by Chris Fox
The minister gestured at a pair of plush chairs opposite her desk, and Jolene adjusted her business skirt as she moved to sit. She waved a hand, and her attendants flanked the doorway leading back the way they’d come.
That gave the appearance that this was a one-on-one conversation, between equals, although both parties knew that wasn’t the case.
“Thank you, Minister.” Jolene gave her a cool, judgmental smile. The effect was not lost. The minister’s smile slipped a hair. “I appreciate your offer of accommodations, but I will be remaining on my flagship. I have traveled a long way, and am weary. Please, why have you sent for me?”
Jolene already knew the answer, of course. It had been her idea, after all. Orchestrated over the last five years all in preparation for this precise moment. A careful, quiet campaign of seemingly random chaos and misfortune, all driving the minister and her government in the direction Jolene wished.
“Call me Divya, please.” The minister returned to her seat, and rested her hands on the mahogany desk, which lent her at least a little authority. “Matron, I will be frank. It’s been over forty years since the last Inuran trade moon visited our system. We’re using outdated, badly repaired tech. We lack enough void mages, as you know, so we can’t use the Umbral Depths to travel.”
“Which means a roughly two-year trip to the closest habitable system, yes?” Jolene folded her hands in her lap. As always, she already knew the answer. She glanced out the minister’s office windows, which afforded a magnificent view of the famed Kemet sunset. Pity all this would be gone soon.
“Four years,” the minister continued, fixing Jolene with an intense gaze, one filled with intelligence, “will buy us a round trip to Sanctuary, a station at the edge of your sector. When we get there, we’re overcharged for basic supplies, and can’t bring back even a third of what we need, much less the luxuries our more wealthy mercenaries crave. The only time my best people get out of the system is when they join a long campaign in one of the sector’s wars, but then they come home rich with nothing to spend their credits on.”
Jolene gave her best approximation of a sympathetic nod, a fairly good one in her estimation. “I can see how a trade moon would benefit your people, but you must understand the difficult position this puts me in. The last time we visited the Kemet system we took in less than sixty percent of projected revenue. We barely paid for the trip, Divya. If I oversee a blunder like that again my board will remove me from power.”
Her board was comprised of puppets and sycophants, of course. But the minister didn’t know that. No one outside of the innermost Inuran ranks did, so she could make up whatever she wanted.
“I understand your reservations.” The minister leaned back in a chair that absolutely dwarfed her, and that Jolene guessed had probably been chosen by her predecessor, as had the desk. Her dark hair framed dark skin, and the chair’s leather backing enhanced the look. Quite charming, really. “I can assure you the trip will be profitable. We have two generations of wealth to spend.”
“I believe you, Minister, but I cannot act without guarantees.” Jolene put her hands up as if absolving herself of responsibility, as if she were not the absolute authority among the Consortium. “We all answer to someone.”
“Of course, I understand the position this puts you in,” Ramachan said, not a hint of reproach in her voice. “What sort of collateral can we offer to secure a visit in the next six months? Surely there must be something that would allay the fears of your board.”
Jolene tapped her lip with a finger as if considering. “It would have to be of considerable worth. Moving a trade moon is neither quick nor economical.”
“The collective service of the finest mercenary legions in the galaxy aren’t enough?” Ramachan’s eyes narrowed, and Jolene gained a small measure of respect for her. The minister knew the worth of her people, and it was considerable.
Thankfully, Jolene already had a way to steal Kemet’s best and brightest for a fraction of their worth.
“We’d need more tangible collateral, I’m afraid.” Jolene shook her head sadly. “My people only value hard assets. I cannot sell a deal based on future labor.”
Ramachan nodded gravely, then leaned back in her chair, as if pressed back by the weight of her troubles. She seemed to consider something at length, and when the deliberation ended she looked up to meet Jolene’s stare kilo for kilo. “What if I could offer the academy armory? We have over a dozen artifacts from the godswar. Weapons of tremendous age, worth, and power. The magitech is unrivaled.”
