Shards of Eternity (Stars in Shadow Book 2)

by John Triptych

  The boy pursed his lips. “You mean they would do the attacking instead of something like a defense grid?”

  “Oh, the Concordance has something equivalent to a defense grid, and you’ll see it very soon,” Strand said. “With their bio-probes, those things will swarm over you like a pack of piranhas and attach themselves to all hostile ships before they chew through your hull.”

  “Piranhas? What are those?”

  “Terrestrial fish who swarm in packs and eat through everything, leaving nothing but the bones of their prey.”

  “Is that what those bio-probes will do if they attack?”

  “Yeah, they’re similar to swarmers,” Strand said. “They’ll try to ram your hull and start digging in. The real worry is you can’t attack them first while they scan you or else they go into a frenzy; with hundreds of them in this vicinity alone, they could even overwhelm the Nepenthe.”

  “When I used one of the ship’s external cameras, those things looked strange, like they had glowing tails and huge, monster eyes. Are they really alive?”

  “Sort of,” Strand said. “They still use fusion drives for propulsion, so that’s why they have spider silk radiators. Their organic components are grown alongside these engines, and that’s why they looked like giant space tadpoles.”

  “Tadpoles? What are those?”

  “Ever heard of a frog? It’s their juvenile, eel-like stage.”

  “Oh.”

  “Those probes have primitive brains,” Strand said. “They know just enough to receive updates from their mother ships on how to spot hostile ships, as well as how to attack.”

  “Those mother ships, were they those weird-looking asteroids we just passed?”

  “Yup,” Strand said. “The Concordance hollows out big rocks and places fusion drives on them. In the interiors, they have bio-factories that churn out these probes for in-system security.”

  “Looks like the Concordance does the same things the Union does, just in a freaky sort of way,” Hauk said.

  “That’s pretty much it.”

  “I got another question, LT,” Hauk said. “This ship of ours.”

  “The Clint V? What about her?”

  Hauk pursed his lips. “Our engineers just sort of built her from scratch?”

  “Sort of,” Strand said. “This ship was stored as mostly inert carbon blocks in the Nepenthe’s cargo holds. Using our industrial printers, we just sort of reassembled the pieces.”

  “So, it’s that easy to build another ship?”

  “Almost,” Strand said. “All except for the tesseract drive—we had to store that component intact. Plus we had to gather up lots of carbon from the surrounding system to flesh everything out, so to speak.”

  “How come I never knew of this?”

  Strand shrugged as he strapped himself down onto the captain’s chair. “You never asked.”

  Hauk shook his head. “Okay, I get it now.”

  “We mostly use the Clint for non-hostile missions,” Strand said. “If we want to get in clean and without any fuss, she’s the ship for the job.”

  “But we’re pretty much helpless if we do run into any opposition, right?”

  “Obviously,” Strand said. “We can try to run and jump away at the next shadow zone, but that’s pretty much it. No armor and no point defense.”

  “I kind of prefer using Captain Gunhardt and his Eon Shrike for this,” Hauk said. “I feel kinda helpless right now.”

  “Xander isn’t available,” Strand said. “Anyway, we’re here strictly for a non-lethal recon mission. Just figure out what the political situation is and how to get to Vega—that’s it.”

  “But if we get into any trouble…” The boy let his voice trail off.

  “We won’t,” Strand said. “Think positively for once.”

  “I got another question, LT.”

  Strand repressed a sigh. The kid was overly curious, but it was a good thing. “What is it?”

  “Why is she called the Clint V?”

  “Because she’s the fifth incarnation of the ship, duh.”

  “What I mean is, what happened to the previous four ships?”

  “Destroyed, obviously,” Strand said casually. “I barely got out of the last one. If Captain Dangard hadn’t performed a risky intercept maneuver, you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

  Hauk gulped. “That doesn’t exactly instill a lot of confidence in me.”

  Strand winked at him. “Just remember, kid, it’s not all on ability—luck plays a role too.”

  A loud beep returned Hauk’s focus to his console. “We’re approaching geosynchronous orbit with Kurgan.”

  “This is it,” Strand said. “Now we’ll know if that old transponder code still works or not.”

  Hauk placed his hands on the dashboard, ready to switch to manual control. “If it doesn’t work, what do we do?”

  “Depends,” Strand said. “If they tell us to decelerate for a boarding then we do as they say.”

  “And if they start firing?”

  “Turn her around and go to full acceleration,” Strand said. “Don’t forget to pray to whatever antecessor you worship too.”

  Hauk stared at the readouts on his console. “They should have sent the code for landing approval by now.”

  Strand checked the shipboard time. The kid was right. “Okay, on my mark, prepare to switch to manual, then go to full acceleration.”

  Hauk’s hands were already on the controls. The butterflies in his stomach were churning into a giant, nauseating swarm that nearly made him retch, but he was able to suppress it. All the time he spent on the simulators was nothing like the real thing.

  A series of new beeps startled him. The boy could only stare in mild surprise as the landing approval codes were broadcast into the ship’s com-link.

  “There you go,” Strand said. “Looks like we got approval after all.”

