by G J Ogden
“This doesn’t concern us?” Lars spat back, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You don’t belong here, Fleet,” the man continued, now pointing his finger at Sterling like it were the barrel of a gun. “Nothing that happens here concerns you. So, why don’t you get lost before I feed you and your friends to those things outside?”
Shade and Banks both rose from their seats. Banks had been mid-way through a bowl of stew, but now had her hand clasped around the handle of a cutlery knife. Shade had finished stitching up her leg and had her rifle back in her hands. However, the weapons officer had exercised enough restraint to avoid aiming it at the colonist.
“Lars, sit your ass down and let the man talk,” Landry called over from the communal area. She was still seated and appeared unconcerned by the younger man’s actions.
Lars’ eyes narrowed at the older woman, but he did as he was asked. The rest of the group followed, though all of them turned their seats to face the old man. Sterling now had an audience.
“Go on then, old man,” Lars said, reclining back in his seat with his legs pushed out in front of him. “Tell him your crazy story. I could do with a good laugh.”
The rest of the group again joined in with a round of jeers, but the old man was undeterred. Sterling imagined that it wasn’t the first time the story had inspired ire and derision from the inhabitants of Thrace Colony. Ignoring the others as best he could, Sterling turned back to the older man and waited patiently for him to continue.
“The man, the human, he was the alien’s prisoner,” the old colonist continued. “The warrior killed the people from the colony who came to investigate then forced the man to carry supplies from the warehouse.” He wet his lips and leant in closer to Sterling. “The alien, it actually spoke to the man.” There was a ripple of laughter from the table next to them, but this time Lars did not interrupt.
“The Sa’Nerran warrior spoke to the guy in the shuttle?” said Sterling, checking to make sure he’d heard the old man correctly. “In words you could understand?”
The old man nodded excitedly. “It was difficult to make out at first, like a whisper from someone with a lisp, but it was definitely talking to him.”
Suddenly, a crumb of bread hit the old man in the face, eliciting another ripple of laughter from the group to Sterling’s side.
“See, I told you the old fool was crazy,” Lars said, casting a sideways glance to Sterling. “Not one alien bastard has a said a single word that made sense since Fleet stirred up their hornets’ nest fifty years ago,” the young man continued, his eyes looking at Sterling accusingly as he said this. “Yet old man Hubbard here just so happens to find the first talking alien in the galaxy.”
There was another ripple of laughter and this time the old man retaliated, tossing his bowl of food at Lars. The stew coated the young man’s pants in thick, brown gravy. Lars shot out of his chair and struck Hubbard across the face, knocking him to the floor. Lars then pushed the table out of the way and surged forward, but Sterling caught the younger man’s arm and twisted it into a lock. Lars yelped in pain as Sterling steered him away from the older man and placed himself between them.
“Let go of me, goddam it!” Lars yelled. “I’ll kill you, you Fleet bastard! Let me go!”
Sterling released his hold on Lars and pushed him away. The younger man instantly took a step toward him, fists clenched, but reconsidered his attack as Shade moved into view, rifle held ready. The clomp of heavy boots then caused Lars and his group of sycophants to spin around. Banks was standing behind them, her eyes fixed on the ringleader, knife still in hand. Considering her immense strength, even the dull kitchen utensil was a lethal weapon.
“So, what? Are you three are going to stop all of us?” Lars scoffed.
“I don’t have any quarrel with the rest of the people in here,” replied Sterling, calmly, but with enough volume to ensure the anxious onlookers could hear. “It seems to me that it’s only the five of you idiots that have a problem,” he added, gesturing to Lars and the rest of his quintet.
“It’s still five on three,” Lars hit back. “The lady over there ain’t gonna shoot us all before I stick a knife in your throat.” The young man then hooked a thumb toward Banks. “And what’s she gonna do? Swear at us?”
Banks gritted her teeth and swung her arm down at the table to her side, smashing it in half like a rotten twig. Lars jerked back as the broken ends of the four-inch-thick wooden beams slammed into the deck.
