“It will be done.”
The Prime stood and pointed at Elexxan, who had waited nearby silently. “Begin the retrieval of the weapons. Report to me the moment you have progress.”
The scientist nodded, his face blank. “As you command, Lord.”
The screams began as the Praxxan leader walked casually off towards the Center. The sound of it thrilled his bones with the prospect of victory against the human fleet and their base on Mars. The pure fusion weapons must be learned and patterned as soon as practical. If half of their destructive history on Earth could be replicated, The Prime would very soon be Lord of all the system.
He and his entourage entered the Center through a guarded portal, the closing hatch shutting out the bright Sol and the wonderful screams of the defeated.
Soon… The Prime was pleased. Soon…
Chapter 12
Prax Homeworld - 26.8 LY from Sol System
Sar’yana awoke from a comfortable nap as though she’d been shaken hard. Her eyes fluttered, then flew open with an accompanying gasp of alarm.
The entry to her quarters flew open and a guard stood there. “My Lord, what has befallen you?” The guards were elites and had incredible senses.
She was sitting up on her bed, where she had lain for a time in the midday hours. She found herself rubbing her temples. “I…I am not sure, Alaxara.”
“Are you ill, Lord?”
She swung her feet to the stone floor and leaned forward, gingerly putting weight on them. She was able to rise. “I seem to be functional.” Glancing up, Sar’yana noticed her devoted Alaxara’s worried eyes beneath his ornate helmet. “You may go, Alaxara. And thank you.”
With a nod and an unhappy look in parting, the younger Prax stepped back to the hall and closed the door.
Sar’yana adjusted her flowing orange and brown robe out of habit, frowning. Although she looked the perfect See’r part with her royal garb, she knew in her heart that she was not cut from the same cloth as the other See’rs within the High Family. And something was wrong—very wrong—within the Sight today.
She stretched a bit to loosen her taught upper muscles, feeling the tenseness between her shoulder blades and up the neck. Exhaling deeply, she walked to the overview wall that made up one end of her personal chambers.
The view was that of the Great City, with the red mountains in the backdrop. As the First Sun set each day, the mountain range lit up with blood-light that thrilled most Prax—it was a time for many to stand and renew their vows to the Conquest.
Sar’yana frowned again, fingers on the sides of her head to massage this new pain away. The Conquest. The great Praxxan mission to rule the worlds, wherever they may be. It consumed most of the thinkers and See’rs of the royal household, including her husband. But to Sar’yana, the Conquest was a fool’s errand, one which she had long predicted would return vengeance upon their people. As a See’r, her voice was patiently listened to…but no more than that. The leadership was of one mind.
She stretched again as she regarded her home city, gleaming in the midday light. It would be quite warm outside by now. Most of the people not engaged in training or critical activities would be sheltering from the extreme temperatures. Yet Sar’yana felt a shiver running up and down her spine, her blood run cold. Something had happened within the Sight. A disturbance.
Sar’yana was a Praxxan female, born to a high position and deserving of the honors bestowed upon her. She was gifted as a See’r—one who had the Sight. The See’rs were sought-after for their ability to sense the movings of life and time, beyond the senses that felt mere hot and cold, or measured time in units such as cycles. To the See’r, time was more about unity than units…there were harmonies. Confluences. Separations. Sensing the opportunities for bold movement or restraint. And Sar’yana was gifted in the Sight beyond most of her gender—which is why she had been chosen by the High Family as consort to the Premier. Despite her predictions of coming trouble within the Sight.
Sar’yana placed her hands upon the overview wall. The material was very thick despite its transparency and none of the day’s heat reached her chamber in the palace. She almost longed for the warmth. The Sight was torturing her today with its impressions of darkness and cold dread. She closed her eyes to concentrate, letting the Sight wash over her.
