Baldwin's Legacy: The Complete Series

by Hystad, Nathan

  They waited for a response, and when none came five minutes later, Tom felt a growing headache begin to press against his temples. “We have to go to the surface,” he said. “Is everything prepped?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brax said. “Captain, I once again recommend you stay on board the Constantine while the commander and I bring a team on the expedition.”

  “Noted. I’ll be going. Commander, you have the bridge and the ship in my absence,” Tom said, and Treena stood in a hurry.

  “Yes, sir.” She took his seat as Tom followed Brax to the rear of the bridge to the sole elevator. Ven stood from his helm position and joined them, a Junior Officer coming to his seat to replace the Zilph’i man.

  The elevator led to one place only: the awaiting ship above the bridge. Constantine had been constructed with some new features, and this was one of Tom’s favorites. He could access his own private expedition vessel without leaving the bridge. It was meant to be a safety feature to extricate the executive crew in a crisis.

  The elevator was smooth, shiny, and silver in color, and it was compact with the tall Ven and the wide-shouldered Brax beside him. The ride was quick, and seconds later, they emerged in the space between the bridge and its attached cruiser.

  There were two armed guards flanking the ramp to the cruiser, and they stepped apart, making way for the executive crew to board.

  “This is quite the ship,” Brax said.

  “Typically, we would have toured our cruise ship and seen this already, but dire circumstances and all,” Tom told the Tekol chief of security, and the man nodded along.

  The vessel was state-of-the-art. Everything was neat and exemplary inside. The seats were comfortable, and Brax took the pilot’s chair while Tom sat beside him. Ven was relegated to the rear bench, and the two guards remained posted outside.

  Tom ran a hand across the polished console. He needed to be on the cruiser’s maiden voyage.

  “Setting course for Malin,” Brax told him, and the ship detached, pressure hissing beneath them.

  The viewer covered the entire front of the ship, and space appeared all around them. Tom felt the rumble of the thrusters, and it hearkened back to his days as a fighter pilot, as short-lived as they were. There were a lot of days he missed the thrill of the fight, but that was a younger man’s game.

  “Bridge to Cleo,” Treena said, and Thomas felt a jolt of electricity course through him at the name. It was his mother’s name. His grandfather’s only daughter. He hadn’t even been told about that, and he clenched his jaw, pretending not to be surprised once again.

  “Go ahead, bridge,” he said.

  “We’re picking up some strange anomalies below. There’s something sending waves of energy from above the ocean near Malin,” Treena told them.

  “What kind of energy? What is it?” he asked.

  “Sir, we’re unable to verify.”

  Ven was using the side console to pass the information to the left side of their viewer. It was a graph showing a flowing energy movement. Tom couldn’t make sense of it.

  “Take us out,” he told Brax, and the man nodded. “Bridge, we’re going to investigate. Stand by.”

  Seven

  Tarlen slept fitfully. He’d heard Penter arguing with the elderly man about staying there another day, but the guard had other ideas. Light had only begun to seep through the room’s windows when the voices came once more.

  “You can’t stay here, old man,” Penter said. None of them seemed to know his name.

  “We will stay. There are children. Once the abomination is gone, we’ll regroup and rebuild,” the man said.

  “Then what? We wait until they come again?” Penter asked, his voice a deep growl.

  Tarlen sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “Help will come,” the man said.

  “Then we need something to give them.” The sound of Penter’s heavy footsteps carried through the arched doorway.

  “If you haven’t noticed, all electronics have failed. They did something… fried the entire system,” the old man said.

  “You’re right,” Penter said, a frustrated sigh pushed from his cheeks. Tarlen watched them from the doorway, and he pressed into the shadow of the early morning light.

  “Where did they take them?” the white-haired fellow asked.

  “Take who?”

  “I saw them attacking. At first I thought they’d vaporized everyone, at least those they didn’t bombard with pulse cannons and laser fire,” the man said, his voice growing louder.

