And the two Calpers—Vance had to sneak a glance over her shoulder a couple times during the flight to remind herself that the two titans were even on board. They both had their eyes open and were looking straight ahead, through the cockpit’s viewport, but both breathed quiet and regular, almost as if they were napping.
Vance snorted to herself and focused on her own thoughts. If Calper colony natives could nap with their eyes open, more power to them. Now that she thought of it, that would be a powerful advantage in wartime. If you could somehow rest while also keeping your awareness of your surroundings…
Anyway. She glanced at the control panels, and adjusted course for the colony’s port. The pressure within her mind, like a weight or presence attempting to push inward, had steadily grew the closer they got to the colony, and she was worried what that might portend.
The Commodore had warned her that things would start to change after her diagnosis, but she hadn’t expected things to change quite so fast. She hadn’t asked for her brain to start changing, and wasn’t sure she even wanted it to change, but based on what the Commodore’s personal surgeon had told her, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. She had been given some pretty powerful drugs that would help counteract some of the discomfort, but of course she wasn’t going to take them. She didn’t want her abilities impaired—she had a crew and ship to manage.
As she started the orbital insertion maneuvers, she caught a split-second burst of surprise in her mind, strong enough to make her hands jump on the control yoke. The gig shimmied violently, then she scrambled to regain control.
Kraft grabbed his control yoke, and flipped a couple toggles, then glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “All right, Skip?”
Vance coughed and then nodded. “Ah, yeah. Just seeing if you were awake.” She chuckled it off and then focused on transitioning the gig from space to atmosphere, hoping Kraft wouldn’t push.
She sensed him stare at her for a heartbeat or two, then he returned his focus to his console. “All readings nominal. Looks like we’re good for our route to the port.”
She nodded and started working on the comm system. “I’m sending a request for landing and our preliminary list of supply needs. Better to get them started early.”
They busied themselves with their tasks, and, in short order, worked together to land the ship at the docking pad the port authority had designated for them. Vance flew the gig around the port in a long, smooth arc, nothing out of the ordinary but entirely designed so that she and Kraft could get a good look at the contents of the other docking pads.
As she landed the ship and worked with Kraft to close down the systems, she said, “I counted eleven independent merchantmen, a Mekallan diplomatic yacht, and a Union gig. What did you see?”
Kraft unfastened his seat harness and nodded. “Matches up with my scan as well, Skip. I did note that two of the repair hangars had their doors sealed, which suggests that they were either rented out to skippers who didn’t want to be identified, or that the port has some secrets they don’t want out in the open.”
Vance nodded. “Good catch. I hadn’t seen that.” She turned in her seat and unfastened her harness. She glanced at the two Calpers, who were both free of their harnesses and ready to move.
“So we likely have a Union shore patrol in the port somewhere. Might just be a supply run or a mail drop, but it could be an impressment exercise or a purge. Keep your eyes open, but don’t start anything without my or Kraft’s go, all right?”
They stared at her, and nodded in unison, remaining silent all the while. She almost shouldn’t have bothered warning them—Calpers, as a general rule, didn’t start fights, but were usually the last ones standing when one broke out.
She led the three of them out of the ship and moved directly toward the port authority’s office. She glanced at Kraft. “We’ll head for the port quartermaster first, and if that goes well, I think we have time for a drink before getting back to the Aethenne. My treat.”
Kraft chuckled. “Thanks, Skip. I’m sure you know that Calpers don’t drink.”
She shot him a grin. “Oh, really? That’ll save me some money.”
She passed through the open gateway leading into the port authority’s quartermaster office, and nearly ran headlong into a green-uniformed Union officer, who had stormed out of the quartermaster’s office just ahead.
Vance stumbled back, clumsy on shore in her magboots. She’d forgotten to change into ground boots. She uttered a curse and then glared up into a beautiful set of pale blue eyes set into a trim olive-skinned face.
“Who the hell do you…oh.” Just as she made eye contact with the man, the pressure in her mind intensified and then suddenly eased off, the mental weight just…gone.
The Union officer looked nearly as confused as she felt. “I am so sorry. I didn’t see you there, Miss…?”
She took a breath to gather herself then stood up straight. “Hambrill. Captain. My, ah, my…” She poked a thumb behind her. “Ship’s in orbit, and…”
He shook his head. “Captain Hambrill, my sincere apologies. I’m Lieutenant Baris Macault, Union Navy.”
She nodded, taking in his clean but slightly rumpled uniform—no doubt his second-best set as opposed to the formals he’d keep stored only for critical occasions. He was maybe six foot tall, taller than her by just a bit, but was solidly packed into his uniform. He had a thin red scar on his left cheek that looked fairly recent, and dark hair cut to standard Union Navy regs.
She met his eyes, and blushed. Judging from the look in his eyes, he had been sizing her up about the same time she had been checking him out, and somehow he knew she had been checking him out.
She sensed a chuckle in her mind, and blanched. She stared at him. “Something funny?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “What?”
Kraft took a step forward and nudged her arm. “Ah, Skip? You all right? Need us to excuse this Unioner?”