Everything was different somehow. She couldn’t make sense of the new patterns; it was as if the future visions had rearranged themselves. A new presence influenced events and had filled the background of her vision. Foreboding yet radiated something warm? As Sar’yana explored the recesses of the Sight for more understanding, she was nearly overwhelmed by the change wrought within it. Time—future—had adjusted to something new. What had happened to do all this?
Humans. The name rang in her mind. Something about the ‘hated race’ that all Prax willed to destruction and defeat. One human.
How could one human cause any of this upheaval? The Sight was far-ranging and all races and peoples were part of it. Could this be the beginning fulfillment of Sar’yana’s dark predictions? Try as she might, however, she could not penetrate the veils around this new presence in her mind. It was too much, too soon. More exploration would be required.
With a deep breath Sar’yana came back to the chamber and the wall she leaned heavily against. Her lungs expanded and exhaled normally. She’d been in the Sight for some time, she realized; the blood-light was past and darkness was coming on.
Her comm beeped once. “Excuse the intrusion, Lord, but we perceive that you are complete with your Sight?”
She nodded, acknowledging the surveillance. “Yes.”
“The Premier is expecting you for the evening meal.”
Another nod.
“Do you require anything, Lord?”
“I shall find my way.”
“As you wish, Lord.” The comm beeped again to signal the closing of the circuit.
Should she tell her husband of this new reality she had dimly seen? No, she would explore further and delve its patterns before revealing it to him. Whatever had happened, however, had set new timelines in motion. Sar’yana marveled at the possibility and felt a twinge of fear. Or was it another emotion? Excitement, perhaps. Something new was happening, and even in her advanced years she could feel excitement for new beginnings.
With a glance at her face in the reflection of the wall, she strode toward the door and her waiting guard to escort her to the palace dining hall.
Chapter 13
Star System - 12.13 LY From Sol
Creal was annoyed. “That diverter is acting up again.”
“And how is that my problem, boss?” Xin leaned back against his console, lifting a finger in his Captain’s general direction. “You’re the one who blew the credits on a bet rather than quality replacement parts.”
“Shove it.” Creal stood up, stretching, his head grazing the underside of the elevated bridge. “They were credits well spent.”
Barstow called down at that moment. “Boss, you should look at the scope.”
Creal noticed Xin’s grimace. “You get down there and work on the diverter. Spit and torsion wire, boy. Make it so.”
When he reached the open deck of the hauler just above him, the first thing Creal noticed was how tense his navigator was. Instantly, his casual air evaporated. He might be known across the sector as the sloppiest, most unruly brigand to ever skipper a Hauler crew, but Creal was no dummy. He trusted those close to him; to be sure, their mutual survival often depended on it. He stood behind Barstow. “What’ve you got?”
“Well, boss, I was working on the return fuel consumption numbers when my scope popped out a new target. Metal.”
“That’s great, B. What is it, a nice piece of space junk we can salvage?”
“Um, I don’t think so. It’s really big. But…”
Creal stepped over and looked at Barstow’s scope. “It’s big.”
“Yup. I’d say from the reading that it’s a bit bigger than us.�
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“A ship?”
Barstow pursed his lips, the scar across the lower one gleaming in the dull overhead deck lighting. “Hard to say it could be anything but.”
Creal looked out of the forward viewport. “How far?”
“Two-oh-two thousand.”
“Not far, then.”
Creal cocked an eyebrow at Barstow. “What?”
The other man tapped the scope. “It’s weird. The readings come back intermittently. Like they’re being jammed somehow.”
Alarm crept into Creal’s mind. “Then it might be a trap.”
Barstow shrugged. Danger never really bothered him. “Could be. Could also be a derelict. The metallic ping is bouncing back from within a batch of asteroids.”
A derelict. Every hauler’s dream was to come across an old vessel, abandoned or long-ago destroyed in battle. The discarded weaponry alone could be mean a healthy retirement… Greed got the better of Creal. “Let’s go take a look. If…” he raised his voice for Xin’s benefit below, for the young man had yet to leave for his assigned project, “…the diverter doesn’t crap out first and leave us as a derelict ourselves.”
