Sons of the Starfarers: Omnibus I-III

by Joe Vasicek

  “Thank you, sir,” he said in flawless Deltan. “I take it from the public registry that you are Aaron Deltana?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” said Aaron. “Who are you?”

  “I’m known in these parts as Argo. I’m something of a starfarer, much like yourselves.”

  “How do you know so much about us?” Isaac asked. “And where did you learn to speak Deltan?”

  Argo smiled. “I spent a great deal of time in the Oriana Cluster when I was a star wanderer, especially in the more remote colonies. That’s how I recognized you. It’s not every dayshift that a pair of brothers from Delta Oriana walks onto a station, even such a major trading hub as this. But what really caught my interest was the name of your ship, the Medea. That’s a Pleiadian name. Is that what brings you to this part of the Outworlds?”

  He doesn’t know about the girl in the cryotank, Isaac thought, relaxing a bit. That’s not what he’s after.

  “We have our own reasons for coming to the New Pleiades,” he said, evading the question. “But come, won’t you sit down for a bit?”

  “Gladly.”

  Isaac hobbled into the cabin, the others following close behind. His head and stomach still hurt where the thugs had hit him, but the pain was fading. With luck, he’d make a speedy recovery. In any case, his injuries weren’t about to keep him from properly entertaining their guest. As Argo sat down at the lounge table, he fired up the food synthesizer to make some drinks.

  “Would you like anything? Some juice, maybe? We don’t have enough fruit for cocktails, but we’ve got plenty more than just water.”

  “Thank you,” said Argo. “Some juice sounds nice. It’s been a while since I had a good Deltan drink.”

  Aaron wiped off his knife blade and sheathed it before walking over to Isaac. “Here, I’ll get that,” he said under his breath. “You go sit down and rest.”

  “I’m fine, Aaron.”

  “No, I mean it. You took a pretty bad beating out there—you’re in no shape to play host. I’ll take care of it.”

  Isaac sighed, but didn’t offer any more protest. He eased himself onto the semi-circular couch and scooted around until he was next to Argo. The throbbing ache and soreness in his side told him that his brother was right.

  “I have to thank you for rescuing us,” he told Argo, who sat with his hands clasped on the tabletop. “What exactly happened out there?”

  “The man you met at the bar is a fairly well-known crime lord here in the Pleiadian underworld. He runs a mid-sized slaving outfit and operates brothels at almost a dozen star systems. He’s a vindictive man with a heady temper, so when you started that fight with him, I knew there would be trouble.”

  “How did you convince him to spare us?”

  A sly grin spread across Argo’s face. “Well, I’m fairly well-known around the New Pleiadies myself. Not as a petty crime lord, mind you—I have no respect for scum like that. No, I’m more what you might call a ‘patriot.’”

  Aaron brought the drinks over and set them down. He sat across the circular table from Argo and looked him in the eye as Argo accepted the juice glass and took a sip from it.

  “A patriot? You mean, like a warrior?”

  “More or less. I’m a lieutenant in the resistance movement against the Gaian Imperials. They’ve invaded three of the border stars and have amassed a large enough fleet to take over the whole star cluster—provided that none of us fight back.”

  Isaac frowned. “The war’s already started?”

  “Of course,” said Argo, leaning forward. “Haven’t you boys heard? The Gaians have consolidated control of the Coreward Stars, and they’re turning their ambitions outward. Rumor has it that the Oriana Cluster is already in their pocket. Alpha Oriana has certainly gone that way, and Oriana Station was always the gateway to that part of the Outworlds. Yes, there’s a war on, make no mistake about it.”

  “Mathusael was saying something about that,” said Aaron. He glanced at Isaac, his eyes lit with excitement. “Don’t you remember?”

  “Yeah,” said Isaac. All too well.

  “Can’t say I know anyone by that name,” said Argo. “It sounds like a good Deltan name, though. Very biblical.” He leaned back and took a swig of his drink.