Macault shook off whatever stupor had taken him and glanced at Kraft, and then back to Vance. “Ah, no, that won’t be necessary. I apologize for stumbling into you, Captain.” He glanced behind him at the closed door leading to the quartermaster’s office. “Had a bit of a run-in with the local QM and need to gather up my patrol before we return to our ship.”
Vance shook the cobwebs out of her mind. What ship? They hadn’t picked up another ship in orbit around the planet. She schooled her features into polite curiosity and asked, “Which ship, Lieutenant?”
“The Endeavor. My home for the last year.”
She ran the name through her mental catalog and recalled the details—UNS Endeavor, frigate, forty rail-cannons, three hundred-odd souls aboard. Definitely not an atmospheric-capable craft, but not in orbit. Where the hell was it hiding?
She nodded, forcing her poker face to remain intact. “I hear she’s a fine ship. You’re an officer aboard?” Sometimes playing dumb proved useful.
But, judging from the look on his face, he wasn’t buying it. The pressure on her mind returned, but this time it was more focused, like a probe poking around than a large flat weight pressing in from all sides.
“You seem pretty worldly, Captain. It is a fine ship, and yes, I’m the third of six lieutenants aboard. Captain Kalu and the ship are at the outskirts of the system, monitoring the asteroid field for pirate activity.”
She narrowed her eyes. Why would he be telling her this? She tried to push the pressure on her mind away, and got another surprised look from him for her trouble. She thought fast, then offered a big sigh and rested a hand on his solid forearm.
“Well, thank the Union for that! I’m an independent merchant and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to outrun pirates in these parts.” She rested her hand on her chest, above her heart. “Does me good to hear you’re out here, keeping us safe.”
An unexpectedly attractive furrow appeared between Macault’s brows. He blinked a couple times in confusion. She took the opportunity to wave Kraft and
the two Calpers along, and then slipped past Macault.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business with the quartermaster and we’ll be on our way.” She paused before opening the door and glanced back at him. “Happy hunting, Lieutenant. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Macault must have sensed that he had just been played, given the look he shot her. She quickly turned around and opened the door to the quartermaster’s office and stepped through.
Always keep them guessing, that was her guideline. Though in this case, she wasn’t so sure she got off so lightly.
Chapter 5
The half-hour Vance spent in the quartermaster’s office was about twenty minutes too long, time she wished she could get back but knew she never would.
As expected, the local port QM was initially reluctant to sell her anything. After offering the bitch the last of her Resistance credits, the letter from the Commodore, a promise of some of the contraband hidden aboard the Aethenne for just this purpose, and even a little judicious looming on the part of the two Calpers, Vance had secured enough cryo to fill two tanks, some fresh fruit and supplies, and whatever extra hull plating and spare parts the port tug could load up in one transit to the Aethenne.
The port GM was grudging in her thanks, even though Vance knew without a doubt that the woman had gotten the better end of the deal. Given the opulence of her office and the weight of the jewelry embroidered into her skirts, the woman must have always gotten the better end of the deals placed before her.
After confirming that the port tug would rendezvous with the Aethenne as soon as it loaded the cryo and other supplies, Vance led her allies out of the port authority, swallowing the curses that threatened to bubble to the top. “You’d think the Resistance wasn’t doing these people any favors. We’re fighting in part to relieve them of Union financial pressure, not make things worse. You’d think they’d be a little more helpful toward us.”
Kraft made a sympathetic noise, but didn’t offer anything else—he was rarely up for political discussions. And the two Calpers were, of course, silent as ever, focused on the surroundings, a pair of coiled springs ready to obliterate any potential threat.
Vance waved her hand, whisking away her negative thoughts. That probing pressure in her mind hadn’t abated all through her talk with the port quartermaster, and had settled into a dull ache located somewhere between her ears. Maybe she would look into those drugs once she got back to the Aethenne.
She stopped off at the gig to relay a message up to Ndomo that they should be expecting a port tug soon, and then closed down the gig and glanced at Kraft. “I think I owe you a drink.”
Kraft grinned. “Did the quartermaster leave you any credits to rub together?”
Vance chuckled. “I have just enough for the two of us to enjoy a brief drink.” She gestured toward a small assemblage of buildings clustered near the end of the rows of docking bays. Dozens of spacers came and went through that bunch of buildings, which offered a range of services and supplies for travellers who didn’t want to or didn’t need to venture into the colony itself.
Port-side taverns were commonplace throughout the known galaxy, and this colony’s options were no different than a hundred other places she’d stepped boots into.
The closest tavern featured the sign of an eagle with splayed-out golden wings, a common generic symbol for a tavern in this sector of space. She led the way into the smoke-filled building, taking in the reek of dozens of different forms of inhaling products, from water vapor to tobacco and a dozen other substances, some illegal and others outrageously expensive. She wrinkled her nose at the miasma, wishing she had brought a respirator along. She’d gotten used to the clean, filtered air aboard ship.
One of the two Calpers stationed himself outside the tavern while the other followed her and Kraft inside. She and Kraft somehow found a spot at the long, crowded bar. Their Calper companion just stood near them, somehow creating a pocket of space around them.
