The Blue-Spangled Blue (The Path Book 1)

by David Bowles

  Flying into the blue-spangled blue.

  He was oblivious to all, caught in a whirling fever of concentration as he fell: the drive, the hydrogen cells, concussion after concussion.

  The engine exploded, flinging him up and back like a rag doll, sending large chunks of metal in all directions to smash the horrified yaks into bloody smears. The explosion breached the floor beneath the ship, and the passenger section tilted back and collapsed into the auxiliary hangar below. The wall he’d just leapt from was now racing toward him: he fired the last three concussion rounds at it, and the recoil pushed him back toward the smoldering chaos below.

  He had no way to cushion his impact.

  Death imminent, the blue lightened, and Brando in a diaphanous moment knew he’d survive: objects were beginning to float, which meant that somehow the platform’s gravity had been nullified. Perhaps the g-sink had been damaged in the space battle. Brando’s momentum carried him into a patch of still-solid floor, but he was prepared and rolled off in another direction, suffering only a few more fractures on ribs and arm and some severely pulled muscles.

  He angled off the wall opposite where he’d first entered, heading toward the ceiling at a much slower pace. Grabbing a hold of cabling that ran along its length, he kicked off toward the fiery hole in the bulkhead below.

  Drifting in the midst of burning debris and smashed body parts, Brando reached auxiliary hangar A, where several of the small troop transports had been damaged by the explosion and collapse of the ceiling.

  Near the hangar doors, however, sat two battle shuttles, clinging to the floor with magnetized landing struts. There were a couple of demimundo soldiers floating around, trying to make sense of the hellish situation, but none of them noticed Brando as he pushed off and dodged and worked his way toward the transports.

  Reaching the closest one, he cycled through the cabin airlock and gained the interior. In seconds he had started the pre-flight sequences, demagnetizing the struts and using steering thrusters to turn around and face the doors.

  They won’t just open them so I can fly out.

  He barked a short, almost crazed laugh, primed the short-range missiles, and blew the hangar doors to scrap metal, allowing the sudden pull of the vacuum to draw him out into space along with the debris and the screaming yaks.

  INTERCHAPTER I

  From: mukerjib@pacifactor2.gov.af

  To: muntsoj@cpcc.gov.sol

  Subject: Mission update

  Date: May 5, 2697 21:45:43 (SST)

  Prime Minister:

  We defenstrated the Pacifactor II at the edge of the system at 13:13 Solar Standard Time, 11:50 local. We put off braking until the last possible moment because I decided to push the ship to its structural limits. Military grade suspensor gel is rated at even higher gees, but the Pacifactor II is no state-of-the-art galleon. It’s a fifty-year-old ship coming off a six-month stint at Sigma Draconis, without even the benefit of modern tech, despite its multiple retrofits and despite being the namesake of the ship that it pulled humanity’s collective khyber out of the hell that was the Centauri Rift. But that’s another complaint, for another time, Madam Prime Minister.

  We docked at Rasaro platform at 18:38 SST. Right away I began to assess the situation, preparing eight teams of soldiers to disperse to Station City and the CPCC building. At 19:30, I received word that Captain Ben Wu of Jitsu’s Anti-Terrorism Squads wanted to share intel with me. Based on a pair of communications he engaged in (annexed to this message), I became convinced that a large force of Brotherhood troops were on Nawabari platform, their transport ship on the dayside of the planet.

  As a result, at 20:00 I sent just three of my shuttles to the surface, ordering the other five to engage the orbital station. We soon discovered that its defenses had been improved over the years. However, because of the skill of our swains and weapons people plus a strange lull in enemy activity, by 21:15 we had disabled most of Nawabari’s external defenses. About five minutes later, there was a massive gravity failure on the platform, which allowed our people to board with complete body armor and gravity boots to begin to clean up the mess that they discovered inside. Perhaps an internal conflict, some schism or squabble, resulted in scores of Brotherhood members dead.

