by Nick Webb
“During cook’s smoke breaks.”
Gavin swore. He knew Jet wasn’t just in the bathroom all those times. “Yeah, I’ll come over. But don’t think a few minutes of practice during the day will help you. I’m undefeated. I even played pro down in Denver at Vidcon.”
“No you didn’t,” Jet said in between bites.
“Yeah, what the hell do you know?” Gavin said—he really had played in several competitions, but Jet never believed him when it came to his vid prowess. “Sure, I’ll come over again. But we can’t stay up until three like last time. Five o’clock comes too early to be doing that again.”
Jet snorted. Gavin noticed she snorted a lot. “Yeah, I was falling asleep in the galley the next day. I think I dropped the entire salt shaker into the soup—people were giving me dirty looks when I asked them how it was.”
Gavin chuckled. “Just don’t let Cook catch you pullin’ shit like that.”
Jet gulped the last spoonful down, and licked her plate a few times for good measure. “Hey, did you hear? They’re calling for new recruits for the fighter squad. They’ll let anyone apply. You in?”
Gavin rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? I just joined the fleet two months ago, and you three months ago. We’re yeoman grunts. They don’t take enlisted and just bump them up to lieutenants overnight.” And he didn’t think he’d be able to handle that type of action. He’d joined the fleet to see the galaxy, maybe see a little action, but not be in the thick of it with his life on the line every time he reported for work. The dangers of galley life suited him just fine.
Jet shrugged, and pulled at a wad of dried potato fluff in her hair. “Whatever. They put the call out, and I’m going. I figure my years of experience with the flight simulators on those games will be just enough to put me over the edge … why are you laughing?”
Gavin snickered and wiped a fake tear away. “I hate to break it to you, but you kinda suck at those games. No offense.” He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and took another bite of potatoes.
“And you think you’re all that?” Jet shoved her tray through the wall receptacle and stood up. “Come on. Let’s go play. Maybe I’ll let you win a few games.”
Gavin rolled his eyes. As if she could ever get even half his score.
After cleaning up they tried to sneak out of the galley, dodging insults and threats from the cook for trying to leave a few minutes early, and ended up scrubbing the floor for an extra half hour before finally getting back to their bunks and settling down to play.
Awhile later, Gavin glanced up at the clock. And groaned.
Two-thirty. Dammit, not again.
***
Jake Mercer hated formality. Even more so when it involved an emotional subject. But there he stood, in his dress uniform in front of a fighter bay packed full of officers, flight deck hands, crew members, marines, technicians, and every other person on the Phoenix who managed to cram into the huge space. He supposed the room was large enough to fit 400 people, but it seemed they’d managed to pack in far more than that, easily over half the crew.
Half the living crew, that is. Behind him, behind the giant, transparent air lock door, each covered by a white sheet and a United Earth flag draped over the center of the group, lay the fallen. Captain Watson lay on a small table behind them all, just in front of the giant bay doors on the other side of which lay the void of space.
It was always so surprising to Jake how empty space was. As a boy he would look up to the sky and marvel at how full it seemed, laden with planets and clouds of stars, and later, as a fighter pilot, his assignments always kept him close to Earth, so he’d never had the chance to go out beyond the orbit of the moon.
But space was empty. Absolutely empty. The distance between stars so great that it was hard to comprehend. If it weren’t for the miracle of gravitic drives, humanity would have been doomed to languish on the limited area of the Earth’s surface, which would have seemed smaller with every passing decade. In the 500 or so odd years of gravitic shifting, humanity had settled at least 1000 worlds, and probably hundreds more that few knew about.
And they’d barely scratched the surface.
The gravitic shift technology had underscored quite starkly the vastness of space—the device only worked to send the traveller from one large celestial mass to another, in effect limiting the places explorers could reach since any mass under a certain threshold was off-limits, meaning that even in the settled sectors of the galaxy vast swaths of territory still lie unexplored.