An indifferent bartender approached for their request and left them with a bottle of local vintage and a pair of marginally clean glasses.
Vance picked up the bottle and swirled the liquid in it around a few times. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she filled her glass and Kraft’s glass each about half full.
She picked up her glass and nodded to Kraft. “For better or worse, here’s to our cause, our crew, and our ship.”
Kraft nodded over his glass. “Cheers.”
She knocked back the drink and nearly spewed it out all over the bar. By the Gods, that was nasty stuff. “Ugh. That’s terrible.”
Kraft had knocked his drink back as well. He grimaced as he put the glass back on the bar. “I’ve tasted better coming out of Chief Tolle’s still even before it gets refined.”
Vance chuckled. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Kraft smiled. “And I’ll pretend that you’re not always the recipient of the first bottle he fills.”
Vance laughed at that, though the laugh was cut short when their Calper shifted suddenly to block a Union marine stomping toward them. The Calper put a hand up and the Union marine stopped a few feet from Vance and Kraft.
Vance stared at him. “Yes?”
The marine glanced at the Calper, then focused on her. “Captain Hambrill? My lieutenant wishes to speak with you.”
She could barely hear him over the noise in the crowded tavern. “What, here?”
The marine nodded. “We commandeered one of the private rooms.”
Of course they had. Union helped themselves, these days.
She glanced at Kraft and then reached over and picked up the bottle of nasty alcohol. “Sure, why not? Let’s share a drink with the lieutenant and foster some good relations.”
She gestured to the marine to lead the way, and then followed. The Calper shot her an unhappy look, but she chose to ignore it. Even with the pressure pushing down on her mind, she was going in wide-eyed and sober, which was more than she could say for some of her previous jaunts to a tavern.
The marine led them to one of three doors set off to the side of the main common room. Another Union marine was stationed outside of it, a plasma carbine slung over his shoulder and his field helmet pulled down low on his head. Vance raised an eyebrow at the pair of marines, but didn’t say anything. She had Kraft and a pair of Calpers, and she’d pick her odds any day of the week.
The marine knocked on the door twice in a crisp, military manner, and then opened the door and stepped aside. “Lieutenant wants to see just you, Captain. Your crew waits out here.”
Vance glanced at Kraft and nodded slightly. She didn’t have to tell him to come in blazing if she wasn’t out in a hot minute.
“Well, all right. Nice to know he doesn’t think we need a chaperone.”
The marine frowned in response. Whether he didn’t approve of the meeting, or her, or something else, she didn’t know. Maybe he just disapproved in general.
She stepped into the open door with the bottle swinging from her right hand, leaving her left free and clear to draw her sidearm if she needed to.
That lieutenant with the pale blue eyes was standing next to a short table, a neutral expression on his face. She gave him a little grin and moved toward him. As she did so, he raised his right hand and gestured toward the door, which slammed shut, apparently of its own accord.
In a burst of insight, she realized that she was in real trouble. Without another thought, she cocked back and swung the bottle with all the strength she could muster toward the lieutenant’s face, desperate to distract him enough to get out of the room, to get away, to get the hell off the planet.
He lifted his hands and blocked the bottle from hitting his face, but the thing shattered against his hands. He grunted in pain and then reached out for her, catching her right hand in his bloodied hands and wrenching her arms toward him.
She struggled as hard as she could, but the pressure in her mind was suddenly too great—the spear
of pain she felt had pierced right through her mind and into her ability to speak. She could barely even breathe.
The lieutenant pulled her in close and forced her hands and arms behind her back. He leaned down and rested his mouth against her ear.
“By the gods, woman! Stop struggling!”
That only made her struggle more. The last thing she wanted to do was get violated by this man in this place.
He shook his head against her. “No, no, no! That’s not what I want!”
She felt the spear in her mind change shape. It moved around to different parts of her brain, but she didn’t understand what or how. All she knew was that somehow she couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, could barely think of anything but the desperate need to escape. The Union lieutenant wasn’t just a junior officer on a Union frigate—he was a gods-damned mind-ripper.
He let her go, and backed off a couple steps, a stunned expression on his face. In a low voice, he said, “I prefer the term ‘evolved’, myself.”
She was stuck in place—she found she couldn’t move or talk. She just stared at him as best she could in the position he had left her in.
He stared at his bloodied hands and shook his head. “Gods, Captain. I’m so sorry. I handled this about as poorly as I could have ever imagined.”
Yeah, no kidding! She strained against whatever controls he had in place, and surprised herself by feeling something pop within her mind.
“What were you trying to accomplish?”
He stared at her, the expression on his face modulating quickly from surprise to curiosity. “How did you do that?”
She frowned. “Do what?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I had a control set on your ability to speak. You’ve broken that control.”
She paused, puzzled. “I…I don’t know. I just…forced myself to push the block aside.”
He stared at her with what she could only describe as wonder. “My gods. I was right.”
She stared at him. “Right about what?”
The Expanding Universe Page 10
