They stepped onto the rolling road, surging away from the docking terminal and out into an open field, the smell of grass filling Salazar's nostrils, deep, clean air he had rarely known in the past.
“Amazing, isn't it. A lot of people just go for a walk when they arrive. I hear it's almost as good as being on a habitable planet.”
“Maybe better. Less chance of rain.”
The boy looked up at him, squinting, and asked, “You've been on an inhabitable world?”
“More than one. But that's a long story. Where are we going?”
“Flying,” he replied, gesturing to a spindle up ahead. Salazar followed it with his eyes, all the way to the heart of the cylinder, the zero-gravity area at the top. He could just make out small dots flying around, and realized those were people.
“Doesn't it take training?”
“No,” Urquot replied. “Just guts. You'll see when we get up there.” He glanced over at the lake, and said, “Of course, if you aren't interested, there's always a boat ride, or even a quick drop underwater. We've got amazing creatures here, an aquatic zoo stocked from a dozen compatible worlds. Even Earth, so I was told.”
Nodding, Salazar followed him as they reached the spindle, an open elevator with loose straps to anchor himself to a platform. Urquot helped him on, tugging at the straps to make sure they were firm before throwing a lever. Instantly, he could see the appeal of the view as the ground fell away before him, the landscape opening up all around. His stomach churned as the gravity dropped, but the distraction soon settled him.
As they moved into no-weight, a shape flashed in front of him, one of the fliers dipping down, spiraling around the elevator before pulling back up with a loop, flapping back towards the heart as Urquot looked on with despair.
“Too low, really. They're safe to one-eighth gravity, with a little safety margin, but that doesn't mean you should take any chances. Every month someone gets too confident and ends up crashing into the dirt.”
“Let's hope I'm not one of them.”
Evidently the guide had signaled ahead somehow, as a taller man with a familial resemblance waited for them at the top of the spindle, preparing a pair of wings. It was all Salazar could do to avoid floating away as the man unclipped him, then strapping the wings to his back and wrapping a control membrane around his wrists.
“How do I guide it?” he asked.
“You don't,” Urquot said. “Just soar like a bird, and the computer will compensate and keep you in the air. There's a tutorial course built in for the first four minutes, and if you don't move for sixty seconds, it's programmed to bring you back home again.” Gesturing at the wing-tips, he said, “There's a series of servo-motors built in. Theoretically, they can fly themselves quite happily. You're just there to make it look good, but you'll have full control.”
Pointing at a patch above his hand, he said, “Slap that when you want to come back, and it'll guide you in the right direction. And don't worry. These wings are perfectly safe, unless you decide to do something stupid. Even then, it won't let you get into a situation you can't recover from unless you use the override.”
“Where's that?” Salazar asked.
“You don't get to know, not the first time.” Shaking his head, the guide added, “My uncle told a tourist once where the override was before taking his first flight. He had a hell of a time explaining what had happened to his widow.”
The man tugged the straps tight, the wings clipped to his arms as though they had always been there, and Salazar gave a quick, experimental flap, watching them swing back and forth under his control. Already the sensation was astonishing, but before he could say anything, Urquot unclipped him from the spindle, a grin on his face as Salazar briefly tumbled away.
Instantly, the guidance computer started to do its work, leveling him out with a series of quick flaps before starting the tutorial process, sending him diving back and forth. No instructions were needed, not verbal ones, anyway. It was more a question of telling his muscles what to do, telling his brain what to expect, and he ran through the training program with a smile on his face as he slowly orbited the spindle, keeping well clear of the other fliers.
Once he was given control, he moved into a long, slow roll, trying to take in the view from this vantage point. There were white clouds underneath him, the station large enough to have its own weather system, and he looked down on them, longing to dive through them but aware that it would put him in the danger zone.
All his life, he'd wanted to be a pilot, but nothing had prepared him for the day when he could actually fly for himself, without a shuttle or a spaceship, simply swooping through the air. He took himself down a little, into the gravity field, and flapped with long, slow movements to keep his altitude, before returning to the safety of weightlessness. When there was a little gravity, he had a lot more control, and he looked down at the more experienced fliers dancing through the sky, a perfect aerobatic display, but that would require practice that he would never had the chance to acquire.
Despite all of that, and knowing the urgency of his mission, he settled back to enjoy the ride, wondering whether he should try and drift to the far side of the cylinder. His arms were beginning to tire, muscles working in ways they were never accustomed, and after a quarter-hour he reluctantly tapped the control to send him back to the spindle.
It didn't surprise him at all when it didn't work. Instead of directing him back to the spindle, he curved around in a long, smooth half-circle, and dived along the axis of the cylinder, the servo-motors making brief adjustments to guide him on his way. He'd expected to be picked up by someone as soon as he left the tourist areas, as soon as he passed out of the gaze of the local security forces, but this was a subtler approach than he had considered. If anyone asked questions, he was just another stupid tourist out of his depth.