And now, in a high orbit over the red giant star Laland 21185, they would commit the bodies of the fallen to the empty grave of space. On Jake’s command, the Phoenix would accelerate to escape velocity for the few moments that would be required to open the fighter bay doors and release the air lock, sending the heroes to their cold sleep, destined to drift through the universe for millions of years until some star caught them in its sway and gave them a new, fiery burial.
Jake cleared his throat and stood at attention. The crowd of people stopped chattering and pivoted to return his stoic expression.
“Fellow officers, crew members, and friends. We gather today to salute the fallen. To remember the heroes, and to take our leave of them. Not forever, but until we meet them again in the eternal halls.” He tried to keep the religious references vague, knowing that the persuasions of the crew ranged from Pagan to Christian to Buddhist to New Roman to none at all.
“They served with honor, in defense of freedom and liberty. They gave their lives so that we could carry their banner a little further, holding the shining light high so that others might also see, and have hope. Their sacrifice will never be forgotten.”
He glanced around at them all, each of them weary from battle, repairs, and little to no sleep over the past few days. The heaviness showed in their eyes, and he knew that hope was flagging again. He knew they needed motivation. Inspiration.
They needed hope.
“Never again!” he yelled, and the nearest crew members in the front of the crowd jerked in surprise.
“Never again will we let the Empire crush us beneath their soulless grip! Never again will we run away from our home with our tails between our legs and let the Imperial bastards have their way with our world, raping it of our resources and our youth and our talent. For too long has the Empire conscripted our young people into its armies to dominate the Thousand Worlds. For too long have our daughters been kidnapped and sold away into the sex trade to live out their lives as the helpless toys of the rich on that syphilitic scab of a planet they call Corsica. For too long have we suffered under the arbitrary rules, and the cult worship of the emperor and the tyrannies of unaccountable bureaucrats and fleet admirals and generals. The midnight raids. The disappearances of those who dared to speak out. The murders. The intimidation. The … all of it.”
A brief smile tugged at one side of his mouth, but dissipated. “Well, fuck them all.”
He continued his steady gaze at them. Staring them down. Daring them to give up, to give in. He caught Megan’s eye, and she pursed her lips tightly. He knew exactly what she was thinking. She never, ever said anything about it, except for once or twice in the three years he’d known her, but he knew that her ever-present thought was of her children, held in her arms, limp and charred, the collateral damage of some Imperial strike against a suspected Resistance safe-house in San Bernardino. He spoke directly at her quivering eyes.
“And I promise you, I promise you all, that we will win. On all that I hold dear and holy, I promise you that we will chase the Empire from Earth all the way back to Corsica. We will find Admiral Pritchard, and rebuild the fleet. We will make allies, and friends, and whoever we can find common cause with. And when we’ve amassed such a fleet the likes of which as has never been seen, we’ll descend on Earth and kindly ask the Emperor to get the hell off our world. And if he refuses—and holy shit, I hope he does—we’ll blast his ass back to the old Roman Empire, and ensure the Corsican Empire
never rises again!”
The fighter bay erupted in cheering. He waited for the hoots and hollers to die down before finishing.
“I stand in awe of you. As I’ve seen you perform your work over the last few days, I believe that you are every much a hero as those laying behind that door. They died for freedom, but you are living for freedom. You breathe freedom. You eat and you shit and you talk and laugh and cry freedom. My friends, the Empire will never even know what hit them.”
He paused and looked down to the deckplate. Jagged edges still poked up in places from where Anya’s fighter had shifted in her attempt to get the bay doors to automatically lower. The enormity of their task weighed on him, and he racked his mind for the right words. The eyes of everyone in that bay were fixed on him, and the ears of everyone on the entire ship was latched on his voice. He’d never sought to be the center of attention, but now, because of his choices, he was. Ben wasn’t, and he was.
He needed to make his lie worth it.
