Sanctuary's Gambit: The Darkspace Saga Book 2

by B. C. Kellogg

  My fault.

  She hesitated. “Conrad ... there’s one more detail about Gambier that you should know. The Corps ship that first found the Steadfast near the Martian portal ran a full array of tests in the area. The Steadfast was fine, aside from the obvious damage it had taken in the fight. But around the portal entrance and clinging to the Steadfast’s hull, Conrad, was residue from the Vehn ships.”

  Conrad frowned. “We did get close to the Vehn ships near Gambier, but we weren’t that close when any of ‘em blew.”

  “Right. If we had to guess, Con, the Vehn ships blew inside the portal.”

  He absorbed this. “There’s no record of anything like this happening.”

  “As far as our knowledge of portals go, no. They’re inert. But something happened between Gambier and Mars, Conrad, besides the fact that the Steadfast magically skipped three portal jumps.”

  She looked at him. “Did you do something, Con? Do you remember firing on those Vehn ships ... after you’d entered the portal?”

  He was silent for a long moment. “No,” he said. “I remember ... being inside. But I couldn’t do anything. Aside from bringing the ship back to Sanctuary.”

  She looked more concerned than ever. “If the Council knew that you could jump like this through portals,” she muttered, “they’d stick you in a lab and never let you leave the solar system again. As it is, we’re going to let them believe that you just falsified your reports to cover up your ‘failure’ at Colony Gambier.”

  The irony of the situation provoked a humorless chuckle from Conrad. He’d spent his entire life believing in the righteousness of Sanctuary, and the Protectorate Corps—only to be saved by blatant duplicity on the part of the commodore who’d practically raised him.

  “This is the only way,” she said. “The only way I can get you off planet. We need you to do this—take the risk and go back out there. Find us allies to oppose the Empire. From what you’ve told us, we’ll need them, and soon.”

  “You don’t need to convince me,” he said.

  “Maybe I’m just convincing myself,” she said with a half-smile. She picked at the fabric of the couch, obviously worried. Conrad leaned forward and cupped her face in his hand. She looked up at him, startled.

  “Rosie,” he said. “You’ve done everything you can. I promise I won’t let you down—and I promise I will come back. I always do. I always will.”

  Rose offered him the bed but he’d demurred, taking the sofa in her living room. Night fell as he lay there, sleep eluding him. Rain pattered on the windows, the bright lights of Dublin glowing in the darkness beyond.

  This is nothing like being stuck inside a tin can. It wasn’t hard for him to be honest about that, at least. Being grounded planetside made him feel strange and uneasy. He wanted—no, needed—to be back up there again. He turned his head, trying to see the night sky through the rain and the lights and failing.

  He rested his head on his hands clasped behind his head, mulling over the day’s revelations. When he’d returned to Sanctuary, the stolen Imperial ship in tow, there was only silence from the High Council. He assumed that they read his report and were either disinterested, or planning to crucify the Corps leadership for authorizing such an absurd mission. But there had been only silence.

  Now he knew it was all Garrity’s doing. What else had the old commodore done to protect him? What else did she know?

  He raised a hand, idly studying its shape against the light filtering into the room. He could see the faint red of the blood pulsing through his veins. It was his blood that had unlocked doors—literally—within the Satori empire. He was one of them—how that was possible remained the greatest mystery of all.

  And Rosie. He ran a hand across his face, feeling the rough stubble on his jaw. Once upon a time he’d convinced himself that he loved her. But something between them had shifted. When he looked at her now he thought of their childhood in the creche, Argus nipping at their heels, the three of them running wild together. She was beautiful. Then and now.

  But not meant for me, he thought ruefully.

  He breathed slowly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He felt lighter, in that moment. The threads binding him to this planet were loosening. It was time to go out into the wilds again. Where he belonged.

  His eyes opened. Sleep would not come. He stood up in search of Rose’s comms bank, a clear purpose now in mind.

  He found it and patiently initiated the logon sequence for a highly secret, encrypted line that would send a message to the edge of known space.