  “Quietly. We don’t want to wake the others,” Penter said, and Tarlen glanced behind him to see the inactive forms around the room. “Say that again. You think they took some of our people?”

  Tarlen saw the old man nod, white wispy hair in disarray. “That’s what I’m telling you. I think they blasted them somewhere. I saw one woman plucked from the street. One moment she was there, the next vanished. No blood, no guts, no nothing.”

  Tarlen’s heart raced. Maybe his family was alive. Maybe they’d been abducted by the invaders, not killed. Hope filled his chest, and he stumbled through the doorway. Both sets of eyes fell on him.

  “We have to find them, Penter,” Tarlen said.

  “What are we going to do?” Penter asked, and Tarlen’s anticipation dwindled.

  Tarlen realized he knew nothing about the man, other than the fact he was one of the Regent’s guards. He was confident the Regent was dead. He’d witnessed it up close.

  “Do you have a family?” Tarlen asked the question softly, and the change of expression on the guard’s face answered for him.

  “Wife and a girl,” he said.

  “Then they might be alive!” Tarlen shouted, waking someone in the other room.

  Penter shook his head. “No, son. They aren’t. I found them. Parts of them, near the concourse. There’s no happy ending for me, I’m afraid, and likely not for you either. Even if your sister or parents were taken, we can’t save them.”

  “We have to try,” Tarlen said, hearing the futility behind his own words.

  Penter surprised him by nodding. “Have something to eat. I’ll pack some things. We’ll head to the ocean.”

  Tarlen’s enthusiasm flipped to dread as he thought about walking toward the terrible noise above the body of water. Even now, he heard it in the distance, a pulsing sound of fright. It was amazing how quickly something so scary could become background noise.

  The cranky man passed a clay bowl with oats in it, and Tarlen ate it with a queasy stomach.

  ____________

  The journey took all day, and Tarlen’s legs were aching, his sandal-covered feet blistering from the incessant walking. The star was low, shining brightly in his eyes. Most of the smoke had dispersed, the remnants of the attack all but gone from the air.

  Hours ago, Tarlen had first seen the machine in the distance, hanging overtop the ocean like a hovering insect. It was massive, far greater than anything he’d ever seen, and he had no reference with which to compare it.

  It was dark, gray, or maybe black. He couldn’t quite tell then, but as they neared the water, he was sure it was slate gray. It was tall, with appendages jutting out at all angles, mostly from the top. Below, a crackling red power surged toward the water, creating a huge gaping maw in the liquid.

  They were above sea level here, stopped finally by Penter.

  “What is it?” Tarlen asked, not for the first time. Most of the journey had been quiet, filled with the occasional tidbit of each other’s lives. Tarlen learned he hadn’t lived much in his sheltered existence.

  “Again, I don’t know.”

  “Do you think it’s emptying the ocean?” he asked the guard.

  “Unlikely. It’s something else. It’s mining the ore below,” Penter said, pointing at the red beam. “See how there are really two sides to the energy pulse?” He had to speak loudly over the screaming of the machine. It flashed every three or so seconds, blasting a piercing cry through the air.


  Tarlen followed the man’s finger, trying to see what he was explaining.

  “The left side is lighter, the right darker. I think the ore is being carried on the right into the ship,” Penter said.

  Ship. “That’s a ship? It’s so huge,” Tarlen said. The books he’d read always had starships that were long and lean, shiny and sleek, nothing like the atrocity here.

  “That it is, son,” Penter said.

  “What do we do?” Tarlen asked.

  “Wait. Build a camp. See what transpires. Stay out of their sight and see if we can find any Bacals working nearby,” Penter said.

  “Slaves?” The word felt dirty off his tongue.

  “Slaves,” Penter agreed.

  Tarlen closed his eyes for a moment as the heat of the star vanished with its glow. A gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the ocean to his nose, and waves lapped against the rocky shoreline. If it wasn’t for the screeching sound, Tarlen wouldn’t have discovered that their world had been taken from them.

