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Prologue
Ford sat alone in the Themis ready room drumming his fingers softly on the black marble table, his back to the door, as he scrolled through the various status reports from his senior crew. Everything was quiet, far too quiet. It was as if the galaxy, or at least their part of it, had taken a deep expectant breath and was waiting to exhale.
For the last few months they'd sat in the Scorponoid System, bathing in the healing radiation of its twin stars, as their semi-organic ship had renewed and regenerated itself. While its organic AI, Alaster, had finally purged the last remaining traces of Jasper's virus. Jasper himself and his ship, the Fury, seemed to have vanished without trace. Although he didn't doubt they were engaged in some nefarious mercenary work, in some unfortunate, far flung corner of the galaxy. Following the collapse of the Vesperon, Haldyne and Zodan Corporations, the Brethrens acquisition of their main battle fleets and the Malstrom Corporations core worlds, the ensuing chaos, spreading across human space, made it increasing difficult to detect the work of his hand.
The Brethren themselves, lead by the High Priestess and Prophet, peddling salvation from the chaos at a price, had also been uncharacteristically quiet of late. The bulk of their massive armada remaining stubbornly parked around what had been Malstrom's home planet, Malshenko. While the known order of the universe collapsed around them. They made occasional forays into what was formerly Vesperon, Haldyne or Zodan space, when desperate planets petitioned for salvation and were judged worthy, or at least credit worthy of it. Presumably to serve some greater strategic purpose of the Brethren, which they had yet to discern. The bizarre thing about it was that most of these missions were lead by Marshall Indra, commander of the former Zodan fleet flagship Zenobia. Apparently killed in the battle for Malshenko, she had been resurrected from the dead to serve the Brethren.
Ford put his hand to his face, pushing up his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. The universe was becoming a stranger and more outlandish place by the day. Then again, as the organic interface for a powerful alien AI, he himself was probably one of the strangest things in the universe. An alien AI hidden under the planet Anobar. A planet they'd liberated from Malstrom, only to be exiled from by the Federation of Free Planets. A federation he himself had helped form.
Yet despite its failings and its frailties, or perhaps because of them, the Federation remained humankinds last, best hope for peace. A motley alliance of free planets, liberated corporate worlds and forgotten colonies. It somehow managed to navigate the increasingly complex politics of an unstable universe, to protect its members, even if it meant abandoning its founder. Still he would not abandon it and continued to serve it unofficially, in whatever capacity he could. Hence their extended presence in this part of the galaxy.
He allowed himself a brief smile. Despite the heavy cost they'd all paid, they could be proud of what they had achieved, in the short time they'd been exiled. Eradicating the Raider threat and their heinous meat run, trafficking refugees and alyssum seekers to the Anterian flesh eaters. Established a safe haven in the Scorpion Nebula, where refugees could begin building a new life. Brought an end to the hundred year war between the Dracon and Icon systems. Secured the Nova-7 free trade hubs membership of the federation. It was of course the nature of politics, and their status as exiles, that resulted in Governor Clarkson of Nova-7 publicly taking the credit for all this.
Still President Tasha of the Draconion people has insisted on them being guests of honour at the formal signing of the peace treaty. A treaty that would end the hundred year war and guarantee the peace and independence of both, as members of the federation. Symbolically the signing would take place on Nova-7 and also see the signing of the formal accession treaty of Nova-7 into the federation. As well as the newly established refugee mining colonies in the Scorpion Nebula. Although, to facilitate Ford and his crews presence at the ceremony, the formal accession of the latter two into the federation would not take place till forty-eight hours after the treaty was signed. Allowing them time to leave via the Scorpion Nebula colonies.
He checked the crew rosters next and was pleased to see the last six months had not been wasted. The Talmari, Hyneari, human refugees, and what remained of the original crew had been integrated into a single combat unit, more than capable of holding their own against almost any ship in the galaxy. The feedback from the combat simulations had been so good of late he now felt ready to risk deploying the neural interfaces again. Allowing the crew to interact directly with Alaster, Themis and each other in combat situations. Alaster had used data collected during the simulations to refine the alien technology. Match it to the physiology of their crew species, suppress negative emotional feedback, and protect their privacy from unwarranted intrusions.
Finally, he scrolled down to the classified security report, for his eyes only, from Bryson. They were still no closer to identifying the mysterious crew member who'd stolen the outlawed Verion disrupter blade and nanogrenades. The ones he'd manufactured to deal with an Anterian boarding party. Nor were there any new leads on the whereabouts of the mysterious cyborg assassin, who'd visited him on the Nova-7, or Ocoto's missing granddaughter, believed to be a Tantalus agent send to extract someone from Malshenko. What few leads they had were cold and he could only hope the formal signing of the treaties on Nova-7 passed off without incident tomorrow.
He turned the screen off, tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, there were too many questions and too few answers. Still in seventy-two hours they would be on the move again and they needed a new mission, something to focus on. The senior crew would be expecting him to give them that focus when they stepped into the ready room, in just under five minutes from now. The question was which mission would he choose?
Suddenly an alarm jolted him back to the present. He jumped out his seat and moved swiftly to the bridge.
Exiles Page 58