  Hauk smiled. It was his first time piloting a ship, and he quickly began running a mental checklist for landing her on the planet.

  21 Temporary Alliance

  Leaving behind the boy and the rest of the team at the spaceport, Strand entered through the gates of the main city and made his way to one of the many marketplaces dotting the plazas. Their cargo was still undergoing customs inspection, but Strand figured he could attempt to make contact with a particular trader he knew based on the information they gleaned from Karana’s interrogation.

  Night had fallen, and the tall, glowing columns of crystals protruding from the ground seemed to serve as streetlights, illuminating the otherwise dark alleyways with a dim neon blue radiance. Strand’s head was covered by the hood of his cloak as he continued on, using the night-vision mode in his cybernetically enhanced eyes to find his way.

  He tried to avoid eye contact with the locals, for the populace and their slit-like pupil eyes tended to hold distaste or even enmity for Strand’s more conventional features. Centuries of genetic adaptation had made the locals somewhat prejudiced to anyone who didn’t share their unique physical characteristics. There had even been clamors in political sectors all across the galaxy to declare genetically modified humans as a distinct subspecies, though nothing official had been put into law as of yet.

  After taking a roundabout route to avoid suspicion, Strand entered a foreign-dominated section of the city. He began to feel more at ease while striding through the plaza, since the humans milling about had the more classical aspects he was used to. So far, he had only encountered one local muttering a scathing remark about his looks while he passed by her stall on his way out of the spaceport. Throwing back his hood, he soon identified one particular building and made his way inside.

  The smoky interior resembled one of the many human bars found across the galaxy. Nanocarbon tables and chairs, and a more well-lighted ambience with just the occasional shadowy booth along the sides. A long counter dominated the far side, and he made his way towards it, ignoring the steely-eyed stares of a few traders having thei
r drinks. The entire place had oxygenators, and his shortness of breath was gone.

  A portly, middle-aged man with a curly mop of hair tended the bar, and he didn’t look up at Strand as he continued to wash a few antique glass beer mugs at the small sink behind the counter. “What’ll it be?”

  Strand put on a faint, disarming smile as he stood in front of the counter, a few paces away from the others sitting in their stools. “What do you recommend?”

  “We got piss-poor imported, the local stuff, or the expensive imported. Ales, mostly. Unless you prefer the hard stuff, as they say.”

  “I’m a sucker for terrestrial bourbon, if you have any.”

  The bartender looked up at him. “That’s the super expensive stuff. You got the money?”

  Strand pulled out a wad of cash cards from his jumpsuit pocket. “Oh yeah.”

  “We only take bearer mode cash here.”

  “They’re clean and anonymous. I’ll take a double shot.”

  The bartender used his wrist smartcom and scanned the cash before taking it. “Okay, big spender.”

  Strand leaned on the counter with his elbows as a short tumbler was placed in front of him and the whisky was poured into it. Strand held up the glass and swirled the smoky brown liquor before downing it in one gulp.

  The bartender raised one eyebrow. “I pretty much know everyone here since it’s the same people who frequent this place over the years. You, on the other hand, I don’t know.”

  Strand shrugged his shoulders. “I spent a lot just for a shot of good whisky in your establishment and then you start grilling me? Is this the underhanded way of saying ‘shove off’ or a kind of local compliment I’m not too familiar with?”

  “Listen, buddy,” the man behind the counter said. “I don’t know if you heard the news, but things are tense out here right now. Our kind are not locals here, and we try to stay out of politics for the good of our little expatriate community, if you know what I mean.”

  Strand gave him an indignant stare. “Excuse me? Do you think I came in here to make trouble?”

  “You got that look about you.”

  “What look?”

  “I noticed you the moment you came inside,” the bartender said. “You immediately scanned the room, looking for exits, hard cover, and potential enemies. I served in the Union military a long time ago, so I know the type.”

  “Hey, there’s plenty of former soldiers around,” Strand said. “You even admit to being one yourself. It’s just an old habit of mine, nothing to worry about.”

  “As I told you, everybody is on edge here,” the bartender said. “And when a stranger like you comes in at a time like this, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.”

  Strand shook his head slowly. “I’m just an honest trader, pal. Maybe my timing is wrong, but all I’m here for is to barter my wares and take off as soon as I make some profits.”

  “Good luck,” the bartender said softly. “I’m surprised they’re letting in free traders at this time. There’s been talk of cutting off the merchant routes until the situation with the ruling family is resolved.”

  Strand feigned innocence. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a clue as to what’s going on. I was told by a mutual friend that this was a good planet to sell my supplies—so here I am.”

  The bartender narrowed his eyes. “Did this … friend of yours recommend this particular place?”

  Strand nodded. “He did indeed. I believe the phrase is ‘the dogs bark and the camel walks.’”

  The bartender was silent for a few moments and only reacted when another customer walked up to the counter and asked for another round of beers for him and his friends. The bartender served them, completely ignoring Strand for what seemed to be a long time.

  Strand wondered if he said the code correctly or if he had been compromised. He carefully studied the bartender’s body language, looking for telltale signs of having sounded an alert, but so far it seemed the barman was simply doing his job of handing out beverages to his thirsty patrons.