The asteroid grouping was innocent-looking enough to Creal. He sat back in his overstuffed captain’s chair and scratched his prodigious, whiskered chin with both eyes glued to the external monitors. Watching.
Barstow tapped a console loudly, trying to get a readout display to stop blinking. When he hit it again Creal said absently, “smack the side, that works.”
A moment later the readout stopped wavering. “You know this ship better’n I do, boss,” he said somewhat patronizingly.
Creal kept his eyes on the screen. “Yup. What does the ping say now?” Their ship used basic ranging software to identify metallic substances in space and hone in on them. It wasn’t exactly Fleet-spec but it was effective and easy to maintain. Once close, they evaluated the adrift stuff for hazards and then brought it aboard to store. The “haul” for a week’s trip to a distant system could be worth millions, or it could be just enough to repair the ship so it would take them out again. Usually it was the latter.
“Whatever it is, it’s right behind the largest asteroid. Maybe twenty away.”
“Come around it real slow, and get ready to go full spin and burn if I call out.”
“You got it.”
Creal sensed that Xin was back, and he’d brought along Alfons from below. The two boys were peeking over the decking of the upper bridge, watching the monitors as well.
The asteroid was uninteresting in itself, one of the tens of thousands they encountered throughout their journeys. Sometimes the rocks in space yielded indications of a rich mineral vein, and the Hauler ship that found it could potentially sell the location to a miner who was interested in trying his or her luck. That did happen with some regularity. Usually, though, they were just dark, floating rocks reflecting the system star’s light on one side.
Out of habit, Barstow scanned the asteroids. “Nothing good here, boss. But we’re just about in visual range of the metallic ping. On screen…”
All eyes were now on the monitors. Creal heard Xin suck a nervous breath in.
“…Now.”
A long moment passed before Creal lean forward, looking closely. “There’s definitely a hole in space there. A big one.”
A “hole in space” was a Hauler term for something blocking the starlight.
“If it’s a ship they ain’t shot us yet,” offered Alfons.
“What’re you doing up here, idiot? What if I want you in the engine bay? We might need to haul out of here.”
“The engine’s working just fine. I wanted to see it.”
“Boss, we’re coming up on it now. Plain visual, regular magnification.”
Everyone leaned in.
To Creal’s eye, the thing possessed an almost evil flattened shape. It was powered down, whatever it was, with no lights or marker beacons operating in the visual spectrum. “It looks like a ship, alright. Two hundred meters?”
“A bit longer, I’d say.” Barstow was alternating his eyes between the visual and the readings on his scanning display. “Now I’m picking up drive residue.”
“So it’s faster than light-capable.” A sudden nervous pang attacked Creal. It’s hiding.
“It’s made of a metal I don’t recognize. The scanners are ID’ing it as steel but doesn’t have the same molecular structure.” He looked back. “Unless I’m way off, I’d wager it’s Tavarran Steel.”
Creal didn’t look at him. “I thought you weren’t a betting man.”
Xin spoke up in his thick accent—origin unknown. “It looks like a devil ship.”
Creal increased the magnification even though they were getting very close now. The mystery ship’s hull glowed dully in the shadow of the asteroid. “It’s either painted or seasoned black. To absorb light somehow. Look at those flat surfaces,” he added with some admiration. “Doesn’t look Fleet at all.”
Barstow whistled. “Tavarran Steel, light-absorbing coloration. Boss, we got us some sort of high-tech Fleet derelict.”
Creal snapped at him. “Why you think it’s a derelict? They could be playing with us.” If it was Fleet, they would’ve already demanded the hauler to submit to boarding and inspection.
His navigator shook his head, making the dreadlocks in his hear swing madly around. “Nah, we’re too close to shoot us without the debris from our detonation causing damage to that gorgeous hull. They’re a derelict, or maybe all asleep.” His toothy grin and mild reassurance somehow eased Creal’s nervous pang.