  The message was only a single word: Centaura.

  Chapter 7

  The Steadfast was gleaming once more, every inch of the ship functioning within normal parameters. Its guns had been upgraded; its missile bays were full. It soared silently through space, its skeleton crew performing at peak efficiency.

  As ever, the air was dry and recycled; the ship’s interiors were a monotonous mix of gray, white, and black metal; to any sane person, Conrad assumed that it would be depressing. But to him, it was all familiar and reassuring, even if it was operated by less than half of its normal complement of corpsmen. Despite the danger of what they were about to do, Conrad felt more at ease here than he did on Sanctuary.

  He drummed his fingers on his captain’s chair, considering the path ahead. It was important that the mission be kept secret, so Garrity had arranged for only the most dedicated, least-attached crewmen to go with them.

  Argus rumbled behind him. Conrad smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed, studying the planet before them. “It hasn’t changed at all.”

  A shifting swarm of trading ships surrounded Centaura, in constant movement. The last time they made the long trip from the Corps shipyards to the central trading post in the Proxima Centauri system, they were two years younger and ignorant of what lay beyond Sanctuary. They were brash, and foolhardy.

  Conrad allowed his thoughts to drift back to that moment. He had actually felt excited to ship out the last time they were here. He’d had no idea what was coming.

  I was a moron. Rose was right. Things have changed.

  The Steadfast moved past the line of commercial ships waiting to enter orbit around Centaura, swinging instead into the lane reserved for government and military vessels. Unlike the La Paz, the first ship that Conrad and Argus had flown to Centaura, the Steadfast was clearly marked as a Corps ship.

  Conrad turned to Argus, who was now controlling both weapons and comms. “You know what to do,” he said.

  “He probably already knows we’re here,” Argus said as he sent out the transmission. The massive port city of St. Drake sprawled across Centaura’s central continent, glittering on the tactical display.

  Conrad stood up. “Lieutenant Grayson, I’m leaving you in charge,” he said to the ops officer. “Commander Nimitz and I are going down to St. Drake’s to meet an old friend.”

  “Corpsmen!” Hogarth spread his chubby arms wide, his eyes glinting with what seemed to be genuine delight at the sight of the two of them. “A pleasure to welcome you back to our humble city.”

  Conrad and Argus walked through the crowd, which quickly parted for them. It wasn’t clear if it was because of the Protectorate uniforms that they wore—or the small, round man who waited for them with his hulking Aretian bodyguard.

  “Hogarth,” Conrad said, offering a hand to the smiling broker. “Good to see you again.”

  Hogarth shook Argus’s paw quickly before gesturing towards his bodyguard. “Bixt’s glad you’re back too,” he said. “He wasn’t sure you were gonna make it when you left the last time—and frankly, neither was I.”

  Bixt showed no emotion or response. Argus eyed him warily.

  “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got things to discuss, the three of us.” He walked briskly through the port, almost too quickly for them to follow without breaking into a jog. For a man of his age and size, he moved with surprising speed.

  They wove through labyrinthine passageways
and alleyways, some wide and polished, others narrow and dingy. By the time they arrived at Hogarth’s den, Conrad knew that they wouldn’t be able to navigate back to the main thoroughfares without help—which was probably Hogarth’s intention all along.

  He eyed the short, portly man. When they’d first met he assumed that Hogarth was a simple broker, connecting interested parties for legal and illegal ventures. They’d asked him to get them to an end-point system, and he’d obliged—but he’d shown his colors soon enough. Somehow, the man had obtained the codes to unlock a closed portal. What’s more, Conrad remembered what the captain of the Pride of Centaura had said about Hogarth: he was a clone. Or had clones. There was more to this man than met the eye.

  They ducked under a low awning to enter the den. Inside, it was exactly as he remembered it: a blank room, with an old worn desk at its center, and an overstuffed chair behind it. Hogarth rounded the desk and settled into the soft chair with a content grunt. This time, there were two chairs in front of the desk.

