A Memory of Violence

by Percival Arbogast

  Faust left Victor at the helm once more and joined Kanpei out on the dock. “Mr. Kanpei, make certain that all of the necessary supplies are purchased and brought on board. Each shipment is to be supervised by armed escorts. I don't want anyone in here snooping on us. With so many crewmen headed into the station, it's unavoidable that our mission should be discussed where others might hear. Let's try and make it quick so as to minimize that sort of attention, yes? The sooner we get everything we need onboard, the sooner we can ship out again.”

  Kanpei nodded. “Not a problem, sir. I'll see to it that we re-stock the ship as quickly and discretely as possible.”

  “Good. I've left Victor at the helm and a few of the crew on the bridge to support him. The men posted at the doors know not to let anyone into the ship unless they're one of ours. As for me,” added the Captain, indicating a number of station officials at the other end of the dock, “I've got to speak to some old friends of mine.”

  The owners of Anvil Station, a pair of brothers, were friends of Faust's. Dominic and Francis Weatherby, middle-aged and heavy-set, waddled over, grinning widely at the Captain. “Well, well! What brings the mighty Methuselah to port this day? I tell you, I couldn't believe it when I saw her come up on the radar. It's been a while, Alberich, how are you?” asked Dominic, shoving his pudgy hand into the Captain's.

  Faust smiled, patting them both on the shoulders. “Gentlemen, it's a pleasure to see you. Glad to see you're both doing well. My crew and I are looking to re-stock the old girl,” he said, nodding towards Methuselah. “Just the usual routine.”

  Francis arched a brow. “And her Captain? I don't imagine he's got the time to join us for a fine meal, has he?”

  Faust grinned, hooking his bare arms around their necks jovially. “So nice of you to pick up the tab!”

  They laughed, starting for the entrance to the station. “Mr. Kanpei,” called out Faust as they departed the dock. “Take care of things. I've got a mobile transmitter if you need me.”

  Watching the Captain saunter out with the owners, Kanpei decided to take his leave. He'd have to take his lists of supplies with him and visit with numerous vendors. When the ordered supplies were ready for pick-up, he'd make payment and bring some men along to wheel the load back to the dock. Kanpei looked up at the ship, which sat upon the landing apparatus. Illuminated by the bright dock lights, her olive green body was lent a subtle glow. She was a long ship with a rounded body, though the massive wings at her sides and aft end were angular. Sitting at her center, nearly flush with her body, was a small column, which featured the ship's main cannon and, just above it, the command center. Her design was a strange one, a throwback to the ships of days long-passed, evoking images of the ancient submersibles and airplanes of Earth. Modern ships were a good deal smaller, and were much more aesthetically built by comparison. What she lacked in form, Methuselah more than made up for in function, however. She was a solid workhorse, built to last.

  Time to get to work. Kanpei found himself hungry for something other than Horace's miserable stew and figured he might grab a meal at one of the many taverns before making the rounds and ordering supplies. He followed a group of young sailors out of the dock and into the station, which sprawled out before them in a mess of bright lights and shops. The lighting overhead was meant to simulate real sunlight, and small gardens with real plants in them filled the space between the various storefronts. Noisy salesmen peered out into the main strip, waving signs that spoke of great sales and beckoning members of the crew. They hawked everything from clothing to drugs and alcohol.

  It'd been nearly a year since Kanpei had visited Anvil Station, and although he'd been there a few times in the past, it never failed to impress him. The huge selection of wares and services were alone impressive, however the setting, too, was quite the draw, picturesque as any in space. The owners had done well in maintaining the old station in their tenure, both of them independently wealthy and pouring considerable resources into its infrastructure and defense. Here and there, scattered throughout the complex, were kiosks occupied by armed guards. Kanpei knew the station to employ a small army, complete with a fleet of starfighters and emergency response vehicles, which would quell any threats to the station or its denizens. Missing from the scene however, were other people. Save for a few passersby and the shopkeepers, Methuselah's crew seemed the only ones in the entire sector. Of course, it was the off season, he reminded himself.