“Can we board it?” Alfons was excited now.
Creal stood up and stretched, trying to ease his nervousness. “Doubtful. If it’s a warship they’ll have interlocks against unauthorized boardings.” He was already thinking of someone who would have the tech know-how to to do it.
Barstow moved their ship around the other vessel. Creal appreciated is beauty once again. It was about the same length as their hauler, but their vessel was almost totally devoted to cargo space with only a small crew area in the front and a series of corridors running to the engineering and environmental area amidships. The other ship was thin and raked down the sides, with its engine nacelles nicely tucked in at the stern. Creal studied the hull for markings but was not surprised to find none.
“Did someone just leave it here?” Alfons was getting bored.
Creal shrugged as he plopped back in his chair. “Maybe. If so, it’s ours now.” He glanced at Barstow. “Airlocks?”
Barstow nodded, not looking up from his consoles. “There are a couple. Almost a perfectly smooth hull in fact. But, I found a towhook. We could tow that, couldn’t we?”
Creal knew his ship. “You bet we could.”
“Connecting the tow array as soon as we coming around the bow again.”
Their ship reached the end of the other one and Barstow spun them on their long axis so they could get a look at the business end of the engines.
Alfons whistled. “Look at them sweet motors.”
“Would love to install them on this bucket. We could go twice as far in a week’s time.”
Creal appreciated the workmanship of the ship’s equipment. This was unlike anything he’d ever encountered… “Take us back up to the bow and prepare for the tow.”
Barstow’s computer suddenly spat out a flat tone. The navigator leaned over to take a look at what it was trying to tell him. “Boss, you’re not going to believe this.”
“Tell me.”
“The engine material is identified as Praxxan in origin.”
“Holy crap,” breathed out Xin. All of them watched the passing black hull with newfound concern.
Creal still had that pang of nerves, to be sure. But the payday… a derelict Prax warship. The thought of it wiped away all other concerns. “Gang, if they had wanted to blow us out of space they could have at any time. But they didn’t, so the ship is ours for the taking.”
Even Bar
stow looked a little cowed. “But, the Prax’ll kill us…won’t they?”
Creal shrugged once again. “Whatever. Man’s gotta die sometime. But this,” he waved at the sleek hull, “this’ll pay our kid’s way.”
“Think the Fleet will want to buy a Prax warship? Why is a Prax ship using Tavarran Steel?”
“I dunno, stop asking questions. Maybe we’ll pry it open and part it out. I bet the Fleet would love to get ahold of those engines.” He cast a sharp glance at Barstow. “You gonna argue or connect the tow beam?” When he looked back, Creal saw that the younger two had wisely gotten out of sight. Just in time. He could feel his normal gruffness returning.
“Show’s over,” he said to himself as he resettled back in his chair. “We got ourselves a nice haul.”
“Tow established. Setting course for home, Creal.”
“Good. Now leave me alone. I want to think.”
Barstow grunted but said nothing. He knew his boss would be mulling over his trading options and have a plan worked out before they even saw their star system on the scanners. Creal wasn’t one of the longest-running Haulers for nothing. Who knew what sort of luck this alien tech would bring them? But he had his own plans to made luck.
Part Three - Broken
Chapter 14
Occupied Earth - Prax Sol Center
Cindy was there, her face dancing before his eyes. He wanted to reach out to her.
“You let me die, Tom. Where were you?”
He so wanted the tears to flow, to feel the release. But her eyes held his magnetically.
“Where were you when we needed you?”
Pain. The hard, cold floor pressed against his cheek.
Consciousness returned and Halloran rolled over with a groan, feeling the tenderness in his ribs where he’d been kicked several times by heavy boots. The floor had made a deep impression in his face, and he raised his hands to his eyes and rubbed them, feeling the burn in his torso again.
War Without Honor (Halloran's War Series Book 1) Page 8