  When he opened them, he thought he saw a tiny light flickering in close proximity to Malin. “Didn’t you say all our power sources were fried?”

  ____________

  Yur Shen limped as he walked the corridors of Deck Two. He’d been waiting for some time to receive the work order on this deck, but from all the records he’d interpreted, the ship’s crew was quite particular about who they let in here.

  Yur’s supervisor, Olu, a cranky four-armed Desli whose muscle had gone to flab years ago, had ended up sick, giving Yur the opportunity to accept the task. He grinned as he recalled sprinkling the powder into Olu’s native beverage a day earlier. It turned out his benefactor was right; Desli were extremely allergic to that spice.

  As he thought about her, his communicator buzzed lightly in his uniform pocket. This was most unusual. She wasn’t supposed to be contacting him for a few more days.

  He glanced around the halls, seeing no one else nearby. Deck Two had tall ceilings and sparse doors, as each room containing the guts of the ship was isolated and removed from the common crew. Everyone wanted a huge, well-oiled cruise ship, but no one wanted to peek behind the curtains to see how it all operated.

  Yur slipped the device out carefully and held it in his palm. A message spelled out in code, and he deciphered it slowly.

  Is the job done?

  He shook his head and keyed in his response, using the archaic symbols. The good news was, if anyone but him tried to read a message, it wouldn’t operate. It was linked to his biometrics only. He sent the reply.

  About to do the task now.

  A few minutes went by, and he continued toward his target. He was supposed to replace an air vent, but he stopped at room ER-1.96514.

  Be prepared. When I give the word, you kill it.

  Yur thought about this. He knew he wasn’t the brightest person in the universe, but logic prevailed. She wanted him to destroy this section of the engines, which he understood would wreak havoc on the Star Drive.

  Where is my rendezvous? He sent the message, wishing he’d been smart enough to ask the question before.

  You will be rewarded. Don’t fret.

  Yur stared at it, contemplating his options. What if this caused more damage than leaving Constantine stranded? It could set off a chain reaction, destroying the ball of Bentom, which in turn would kill him.

  He didn’t think she’d do that to him. He was too valuable an asset. She’d told him that before. Yur shook his head, angry at his own lack of faith in his boss. He typed a message and sent it.

  It will be done.

  Yur pressed a hand to the door of ER-1.96514 and, surprisingly, it was unlocked. With a quick glance toward the elevators, he entered the dark room. Soft yellow lights flicked on at his movement, and the thin hairs on the back of his hands stood up as the energy in the room hit him.

  The space was massive: intricate wired panels lined the walls, each beeping and chiming as their red lights blinked continuously. He found what he was searching for in the far right corner of the room, and recognized the tubes. His cart was beside him, and he plucked the device he’d stowed inside, waiting for the right moment to use it, and activated it.

  It beeped once, syncing with its pairing partner in his palm, and he crawled to the tubes, placing the device at the output tube where the other five coalesced. He double-checked to ensure the detonator was linked properly and rushed from the room, his leg aching.

  Task complete. He sent the message and realized something. The messages had been coming quickly. This meant his benefactor was close; otherwise, there would have been a longer delay.

  As Yur walked toward the missing vent at the end of the corridors, it came clear. She was on this ship. This whole time, his boss had been on the Constantine with him.

  He’d have no means of recognition, because he’d never seen her face. He wondered if he’d passed her in the corridors or perhaps seen her in the dining halls. A shiver of thrill coursed through Yur. He hoped she was pleased with his work.

  ____________

  It had been at least three years since Tom had lowered through the atmosphere of a new planet, one he’d never visited before. On the Cecilia, they’d been running along the Border, maintaining peace with Concord trading partners, ensuring pirate attacks were mitigated and everyone was safe. It was dutiful work, but it lacked the thrill of adventure and exploration that had drawn Tom to the Concord Academy in the first place.