  Kanpei followed the rowdy crewmen into a dim tavern called the Stone Raven. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of roasted meat. Sidling up to the bar, one of the crew exclaimed. “Hey, they're runnin' a buffet! All you can eat for anyone who buys a pitcher of beer!” The excitable crew jumped at the chance, placing their orders and shooting the Quartermaster sly grins. “It ain't a problem, is it, Mr. Kanpei? It's just one pitcher, after all.”

  Faust ran a tight ship, and preferred that the crew abstained from all drugs and alcohol during missions. He would likely have been less keen on them drinking while Methuselah was headed into war, but considering the battles they were soon to face, along with the fact that Faust himself would probably imbibe over dinner, Kanpei shrugged. “I won't say a thing, but you'd better make sure that the Captain doesn't smell it on your breath.”

  They cheered and lined up one-by-one at the bar, throwing down coins and taking large pitchers of dark beer. The bartender waved them all on to the buffet area which was stocked with fresh bread, meats and various hearty vegetables. The crew piled their plates high and spread out across the tavern, some of them sitting together, others mingling with ruffians in the vicinity. “This is a hell of a lot better than old Horace's spread, eh?” asked one of the men, a pilot, nudging Kanpei in the arm.

  Kanpei bought himself a pitcher of beer and joined a few of the crew in visiting the buffet. He helped himself to some potatoes, a fresh hunk of warm bread and a fatty slab of brisket. When he was finished stacking his plate, he sat down alongside a few of the men and ate in silence. It wasn't often that they were able to enjoy food of this quality and freshness, and he savored every bite.

  The situation in space regarding food was a difficult one. The technology existed to grow plants and keep animals in ships, however it proved inefficient and difficult. Certainly a ship like Methuselah had no room for such operations. As a result of the booming space population and their need for sustenance, various complexes had been built which housed large-scale agricultural projects. Experiments in genetics had made it possible to clone livestock, or even simply individual cuts of flesh, leading to massive interplanetary stations which dealt in the production and shipment of fresh meat.

  Is this the last good meal we'll ever eat? As he started into his brisket, Kanpei couldn't help but wonder.

  ***

  Faust and the Weatherby brothers found themselves at a small, quiet restaurant. A waiter brought a bottle of expensive wine, which the three men drank with relish. “It's been a while, Alberich. You really should visit more often. Brother and I are always looking to invest in new ventures; ventures which require the sort of transportation and reliability for which Methuselah is known. Why, just the other day we were looking for a vessel to run a shipment of artillery to one of our new start-ups, and wouldn't you know that the contractor we signed with got intercepted by some band of pirates? We should've called you to handle it,” said Dominic, lighting a cigar.

  Faust took a sip of wine and raised his glass, peering into the deep, red liquid in the light of the dim chandelier. “I've been rather busy as of late. Haven't got the time for jobs like those, I'm afraid.”

  “Oh?” began Francis. “You're allergic to money now?”

  “No,” laughed Faust. “I'm involved in some rather engrossing work, currently; work that's going to keep me from the usual jobs for quite some time.”

  The brothers grinned into their wine glasses. “Do tell,” said Dominic, offering Faust a cigar.

  Faust declined. “You wouldn't believe me
if I told you,” he said, chuckling.

  The waiter returned with their entrees. Massive plates of pasta and seafood crowded the table, filling the air with rich scents. The brothers dug in without a moment's notice, their thick lips growing oily with clarified butter and bits of lobster. “You must try the seafood,” said Francis, chasing a mouthful of food with another swig of wine. He snapped his chubby fingers, summoning the waiter. “Wine,” he called out before smoothing a napkin over his lap and returning to his food.

  The Captain portioned out a bit of the food and ate quietly while the brothers made conversation about their various business ventures and the difficulties they faced in keeping their revenues up. Faust only half-listened, however there was one thread of conversation that made his ears perk up.

  “I wonder how Earth will fare. Space is alight with rumors, you know.” Dominic slurped up a forkful of pasta. “Do you know anything about that, perchance? This recent alien attack, that is,” he asked, glancing at Faust.