Jolene didn’t soften her patronizing smile. She probably should have, but the very idea of some backwater world offering their trinkets up to the finest artificers the sector had ever known… it was preposterous.
“Ahh, I’m sure your collection is impressive,” Jolene finally said. She couldn’t force more respect into her tone, but at least she could make the words palatable. “Unfortunately what you view as unrivaled technology we see as cast off refuse from a time when the Consortium was still learning how to perfect spelldrives. The devices in your Highspire armory are valuable, from a historical perspective, but not to my people. We care little for history or your people’s legacy. You’d need to sell those items to a world like Shaya, which is both wealthy and sentimental.”
The minister sagged in her chair, defeated. She licked her lips, and shook her head as if silencing some internal thought. Jolene stilled a smile. As much as she enjoyed the moment when an opponent broke she was also wary of premature celebration.
She allowed the minister to twist for several moments before she intervened.
Jolene leaned casually back in her chair, then blinked in her carefully planned “aha” moment. “I have it! The Vagrant Fleet. The mineral wealth alone must be fantastic, not to mention the archeological value. If you’re willing to offer salvage rights to the Vagrant Fleet up as collateral…well, that I can sell to the board. We won’t ever need to collect on that, of course. Provided you meet or exceed our modest sales goals.”
The minister cocked her head and adopted a shrewd look. She was smarter than Jolene liked, but in the end she only had one viable option. The Inurans had carefully starved the Kemet system, as they’d done to many systems in the past.
That made a populace, and its ruler, desperate. And pliable. Especially when they didn’t see the hook. The minister clearly feared that Jolene was using this as a way to steal the only real asset outside of their precious armory that remained to these people.
“Come now, Minister,” Jolene prompted, striking at the moment of indecision. “The fleet is thick with lurkers and pirates, more so every cycle. It isn’t a viable source of revenue for your people and hasn’t been for decades. In the unlikely event that you can’t make the sales numbers, what do you really lose? Some ancient space hulks long picked clean?”
The minister was silent for a long time. Long enough that Jolene almost spoke again, though she sensed it would be a mistake.
“Very well,” the minister finally agreed, though she looked as if she’d eaten something sour. “I can arrange to have a confederate bond placed against the fleet. In the event that we are unable to meet the sales target we will forfeit all salvage rights. As long as you give me a number I can hit, this can work out well for both of us.”
“Of course,” Jolene quickly agreed, offering her first genuine smile. “Let me assure you right now, minister, that those goals will be very achievable. The Inurans thrive on continued trade. Abusing our trade partners harms our reputation, and we’d never do that for some ancient derelict ships.”
She would, however, do it to secure some of the most advanced technology the sector had ever seen. Jolene had lost much recently. Power. Prestige. Her place among the sector’s wealthy and elite.
Her own daughter had become a goddess, and Voria would no doubt kill her on sight given that Jolene had sided with Skare and Talifax. So Jolene needed to make sure she stayed away from the blasted Confederacy.
> Far away.
But she wasn’t going to slink off into the shadows. She was going to retrofit a new fleet, one stolen from these yokels. Then, she’d take their finest troops and use them to carve out a new power base in a distant sector.
The cost was small. A single planet no one cared about.
6
The instant the train’s doors hissed shut behind me I began to tremble. I didn’t know why, but as I held a hand up for inspection I confirmed that it was shaking violently. I clenched it into a fist, and that seemed to still the episode.
For a moment.
It came back in full force, but now both my hands were shaking. An unfamiliar tension gripped my chest and my shoulders, tightening me into an ever smaller ball.
A quick glance around the train confirmed I was the only occupant in this car, which made sense given the hour. That was all the permission my body needed to break down.
