by Ian Cannon
“Who does?”
She gave him a look of ridicule as if he should already know who. She said, “REX. Duh …”
Ben grinned awkwardly at her. She had attitude. There was a little bit of Tawny in this girl. He said, “REX?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Say hi, REX,” Ben said.
REX’s level voice came through the comm system. “Hello, little girl.”
She made that squealing, overjoyed laughter again and said, “Hi, REXY!”
Ben squinted. Only Tawny called him REXY. Did she know something she couldn’t have possibly known? Had she gleamed it, or had she overheard Tawny call him REXY? And how did she know where to find REX back at the station? It made him tilt his head and ask, “What else do you see?”
“Just stuff.”
“Just stuff?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
Stuff. That could mean anything. Ben gave a capitulatory nod. She wasn’t one for conversation, really.
Then she said, “Like you.”
He snapped a look at her. “What about me?”
She crooked her lips in thought, eyeing him. “You fight back a lot.”
He made a surprised look. “I do?”
“Uh-huh, all the time.”
He felt himself shrink a little. Her words caused him to suffer a second of introspection. He heard himself ask the question before he realized it: “Am I a bad guy?”
She howled laughter, sharp and sincere. It made him even more curious. Was that a yes or a no? Embarrassed, he pressed, “Well … am I?”
“Bad guys never fight back. They just fight. Only good guys fight back.”
An odd distinction. But true. He leaned closer to her to gain her eye line, and asked, “On the station, when you were with Tawny, how did you know where to go, little girl?”
She matched eyes with him. “I heard you.”
“You heard me?”
“Uh-huh.”
Ben reflected back on that moment. They had been separated by a hundred feet of hard vacuum. He had waved his hands at Tawny desperately, and screamed—Go to the loading bay! Go to the loading bay—but even then in that moment, he knew she couldn’t hear him. It was impossible.
He smiled curiously at the little girl and said, “You couldn’t have heard me.”
Her words were so serious they sent prickles up his back. She said, “I heard your eyes.”
His stare intensified on her. It was pure bewilderment. Her gaze softened and she smiled at him, that huge, little girl’s irresistible smile, and got up. She left the cockpit leaving a vacuum of question and doubt behind her. Ben shook his head, sat back up. He said, “REX?”
“Yeah, I know,” REX said. “I’m a little weirded out, too, Cap.”
Controlled Space
The Planet Omicron Prime
Moon Lana
United Confederation Front (Underworld Cabal)
Commander Havilok still found himself in the senate building on Lana. He’d been here a week, the vast majority of that time spent spinning through the boredom of red tape. The city stretched toward the lunar horizon in all directions creating an intricate geometrical surface that went on to the ends of the planetoid. They’d even begun constructing their lunar civilization with a homogenous coloration to appropriately reflect the light of Wi’ahr onto the moon’s homeworld of Omicron. It hung big and blue in the sky with its mesmerizing cobalt oceans.
But he’d grown weary of staring at the city and found a great deal more solace in staring at the battle cruisers of Home Defense 1 in low orbit overhead. They were a majestic showcase of the Confederation Front’s might, and they called him home as he stared up at them. He could identify their column separation as they spanned across the star-filled sky.
Arkin Wing was directly overhead. That was his wing. They’d been called away from their last assignment as Menuit-B’s security contingent to the moon Lana while he plunged through the layers of bureaucracy in their defense. With any luck, and with the advice of Senator Quarlidious, these would be his final hours at Lana, and he’d be back in the saddle where he belonged.
Havilok sat across from Senator Torian. He’d been called an hour ago to their appointment. Now they sat face to face, Havilok having presented his … leverage. The file sat on the desk between them bound in clear plastic sleeves bearing the Confederation military’s letterhead. Torian had not opened the packet. He didn’t have to. They both knew the damning material within.
“… and that’s how you achieved your planet killer,” Havilok concluded looking stoically triumphant.