  This cleanup was “helped” when the doors of one of the auxiliary shuttle hangars exploded and its contents sucked out into space. We’re being forced to be careful navigating the debris field, which contains entire ships wrecked by the internal explosive event. With luck, most of this will be drawn into the atmosphere to burn up or fall into the ocean.

  While these events were going on, the Pacifactor II engaged and defeated a Brotherhood attack cruiser. At about 20:21 the ship, which we’d already detected, came into sensor range. With Captain Wu’s help, we had created the illusion that our ship was crippled by our entrance into the system, so we sat as if unable to move, firing shots misaimed on purpose to draw the enemy closer. At 20:30 they had approached to well within our weapons’ range. I had my weapons officer target their hangar bays and fire the minute they opened. Despite the advanced tech of these demimundo ships, they have no experience fighting AF firepower or defenses, preferring to prey on merchant vessels or other private ships. I point this out to explain the most probable reason we able to completely disable that ship in fifteen minutes. With their small ranfla fighters eliminated in their hangars, the syndicate commanders of the ship were at a loss. And that’s the way it always is with them: so dependent on their expendable soldiers that they can’t manage without them. Volleys of plasma missiles to their drive, weapons and communications system, and we soon had them under grapple. At this moment, I’ve got several teams preparing a boarding party. While I am sure it’ll be a bloody conflict, I feel confident that my men, better trained and loyal, will take control of the enemy ship soon enough. Prisoners will be held awaiting military tribunal, like you indicated.

  On the surface, our men are still trying to get CPCC territory back under our control. We’ve retaken the area around the Consortium’s building in Jitsuan territory, but we still have real problems in Station City. In order to get that situation in hand, I’m sending another two shuttles with teams for back up. That is, course, if the Agamemnon can catch this new Brotherhood frigate that is headed our way. We fed them the data they need to defenestrate in-system like the Brotherhood did. If they can’t, I might need to recall my troops and get ready for another little naumachia up here. At the very least, it won’t be a happy gam. I realize that any backup you’ve called for us must be a day away at the best, so we’ll handle it on our own. I won’t let you down. None of us will.

  Bud Mukerji

  Captain, Pacifactor II

  CHAPTER 46

  Santo watched the reports pour in with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension. The CPCCAF patrol ship the Pacifactor II had crippled a Brotherhood frigate, and it was at the moment handling the Nawabari Platform. Contingents of CPCCAF soldiers had taken up position within Station City and around the CPCC building and were supporting the Consortium’s local constabulary troops in fighting off attacks from Jitsu security forces and the ATS. However, another Brotherhood vessel was approaching Jitsu, and Santo knew that the forces plaguing him would soon have other problems to deal with.

  It was uncanny how well she had foreseen this moment, the AF and the Brotherhood drawn together in a conflict that, she had assured him for years, would leave him free to rule Jitsu unhindered by either group.

  He wanted to buzz the Oracle, but she’d left strict instructions not to be disturbed. The operation returning her to normal physical function had been a success in half the time anticipated thanks to the chirurgic’s years of planning, and she’d been put in a recuperation room.

  Samanei had demanded a faux-connection to the interstellar net. She had been locked in for hours without communicating with Santo at all. Inconvenient, given the fact that Jetsun Muntso, Prime Minister of the CPCC, was insisting on an immediate faux-conference with t
he new archon.

  Santo knew that his interchange with the Consortium commander-in-chief had to be handled perfectly to strike the right balance so that the Brotherhood became her only target. He needed the Oracle’s counsel.

  Annoyed, he checked his com queue to find out if the messages he’d sent her had been answered. He discovered a brief note from Samanei: meet with her. You’ll know what to say.

  The faux-conference room he uplinked to had been designed to resemble the Prime Minister’s actual office in Milan, a high-ceiling room known popularly as the Chapel, and a huge wooden desk separated her avatar and his, underscoring the distance between them and her own self-image of superiority. Her plaited hair was pulled back severely, and her amber eyes bored into him without mercy.

