The Huralon Incident

by E A Wicklund

  “The crowds are demanding we release Scirocco’s crew, even before they’ve arrived. So far the protests are small and manageable. If they stay like that, we’ll have no trouble getting Scirocco’s crew safely into the facility.”

  ***

  Aja watched McCray as he carefully dipped the scoop into white powder. “Easy now,” she warned. “You don’t want to pack it too tight. That’s it. Now scrape the extra off with that knife.”

  Like most Elysians, McCray’s manual skills were poor, having lived life managing screens and pads, more than actual tools. He concentrated on the task, though, making a worthy effort.

  “Okay, remember we’re dealing with chemical reactions here,” said Aja. “You don’t want to do things too fast. So, gently tap the powder into the liquid. Easy! This isn’t whiskey. Be gentle.” Her brow knitted. “Are your hands shaking?”

  “I’m just a little nervous,” he said.

  “Don’t be. I won’t let it kill you.” She made no attempt to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

  “It’s just...I’ve never made cookies before.”

  Aja smiled. No one before him was willing to take baking instruction from her so readily. They couldn’t imagine manually making food when perfectly good cookies materialized in food printers. She didn’t care if the cookies they baked weren’t perfect. She felt happy he willingly agreed to try. To her, that spoke volumes about the man.

  “Okay, you can stop stirring. Stick your hands in there and start mixing.”

  “Why not the spoon?”

  “These are special cookies. We’re adding TLC.”

  “Ooh, funny cookies. Nice.”

  Aja giggled. “Not THC. TLC.”

  “What chemical is that?”

  “It stands for Tender Loving Care. It makes food taste better.”

  McCray looked incredulous. “How does that work?”

  “It just does.” She worked her hands into the dough with his. His meaty fingers swirled around her slender ones, performing a dance in the dough. It seemed as though his hands cradled hers protectively. Not that she had ever needed protection. Her small hands crush his finger bones to powder. It just felt nice to know that he would try. That knowledge, that sensation of his compassion for her, filled her with warmth.

  I can fix him. Give him a place away from this strange peacetime world that plagues him. He’s a warhorse; he bites, he kicks, and he tramples. He won’t prance around bedecked by flowers for the amusement squealing debutantes. This stallion has no courtly manners, and that’s why he has so many enemies in the peacetime Navy. Without a ship to command in battle, he feels he has no purpose. I can give him a one. I know how to handle warhorses.

  “Have you ever visited a farm?” she asked.

  “Sure, I’ve seen the vats. Not much to see. Just green soup.”

  Aja rolled her eyes. “Not an algae farm. A real farm, with cows and chickens running around.”

  “You mean live animals? Like pets?”

  “Yes, living animals, but they’re not pets. You eat them, eventually.”

  McCray recoiled and pulled his hands away. “Why even kill an animal when there’s food printers?”

  Aja gently shoved his hands back in the dough. “Food printers build from a program. To make any dish, first someone had to prepare food the old way with real meat and vegetables. Then nanos copy it and reproduce it in the printers. That’s why the meat tastes very close to real meat. But most importantly, new tech of food printers must begin with old tech to work. Now do me a favor and don’t insult my culture so much. We believe that food produced this way is better. I think it’s better. It’s how we’ve lived for hundreds of years.”

  “Sorry. I never thought about it that way.”

  “Most people don’t, but it’s out there. Best of all, it’s real. You know exactly where your food came from. Food like that takes work, but it’s fulfilling.” She sighed. “The smell of bacon, frying in a pan in the morning, is enchanting. You can’t imagine the taste of hand-prepared food.”

  Though perfectly comfortable in the seediest corners of Elysium’s megaplexes, Aja never forgot her roots. She dreamed of returning home to stay. She knew everything needed to run a proper farm and could manage it all. Someone to share it with was that missing bit of TLC to complete the dream.

  She watched his focused expression and smiled.

