The Star-Keeper Imperative

by C N Samson

  Emlyn escorted Dr. Parzo back to the control station. Prester looked her up and down.

  “Sure you’re feeling okay? No dizziness or anything?” he asked.

  “As I said, I’m fine,” Dr. Parzo answered coolly.

  “Marvelous!” Prester said, looking pleased. He asked Norland to take Dr. Parzo to the ship’s medical officer for an examination, and also to send all the hangar bay and robot video to the terminal in his quarters.

  “Don’t you want to try another experiment?” Norland asked. “I thought we could—”

  “No time,” Prester said. “Get us under way for Maralto as soon as you can. Briggston’s not going to wait.”

  A call came in on Norland’s ECM. It was Vance, from the bridge. “Sir,” he said, “We’ve got another ship out here.”

  “Hold on.” Norland brought Prester in on the call. “All right, Vance, what’s this about another ship?”

  “It’s from Treilath, Patrol craft, TSS Everstar. It’s one orbit slot out from us, standing abeam.” Vance paused. “Now the pilot’s signaling.”

  “Ask him what he wants,” Norland said.

  A few moments went by, then Vance said, “He’s asking about the Libertine. Says that some observers on the planet reported that—”

  “Bloody cockness!” Prester exploded. “Blast him to dust!”

  “Sir?” Vance sounded uncertain.

  “Follow the order,” said Norland. “Destroy that ship.”

  “Understood.”

  As the two men ran to the lift, the General Quarters alarm sounded.

  “Vance, status!” Norland shouted.

  “Negative kill! Return fire incoming! Taking evasive now!”

  “Forget evading,” Prester growled. “Flush the prisoners and jump!”

  “Do it!” said Norland.

  “Yes, sir!”

  CHAPTER 29

  THE GENERAL QUARTERS alarm jolted Rheinborne out of a doze.

  “Are we under attack?” Tahla asked, eyes wide.

  A red light flashed above the outer airlock hatch. Fear surged through Rheinborne at what that meant.

  “Well, that’s not good at all,” Drummond said sadly.

  The hatch blew outward. Rheinborne huffed as he was propelled out of the airlock like a shot from a gun. He tumbled helplessly, seeing the planet, the dark of space, and the ship in mad succession.

  Planet— space—ship—space.

  Planet— space—ship—space.

  Planet—space.

  Planet—space.

  Intense cold on his skin.

  A strange taste in his mouth.

  Rheinborne threw his arms and legs outward to arrest his tumble.

  No, that won’t work. This is space, not freefall!

  Something brushed his hand. Clothing.

  It was Tahla, floating limp and doll-like.

  His fingers snagged her jacket. He pulled her in, crushed her to his chest.

  Where was Drummond?

  His vision began to unfocus. His mind could still think thoughts, but for how long?

  He pinged out on his ECM. No response, no connection.

  This was it, then.

  So cold.

  Wait.

  Something.

  Something’s there.

  A figure. A form. Human?

  Yes. A humanoid figure. An angel?

  Yes, an angel. What else could it be?

  Rheinborne had never been religious, but the sight of it comforted him.

  The angel reached out, touched him. His eyes gradually closed.

  So it’s true, then. There really is an afterlife.

  An afterlife.

  Afterlife.

  After.

  Life.

  RHEINBORNE OPENED HIS eyes, saw a bright white light.

  His first thought was that he’d failed.

  His second thought was that he was still alive.

  He sat up, found that he was in a bunk, covered with a blanket. The lighting strip on the ceiling illuminated the fact that he was in a small starship cabin.

  No, wait. It was a holding cell, strange yet familiar at the same time. Then it came to him: he was used to being on the other side of the transparent wall that made up one side of the cell. Beyond the wall was an outer chamber, the door of which was open.

  A few moments later, a young man entered the room, carrying a tray that held a water bulb and a handful of food cubes. He wore a dark gray vacuum suit, minus helmet and gloves.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” he said. “Good.” He set the tray onto a little table beside the door. “You didn’t take any damage from that walk in space, but you’ll need to refuel.”