  “Archon Koroma,” she said smoothly, “listen carefully. For months we attempted to dissuade you from this course. As head of Jitsu’s immigration ministry, you managed to befuddle the Minister of Colonization to the point that he believed the goodness of your will. The Minister of State herself was reluctant to believe you capable of Kunti-like betrayal, despite your ghettoization campaign and your refusal of AF assistance in clearing up your supposed terrorism problem. Ambassador Soral, more aware of your duplicity, managed only recently to make you show your true intentions.”

  “And what, dear Minister, are they? Please enlighten me, more than I already am.”

  “You unctuous smiles and backhanded insults will do you no good, Archon. You want, it is clear, to break all the treaties signed between your world and the CPCC, despite the fact that they provide yall’s main economic support. Without the royalties that we pay to mine yall’s Oort cloud and the leases you gave different corporations to use the planets around Kobito, how do you plan to continue providing 300,000 people food, shelter, energy? Through tourism? Please. But that’s not all: you want to displace seven and a half thousand CPCC citizens, behaving like the very late Regent Leksono in confiscating Consortium and private property without cause.”

  “Oh, I have plenty of cause. We spent the last decade and a half being increasingly attacked by underworld groups. Where were yall then, eh?”

  The Prime Minister gave a scoffing laugh. “Ah, yes, the Brotherhood incursions. We suspected all along that you were behind those, just like some of your own fellow citizens did. Of course, there was never any hard evidence, or any witnesses at all. Or rather, the few people who volunteered information met with some rather unfortunate accidents. And need I remind you, Archon, that we constantly offered our help, but your predecessor refused it.”

  Santo grew impatient. “Then, if yall have no evidence and know what I’ll reply to all this silly political pressure, why are you and I talking?”

  “Hmm. Understand, neither Milint, the AF’s investigative branch, nor the XID, the executive’s own agency, possessed any conclusive evidence before, but some new, very recent breaks came up today. Our special investigator for Jitsu—perhaps you know him, used to be mayor of Station City—Seni Chunhawan?”

  Santo cursed the man inwardly. Annoyingly impudent off-worlder.

  Should’ve killed him when he was here.

  “He now has two crucial elements for his case against you, Archon. First is Captain Ben Wu—”

  “A liar and coconspirator with the killer Brando D’Angelo,” Koroma fired off angrily.

  “—and second is a fascinating compilation of encoded messages between Jitsu and the Brotherhood, bounced off of an illegal tunneling post in orbit around the fifth planet of this system, which, by the way, we confiscated moments ago. The Cetus-class galleon Agamemnon slowed its braking speed just enough to scoop it up on its way to Jitsu. The anonymous person who provided us with this valuable information also forwarded us a key, one that even our best decryptors would’ve been troubled by. Guess who the correspondents are? You, dear Archon, and the infamous Konrau Beserra. Conspiring to commit murder. Fraud. Coup d’etat. The list goes on.”

  Santo said nothing. He could not think. Had Nestor sold both him and Konrau out? Because this evidence would not only have repercussions for Koroma: it would give the CPCC the authority it had been looking for to step in and clean house in the demimundo, which of course was Santo’s goal, his smokescreen, but hardly a desirable outcome for the Brotherhood.

  No. The strange old spy. Bandera. But why didn’t the Oracle foresee his betrayal?

  “So I am talking to you to make an offer: stop this insanity now. Turn your government over to the interim regent we’re sending on the Agamemnon. In exchange for your cooperation in shutting down the Brotherhood, we’re willing to give you prosecutorial immunity. You won’t be able to reside on Jitsu anymore, but perhaps one of the Neo Gnostic monasteries on Mars could become a refuge for you.”

  For the briefest of moments, despair building within him, Santo almost acquiesced. The Oracle’s plan seemed to be unraveling before his very eyes. Then he re-ran the Prime Minister’s words through his mind, and an idea began to coalesce.

  The Oracle was right to trust me with this. I know just what to do.

  “I see. Well, Minister Muntso, I appreciate the thought, but as I have no idea what you’re talking about, I will close this link and ask you to reconsider any planned action against the people of Jitsu. We might not be many, but we have enlightenment on our side.”