  “Mathusael is an old friend of ours from back home. He settled down in the Esperanzia system, after making some runs to the Coreward Stars. The last we saw him, he was telling us about the Gaian campaign in the Oriana Cluster, or something like that.”

  “Indeed. It’s not just a handful of stars that are threatened. It’s something that all of us outworlders must unite to face. If the Imperials aren’t checked, they’ll gobble up every system with a settlement older than a hundred standard years. When that happens, even the Far Outworlds will be under their control. We all depend on each other, as isolated as some of us may be.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Isaac, laying his hands palm up in exasperation. “You can’t possibly believe that the Gaians will conquer every last Outworld star. Even with a dozen battle fleets, it would take them over a century just to invade every system.”

  Argo eyed him gravely. “They don’t need to send forces to every system—only the important ones. That’s why they’re going for the major star clusters first. The Oriana Cluster is already in their grasp, and the stars behind the Tajji dust lane have capitulated as well. That gives them a straight shot for the New Pleiades, and if you don’t believe they’re sending their battle fleets this way, I have about twenty scout reports from just the last month to prove otherwise.”

  “So what’s this resistance movement you’re a part of?” Aaron asked. He listened with rapt attention, leaning forward with his hands clasped below his chin.

  “It’s a loose coalition of local militias and defense forces from across the New Pleiades. The organization is fairly young, so we’re looking for as many friends and volunteers as we can find. In particular, we’re in desperate need of starships.”

  So that’s what this is about, Isaac thought to himself. That’s why he went out of his way to save us.

  “Starships?” Aaron asked.

  “That’s right. We need pilots, captains, and crew to build a fleet that can maintain our positions against an Imperial advance, and possibly even withstand them in battle. The Gaian battle fleets have us outgunned and outnumbered, but we have a few tricks we can pull until we’re able to fight them directly.”

  “Tricks? What sort of tricks?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t talk about that specifically,” said Argo. “But when the Imperials come, we’ll be ready for them—so long as we have enough starships to quickly ferry our men and supplies between star systems.”

  “So you’re a recruiter, then?” said Isaac. “You helped us out because you want us to join your cause?”

  “Not just my cause—it’s your cause as well. Here in the Outworlds, we always think we can just pick up and move if things get bad. No matter what happens, there’s always another star to run away to, another place to go and start over. But the truth is, we depend on each other a lot more than we think. Take the old tradition that says that a man’s firstborn son should leave on his father’s starship to seek his fortune as a star wanderer. That tradition developed to keep the distant colonies from becoming too isolated, and their populations from becoming inbred. But it only works if there are enough independent free colonies to support that sort of nomadic lifestyle. Without enough free ports to trade at, it will all come crashing down. The most isolated colonies will either collapse or disband, and before long, there will be nowhere left for us to run.”

  Isaac thought of the derelict station at Nova Alnilam and the colony that had collapsed there. He had to admit, Argo made some good points. If the people of Nova Alnilam had been more connected with the rest of the Outworlds, would that terrible disaster have befallen them? And his own home at Delta Oriana. If they hadn’t been cut off from the rest of the Oriana Cluster because of bigotry and religious persecution, w
ould the famine have ever grown so bad as to force them to become refugees?

  “How can we join you?” Aaron asked. The eagerness in his voice was almost more troubling than the question.

  “Right now, all we’re looking to do is build a network of volunteers who can run supplies and communication between systems. We are organizing an armed flotilla, but we need help on the civilian side just as much as on the military. In particular, we’re looking for transports and blockade runners.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Aaron. “Isaac, what do you think?”

  “I think we need some time to talk it over,” said Isaac. Time to think if we really want to get involved in this.

  “That’s perfectly understandable,” said Argo. He finished the last of his drink and pulled a datachip from his jacket pocket. “If you would like to contact me for any reason, you can find my identifiers on there. There’s also some information for a contact of mine in the Verdana system, near where the flotilla is organizing. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll direct you to where you need to go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and about that slaver: You won’t have to worry about him anymore. I told him that you’re with us, so if you want to conduct any trade at this port before you go, he won’t give you any more trouble.”