  Rheinborne sat up, rubbed his forehead. His mind was in a bit of a jumble, and he sought to understand his present circumstances. “Where...what are you doing out here?”

  The young man indicated a patch on the shoulder of his suit. “Treilath PSR. It’s kind of my job, isn’t it?”

  “Right, yeah, I used to be...” Rheinborne gasped, remembered something important. “Where are my friends?” He started to get out of the bunk, but a wave of dizziness made him sit back down.

  “Sorry, sir, you need to rest and eat. The other two are aboard.” An odd look flashed across his face. “In any case, I’m Lieutenant Clayburn, unit Stalwart Green. You’re on board the Everstar. Since your ECMs seem to be disabled, and none of you are carrying identification, I’m going to need to ask you some questions first. Could you explain who you all are, why that ship fired on me, and why the three of you were ejected?”

  “I could, but there isn’t time for that.” Rheinborne eased himself off the bunk and stood. He wobbled, light-headed.

  “There’s a wreck in orbit, the Libertine, registered to a Captain Drummond—”

  “Where is he? Where’s Tahla?”

  “They’re both in the cryo bay,” Clayburn said. “But first, sir, I need to ascertain the facts of your situation, starting with your name.”

  “The name’s Rheinborne. My inter-pass was taken from me. And right now, my situation requires you to contact Patrol headquarters and tell them what’s happened.”

  The lieutenant hesitated, and something else occurred to Rheinborne. “Are you alone?” he asked.

  “Er...I can’t tell you that at the moment.” Clayburn looked at the floor.

  Rheinborne took a moment to study the youth. His neat haircut and crisp uniform clearly indicated that he had come straight out of the academy, with a strict follow-the-rules mentality. And according to Patrol procedure, a spacecraft of this type must be crewed by three people. Any loss of personnel had to be reported immediately. So what was this Clayburn person hiding?

  “Fine. I need to see my friends.” Rheinborne strode up to the wall, expecting it to slide open.

  “Not until I determine that none of you are a threat, or wanted criminals.”

  Rheinborne pounded the window-wall. “We’re not, can’t you see that?”

  Clayburn’s hand moved to rest on the butt of the oversized stun gun attached to the hip of his vacuum suit.

  “Look,” Rheinborne said, “haven’t you run our biometrics? You had plenty of time to do that, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve provisionally identified the other two as the captain and engineer of the Libertine. It’s you that I don’t know about.”

  “Then contact the nearest command post and run my bio.”

  The lieutenant took a step back. His gaze shifted between the ceiling and the floor.

  “I can’t. The circumstances are, I have to say, delicate, at the moment,” he said. “I can land you at one of the cities down there, and then you can go where you wish.”

  “Listen, you jumped-up little clinger!” bellowed Rheinborne. “You’re either going to call HQ, or I’m taking this ship and going after my friends.”

  “Doing so would be an act of piracy,” Clayburn replied. “But which friends do you mean, exactly? I thought—”

  Rheinborne e
xhaled in frustration. There was no getting through to this fool, and yet it was understandable that he wouldn’t simply take the word of some random stranger. On the other hand, his reluctance to contact his superiors was troubling. Rheinborne said as much, and a flash of fear came over the patrolman’s face.

  “Could I propose something, sir?” Clayburn asked. “Maybe we should just tell each other the truth, yet keep everything secret. Yes?”

  Ah, now they were getting somewhere! “I’m fine with that,” Rheinborne said.

  “Very well, sir. You first, though.”

  Rheinborne went through the basic facts of the mission, revealing how Gwynne of the DSI had put together a team to recover the Chythex artifact, and of how Norland and Prester had captured them once they had acquired it. When he finished, Clayburn gave a skeptical snort.

  “A DSI secret op to acquire alien technology? Or maybe it’s really just a smuggling deal gone bad?”

  Rheinborne ran a hand through his hair. “Did that ship look like a smuggler’s frigate to you? I mean, if you have doubts, then why not call Gwynne himself? In fact, I encourage it!” By now, Valicia must have reported her status, as well as the Skyward’s destination.