“Okay, that’s enough goddam it!” yelled Landry, rushing into the middle of the fray. “Lars, get out of here, now!’ she barked at the younger man.
Lars was still staring at the broken table in awe and disbelief, but then flicked his eyes across to Banks. The armor covering her forearm was cracked and smashed in a hundred places, but Banks herself showed no signs of pain. She simply glowered back at the ringleader, willing him to make a move.
“Whatever, we’re done here, anyway,” said Lars, pushing through the rows of other tables and chairs to make his way out of the dining area. “Listen to that guy talk crazy all you want.” The man aimed a finger at Sterling. “But you best be gone by sunrise. You ain’t welcome here.”
Sterling waited for Lars and the four others to move out of view then turned to Landry. She was staring at the table that Banks had split in half.
“Just how the hell did you manage that?” Landry demanded, turning her narrowed eyes to Banks. “That’s the local hardwood. It’s tougher than the composites they used to build this damned accommodation block with.”
Banks just shrugged. “Adrenalin, I guess,” she replied, casually, while trying squeeze her fractured forearm plating back into shape.
Landry’s scowl deepened, but she didn’t press Banks for a more detailed explanation. It seemed clear that they’d outstayed their welcome.
“I think under the circumstances, you’d probably better leave,” Landry said, with the same hostility that she’d shown toward them earlier. “I trust you’ll honor our bargain, though?”
Sterling considered telling the woman where she could stick her bargain, but mustered enough restraint to continue speaking in a calm and measured tone.
“There will be a window in the storm in about four hours, after which we’ll get a crew to fix your generator,” Sterling said. “There’s a fuel processing plant on the west side of the colony. It was damaged in the attacks, but we can repair it easily enough. Then you’ll be back up and running.”
Landry considered this then shrugged. “Okay, and what about the other supplies?”
“Our chief engineer is working through the list now,” Sterling lied. He didn’t like lying, but they were heavily outnumbered and he didn’t want a lynch mob bearing down on him.
Landry held Banks’ eyes for a few moments then glanced down at the table. “You gonna fix that too?” she said, petulantly.
“I’m sure it can be arranged,” Banks replied, with matching bite.
“Under the circumstances, you can’t wait in here,” Landry went on, returning her attention to Sterling. “I can’t have you riling up the residents any more than you already have. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is.” Banks looked ready to hit back at the accusation that it was them that had caused the trouble, but the firebrand first officer managed to bite her tongue. “There’s a shelter on the roof,” Landry continued. “We use it as a lookout. It might be a bit breezy, but it’ll keep the rain off your faces at least.”
Banks then nodded toward the kitchen. “Can you pot that up to go?” she said.
“This ain’t a damn takeout, lady,” Landry snapped back. She then wafted her hand despairingly at Banks. “But if it means you’ll leave then I don’t give a damn. Just make sure you’re gone before Lars comes back with more guys. I won’t be responsible for what he does when that happens.” The colonist then headed off, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.
“Glad to see you have your priorities straight,” said Sterling, cocking an
eye at Banks.
“We’re leaving here empty-handed as it is,” Banks replied, stepping toward the kitchen. “Since we’re stuck here for the next four hours, the least we can do is get fed.”
Chapter 16
A moment of weakness
Sterling soon discovered that the rooftop shelter was as basic as Landry’s description had made it sound. Nevertheless, it was adequate for their needs. The shelter provided protection from the rain and offered some respite from the lashing winds. It also had the advantage of not being populated by bitter and irate colonists, eager to slit their throats.
Seemingly more concerned about her rumbling belly than the prospect of being murdered, Commander Banks had carried up three pots of the stew from the kitchen. To Sterling’s surprise it was delicious. Contained within its unappetizing-looking, murky brown contents were a variety of root vegetables and a dark meat that was so tender Sterling imagined it must have been cooked for days. What the meat was, Sterling had no idea and frankly didn’t want to know.