Torian offered a challenged grin from the corner of his mouth, their eyes stabbing into each other’s. He said, “Be careful, Commander. Those are serious accusations.”
“I am very careful, Senator. And they are serious accusations.” Havilok didn’t shudder, didn’t even blink.
Torian leaned back in his chair still looking challenged, hiding it well. He’d been threatened before. “You’ll have to prove it in the senate, the house, then the courts as well as the high office.”
Havilok raised his chin. “I’m a military man, as you know so well. I don’t prove anything. I just blow it up.”
Torian’s eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat?”
“You seem to know one.”
Torian jabbed a finger into his desk and shouted, “This is a dominion republic!”
Havlok snatched the file folder and yelled back, “Then why this, Torian?” The file’s very existence shouted a mob rule society, whether it contained true information, or false.
Torian backpedaled, forced a relaxed pose. “There could be any number of reasons. Political adversaries. Rumor. Lies.”
“Now look who has to prove a thing.” Havilok gave him a mocking look, and said, “Oh—you’re not a military man, are you?”
Torian chuckled meanly and scooted forward interlacing his fingers over the desk. “These are the games I so enjoy. What are you suggesting?”
Commander Havilok waved open a holopad emitting a 3-D head and shoulders. It had salty streaks over the temples, a square face, serious eyes. The face recognized him, said, “Yes, Fleet Commander.”
“Captain Terrelis, you have new orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Prepare the Arkin Wing for action mission deployment.”
Terrelis’s eyebrows raised. “Do we have a command packet, sir?”
“A search and seizure. I will command myself. I will brief the crew.”
“Very well. We can be underway within the hour.”
“Perfect,” Havilok said. “And one other thing, Captain Terrelis.” Havilok looked back at Torian with a vindictive look that made the senator shrink. He said, “Prepare the lead vessel’s state room. We will have a senatorial guest joining us.” He smiled showing teeth. “Yes, Senator Torian, you will accompany. We will share the hunt together. Or you will be branded a failure and a coward.”
Chapter Nine
The orphans never expressed any outright disdain for the cargo bay. It was a long space, and a bit narrow, with bulkheads jutting out from the walls creating a passage area littered with cords and crates. It seemed a particularly lonely space, too, with a high ceiling and steel mesh floor. In the dim light, the Menuit-B security bike had a mysterious, gangly look, like a creature crouching in the corner. And with REX’s engines thumping through its walls like faraway ambient thunder, to the untrained six-year-old (or perhaps the trained) it seemed more like a dungeon. They had slept in their share of dungeons. It didn’t take a genius to see they were discomfited in the ship’s bowels.
Tawny, being an orphan herself, herded them back up the maintenance ladder and decided the passenger quarters would be far more comfortable. She was right, initially. Separating them into groups of three to suffice the four rooms, was difficult. They wanted to sleep in a group. A big one. Twelve strong. They’d learned in very specific terms, it seemed, that there was safety in numbers. There was also comfort. Plus,
with all of them crammed together like Molosian piglets in the same room, the older kids, that is to say the one nine-year-old and the two eight-year-olds, wouldn’t be too far away for any one child, if needed.
Ben flicked his lips in thought. He’d strategized difficult contract drops, the occasional escape, even a kingly meeting or two. But arranging orphans in the proper organization for sleep was turning out to be even harder. How to get twelve kids in a room strictly designed to house two people, and a bed that wasn’t much more than a cot?
He conjured an idea.
He gathered the gel-squish mattresses from the other rooms and laid them out on the floor side by side making a pallet. Tawny arranged the children in a row—young, old, young, old—and offered enough covering for them to nestle together warm and snug. She rubbed their backs, scratched the Gorlek behind the ears and rubbed hard against the Tremusian’s shoulders with her fists, whisking them each off to sleep in the peaceful, dim and warm confines of Starboard One, and left quietly. She went to the cockpit where Ben had returned to etch out whatever peace he could find.
Tawny sighed taking her seat in the co-pilot’s chair.
“They down for the count?” he asked.