  Faust shook his head. “Not much.” It wasn't a total lie. Though he would soon be involved in protecting Earth from the aliens in question, he knew virtually nothing about them.

  Francis laughed, the corners of his mouth teeming with half-chewed shrimp and linguine. “My dearest Alberich, what have you been up to the past few days? Buried your head in the sand, have you? The big-wigs on Earth have been sending dispatches out into space, begging for help. They were attacked by aliens a day or two ago, and have no way of fighting against them. If the dispatches are to be believed, the whole population will be decimated by the attackers soon enough.”

  “Don't say,” replied Faust, stuffing a forkful of lobster into his mouth. “I'd heard a little about it, but didn't realize it was so bad. Aliens, huh? Seems like science-fiction to me. And anyway, Earth is protected by the Solar Reef. Maybe they're crying wolf?”

  Francis topped off their glasses and dabbed at his chin with a napkin. “Oh, aliens are real. Of that much I'm sure. Not many who know about that sort of thing, however the well-traveled have encountered them now and again over the years, mostly at the galaxy's edge. Some of our contractors have even encountered them, as a matter of fact. Just last year, when we were starting a new venture at Pelagios, one of our crews had a skirmish with a small battlecruiser that none could identify. It was a rough battle and many fighters were lost. Eventually the thing returned to interstellar space, as I recall, but the project at Pelagios was abandoned as a result. Too expensive to fund a war, I'm afraid.”

  Faust sat up in his seat, tracing the rim of his glass with his lips pensively. “You don't say?”

  Dominic nodded. “I remember it, yes. The aliens were vicious. Don't know what they want with Earth, however. I mean, aside from the natural resources and real estate. They've been sending out transmissions begging for aid from the space-born. I don't imagine they'll receive any assistance, though. It'd be lucrative, perhaps, to serve as bodyguards for the Earthlings, but risky, too. The incident at Pelagios involved only a single of their battlecruisers. What havoc they might wreak with a mother ship or an entire fleet of cruisers is impossible to say.” Noting the interest in Faust's expression, Dominic grinned. “I don't imagine that this is the work with which you plan to involve yourself, is it?”

  Faust pursed his lips. “You ask too many questions, my friend.”

  Francis chortled and sniffed at his wine. “And you're getting in way over your head, my dearest friend. I say this knowing full well how capable a crew you keep. The celebrated Methuselah alone will not be enough to ward off this threat. I feel rather sure of that. I might suggest that her stubborn captain desist and fill his time with other ventures instead. But, of course, such suggestions will be cast aside, I expect.”

  “You know me too well,” grinned Faust.

  The brothers exchanged a wary glance. “Do rethink it. It's more than a little risky. I heard from one of our contacts,” continued Francis, batting a shrimp about his plate, “that the force that attacked Earth was a small one. A few battlecruisers. They managed to run straight through the Solar Reef, as I understand it. It would seem that their armor is strong enough. Don't ask me what the hell it's made of. If this is the case... if those things can really just punch through the greatest of Earth's defenses, then what chance has Methuselah got? Your cannons aren't likely to sink a ship that tough. It occurs to me that the incident on Pelagios ended only because the aliens chose to flee back into interstellar space. We invest a good deal in defense. Our hired men aren't exactly novices or pushovers, and our small fleet of ships couldn't sink that single battlecruiser, Alberich. They tried, lord knows they did. We lost a lot of fighters in the process though, and one of our own cruisers was crippled. The only reason we didn't suffer a catastrophic loss was because they suddenly disengaged and vanished into deep space.”

  Faust sighed. It certainly wasn't the sort of testimonial he'd been hoping to hear. “Say that you send along a few of your ships to act as escorts for Methuselah. Power in numbers, that way.”

  The brothers laughed, shaking their heads in unison. “Heavens no,” gasped Dominic. “Can't afford it. It'd be a sure loss, I think. I'm a risk-taker, but I'm not one to carelessly gamble both lives and money.”