  “Sit, sit,” he said, waving to them. “It’s not as fine here as on your lovely ship, but we’ll make do, eh?”

  Conrad and Argus sat, exchanging glances. Hogarth picked up a smoking, half-consumed cigar and took a puff. “Now,” he said. “I don’t imagine that you’ve come all this way to see me again. What brings you two back to St. Drake?”

  Conrad smiled. “Same thing as before, Hogarth.”

  The broker’s eyes glinted as he put down his cigar. “I s’pose you’re feeling reckless now,” he said. “Having gone through the portal and survived. You feel like the whole galaxy’s laid out before you, that right?”

  Conrad wondered how much the man knew about what had happened on the other side of the portal. “Would you believe me if I told you that the answer’s classified?”

  “I’d believe you, but I wouldn’t care.” The man took another puff. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. If only to discuss the matter of compensation.”

  “Compensation?”

  “If you recall, sonny, my price for getting you to an end-point system—and I do believe I did that, and then some—is that you would drop a beacon for me on the other side of that closed portal.” He toyed with his cigar. “Now ... what happened to that poor little beacon of mine?”

  Conrad sighed. “Things ... happened. You know how it is. The beacon didn’t make it.”

  Hogarth raised his hands. “Ah, well. It’s true. Things happen. So—let’s talk about compensation.”

  “Whatever the beacon cost,” Conrad said. “The Corps will cover. Of course. And if there’s some other associated fee—”

  “Ah, sonny, do you really think I’m the kind of man who deals much in filthy lucre?” Hogarth put on an air of mock offense. “After all I've done for you?”

  “What do you want, then?”

  “I know that if it's in your power to give it to me, then you will,” said Hogarth. “I can always trust a corpsman. I always have. Well: what I want will cost you and the Corps nothing. I am a man who depends on information, you see. It's worth far more to me than a few pieces of credit. What I want to know is this: who are you?”

  Conrad was taken aback. “Me?”

  Hogarth was looking at him out of the corner of his eye now, flicking the ash from his cigar onto the floor. “Yes, you.”

  “There's nothing to know,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry. “Orphan. Taken in by the Corps and raised by the Corps—nothing unusual about that. Ship that found me was the Redeker, so that’s my name. Conrad Redeker. Same thing happened to my first officer here, Argus Nimitz. The Corps takes in orphans. It’s a common enough story, nothing special about it.”

  Hogarth said nothing, merely looking at him with those beady eyes that missed nothing.

  “Anything else you want to know?” Conrad demanded. “Grades, shoe size ... favorite color?”

  Hogarth smiled. “You know, you underestimate me,” he said. “Your two friends that you sent me. The girl and the engineer. I’ve done well by them, you know. Set 'em up with a nice little business in that very pretty ship of theirs. They paid for it with information. Information about where they came from, what the worlds are like there. And I done well by 'em.”

  “Your point?”

  Hogarth smiled. “You might be surprised by what I know,” he said. “In any case, you can pay me for the beacon and everything else with a single drop of your blood.”

  Conrad’s hand twitched. Always the blood. Why always blood?

  “Why?”

  Hogarth drew on his cigar and exhaled slowly. He was shrouded now by a cloud of smoke. There was something inhuman about the mysterious broker.

  “Your friends didn’t bother hide much from me,” he said. “And what they didn’t know—I filled in the blanks myself. I’m not an especially smart man, but I can put two and two together.” He put down the cigar and folded his hands over his fleshy stomach. “The Satori Empire,” he said softly and almost reverently. “Them’s the ones that’re coming for us. Your lady friend tells me that you’re something special to ‘em. Moreover, that you’ve got some link to the Empire.”

  Hogarth had the look of a man who knew he held all the cards. “And it just so happens that there was a colony ship called the Satori—that, wonder of wonders, happened to stop at Centaura before it flew on to wherever it went. The two are connected. I’m trying to figure out how.”

  Argus howled. Conrad could feel the tension in the air, and sense the astonishment in Argus’s voice.