  Yes, we already know we’re indebted to you, Isaac almost said aloud.

  Argo offered his hand and gave him a firm handshake with a smile. He stood up, and Aaron scooted around to show him out. Even though Isaac still felt sore, he rose to his feet as well, if for no other reason than to prevent Aaron from saying anything privately to Argo that would commit them. As eager as Aaron was to join up with the resistance, the last thing Isaac wanted was to get them both tied up in an interstellar war.

  * * * * *

  Neither of them spoke for some time after Argo left. Isaac took a shower and applied some healant to his bruises, then climbed into his bunk to rest. Aaron cleaned up and settled down at the lounge table for a half-hearted game of damka with the Medea’s AI. The things they’d heard from Argo hung over them like a looming debris field, but neither of them wanted to be the first to bring it up.

  Apparently, it weighed a lot more on Aaron’s mind, because he was the first to break the silence. Just as Isaac was drifting off to sleep, his brother took a deep breath and asked the question that was on both of their minds.

  “So what do you think?”

  Isaac sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get to sleep for some time. “About what?”

  “You know. What Argo told us about the war.”

  “I think we’ve got enough to worry about without getting shot out of orbit by an Imperial battle fleet,” Isaac grumbled. “Like that girl in the cryotank, for example. How are we going to help her if we’re running blockades and ferrying military supplies everywhere?”

  “Maybe Argo has friends who could help us to find the right equpment.”

  “Maybe he does.”

  “Look,” said Aaron, his voice tinged with exasperation, “I know you don’t want to get involved in this resistance or whatever. But you have to admit, if Argo and Mathusael are right about this, there’s a war coming that we sure as hell can’t ignore.”

  Isaac said nothing. He felt too tired to get caught up in another argument with his little brother. No doubt Aaron would keep pushing him until one of them capitulated. If he was going to hold out, he’d have to conserve his energy.

  “Come on—it’s not like he wants us to outfit the Medea for combat,” Aaron continued. “He said they’re just looking to build a network of starfarers who can transport supplies and equipment. It’s not like we’re enlisting to become soldiers.”

  Would you like to become a soldier? Isaac wondered. Are you really so eager to put your life on the line? And if you get yourself killed, what do you think that’s going to do to me?

  “Why are you so eager to join up with these guys?” he asked instead. He glanced at Aaron, who shrugged.

  “Why shouldn’t I be? You heard Argo—it’s a cause that affects all of us. How can you stand by and do nothing?”

  “I haven’t decided what to do yet. Have you?”

  “No,” said Aaron, but that was a lie. Isaac could tell the moment his brother’s eyes had lit up at Argo’s words that he wanted to join the resistance.

  “We don’t know enough about this to make a decision yet,” Isaac tried to explain. “All we have to go off of are some rumors from Mathusael and the recruiting pitch from this Argo character. Maybe we can do something to help, but I don’t want to make any commitment until we know what we’re getting into.”

  “Fair enough,” said Aaron, though his eyes said otherwise. “How are we going to do that?”

  “How are we going to make a decision?”

  “No, how are we going to gather all the information you say we need to figure out what we’re getting into?”

  Isaac took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. His ears still rang from the blow, though the sound had died down considerably. He closed his eyes, surrendering to his exhaustion.

  “I don’t know. We’ll figure that out later.”

  “We owe him our lives, you know. If we put off making a decision until—”

  “I know, I know. Can’t you let me rest for a bit?”

  It seemed as if Aaron wanted to say more, but thankfully, he let it go for the moment. The table hummed gently as he deactivated it, and his quiet footsteps sounded as he stood up and began to pace.

  “I still think we should ask Argo about that girl in the cryotank,” he said. “Do you want me to go find him while you’re resting?”