  He may have been born to the cities, but that scattered, unreliable lifestyle doesn’t suit him. Maybe soon, when this mission is over, I can show him another way.

  “Now, we put the cookies in the oven,” Aja said, handing him the baking sheet. “No, that’s the food printer. The oven is there.”

  “How will I remember all this?”

  Aja kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you. I’ll take care of everything.”

  ***

  McCray walked down the passageway, Annette Candless beside him. “You really should come down here more often, Captain,” she said. “A good workout wouldn’t hurt you.”

  McCray patted his flat stomach. “My nanos are keeping me in fine trim, thank you. Anyway, I’m happy to hear your marines and Castellano’s are getting along well. I’m looking forward to witnessing it myself.”

  The normally all-business warrior looked more animated than usual. “They’re already becoming good friends to us. We like them. Can we keep them?”

  “Would if I could.”

  “I want to adopt them all. They’re a treasure trove of information. We’re learning a lot from them.”

  “Really? They’re giving up intel just like that?”

  “That’s not what I mean. We’re learning their hand-to-hand fighting techniques. Madkhali Marines are more dangerous than intel briefings let on, particularly these guys. Castellano’s teams have an excellent reputation within the DPM. They’re the best of the best. My troops are learning a lot from them.”

  They entered a hatch leading into the small gym. Mats were laid out and sparring matches raged across them. The battles were brief and violent, nothing like the lengthy choreographed fights in the holovids. Often times, a match ended with the launch of a single, fast strike.

  They joined Castellano observing at one mat. He nodded to McCray. “Welcome Captain.”

  “Good to see you, Jesus. I see you’ve recovered. We talked a long time last night.”

  “Yes, thank you. Your Dr. Bijou works miracles for a hangover. She asked what happened. I told her you were torturing me.”

  “Keep it up, pal,” McCray mock-snarled. “I have stronger booze than that.”

  On the mat before them, one of the fighters hit the mat hard and howled in agony. The injury looked horrific, but what appalled McCray more was the bland expressions of the two marine commanders. At least his fears that a general brawl might break out proved unfounded, but still. “Isn’t she one of yours, Major?” McCray said to Candless.

  “Yep.”

  McCray couldn’t believe the marine’s indifference. “Her elbow is bent the wrong way.”

  “She knows the counter for that move. She failed to use it and now she suffers.” Candless shrugged. “She won’t forget it the next time.”

  McCray still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re okay with this, Major? Could she have been seriously hurt?”

  Candless seemed more focused on the scene, watching a corpsman applying a dose of healing nanites with an injector. “It was an accident, sir. She moved in an unexpected way and that caused the injury. We aren’t encouraging wounds, but we want training as realistic as possible. My people must learn how to defend themselves when someone really is trying to kill them.”

  “We do the same thing,” agreed Castellano. “Mistakes like that don’t happen twice.”

  Candless finally moved off to check on her marine. McCray breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t feel like he should tell her how to manage her people. Technically, he could have ordered her, but sailors and marines were very different breeds. Things worked di
fferently in the two military branches. From what he’d just seen, she had more in common with the marine of a foreign adversary than she did with him.

  Castellano stepped beside McCray and pointed to where Aja worked over a heavy punching bag. “Your Ms. Coopersmith is quite the skilled interrogator.”

  “She spoke with you, I understand.” He knew she would interrogate them, but just talk. Nothing harsh.

  Castellano grinned. “My fingernails are intact.”

  McCray smiled briefly. Aja had promised her interviews would not involve physical torture. Information Castellano and his Cretins freely provided helped get Springbok out of a serious bind, so he didn’t want them mistreated. He couldn’t order Aja to go easy—as an IS-3 agent, she wasn’t in his chain of command—he just hoped she kept her promise.

  “My men are terrified of her.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Oh, yes. During a sparring match, Blazer tried to get frisky with her.”

  “Oh, I see. She chewed him out?”