  Hogarth had a sly smile on his face. “Remember what manner of business I’m in, Kazhad. Why would you be surprised?”

  “Go on,” Conrad said, his throat tight.

  “The Satori picked up a few dozen colonists on its way out. And what’s more interesting, Centaura was the last planetside medical check for the entire ship—crew and passengers.” His eyes were gleaming now. “Give me a drop of your blood, and I’ll tell you who you are.”

  Chapter 8

  They waited by the public docks in St. Drake’s, still dressed in Corps uniforms. He knew they stuck out like sore thumbs but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He scanned the horizon, at the rows of ships docking and departing, the air humming with the sound of engines whining and scented with the smell of grease and ozone.

  Humans and aliens disembarked and milled into the arteries that fed into the heart of St. Drake. Conrad and Argus pushed through the crowd, waiting for the Oro Yurei.

  “You gave the broker a sample of your blood,” Argus muttered as Conrad paced. “Was that wise?”

  “We’ll find out,” he replied. “But Hogarth hasn’t deceived us yet.”

  “Yet,” Argus stressed.

  “What’s the risk? Who I am isn’t going to have any effect on the rest of the galaxy. He may be the only one with an answer,” said Conrad. “He’s got the last records of the Satori.”

  Argus grumbled, still dissatisfied.

  Conrad’s eyes widened as he saw a sleek silver shape beginning to glide towards the docks. She had arrived.

  “There,” he said, grabbing Argus. “C’mon!”

  They weaved swiftly through the milling crowds, their eyes on the graceful Imperial ship making its descent. They arrived in time to see the Oro Yurei slide into place.

  The ship powered down, and a few minutes later, two human figures made their way down the gangplank.

  One was a woman, dressed in olive fatigues and boots. The other was a man with a nervous demeanor, following her closely.

  Two clearly disturbed individuals, Garrity had called them. Jira Tai and Baltasar Zeph.

  She’s not wrong, Conrad reflected, but couldn’t completely suppress a small smile as they approached him.

  Jira slowed as they drew nearer, a hand resting on her hip. It was Baltasar who spoke first, moving from behind Jira.

  “What’re the two of you doing here?” he exclaimed. “It’s been, what, one and a half years? Too long. Last I heard you were out chasing Vehn li
ke a bunch of maniacs.” He reached out to scratch Argus on the shoulder, who ululated softly in greeting.

  Jira looked past Baltasar at Conrad, meaningfully. “You got my message?” Conrad said, stepping past Baltasar. The medic-mechanic was already dragging Argus to the Oro Yurei, talking energetically about the upgrades he had installed.

  She nodded, her green eyes flickering up reluctantly to his face. “It’d better be good, to drag me away from five thousand creds’ worth of Baitai furs.”

  “Baitai furs are contraband.”

  “In Sanctuary space, perhaps,” she said. “I never said the furs were onboard the Oro. What’s it to you? Are you planning to cuff me and bring me in?” She lifted her chin up, a challenge in her voice.

  “Considering that I was the one to help you and Balt escape custody ... no. Why would I undo all my hard work?”

  “Your hard work? You were in the control room the whole time—”

  “Yeah, well, someone had to be, to disable the station barricades. Why am I even arguing about this with you?”

  Not long after his own debriefing he’d broken the two of them out and set up their theft of the Oro Yurei. After their escape from the clutches of the Imperial destroyer Secace, breaking Corps security protocols was child’s play.

  Jira glared at him. “I certainly didn’t come all this way to argue.” She tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear and walking past him. She stopped, then spun on her heel. “Why am I here?”

  Conrad took a deep breath. “Because we’re going back into Satori space,” he said.

  “You can’t possibly be serious,” she said, a hint of her old Caderan accent reappearing. She had adapted speedily to life in Sanctuary space, picking up both the traders’ patois and Sanctuary standard speech with ease. A relic of her childhood on the run with the Federation, Conrad guessed. The Caderan accent only appeared when her guard was down—or when she was emotional.