,” she said finally, nodding, “but let’s get the coordinates from Volaski and run the destination through the computer. See what we can find out before we get to wherever he wants to take us.”
And with that, Jake knew why he’d picked her as the XO. She was always thinking of the details he would miss in his drive to win. “Good thinking. Anyone else?” He looked around the bridge. He wanted the bridge crew to feel included. Like they had a stake in what the Phoenix did. Because in reality, they had committed their lives to the mission when that first QED torpedo struck the Fidelius three days ago.
“Really, people. I want to hear other opinions if you’ve got them.”
“Captain,” Ensign Ayala raised her hand to get his attention. “What is their motivation?”