  Castellano snorted. “You could say that. She did this crazy, simultaneous escape and attack, too quick to follow. Broke his collarbone. I’ve never seen a human being move that fast. For the Cretins, she’s been ‘Ms. Coopersmith’ ever since.”

  McCray realized his mouth had fallen open. Then he smiled. That’s my girl. “She does know how to command respect.”

  “That farm girl persona she projects is very disarming,” continued Castellano. “The Cretins won’t be fooled by it again.”

  What persona? She may be an operative, but she really was raised on a farm...at least I think so.

  She knew so much about farming, he never imagined she might be something else. A persona suggested it was just an act, a facade applied towards achieving an end. Was that end an intent to placate him? To manipulate him? For what?

  What have I gotten into?

  “She looks like she weighs maybe 115 pounds,” Castellano said. “But I can tell she weighs more, 155, maybe 165 with all that muscle. And look at the way she moves. Her high kicks are graceful and smooth, her punches quick. So powerful. The nanotech enhancements to her musculature exceed even my marines. She probably has titanium threads strengthening her bones. I would guess she’s the deadliest person aboard your ship, wouldn’t you agree?”

  He had shared a bed with her long enough to know she was incredibly strong, but that was the least of his thoughts at the moment. From the moment he’d met her, he’d had doubts about the legitimacy of her presence. He’d changed his mind when their relationship began, but now, those old worries rose again.

  Is our relationship even real? Was I right about her the first time.

  McCray shrugged. “She scares the hell out of me, but what do I know? I drive ships.”

  Castellano chuckled. “I understand. Operational security and all that. Still, I know a killer when I see one.”

  Why do we have an assassin aboard ship after all? Why not just an analyst? Is there a plan for her to kill someone?

  McCray felt a tremor rising up from his gut. So whom was he sleeping with really? Was the farm girl personality just a facade; the result of some calculated maneuver by IS-3? He felt like she loved him, but he lacked so much romantic experience, how could he be sure?

  Questions and concerns swarmed around in his head like angry hornets. He felt a wave of nausea and excused himself, perhaps too abruptly, and left the gym.

  Chapter 09

  McCray couldn’t believe he sat on a wooden log. Did people really use these things as chairs? As weird as it seemed to him, it felt more comfortable than he imagined. An open fire, a concept that took getting used to, crackled in a fire pit just a meter away. Though the dancing flames mesmerized him, the big sky still tugged at his gaze. As the sun set, low cumulus clouds slowly turned pink and navy blue, their legions drifting through an endless canvas of blue.

  His hand snuggled into its comfortable bed at the curve of Aja’s waist as she leaned against him. The scents of the chamomile tea they drank and the grasses covering the rolling hills proved a heady mixture. He breathed deep, and the smell of jasmine in Aja’s hair completed a palette of gentle, natural sensations.

  He sighed.

  “How do you like it?” said Aja.

  “I love it,” he breathed. “So Curassus is really like this?”

  “Pretty close. I’ve been working on the sim for weeks.”

  “Don’t people go out at night? Maybe attend dinner parties, network a little, show off their latest body mods?”

  She grinned. “Nope. This is it. Most folks are too tired after a hard working day.”

  McCray felt his body loosen, his muscles releasing their tension. It sounded like heaven.

  No wonder I feel so comfortable around her. Simplicity is the way of her life. I could live like this.

  His worries from earlier had dissipated, retreating into their cave of madness. He felt comfortable here, with her. Times like this proved what he felt in his heart. Nothing about Aja was fake. The details of the sim she created were too complete to be the production of someone who’d never been to a farm. It was so different from his experience it seemed alien yet, at the same time, like home. Looking at the serene surroundings she had crafted, how could anything nefarious emerge from a place of such beauty?

  Though beautiful, as he watched a cow, some things made little sense to him.

  He squinted. “I think that cow is eating your grass.”

  Aja flipped a mass of locks away from her eyes. “Yep.”

  “Shouldn’t we stop it?”

  “Why? It’s what they eat.”