She smiled big, and for the first time since he’d ever known her, there was something matronly in her expression—like a mother. “Yeah,” she said.
“You like having them abroad,” he assumed.
She gave him a hesitant look. “They’re interesting cargo for once, that’s all.”
He blurted laughter. Yeah—he didn’t believe that for a minute. But he’d leave it alone. The conversation ended. Nothing else needed to be said.
Tantalus showed on their inner-warp vicinity screen. Requiem approached. The nav computer settled into an approach vector, timing their arrival to the microsecond before dropping them into combustion mode. The sight of the planet made Ben wince. It was mucus yellow with circular red spots studding its surface like ringworms demarking its ferric iron oxides in the rock formations. It was a homely planet to establish a colony around, but it was also safe. Without resources to drain from the world, there was very little activity—just the occasional contractor on approach.
Tawny brought up the comm panel. “This is the privateer freighter REX on approach. Come back, Requiem.”
“Saloma, REX. This is Requiem. We’re monitoring you on midrange. State your business.” The voice was androgynous, half male, half female, or neither. But it used the ancient religious greeting of Saloma from the Salo cast. They could only be female.
Tawny replied, “Delivery drop off.” She scanned their job manifest and said, “Perishables. Dry goods. Aqua stores.”
“Come around to primary control. Connect to loading dock one. We’ll greet you there.”
“Copy. Out.”
They switched a reticent look. The Salo was a fraternity of female monks who’d dedicated their lives to Ae’ahm through oath and covenant. Their minds and souls belonged to their god, as did their bodies. It was against their fundamental religious belief to share space with a man, ever. As they approached the station, Ben caught Tawny grinning to herself.
“This might be educational,” she finally said.
Ben just shook his head angling the ship toward dock one. The station was much smaller than Haven Crest and segmented into three primary hubs connected by a single, broad passage. The center hub had a tri-terrace design separated by viewports. This was clearly the operations hub, the other two being residential. Ben looked hard. There were three pontoon-shaped objects housed below the command center. They were too small to be equipment storage, but too big to be sensors. Were those rockets? Huh…
REX came around to the cargo bay and nestled into its unloading frame while the umbilicus connected to their airlock. Already, a pair of operation cranes articulated toward the lower cargo unit, preparing to detach it from REX’s mag-spires and haul it into their garage for unloading.
The hatch opened and three women stood in formation, one front and center, the other two flanking behind. They wore identical robing with virginally thin material bound at the waist with a belt. A single band ran vertically up their midriffs to a choker around their necks, the display offering vaguely pleasant accentuation to their breasts. Ben blinked, averted his eyes. They each made eye contact with Tawny and gave her a stoic nod, not even acknowledging Ben’s presence—not even glancing at him. It was like he wasn’t even standing there.
“Welcome,” the center woman said in her deep, smoky voice. “I am Lona, administrator and spiritual head of this facility. Ae’ahm be with you. Please come.”
Tawny looked back at Ben who only shrugged. The others waited. Tawny stepped forward with a half grin and said, “Okay, thanks.”
“We thank Ae’ahm for your visit,” Lona said leading them to the command center. “Supplies are low. The children will need them very soon.”
“You have an orphanage?”
“Yes, we do,” she said. “Every refugee colony has an orphanage.” She turned her head as they continued on and said, “Orphans are one of the primary exports of war. Many come here, women and children alike.”
“No men?”
Lona smiled patiently. “We have no adult males here.”
“What about the boys?” Ben asked.
There was no response.
Tawny said, “What about the boys?”
Lona answered, “The male children are housed in our port side hub. They are raised to adopt an appreciation for hard work, pro-action and labor. We find it greatly fulfills them. Upon pubescence, we disseminate them out to other entities.”