  “It is a gamble, perhaps,” began Faust. “But when they're through with Earth, who's to say that they won't set their sights on the space-born?”

  Dominic nodded. “Yes, it's a reasonable line of thought. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Embroiling ourselves in the affairs of the Earthlings and their enemies simply doesn't seem wise at this time. If push comes to shove...”

  “I'm hoping to give them a good shove of my own before they know what's what,” said Faust, grinning darkly. “They're preying on Earth because they likely know that the Earthlings can't protect themselves. When Methuselah bursts onto the scene, they'll be caught completely unawares, however. They don't expect the interference of the space-born.”

  The brothers returned to their food in silence, topping off Faust's cup any time it ran below the half-way mark. “Drink up,” said Francis. “You're a braver man than I, at least. Let us hope that we are not sending you off to your death and that we may share yet another meal someday.”

  “When next we meet at this table, Earth will pick up the tab,” replied the Captain, raising his glass.

  ***

  Beneath her, all of the crewmen ambling about the dock looked almost like ants. Reaching out from the bucket of a tall cherry picker, Cleo pulled the covering from Methuselah's infrared generator. It was a long device, jutting out of the ship's body from beneath the command center. Hoisting the heavy plate out of place, she spied the mess of wires within. Gene, in the bucket with her, tried to steady the plate, his flimsy arms struggling to lift it. She tensed up as she set down the cumbersome plate and felt the bucket shift with its weight. That's a long way down... don't go failin' me now, ya damn thing.

  “Is this safe?” asked Gene for what must've been the tenth time.

  Deep into her work, she Cleo didn't reply.

  “Can't I get down from here? I've helped you with this kinda maintenance before. I'd like to go out with the rest of the crew and get some proper food too!” he whined.

  Combing through the wires, she made certain that none of the connections had been severed or eased out of place. She had to lean out of the bucket a bit further than she was comfortable with, however her perusal of the wires yielded nothing awry. “Hand me my tester outta that bag there,” she demanded. With her voltage tester, she tested the numerous connections individually, and found that the components were all functioning properly. “Knew it,” she mumbled. “Stella's fulla shit.”

  “So it was just an anomaly, then?” asked Gene, looking over the side of the bucket and growing somewhat pale.

  “Looks that way.” Cleo leaned back and folded her arms. Either it'd been an anomalous reading, or they'd encountered something, an enemy perhaps, which could evade the S.A.L.V.O. While
she didn't the the latter to be plausible, she couldn't rule out the possibility. If it's solid, a real object, then there ain't no way that the S.A.L.V.O ain't gonna pick it up. I dunno if it's possible to avoid detection; ain't a system out there that I've ever seen that could fool S.A.L.V.O... She picked up the panel in the bucket with a grunt and leaned out, pressing it back into place. With the drill at her side, she screwed it back into place and peered at it from all angles. “That'll do 'er.”

  “Great!” blurted Gene. “So does that mean I can go into the station now?”

  Cleo snickered. “Not a chance, fella. We ain't here fer pleasure. Yer gonna be by assistant for the day. Now that we know S.A.L.V.O's workin' OK, we've gotta make sure the native systems are functionin'. Lucky for us, the only components we gotta check out on that one are inside the ship.”

  He sighed. “Yes, m'aam.”

  ***

  When he was through visiting a number of merchants and arranging for the pick-up of the necessary goods, Kanpei returned to the ship to check up on Victor. Making his way to the dock, he found the posted guards milling about dazedly. “Look alive,” he ordered as he walked past. “Don't let the Captain see you slumping around like that.”

  Making his way into the ship, Kanpei headed for the bridge, where Victor was seated in the command chair. “Oh, Mr. Kanpei,” said the young mate, standing and saluting the Quartermaster. “Back already?”

  “Yes,” replied Kanpei, “I just had a few errands to run. We're expecting a few shipments from various of the merchants. I'll send along a crew to pick them up when everything is ready. Go ahead and take a break, if you like. Grab a meal or stretch your legs.”