  “Really? They eat it? I thought the grass was there for decoration.”

  Aja giggled. “No, silly. Cows live on that.”

  “How does that make sense? You have to go out and plant it all again.”

  “It grows back, you know. As long as you don’t have too many cows eating all at once.”

  McCray sighed, happily drawing a line through that job. Could this replace his life among the stars? He couldn’t be sure. Maybe not replace it entirely, but it could be a place to put down roots, somewhere to call home. “Country life seems nice. I could do this for real.”

  “Yeah?” She looked up at him, dark eyes gazing deep into his. “It’s even better in real life.”

  McCray kissed her, their lips nestling together for what felt like eternity. “Sign me up.”

  ***

  Springbok exited hyperspace in a flash of blue Cherenkov radiation. The brilliant glow stretched along the ship’s dark paddles for 8,000 meters on either side. They had arrived at the outer reaches of Huralon.

  On the bridge, McCray pulled his eyes from the impressive external view. “Broadcast ID codes for Birmingham Distributors Limited, Ando.”

  “Copy that. Broadcasting for BDL.”

  “Warwick. Anything interesting in there?”

  “Still receiving old light, sir. Nothing more than the usual heavy ore haulers and merchants of various sizes so far. There’s a lot of traffic, but that’s normal for Huralon. We’ll have to wait for fresher data.”

  McCray had to leave it at that. The Huralon star system had a diameter of nine light hours. Any light arriving at Springbok right after re-entry could be anywhere from one second to nine hours old. It was old light. Ships could have arrived and departed or possibly even exploded within that time frame. Springbok would be unaware of it all until new light arrived at her sensors nine hours after entering normal space.

  He could have avoided this information delay by exiting hyperspace closer to the system’s primary, but that would’ve been potentially deadly. Ships that emerged from hyperspace too deeply within a star’s gravity well would suffer a sudden and violent attraction to the star just before emergence into normal space. In fact, he had even heard of ships that had emerged within stars before, resulting in a far more immediate, and total, incineration.

  Safely back in normal space, little would happen that required McC
ray’s attention. Any possible communication from Huralon Control would take more than six hours to arrive.

  “You have the Conn, Mr. Piper,” said McCray. He left the bridge and settled into his rack to rest, but found it difficult to sleep.

  Though the MLF had agitated some of the Madkhali populace in Huralon, Aja had said the situation was manageable. But for how long? If the MLF had laid the groundwork for something, what would that be? Something unusual most likely, and Springbok’s transfer of hundreds of Madkhalis to Arcoplex would definitely be unusual. The facility was a prison, but the Sciroccos would not technically be prisoners. They could hardly dump the crewmen into the streets of Callas after all. But would already angry Madkhalis on Huralon appreciate the difference? Would Springbok’s arrival be a triggering event for the MLF and their propaganda?

  Sleep came to him eventually, but it was fitful and unsatisfying.

  ***

  Many hours passed before they approached Break Point or the BP. Entering the system at a respectful 260 gees, her velocity increased relative to the star until reaching eleven percent of light speed, far too fast to dock at Hikonojo Port. Navigation had calculated the BP where they must begin deceleration to reach a safe docking velocity.

  Centuries before, ships flipped over to point their reaction engines toward the direction of travel to slow down. This was called ‘turnover’. Dark paddles changed all that.

  The bridge’s Alpha Team had long since left for chow and some rack time. After returning, they relieved Charlie Team and resumed their stations in time for BP.

  “Paddles on standby, Helm,” said McCray.

  “Paddles on standby, aye,” Raj answered.

  “Reverse paddles.”

  “Reversing paddles. No errors reported.”

  “Set extension to seven-thousand meters. Make cycles for 310 gees, paddles tension at 0.63 Bosch.”

  “Paddles show green. Standing by.”

  “Execute.”

  Without ever changing orientation, Springbok now braked hard, slowing rapidly as she approached the bustling traffic of ships around Huralon.