“We’ve lost dear friends. Loved ones. Let’s honor their memory by doing our duty. I may never be the leader Captain Watson would have been for the Phoenix, but I pledge to you my life and my breath and my sacred honor.” He looked up at them again, staring Anya in the eye. She stoically met his gaze.
“I pledge to you I will not rest until this ship is safe, until the Earth is safe, and until all freedom loving people of the Thousand Worlds are safe.” He turned to face a small group of marines. “Color guard, post the colors.” He snapped a stiff salute.
The marine standing nearest the short, makeshift flagpole pulled down on the line with a steady, gloved hand, and raised the flag of the United Earth from half-staff up to the top of the pole, where it hung limply, like a blue corpse. He stood back, turned to the bodies behind the transparent shield, and saluted.
Don’t let your voice crack.
“Open bay doors,” said Jake, in as firm a voice as he could muster.
Behind the clear air-lock panel the giant bay door slid up like lightning into its receptacle, and the neatly arranged bodies and flag leapt up and shot out the gaping bay doors, tumbling end over end like tangled blue rag dolls as they faded slowly into the void.
When they were nothing more than tiny pinpricks against the backdrop of brilliant stars, Jake nodded once. “Close bay doors.”
The door started to lower, slower than it had opened, and within a few seconds locked into place. Jake turned to face the crowd.
“You know your duty. Dismissed.”
***
After the service, the deck crew barely had enough time to get the fighter bay back into order when Captain Volaski’s ship approached the doors. It was barely small enough to fit through the opening, and Jake noted with a scowl that their fighters would not be able to launch while the ship was in the bay.
Velar and Captain Volaski seemed nice enough in person, and Jake’s suspicions began to subside the more they talked. When Volaski descended the ramp from his ship, his heavy boots rang along the plate and the sound echoed through the fighter bay. To Jake’s eyes the man looked straight out of history—cowboy boots, blue jeans, a simple brown shirt that looked like it had seen better days, the cowboy hat he’d worn before, and except for a vest pulled over the shirt he’d looked the same as he did on the viewscreen. Around his neck, barely visible under his collar, hung what looked like a thin wire necklace. Jake couldn’t make out what hung from it.
Velar was dressed similarly, except that her head was bare and her hair pulled back into a short ponytail. She carried a large sack slung over her shoulder, which she tossed at Jake’s feet.
“There. Wear those.”
Jake eyed the bag on the floor. “I thought we agreed you would help us program our printers.”
“This was faster, and it will look more authentic. These are used clothes, Captain. Torn, ripped, and dusty. You’ll blend right in. However,” she said, glancing at Ben and looking up at his hair, “whoever accompanies you to the surface should look rougher than your friend. Please, don’t shave before we go, and definitely unslick your hair.”
Ben grimaced and ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. Jake glanced back at him with a grin. “Think you can manage? There’s probably no such thing as hair gel on Destiny.”
“I’ll live,” said his friend, stoically.
Jake felt his own face, and realized with a start what a sight he must be. He hadn’t had time to look in a mirror for over two days, and his rough cheeks reminded him that he’d not shaved in well over three. Perfect.
“And you, Captain Volaski? Will you be joining us on the surface?”
The man tipped the brim of his hat, reminding Jake of the frontiersmen of the old west on Earth. “I’m afraid not,” he said, with his vague Russian accent. “I have other business to attend to while on Destiny.”
“What is the nature of your business?”
“What else? Profit. I have a caravan out there full of supplies to offload, and then a whole warehouse full of supplies to load up. We’ll be quite busy while you negotiate with Velar’s contact.”
Jake pressed. “Mind telling me what you’re selling?”
“I do mind,” was his curt reply. There was only silence between them for about five seconds before Ben cleared his throat.
“Well, Velar, we certainly look forward to seeing your world. I hope you don’t mind if we come armed? Two security officers, myself, and one other crew member will be accompanying the Captain, and I’d prefer not to travel without self-protection.” His eyes pierced hers, but she did not blink.