After their meal, there was nothing more to do than wait. Sterling rested back on the hay-filled sacks that passed for furniture in the shelter and found himself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the sound of the wind and rain. Suddenly, he woke with a start to find that Banks and Shade were no longer in the shelter. The darkness had lifted and the storm was rolling away into the distance, leaving only a light pattering of rain behind, like an afterthought. Sterling rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up, but then heard a scratching noise. He froze and looked for his rifle, but it wasn’t there. Cursing under his breath he looked around the shelter for anything he could use as a weapon then grabbed a fork from the empty bowl of stew he’d eaten earlier. Creeping toward the source of the noise, he was about to tap his neural interface to reach out to Banks and Shade when a hooded figure flickered through the shadows toward him. Springing forward, Sterling grabbed the figure and pressed the fork to their throat. Moments later the barrels of two plasma rifles were pressed to the sides of the intruder’s head and Sterling saw Banks and Shade appear.
“Please, it’s just me!” a voice said. Sterling pushed back the hood and found himself staring into the terrified eyes of the old man, Hubbard. “I came to find you. I have more to say!”
Sterling removed the fork from the man’s neck, leaving three tiny pin-pricks of blood behind.
“Damn it, Hubbard, you were nearly skewered and blasted into a dozen pieces,” Sterling said, shuffling back inside the shelter.
“I know, I’m sorry, but I had to sneak out,” Hubbard said as Banks and Shade lowered their weapons. “Landry doesn’t want me to speak to you anymore. They don’t trust you. And you should be wary of Lars and his friends. They mean you harm.”
Sterling snorted a laugh. “Harm is our specialty, old man,” he replied, causing Hubbard to shrink away slightly. “I’d suggest you advise Lars to stay the hell away from us.”
The man then reached inside his coat and Shade again thrust the barrel of the rifle at him.
“Not so fast, old man,” Shade snarled.
Hubbard obeyed and continued at a far more unhurried pace, like he was moving in slow motion. A few seconds later the man opened his hand and held out a data chip.
“The human male who was in the shuttle, he gave me this,” said Hubbard, offering the chip to Sterling. “He said it would help others to find him. He promised me that if I got it to Fleet, he would make sure I was taken care of. He said he’d pay to have me taken from this world to somewhere better.”
Sterling took the chip and briefly examined it, though from its external appearance it was unremarkable. He pocketed the device and returned his attention to Hubbard.
“When did he give you that?” Sterling asked, regarding the older man with cold suspicion. “You said the Sa’Nerran warrior killed the other colonists who came to investigate the shuttle. Why didn’t it kill you too?”
Hubbard’s head dropped and he turned his eyes away from Sterling. “I… I hid,” the old man replied. “In the warehouse, when I saw the others get shot. I took their weapons, but I…” he then held his head with shaking hands. “But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill it.”
Sterling could hear the shame and regret in the man’s voice, but he felt no pity for him. This man had been given an opportunity to kill an enemy and stop Colicos from falling into the hands of the Sa’Nerra. All Hubbard had to do was shoot a single Sa’Nerran warrior. Instead, the man had cowered in the darkness. Had Hubbard stopped the alien then and there, perhaps the neural weapon would never have been developed at all, Sterling considered. He knew that not everyone was a fighter. And he knew that Hubbard was not the first to falter in the face of the enemy, nor would he be the last. It was unfair to lay the blame on the old man’s shoulders, as in truth there were many who shouldered far greater responsibility for the current state of the war than Hubbard. However, Sterling couldn’t help but wonder how many lives had been lost because of the old man’s one act of weakness.
“Did he say anything else or do you remember anything else?” Sterling asked, burying the anger that the man’s story had caused to swell inside him. “His name, the ID of his shuttle? Anything?”
The old man shook his head. “No, he only said that he was important and that Fleet would come for him if they knew he’d been taken.”
Sterling sighed and nodded then stood up, feeling suddenly deflated again. The mission was the worst roller-coaster ride of emotions that he’d experienced yet. He preferred a straight fight to sneaking around on what was increasingly looking like a wild-goose chase.