He looked down at the terrain below, wondering for a second whether he could try an override, but as though anticipating his thoughts, the computer dropped him down into the gravity field, high enough that it could keep him moving without any assistance, low enough that a split second could send him tumbling out of control.
His unseen captor would want him alive, that much was certain, but he didn't want to gamble too much on the mercy of someone he had never met. Instead, attempting to ignore the growing ache in his arms, he tried to relax and enjoy the ride, looking down at the view as he passed over the lake, white trails of the boats racing across it, a low, simulated surf that washed on up a balmy beach.
This place had never been built with permanent occupancy in mind. That much was obvious. From the beginning, this was a free port, established as a hub for interstellar commerce, with all the attractions and features that implied. Not that the information was of any use to him at the moment, as he gathered speed.
Somehow, there were structures up here, small cylinders that were suspended at the heart of the weightless area. They had to be tethered in position, would have quickly drifted away without some sort of protection, but he couldn't see any sign of them. The effect was impressive, and he wasn't at all surprised when his wings began to rear up, slowing him down and guiding him towards his new perch.
Two tall, burly men waited for him at the entrance, a Neander and a human, both wearing plain jumpsuits with pistols at their belts. Not that they needed them, as they snatched him from the sky, half-carrying him between them as he stepped into the chamber.
Inside, another albino sat, lounging on a divan, sipping from a drink. The guards released Salazar, quickly ripping the wings free, before stepping back through the door. He glanced back, tempted for a second to make a break for it, before shaking his head and taking a seat.
“Wise,” the albino said.
“I've come a long way to see you,” Salazar replied. “It wouldn't make much sense to run now.”
He raised an eyebrow, and said, “Capturing you did
seem rather more straightforward than I had expected. Are you here to represent your commanding officer?”
“Do you really expect an answer to that question?”
“No more than the one you have just given. I am reliably informed that you are seeking fuel.”
“Large quantities of it. One of those tankers outside would be ideal.”
“That would be extremely expensive.”
“I don't know about that,” Salazar replied. “You might find we're surprisingly cheap.”
“Are you implying I should be paying you?”
“Certainly,” he said with a smile. “Consider. The Triplanetary Confederation is moving into this area of space, which implies increased trade, as well as military contracts. Anyone who helped us out at this time would find it easier to obtain such contracts in the future, and I'm quite certain that a man such as you would see opportunities in expanding the local trading networks.”
“Sufficient that I have no intention of hindering your activities, true.”
Leaning forward, Salazar said, “Let me be blunt. I see a fading station. While I don't know who built it, I know they aren't around any more.”
“What makes you say that?”
“If the Confederation had built a station like this, there would be a fleet permanently stationed here. You might have defenses, but they've been put together piecemeal over the years. No consistency in design.”
The albino smiled, baring his teeth, and replied, “You aren't any ordinary crewman, are you. To answer the question that the carefully prepared data tables will not, this station was constructed by the Five Stars Syndicate, a loose confederation that fell apart in a civil war twelve centuries ago. This station was one of the key causes of the war, protests about money being wasted on a prestige project such as this.”
“Ironic.”
“Two of the worlds are now depopulated, one has reverted to a pre-space technological level, and the others are locked in a permanent feud. We have representatives from half a dozen nations here, many of them several jumps distant, but your assessment is essentially correct.”
“Then you will help us.”
With a shrug, he replied, “I'll certainly provide you with a better offer than the local corporations will, but I'm not going to give fuel to a ship that might never return. For all I know, you're lost, stranded, and there is no support ship waiting nearby. Perhaps you aren't even affiliated to any larger interstellar government at all, and this is all a confidence trick.”
“Trust me, we'd have come up with a better story.”
The albino laughed, and said, “If I didn't trust you, you'd be dead. I will contact your commander in due course with my offer, and I suggest you seriously consider it.”
“Meaning that if we take someone else's offer...”
“They might find it all but impossible to fulfill it.” He tapped a control, and said, “I regret your departure will be less scenic than your arrival, but my guards will see you back to your ship.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
“Oh, and fifty million Triplanetary credits.”
“For what?”
He tapped his ear, and said, “The translator. A relic of that era, a lost art. I think you would find it worth every credit. I know I did.”
Chapter 10
Cooper paced back and forth, walking from one side of the room to the other, while his wife impassively looked on. After a moment, he turned back to the door, looking over the release mechanism again, trying to find some weakness, some way to get through. Tugging at the maintenance flap, he looked at the tangle of wires, pulling at one of them in a bid to break the circuit.
“It didn't open the last time you did that,” Bradley said. “Or the twenty-seven times before that. Sit down.”
“I can't just sit around and wait.”
“Do we have a choice?”
“It's been more than a day. Alamo should have picked up the signal from my communicator by now. Someone ought to be looking for us.”
“Maybe they are. Did it occur to you that Ghewon might have been right about the traitors? Besides, we've no guarantee that it made it through. It was a bit of a long shot.”