Deep, wracking sobs rolled through my chest, and I began to ugly cry into the helmet. As the train sped along, familiar lights flashing above every hundred meters, I felt safe for the first time since I’d left Kemet.
I didn’t know if it was decompression or some sort of post-traumatic stress, but I couldn’t stop crying for a good three minutes. Eventually the sobs worked themselves out, and I was left trembling and sucking in deep lungfuls of air.
It made sense that there’d be an emotional toll, I suppose. I’d just never had to pay it before, and truth be told I wasn’t handling it well. People I’d known were dead now, and if not for several incredible coincidences I would be dead too. My survival was nothing more than chance.
I shook my head, and tried to focus on other things. I didn’t want to be in my head any more. I didn’t want to think about what I’d gone through. So I focused on the terrain rolling by outside the train’s darkened windows.
Wait, what was that?
I grabbed the support bar over my shoulder, and leaned a bit closer to the train’s slanted windows. All along the western horizon the night was devouring the sky. On one side the sun was giving up its daily struggle, but on the other I could already see stars and the glittering edges of the Vagrant Fleet.
“What the—?” I leaned up against the glass as an object appeared on the horizon.
I still had my helmet on, and to my mild surprise the HUD put a reticle around the object, and a tag appeared with various forms of data. My ancient draconic was rusty, but I thought I was looking at the word “comet”. One that seemed to be passing uncomfortably close to our world.
A small black halo appeared around the comet, and an angry beeping came from my armor. Red text began scrolling underneath the comet, fast enough that I felt compelled to cheat.
“Universas Solarus,” I whispered, and the text instantly rearranged itself into much more familiar galactic standard.
Anyone staring at the same text would still see draconic, but the magic translated it into a form my brain could understand. All academy mages were bonded upon graduation, and could access any language known by even a single member. And collectively we knew pretty much all of them.
“Oh, crap,” I muttered as I scanned the contents.
The black halo indicated void magic, apparently. That meant someone had been playing with gravity, someone powerful enough to mess with a rock the size of a small moon. At least, if my armor was right.
It could be some sort of malfunction. Maybe the rock just had some lingering void magic? The idea that someone or something could change the orbit of a celestial body with magic seemed…well, crazy.
Magic could let you blow a ship up. Or teleport. Or do all sorts of crazy things. But hurl a whole moon at a planet? I couldn’t get my brain around it.
The text on my HUD seemed pretty clear, though, and if it was right, the final paragraph scared the depths out of me. I read it aloud: “Planetary orbit will decay until this world passes the Roche point. Violent geologic instability will precede planetary destruction.”
Yeah, that seemed pretty grim. Suddenly my problems were beyond petty. At the same time my next step wasn’t clear. What did I do with this information?
My hands began shaking again. Maybe they had never stopped, and were getting worse. I wrapped them around the support bar and squeezed to still the tremors.
No one in any position of authority knew who I was, and if I could detect this stuff, then the ministry had people that could do the same thing, right? I should stay out of it. If there were a real threat, social media would already be going orbital.
They didn’t need some random brand new relic hunter still paying off academy loans to tell them how to run their world. But…if I was right, this impacted me too. And everyone I cared about.
The train slowed, then stopped. I exited onto the familiar 16B platform, then trotted down the grime-darkened stairs, into an alley that reeked of people refusing to die.
Layer after layer of freeways blocked out the sky above me, and only the occasional surviving streetlight kept the darkness from winning entirely. The shadows were deep and dangerous. All manner of thugs lurked there, but for the first time I didn’t scurry back to my apartment.
I walked. No, I ambled. I took my time, and made it clear that I didn’t care who knew where I was going. I understood the effect that would have, of course. Body armor wasn’t uncommon, and seeing a suit you didn’t recognize was mildly interesting, but not cause for alarm.
People would remember my passage, but hopefully they assumed I was too much trouble to bother with. That was the game we always played here. Either you avoided the gangs or you put up a brief front long enough to skirt their territory.