  The lieutenant chewed his lower lip, stared at nothing. Rheinborne sensed that the young man was nerving himself up for something.

  “Were you going to say that you’d been in the Patrol?” Clayburn asked.

  “Yeah, unit Hydrus Indigo. I was a pilot, just like you.”

  “Back when you were in training, did you have a flight instructor by the name of Feldan?”

  “You mean Freyan? Yeah. Is he still making everyone do the lunar run in that stripped-down scouter?”

  Clayburn gave a faint chuckle, visibly relaxed. “Yes, he is. And what was that thing he always said? About the Patrol officer’s duty?”

  Rheinborne thought a moment. “Something about always acting with honor, even if no one’s watching.”

  “That’s it. But tell me, sir, have you ever had to do something you knew was wrong, to protect your mates?”

  There it is, thought Rheinborne. The unwritten code. Brothers before others. “No,” he said, “because I learned that following Freyan’s advice is always the best course of action.”

  “Yes. I suppose he was right.”

  “Go on, then. What’s the truth?”

  The story suddenly gushed out of the young patrolman, like air from a hull breach. “It’s like this, sir. A day ago, standard, the three of us—that is, myself, Lieutenant Forster and Lieutenant Hanalin—we docked at the Verradwin station to refuel.”

  While Clayburn stayed with the ship, Lt. Forster and Lt. Hanalin went off to the recreation section to engage in some quick sim-porn in a LIBRA suite. An hour later, Clayburn was called to the security office. Turns out that his two crewmates had gotten into a scuffle with some anti-government vaporheads. The lieutenants were subjected to insults and taunts, but instead of walking away, they applied fists to faces.

  Normally, the Treilath military police would have been summoned and the lieutenants would have been detained. However, Clayburn found out that the two patrolmen had cut a deal with the security chief: three days in the station’s detention, and the incident would be wiped and forgotten. Clayburn was to carry on as normal and come back for them once their time had been served.

  “They told me that if I didn’t go along with it...” The lieutenant sighed heavily. “You do understand, sir?”

  “Yeah, I do,” said Rheinborne, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes and call him a stupid, naive clinger. “But do you understand that your mates now have three days to come up with a story that makes them look like victims, and makes it look like you abandoned them? Great Lord, it’s their word against yours, and who do you think Internal Investigations is going to believe when they find out?”

  “Oh,” Clayburn said weakly. “But no, they wouldn’t.”

  “Even though you weren’t involved, they’d want to make sure that you go down with them.”

  Shame was plain on the lieutenant’s face, so Rheinborne didn’t need to condemn him any further for his actions. Right now, he needed the youth’s cooperation.

  “However, as far as I’m concerned, you shouldn’t have been put into that situation. But my, ah, DSI friend may be able to help you, once we’ve gotten my mission all sorted. I just need you to contact him.”

  Clayburn’s expression lightened. “All right. Stand back, please.”

  Rheinborne moved back a pace. The lieutenant palmed an access plate, and the transparent wall partly slid open. He drew his stun gun, then asked Rheinborne to step out.

  “No need for that,” Rheinborne said. “In fact, if I were to space-jack your ship, I’d be doing you a huge favor.”

  Clayburn holstered the stun-gun.

  Rheinborne left the cell, moving deliberately so as not to scare the young patrolman.

  “I’m sure you remember where the cockpit is,” Clayburn said.

  “Yeah, but I want to see my friends first.”

  “As I said, they’re in the cryo bay.” Clayburn let Rheinborne precede him into the ship’s main corridor. They turned left, walked a few doors down until they came to one labeled “Cryonic Suspension.”

  The lieutenant unlocked the door and opened it. Inside the two-pod cryo-bay, Tahla was draped over the first pod, sobbing quietly. The person lying within was Captain Drummond.

  Rheinborne stopped in the doorway, unwilling to interrupt. Behind him, Clayburn whispered, “I tried to save him, I honestly did. But you two were closer, and by the time I got to him, it was too late.”

  Tahla raised her head, her face tear-streaked. Seeing Rheinborne, she sprang up and threw herself at him, hugged him with desperate ferocity. He didn’t need to ask if the captain was still alive.