“In which case, we've delivered ourselves into their hands.” Shaking his head, he continued, “No, I don't buy it. Not that our new friends are so damn pure, but it doesn't seem to make any sense. Not from their point of view. They'd have questioned us by now, done something.”
The door chimed, and slid open, revealing Oktu and Segna standing at the threshold, the latter carrying a battered metal tray with two steaming bowls on it, spoons by the side. He placed it on the bed next to Bradley then took a position by the door, Oktu perching on a chair in the corner of the room, looking across at them, an enigmatic smile on his face.
“It's about time,” Cooper said.
“My apologies,” Oktu replied. “We had to be sure that this wasn't a trap. False agents have been used repeatedly to infiltrate our organization. In all honesty, we couldn't quite conceive that you could be so naive about the nature of the people you were befriending.”
“We've had plenty of signs of trouble,” Bradley said, “but nothing really conclusive. No treaty has been signed, though, and Captain Orlova hasn't made any decision yet. I know she has serious concerns about your government. I think we all do.”
Nodding, Oktu said, “You've had a chance to think about our plan to flee to Testament Station. I want to know what your commander will do about it.”
“That depends on whether you do any damage on the way out. If it's simply a matter of stealing some shuttles and escape pods and getting over to the station, I think I can assure you that she won't lift a finger to stop you, or to help Ghewon recapture you.”
“Interesting.”
“Among other things,” Bradley said, “the Triplanetary Confederation was formed when the United Nations effectively instituted slavery, though they called it an indentured workers scheme. The result was the same. Nowhere in the Confederation are such practices permitted, nor would any states operating under such principles be permitted to join.”
“It sounds like a paradise,” Segna replied.
“It isn't,” Cooper said. “We're not perfect, and we wouldn't pretend to be. We've got a hell of a long way to go before we make ourselves a new Eden, but we're willing to make the attempt. As far as we know, we have the only true democracy in space.”
Pulling out a datapad, Oktu read, “Jefferson, Ragnarok, Thule. Planets that you have absorbed into your alliance over the objections of the residents.”
“Not true. Ragnarok requested and received membership, and as far as I know, is now a full member of the Confederation.” He paused, smiled, and said, “Which makes the name a little out of date, but never mind.”
“And the others?”
“Thule is planning to request membership, Jefferson remains independent for the moment, but we're helping them against an invasion from a power called the Cabal, out on the other side of explored space. There are other worlds, as well, but while we're willing to admit new members, we're not willing to relax our standards to do so.”
Segna looked at Oktu, and asked, “Could Collective worlds join the Confederation?”
“I doubt it.”
“Because we are Neander?”
“There are a dozen Neander serving on Alamo,” Bradley replied. “I doubt your worlds would satisfy the humanitarian requirements.”
“And if they could? If they did?”
Shaking his head, Cooper said, “I'm an Ensign, the commander of an Espatier platoon, not a Senator.” With a deep sigh, he added, “From what I know, in principle, I suppose you could, but that's just my opinion, and a poorly informed one at that.”
Nodding, Oktu said, “That's all we need at the moment. I would like to seek amnesty on Alamo, and ha
ve the opportunity to return with you to your homeworld. Here I am wanted for treason and murder, and will be executed without a trial if I am caught.”
Her eyes widening, Bradley replied, “We can't make that decision. We'll get you to Alamo, but I can't promise that you won't be sent back on the next shuttle.” She glanced at Cooper, and said, “I will promise that the Captain will give you a fair hearing. She won't just do what Ghewon asks. You'll have a chance to speak to her first, make your case.”
Nodding, the Neander replied, “That's all I'm asking. I know the risk, and I'm willing to take it. You need to know what sort of people you are dealing with.” Glancing at Segna, he added, “I know you offered my comrade and his wife sanctuary.”
“He isn't wanted for murder.”
“Actually, I am,” Segna replied. “Yours.”
“You're joking.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “The announcement was made half an hour ago. I have been found guilty of the murders of the two of you, and my wife as well. She is safe, and for the present, so am I.” Looking across at the wall, he said, “It seems that I should have tucked my head under the sheets when you entered my room. Now I face either death or exile.”
Oktu looked at them, then said, “I don't think we have a choice but to trust you. I don't like the idea, I want to make that clear, but our leader disagrees.”
“I thought you were in charge?” Bradley asked.
“No,” he replied. “We can discuss that when we are in a position of greater safety.”
“Get me a secure communications link with Alamo,” Cooper said. “I'll make all the arrangements to get you both on board. Segna, I'll want a copy of that message, something that can be authenticated, and...”
Before he could finish, the sound of heavy footsteps rattled down the corridor, charging towards them, and the two Neander drew their sidearms. Cracks echoed around the walls, the two sides exchanging shots, and Oktu collapsed on the deck, bleeding from a trio of wounds in his side. Cooper dropped beside him, cradling his head in his arms.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Final Testament Page 9