They both knew what that meant. Labor crews. Colonizing efforts. Cargo transpo squads. Ben murmured, “What about the war?” They didn’t respond, just kept moving forward. But something told him they didn’t necessarily appreciate the quip. He pinched his lips, bit his tongue. He didn’t feel overly welcomed. He would have felt bad for the boys here at Requiem, but something also told him they were treated better here than at other refugee camps. At least here, where there were no men to perform the tasks of maintenance, their natural curiosity toward tools and operational procedures was given unique focus. These boys would learn first hand what a monkey wrench was for at an early age. Ironically, where women ran the entire world, boys were allowed to be boys. It was almost necessary.
They came to a small chow area designated for the female crew and invited to sit. Lona said, “We would be pleased if you enjoyed a bowl of Lakma while you waited.” Lakma was a traditional dish of the Salo, a type of soup that was unseasoned meat broth with crisp vegetables, all steam cooked. Very tasteless.
A female understudy who’d not yet earned her neck choker brought a tray with two steaming bowls and laid it in front of Tawny. She stepped aside. It was clear they would not serve Ben, so Tawny pushed one of the bowls over to him still wearing that superior grin. He said with articulated words, “Thank you, dear.”
Lona said to Tawny, “I am sure you will find it bland to your tastes. Nourishment is of Ae’ahm who provides. Pleasure is of the flesh and is therefore a scourge upon the body.”
Tawny sipped from her spoon. It was hot, making her smack her lips. They were almost right. It was more than bland. It was horrible. She forced a grin and said, “It’s not bad, thanks.”
Lona smiled back with a nod and said, “Your manifest will be checked off and marked within the hour. We will come for you at that time. Salona.” She turned to leave.
But Ben nudged Tawny, whispered, “Starboard One?”
Tawny called, “Um, there is one thing.”
They stopped, turned.
Tawny cleared her throat. “We have a, uh, interesting development aboard our ship. At our last stop,” a nervous grin worked its way onto her face, “we procured a number of, uh …” she blurted, “orphans.”
They hesitated with waiting faces.
Tawny continued, “We obviously don’t have the means to house them or care for them.”
She looked at Ben. He was no help, could be no help. At least not here. She said, “Their colony fell under rocket attack. It was destroyed.”
Lona gave her a concerned look. “The refugee circuit is well known to us. We have ties with most of the camps throughout the system. Which colony do you speak of?”
“Haven Crest.”
Lona had to sit down as if her feet had been taken out from beneath her. “Oh, Ae’ahm,” she whispered. “The Molos camp.”
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
“It’s a total loss,” Tawny said.
“And the refugees?”
Tawny shook her head. “Hard to say. We all got scattered. We got all the children we could. There was no time.”
A look of cold, sudden acceptance crossed Lona’s face and she looked up. “Very well. Ae’ahm thanks you very much.”
Of course, being of Wi’ahr, Ae’ahm was Tawny’s counter god. To Tawny’s religious faction, Ae’ahm was the reason the colony was attacked. Even still, she offered a congenial, tight-lipped grin.
Lona said, “Our resources are minimal, our facility capped. But we will inspect the children and select them for inclusion.”
Ben made his way down to REX, or was rather told to go prepare the orphans for inspection. He didn’t know what that meant, but figured it would be a pretty simple process.
He entered the cargo bay airlock to the squirrely sound of youth going on above, in the main hold. It made him smile privately. He had to admit, the children had given a certain life to their vessel over the past twenty-four hours that it rarely ever experienced. In fact, he could never remember feeling such an exuberance spilling from REX’s main hold. Much to his surprise, he found it a refreshing change. He did not, however, want it to incline his wife toward conversations of having a baby. He wasn’t ready for that. He questioned whether Tawny was. He wasn’t sure they’d ever be. They’d seen too much death, too much meanness in the system. It soured them against innocence, made them bitter in deep ways—ways that weren’t entirely present to the onlooker, nor sensed by even themselves. Not consciously. But bringing children into the world? The idea scared him. It horrified him. The fact that he was so horrified about something so gentle and natural, put a stiff knot in his gut, and before he knew it, he found himself standing in the cargo bay listening to children’s laughter, scowling to himself.