  After what seemed like a long enough time, Rheinborne gently disengaged Tahla.

  “I’m so sorry about your uncle,” he said. “But the rest of us are still out there. We’ll get them back, I swear.”

  Tahla sniffled.

  “She can stay in Hanalin’s cabin,” said Clayburn. “It’s the cleanest one, relatively speaking.”

  The two men escorted her to that room, where she crawled into the bunk. The heat of anger mounted inside Rheinborne as he watched her bury her face in a pillow. Norland and Prester wouldn’t escape what was coming to them.

  CHAPTER 30

  IN THE Everstar’s cockpit, Lieutenant Clayburn dropped into the pilot’s seat and readied a comm channel.

  “Flag an urgent transmission for Mr. Gwynne, Treilath civilian starship Adventurer,” Rheinborne said.

  Clayburn sent the comm request. While waiting for the reply, he told Rheinborne that some observers on the planet had seen the Skyward attacking the Libertine and had broadcast a call for assistance. Clayburn had responded, but wasn’t prepared when he was fired upon.

  “I would have gone straight after them,” he said, “but then I saw that they’d spit you out the airlock, and—”

  A chime sounded, then the words “INCOMING TRANSMISSION” popped up on the main screen.

  Clayburn accepted the call. Gwynne’s face appeared on the screen, red-eyed and frantic.

  “Rheinborne, is that you?” the DSI man asked, an edge of hysteria in his voice.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Rheinborne said from the cockpit doorway.

  “Oh, thank the Great Lord! Where are you?”

  “Arctareen orbit. Patrol ship Everstar.” He gave a quick rundown of what had happened.

  “Okay, good, now listen.” He paused, narrowed his eyes at Clayburn. “Who are you, again?”

  Rheinborne introduced the lieutenant. “I had to tell him about the mission.”

  Gwynne groaned. “All right, here’s what I know. Dr. Parzo, Kassyrinx, and Hurgompo are on the Skyward, on the way to Maralto. How fast can you get there?”

  “I’m sorry, no sir,” said Clayburn. “I can’t go that far.”

  Gwynne be
gan shouting incoherently. Rheinborne interrupted him and explained, without giving details, that the patrolman was unable to assist.

  “Actually, sir,” Clayburn said, “I might be able to get you part of the way there.” He brought up a star map on the main display, and a red circle appeared around the star Hatagur. The circle expanded, then stopped.

  “Is that all?” Rheinborne asked. The distance indicated by the circle was about a quarter of the way to Maralto.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, sir,” said Clayburn.

  Rheinborne gazed at the map. There weren’t any planets or stations near the perimeter of the circle.

  “ZT can get us the rest of the way.”

  Rheinborne turned, saw Tahla standing behind him. Her eyes were red, but a firm resolve lay in her expression.

  “Miss Two-Saints!” Gwynne said. “So glad you’re safe. I’m sorry to hear about Angus, he was a good friend.”

  While they were talking, Rheinborne accessed the text of ZT’s business card. His courier ship, the Caspriona, had a stardrive rating of 6.57, a little faster the Libertine. Factoring in the vessel’s speed with the distance they needed to travel, and also taking into account the Skyward’s top speed....

  Hope sparked within Rheinborne. If ZT was nearby, then it could be done!

  “Gwynne, listen,” he said. “We can still save them.” He explained that if ZT met the Everstar within twelve hours and took them the rest of the way to Maralto, they’d beat the Skyward there by at least one standard day.

  “You sure? Give me the numbers,” Gwynne said.

  Rheinborne cast the calculation sequence from his module onto the ship’s main display. Clayburn transmitted the requested data, and Gwynne looked it over. Moments later, he cracked a weary smile.

  “If all goes perfect, then you’re right: one standard day,” he said. “Miss Two-Saints, please contact your friend, find out his current location. And Lieutenant Clayburn, in return for your assistance, we’ll have to come to some form of accommodation, yes?”

  “Yes, sir!” Clayburn eagerly replied.