  “No—I’ll take care of that. You go …”

  “Go what?”

  “Go find shomething useful to do,” said Isaac, his words slurring together. “Look up the exchange rates, figure out shome profitable trades.”

  “I mean it, Isaac. I think we should go talk with him.”

  “I’ll do it firsht thing when I wake up.”

  “You promise?”

  “Sure, why not?” said Isaac. He couldn’t quite tell what he was getting into, but sleep seemed so sweet to him right then that he’d say almost anything to taste it.

  * * * * *

  How did I get suckered into this? Isaac wondered as he walked quickly down the wide, bustling avenues of Hephesteron Station. Argo had said to meet him at a cafe just off the central square, which was good because it was a more public place. There was less chance of running into those slaver thugs again if he kept to a place where there would be plenty of witnesses if they tried anything.

  At least Aaron had agreed to remain with the ship. That had taken some wrangling, but he’d accepted the ultimatum that Isaac would see Argo alone or not at all. There was plenty of work to keep him busy, and though there was a chance that the thugs might attack him while Isaac was gone, it was doubtful they’d strike in the same place twice. Besides, if the risk meant that Isaac could speak with Argo alone, that was worth it.

  The cafe sat on the second and third levels, overlooking the avenue near the vaulted glass ceiling. The bright lights throughout the station dimmed the view of the stars, but they were still barely visible overhead. After some searching around the various crowded market stalls, Isaac found the steep stairwell that led up to the cafe. The place was nearly as crowded as the avenues below, but there were plenty of small alcoves that offered some privacy. Argo was waiting alone in the nearest one.

  “Ah, Isaac Deltana,” he said, standing from the small round holotable to offer his hand. “So glad to see you again.”

  “You too,” said Isaac as they shook. The domed ceiling of the alcove opened up to a circular skylight that could iris open or closed. The glowlamps were dim enough that the stars were clearly visible, much more so than the avenue. Most of the illumination came from lights around the edge of the holotable, which displayed two copies of the menu. Isaac sat down and began to peruse it.

  “They don’
t have many spicy drinks here, but the coffee is excellent,” Argo offered. From the steel canister on the table in front of him with a tiny wisp of steam rising from the mouthpiece, Isaac guessed that he’d already ordered.

  “I’ll just take whatever you’ve got. What is it?”

  “Chondarr black, third option under the coffee section. The table will serve it automatically.”

  Isaac keyed the option in the menu, and it disappeared, replaced by an artistic illustration of the local constellations. He looked up at Argo and clasped his hands together.

  “I owe you my thanks for your help with those slavers. If you hadn’t appeared when you did, I don’t know what we would have done.”

  “Don’t mention it,” said Argo, waving his hand as if it was no big deal. Of course, that wasn’t true. They owed him their lives now, and he had to know that.

  “I’m not sure what we can do to repay you,” Isaac said, unsure how to broach the subject of the henna girl without first addressing the bigger issues. “You said you’re looking for starfarers to join your cause. Our ship isn’t particularly large or fast, and we don’t have any military experience to speak of.”

  “That’s fine. We’re just looking for merchanters who can join an occasional supply convoy between trade runs. If you don’t want to join in a combat capacity, that’s perfectly understandable.”

  Aaron will want to, Isaac thought to himself. He won’t be content with supply runs, not when he’s missing the excitement of war.

  “Has there been any fighting yet? I haven’t heard anything.”

  Argo sighed and leaned back. “Nothing beyond the opening salvos. The Imperials have been giving the slavers and pirates some trouble, of course, but they haven’t moved beyond the border systems they’ve taken—possibly due to local revolts. We’d like to get those systems back as soon as possible.”

  “I’m sure,” said Isaac, nodding. A hiss sounded from the table, and the center panel lifted up to reveal a cylindrical compartment. Inside was a drink canister just like Argo’s. It took Isaac a second to figure out that it was for him, but the mechanism waited until he’d retrieved the drink before retracting back into the table.