A rumble of sound rolled across the horizon, but this time it wasn’t thunder. Sterling peered into the brightening sky and saw the Invictus’ Combat Shuttle heading toward them from the outskirts of Thrace Colony.
“If you find him and rescue him, do you think he will get me off this world?” Hubbard asked.
There was a glimmer of hope in the old man’s voice, but mostly Sterling sensed desperation. “Honestly, I have no idea,” Sterling replied, truthfully. “I doubt it.”
Hubbard’s head fell low and Sterling returned to watching the shuttle, which circled the apartment block and began to set down on the far side of the roof.
“Can you take me instead?” the old man pleaded, stammering the words. “I want to leave. I don’t want to die in this place.”
Sterling shook his head. “The Invictus is a ship of war,” he said, peering down at the old man, who was still on his knees. “There’s no place for you there.”
The door of the shuttlecraft then hissed, releasing the processed air inside and allowing the cold, wet air of the planet to replace it. Ensign Keller was inside, silhouetted by the bright lights from the cabin. Sterling turned away from Hubbard, whose head hung low, shoulders shaking gently as he wept, then began walking over to the shuttle.
“What about the supplies?” said Banks, who had remained in her customary place by Sterling’s side.
“Landry gave us nothing and we owe her nothing,” Sterling replied. “Besides, they don’t deserve our help. They’d have let us die on this forsaken rock.”
“And what about him?” Banks added, nodding toward Hubbard, who was still weeping on his knees.
“He’s not our problem either,” said Sterling, frostily.
Banks nodded then glanced at Sterling out of the corner of her eye. “I feel like I should have at least fixed their table, though,” she said.
Sterling frowned at her, unsure whether she was being serious or just making another one of her ill-timed jokes. This time, he really couldn’t tell.
“We’ll drop a disaster pod when we leave,” Sterling said, reasoning that this was a fair exchange for the information they’d received, and the damage they’d left in their wake. “After that, these people are on their own.”
Chapter 17
New discoveries. New questions.
Sterling entered the compact science lab where Lieutenant Razor had been analyzing
the data chip they had recovered from the old man on Thrace Colony. Pausing just inside the door, he realized that he’d perhaps only been inside the room maybe half a dozen times in the entire time he’d been in command of the Invictus. Considering the compact size of the vessel, he mostly spent his time moving between his quarters, the wardroom and the bridge. However, his decision to visit his chief engineer in the lab, rather than pull her away from her work, had the unexpected side-effect of making the ship feel strangely bigger.
“What have you discovered so far, Lieutenant?” asked Sterling moving beside Razor, who was working at one of the benches. Her skin, which had been augmented to provide UV protection on account of her albinism, sparkled more lustrously under the harsh lights of the lab. “We’re just burning fuel, idling in orbit until you give us a heading,” Sterling added, trying to subtly jockey the engineer into working faster.
Razor glanced up from the computer console she was working at and frowned at Sterling. “Surely, Ensign Keller has just put us into a geosynchronous orbit around the planet?” the engineer asked. “Besides the need for a little station-keeping, we shouldn’t be burning any excess fuel.”
“It was a figure of speech, Lieutenant,” Sterling replied. He sometimes wondered whether his analogies were simply too subtle and clever for the rest of the crew, or if they were just plain bad. “I just mean that we’re stuck here unless you can find a clue as to where Colicos went,” he added, spelling it out for the engineer.
“Of course, sir,” said Razor, politely. “Fortunately, I believe I have found something.”
Razor then turned the screen of the console toward Sterling so that he could better see the contents. He frowned at the information flowing across the display, quickly realizing that none of it made any sense to him.
“I just see a lot of gibberish, Lieutenant,” said Sterling, squinting at the pages and pages of code. “What am I looking at here?”
“Mostly, gibberish,” admitted Razor. “The chip contains a hastily processed, raw data dump from a shuttlecraft’s main computer core.” She then began working on the console and a star map appeared on one of the larger wall screens. “The data on the chip is quite badly corrupted, likely as a result of age and poor storage conditions, but I believe I’ve pieced together a section of the vessels’ journey from its navigational logs.”