Either through luck or my bluff no one bothered me as I threaded down an alley, up the neighboring street, which was too choked with refuse for vehicles to pass, and then down another alley.
Every time I saw another landmark I breathed a little easier, and when I reached the flopstack where my father and I lived, the tension I’d been holding since I left home finally eased. I trotted up the rusted metal stairs, then waved my hand in front of the keypad outside our door.
The seal hissed open, and I ducked quickly through the rusted doorway. I glanced around behind me, and saw several curious neighbors watching. They’d talk, but there was little harm in what they could say. I closed the door, and leaned against the wall.
The creak of leather came from the next room. My dad in his recliner. “Jer, that you? Only been a week. That outfit o’ clowns you signed up with void their contract that quick?”
Might as well get this over with. I took a deep breath, and willed the suit’s helmet to retract. It slithered off my face, which was a little disorienting, but over quickly, thankfully.
I stepped into our living room, which was a three-meter cube constructed from super-dense plastic. Some families could afford five or six of the modular rooms, but dad had never been able to afford more than two. He lived in this one, and stored his junk in the extra one, where I happened to have a bunk.
Now, before you make any assumptions, my dad is a good guy. He just likes junk, and there’s no crime in that. And, he’d always made sure I hadn’t starved, which gave him high marks in my book, despite any personal beefs I might have. Part of why I wanted to succeed at this relic hunter thing was so that I could look after him instead of the other way around.
“Hey, Dad.” I stood up straight, and moved to stand before the recliner that had become both home and prison after he’d lost both legs on his last op. “Made it back in one piece, and with some salvage.”
Dad stroked his greying beard, a stark contrast to his bald pate, and sized me up with bleary eyes. He took a swig of his nanite-infused beer, a clever invention that repaired the kidneys and prevented hangovers. Wildly popular, as you might imagine.
“Don’t recognize the make, and I’ve seen ‘em all,” my dad finally said. He scooted up a bit in his chair. “The pistol seems like standard issue. Might get you a couple hundred credits. You take out a bo
nd?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, shoulders slumping.
“How much?”
“Three thousand,” I allowed. I knew how he’d react, but I’d learned long ago it was best to tell the complete truth and then wait out the storm.
“Why did you even go?” Dad finally choked out, eyeing me with those hateful eyes, the demon that always lurked underneath. “You got depths damned lucky that you found that armor, and that it might sell for a few thousand credits. You better pray it does, though why some moron would buy armor without a helmet I’ll never know. I can’t bail you out this time, and don’t even think about calling your mother. She’s got important academy stuff to be about, and doesn’t need us inconveniencing her in her new life.”
There it was. The root of the anger. This didn’t have anything at all to do with me. It never had.
“You’re right.” I raised my palms in a placating gesture. “I got lucky. It wasn’t my brightest move, but I’m still hoping I came out of it ahead a few credits.” I paused, and considered what the armor had told me about the comet earlier. I was tired, but planetary destruction sounded pretty bad. “Was there anything on the news about that comet?”
“Yeah.” Dad waved dismissively, and turned his attention back to the holo that dominated the far side of the cube. “Something about aftershocks, but that it will be gone in a day or two. I felt one of ‘em here, but it wasn’t bad. Not even sure why they felt the need to report it.”
“I’m pretty beat from re-entry.” I tried to keep my voice light, but was positive he picked up the quaver. My hands were shaking. Had the armor’s warning been right? If it was, how long did we have? “I think I’m going to knock off early.”
My father heaved a deep, and very familiar, sigh. He turned his “I’m disappointed again” face on, and speared me with his most judgmental gaze. “Son, you look like you’re about to fall over. If you put in a few months at the gym it would change your life. You wouldn’t be so tired all the time. I know you ignore most of my advice, and that you take after your mom with that giant brain. But that doesn’t mean you have to be a weakling. Give it a chance, son, please. The iron will change your life.”