  Muntso stood up suddenly and with obvious anger.

  “Fine, Koroma. We’ll play it your way, then.”

  She stepped out of the faux-beam, her avatar winking into nothingness. Santo disconnected and called a technician in to help him edit a section of the conversation. Soon he began broadcasting to all of Jitsu.

  “My children, we have a dilemma. The Consortium just decided to force its off-worlder, infidel ways on us.” He motioned for the recording to be played. The Prime Minister’s avatar could be seen and heard pronouncing damning words: “So I am talking to you to make an offer: stop this insanity now. Turn your government over to the interim regent that we’re sending on the Agamemnon. You won’t be able to reside on Jitsu anymore, but perhaps one of the Neo Gnostic monasteries on Mars could become a refuge for you.”

  Santo’s image once again filled the terminals across the northern continent. “They want me to abandon yall, but I won’t do it, my children. I’ll fight by yall’s side, to the death. Quantum enlightenment for everyone that dies for Jitsu. Remember Mother Domina! She gave her life so that this world would be kept free from the Demiurge. Resist at all costs!”

  There, he thought as he terminated the transmission. Let’s see if the AF is prepared to shoot unarmed civilians. If did so, the Ogdoad forbid it, member planets and colonies would balk and perhaps play into my hands. Even independent worlds like Terego could enter into the equation, seeing how the CPCC once again forces itself on a planet. They are already jittery over the occupation of Kunti.

  His secretary chimed him. A message was being sent, coded, from Nawabari Platform. He took it immediately. The man on the other end was Simon Sato, a technician loyal to Dominatudan and planted by Santo on the station.

  “Archon, blessed be your name, enlighten me. Holy One, the situation here is chaotic. We’ve got no gravity. The station is still being hit pretty hard and being boarded by AF troops. The major news is that Konrau Beserra is dead, and one of his lieutenants, a guy named Eri Sanchez, took over. He plans to negotiate with the CPCC because of the two battleships approaching.”

  Santo experienced an odd mixture of relief and fear.

  “At the hands of what person Beserra died?”

  “Everyone’s saying that it was Brando D’Angelo. He apparently escaped and killed lots of men, then the kasike. But they can’t find him: he was going into the main hangar when there were two major explosions that compromised the bulkheads. Force fields can’t be shut off in the main hangar or the lower auxiliary one, but most of what was in there got sucked out into space. Unless he managed to get out in time and is hiding somewhere on the station, D’Angelo probably got expel
led with all the other stuff.”

  Santo rolled this around in his mind. D’Angelo was resourceful, a survivor. The odds were against his ever returning to Jitsu, but Santo was still nervous.

  Got to hide myself and the Oracle away.

  “Holiness, the other faithful like me, we don’t want to be here anymore. So we’re going to slip onto a shuttle in the remaining hangar and escape. Please, could you tell the AF that we’re Jitsujin so they won’t fire on us?”

  Konrau nodded solemnly. “Of course, my son. Come on home, and be enlightened.”

  No such call would be made. There were things more important that those men to preserve. He hurried to the room where the Oracle rested and barged in. She was standing, a white cotton robe draped over her, hiding the wrappings that, along with nanodocs, were speeding her recovery. She slowly shuffled toward him. He bowed his head.

  “Oracle, someone has just betrayed us and the Brotherhood both. The Prime Minister has hard evidence of collusion, and Wu went over. I think it was Yen Bandera who betrayed us.”

  An indecipherable smile pulled at Samanei’s lips.

  “Yes. Don’t worry, Santo. Everything is happening for a reason. It will all turn out just as I planned, I promise. Now, let’s go. To the heart of the honden, the inner sanctum. Let’s go and wait, Santo, and see what happens.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Meji Pishan sat at their desk in the government complex, contemplating an ancient kleinball, handed down through the generations of the Pishan family, all of whom had become arojin and all of whom presented for Meji a model of spirituality that they had endeavored his entire life to live up to. They turned the kleinball around and around in their expert hands, tracing its twisting, ostensibly one-dimensional surface, searching for wisdom. For guidance.