  The rush of seeing the landscape expand as they passed into the stratosphere filled his senses, pushing a delight through that made him feel like a new recruit again. This was why he’d joined, not because of who his grandfather was. Hell, even his parents hadn’t enlisted, much to old Constantine Baldwin’s chagrin.

  His grandfather had dreamt that Cleo would join when she was a teenager. She ended up marrying an artist instead. Tom didn’t remember much of his mom, just her blonde hair, always draping loose over her shoulders. She was warm to the touch, though her fingers were always chilled. Tom could almost smell her, the most comforting scent of his existence.

  His father he recalled even less. Short dark hair, stubble always on his chin. Crinkling eyes as he smiled at Tom, tousling his mop on his head. His fingers always had paint on them. Then his parents were gone, and Constantine took over raising him.

  Tom wondered why he was being pulled into such a deep memory hole, and then it came back. The ship he was currently in was named after his mother. Cleo. The Concord had really done a number on him.

  “Captain, we’ve arrived at Malin,” Brax said, breaking the silence in the expedition ship.

  “It’s bad,” Tom said, seeing the destruction all around. Over half the city appeared to be in ruins, various sections billowing smoke.

  “It’s recent,” Brax said calmly.

  “Send the drones, see if there are people around,” Tom said, and instantly, their viewer showed images from four released cameras. They were tiny, sending details like temperature, air measurements, and barometric pressure through the ship’s database for extrapolation.

  “There,” Brax said, nodding to the top left square on the viewer. It appeared to be a group of locals scrambling away from the city, heading the opposite direction from the ocean.

  “Land,” Tom said. “We need to learn what occurred. Those are… Greblokites, right?”

  Ven chimed in from the bench behind them. “Bacals, sir.”

  “Fine. That is them?” Tom asked, squinting as he looked. It had to be. Everything they wore was a shade of beige, as if their entire wardrobe was made from the dust and sand they were surrounded by. Even from this high angle, Tom felt pity for the sad people. A little girl clutched something in her hand, and he used the camera’s zoom feature, seeing her fall to her knees as the group climbed through a field of amber stone. A man leaned over, plucking the child into his arms, and he carried her as they traveled farther from the city.

  “It’s them. The Bacals,” Ven said, now
stating the obvious.

  “They might think we’re hostile.” Brax flew in their direction, the drone moving to continue its search of the region. Their information was being processed inside Cleo’s software as they raced over the olden metropolis. As Constantine had told him, the city of Malin was ancient, and it was terrible to see such an old, established place destroyed.

  “Then we’ll have to be cautious,” Tom said.

  Brax landed the ship behind the group, who didn’t appear to see them coming. The chief of security took the lead, the captain and Ven trailing behind.

  It was evening, and the light was waning as they arrived at the locals. Tom had a gun at his hip but didn’t expect to need it. His boots and pants were quickly covered in dust, each step kicking up more of the dirt. He couldn’t imagine living among the desert like this. Where were the plants? He scanned the region, finding a few types of resilient plants, spikes sticking from their brown blotchy leaves.

  The air burned slightly to breathe, but it was compatible with them and their physiology. A pulsing sound emanated from far away, traversing the distance until it was almost imperceptible from their position. It was coming from the direction of the ocean. That was where they had to go next. Tom expected they might encounter a battle when they did.

  A gunshot rang out, an archaic system of propulsion and gunpowder, startling Tom with the loud noise.

  “Stay down!” Brax shouted from the front of their group. He raised his hands in the sky, his huge gun set to the ground. “We’re with the Concord. We’re here to assist you!” he shouted this, his voice echoing across the rocks.

  Tom glanced up to see the massive bald man walking closer to the source of the gunshot. He stood, confident the locals didn’t mean them harm. “Let’s go,” he told the others, and they all cautiously stepped over the field of stones, careful not to catch a foot and twist an ankle.