“Of course, Mr….”
“Jemez. Commander Ben Jemez.”
She spoke without a nod or a smile. “Of course, Commander Ben Jemez. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to go to the surface of Destiny unarmed. That would be most foolish.”
“To ask us? Or to go unarmed?” Jake tried to make a joke. By her expression he wasn’t sure if she got it.
“Both,” she replied with a no-nonsense glance.
Jake stooped down to rummage through the sack. Dusty old jeans, obviously worn shirts and vests, an array of beaten up boots and hats. He reached in and pulled out a Stetson hat and poofed out the dents in it. With a flourish he wrenched it on his head.
“Well this should be fun,” he said with a smile at Po.
“Remember, sir, you’re getting rare earths, not pretending to be a cowboy,” she said. Po extended a hand to Velar and Volaski and continued. “Commander Megan Po, ship’s XO.”
After an exchange of greetings, Po folded her arms. “So, tell us about Destiny. You say it is lightly populated? How long have people lived there?”
Velar inclined her head towards Volaski and then back at the ship, and he walked back up the ramp and disappeared through the hatch, leaving the woman to answer their questions.
“About 150 years or so. It orbits a red giant, but is rather far away so life is concentrated around the equator. There’s not much fresh water, so life can be hard. My life growing up involved a lot of work, even more dust, and little sleep. But I think I’ve done well for myself since then,” she said, turning to watch Captain Volaski descend the ramp with another bag of clothes and boots, which he tossed to the floor at Ben’s feet.
Jake raised an eyebrow. He had assumed Volaski was in charge, but it seemed more and more like the diminutive Velar was in fact calling the shots. “So, you’ve made a name for yourself on Destiny?”
“You might say that,” she said with a wink, “but I try to fly under the radar. Too much unwelcome attention is bad for business.”
Po stroked her chin, and said, “Are all those ships out there yours?”
Velar shook her head. “Not all, no. They are either mine, Volaski’s here, or ships belonging to associates who often caravan with us. The shipping lanes are not safe, you know. At least not the ones we frequent. We try to stay away from prying Corsican eyes.”
Po smiled, and extended her hand back out. “It has been my pl
easure to meet you, but I have urgent duties to attend to before the Captain leaves.”
Volaski bowed, letting his hand linger against hers. “Ma’am, it’s been my highest pleasure.” Jake thought he was laying it on pretty thick, but then considered that that was how he probably interacted with everyone. With women, at least.
Po shot Jake a raised eyebrow of her own, but turned to walk away, her bun bobbing slightly with each step.
Jake tipped the brim of his hat, in imitation of Volaski. “Well then, guests. How shall we proceed? Will you give us the coordinates so we can all make the shift together, or do you need to go on ahead to make arrangements for us? Your call,” he said, not sure whom to address.
Velar deferred to Volaski. Now Jake really couldn’t tell who was in charge. “We’ll go together. No sense in leaving you folks behind on your own. Pirates show up in uninhabited systems like these all the time. They make great hiding places from Imperial warships. I’m sure you’d do fine against any that come along, but no sense in risking it.”
Jake nodded. “And the Sphinx might be back at any time with reinforcements. Though I guess that they’ll have assumed we left by now. Very well. Transmit the coordinates and we’ll be on our way.” He turned to Velar. “Any idea what kind of merchandise your contact might be interested in?”
She inclined her head at the surrounding fighter bay. “I assume you have an assortment of electronics and weaponry?”
“We do,” said Jake, though he was loathe to give away any of their arms, knowing that they would probably need as much firepower as they could get their hands on, eventually. But temporary sacrifices had to be made.
“Then I’m sure that will suffice.” She extended a hand and Jake took it in his, bowing to her as her companion had. Velar glanced at Volaski in surprise. Jake figured she was used to traders being unaccustomed to the social pleasantries she was probably used to. What an odd group of pirates—they were nothing like Jake had expected.