  When the bartender finally came back, he placed a mug of frothy beer on the counter. “Take this and head over to the manager’s office up the stairs. First door to your right on the upper landing. Don’t try anything stupid, soldier.”

  Strand took the mug and headed up the stairs after ducking into the back corridor that led to the bathrooms. He could smell the faint trace of urine as he walked up the carpeted steps. The moment he got up to the top floor, he heard a low growl coming from down the passageway and instantly froze.

  A genetically modified pet made its way towards him from the other end of the upper corridor. Droogs were bio-engineered from terrestrial guard dogs, and the designers of this particular breed added an insect-like carapace while extending the jawline with an extra row of razor-sharp teeth. Both the fore and hind legs were also strengthened with reinforced bones and musculature in order to handle the added weight without sacrificing movement speed.

  The droog stopped only two paces away from him and looked up with blood-red eyes as it began to sniff the air around him for concealed weapons. Concordance genetic designers had centuries to master their craft, and it was clear to Strand that this droog had ultra sensitive olfactory senses, allowing it to smell anything at an extended range.

  Strand knew he would have little chance against such an animal, especially since he was unarmed. Figuring he had nothing else to lose, he lowered himself and placed the beer mug in front of him. “Here, boy, you can have my drink if you want it.”

  The droog moved forward and sniffed the rim of the glass before extending a hollow, straw-like tongue and sucking up the ale in a matter of seconds. It glanced up at Strand soon after it finished. “Shenck you.”

  Strand was momentarily startled by the droog’s apparent communicative abilities. “Y-you’re welcome.”

  “You chan cho ichnchide.”

  Strand turned towards the door and twisted the knob before going in. The small room had a single glowing bio-light tethered on a ceiling stalk. Unlike the bar below, the table and chairs in the office had a more organic look, as if they were grown rather than put together. The lone occupant was a genetically modified human female, and she looked up at Strand with orange-colored eyes while seated behind the table.

  The droog’s hollow-sounding voice could be heard coming from the corridor beyond. “Aw shear.”

  “Thank you, Snoopy,” the woman said before turning her attention to Strand. “You may close the door now.”

  Strand did as he was told. Hovering by the chair, he pursed his lips. “I didn’t know they could talk.”

  “Depends on the breed,” she said. “I like mine to have a bit more … intelligence, as compared to the ones they use at the spaceport and at the palace.”

  “Can they reason like us?”

  “Not really. They have limitations due to their cranial size and can only follow moderately complex commands. I guess they’re close in mental capacity to the simple AI units on Union worlds.”

  “I see,” Strand said. “Pretty impressive.”

  “You stated an old code that was changed over a week ago, stranger,” she said. “Of course, I can make an allowance due to the time lag between transit from other systems to Kurgan, but I can’t say I know of you personally.”

  “I’m not looking for trouble.”

  “Not right now anyway, though I’m sure it could change,” she said. “Your name, stranger.”

  “Christopher Paxton,” Strand lied. “I’m just looking for some information.”

  “Ah, you’re like what the Union calls an aphid, is that it?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “People come to me for that kind of trade,” the woman said. “What kind of information do you seek?”

  “Toto Vega,” Strand said. “I want to know what he’s up to.”

  “So my barman was right,” she said. “You are trouble indeed.”

  Strand sensed he wasn’t going to get
anywhere by deception, and this local woman’s demeanor changed slightly when he brought up the traitor’s name. “I’ll be honest with you. I can tell you’re not overly fond of him, so let’s just say I feel the same way.”

  The woman turned away and seemed lost in thought for a minute. When she continued, her stare seemed less intrusive than before, and she gestured at him to sit down. “My name is Fytti, and I am a merchant of information. If you desire knowledge of this man and what he is up to, then you’ll have to give me something in return.”

  Strand sat down. “Alright. First off, I can tell you that Vega will be bad for your business in the long run.”

  Fytti’s nictitating membranes fluttered in confusion. “How so?”

  “I know he used the information he got from you to get to where he is now.”

  Fytti waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I am neutral to parties I deal with. He will always have use of my services once he becomes archon.”

  “You don’t know him as well as I do,” Strand said. “Vega used you, and he will get rid of you once he’s in power. Therefore, it’s in your best interests to tell me everything you know about him.”

  “What makes you so sure I would even believe what you say?”

  “Think about it,” Strand said. “You know too much, that part is obvious. The only reason he hasn’t acted against you is because he isn’t archon yet. He’s betrayed his allies before.”

  Fytti leaned back on her chair. “Ah, I understand now. News has filtered in about Vega’s exploits in Union space. Of how he eliminated his accomplices once he got a few of the Shards of Eternity.”

  “Not just his partners; he even abandoned his own crew,” Strand said. “That’s the kind of man we’re dealing with. Do you honestly think he will allow you to live since it was your information he used to get himself started on this path to become a nobleman?”

  Fytti let out a deep breath. “You’re saying he will come after me to maintain his legitimacy?”

  “Once he’s in power, yes.”