by Tom Dublin
Nathan downed his own drink in one, then sat back and considered the freighter captain for a moment.
"How would you like the opportunity to put all that right?"
8
Alma Nine, Taron City, Government Buildings, Presidential Suite
Bay Don reached for her cup of mogneti and took a swig, pulling a face when she realized the drink had gone cold.
The third one this afternoon.
Ever since the President had announced her plans to align with the Etheric Empire, Bay Don had been fighting off calls and visits from both news reporters and press journalists alike. No matter which media outlet they represented, they had all tried to gain access to Tor Val's office with pretty much the same argument...
This story is in the public interest.
The population has a right to know what its future holds.
The President owes the people an explanation.
Bay Don downed the rest of her mogneti, grimacing once again as she set the cup aside. Tough shit, journos. Tor Val had said she didn't want to be disturbed, and that meant no-one got past her trusted assistant.
And that decision didn't just apply to news hungry correspondents. She'd blocked three separate attempts by Saf Tah's staff to gain access to Tor Val, and endured a torrent of abuse from the Vice President himself during a particularly unpleasant call.
All of which simply made her more determined to deny entry to anyone.
Standing, Bay Don made her away across the President's outer office and flicked the switch on the kettle, hoping there was enough water inside for at least half a fresh cup of mogneti, ideally above room temperature.
She glanced at her boss's office door while she waited for the tell-tale sound of bubbling from the appliance. Tor Val had asked her to hold all calls and reschedule the afternoon's appointments so she could work. She watched the red light repeatedly flick on and off on the communication hub, indicating the President was making calls of her own.
But to whom, and for what purpose, Bay Don couldn't know. She just hoped it was all working in the President's favor.
Bay Don had been Tor Val's personal assistant ever since she had taken over the role of colony leader following her husband's death during the initial journey to Alma Nine. Back then, Lad Val had been chosen as President Elect by settlers traveling on board the interstellar ship, Dessia, named after the Malatian goddess of hope.
The trip from Malatia to the colonist's new home had taken several years and a strong leader was vital to maintaining the optimism necessary for the taxing journey ahead. In a free and open election, the Dessia's passengers had voted for astronautical engineer Lad Val over his closest rival, Saf Tah. And the result had been a popular one.
Lad Val and his family, wife Tor Val and their daughters Ran Val and Mas Val, were seen as the ideal family unit. Young, vibrant, honest - they were the figures of hope the settlers needed after receiving so much negativity over their decision to abandon their own planet and seek their future elsewhere in the galaxy.
Then, just weeks before their arrival at Alma Nine, the ship's solar array had malfunctioned.
Power cells quickly began to drain, threatening everything from power to the Dessia's engines to the life support system itself. While millions of microscopic nanobots worked around the clock to provide the transporter with an artificial gravity field, they couldn't create breathable air or fuel. Nor could they operate outside, in the vacuum of space.
The solar panels were going to have to be repaired manually, and the best qualified person for the job was Lad Val himself.
He had been on the design team for the Dessia, and he was the only person on board with extra-vehicular activity experience. And so, he and a trainee engineer had climbed into two of the ship's half-dozen spacesuits, clipped on tool belts and safety tethers, then climbed through the main airlock and out onto the exterior of the craft.
The repair attempt was big news, especially now that it was Alma Nine's future President tackling the job. Ran Val and Mas Val were interviewed about their heroic dad by fellow students in the onboard classroom, and the teachers even arranged a mini field trip to the starboard side viewing area once the spacewalk had started so pupils could watch Lad Val and his assistant at work.
Tor Val, already proud of her husband's success in the presidential elections, was there to watch the repair effort as it happened. She was given a front row seat near the large external windows.
Bay Don had been a classroom assistant at the time. She sat with Ran Val and Mas Val as their father exited the Dessia. They watched him fix the loose connection from the solar panels to the motor which kept them at the optimal angle to the closest star.
And that’s when the Dessia's engines unexpectedly came back online. They jolted the spacecraft and caused Lad Val to lose his grip on the hand rail he was using to hold himself in place.
The students gasped as Lad Val was thrust backwards, away from the side of the ship, jerking to a sudden stop as the rolled-metal safety line stretched taut.
For a moment, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The carabiner at the near end of the tether maintained its grip on the hand rail, Lad Val flailed his arms in a vain attempt to arrest his momentum, and the material of the future President's spacesuit ripped apart.
While there was no sound from the two men outside the craft, everyone watching from inside was screaming. The engineering assistant reached out with his gloved hand, fingers opening and closing, but it was already too late.
Lad Val drifted away from the side of the ship, his safety line waving uselessly from the rail and the tear in his suit allowing his precious supply of breathable air to rapidly escape.
Mas Val threw herself at the window, hammering on the thick glass, pleading for her father to return. Her sister simply crumpled to the floor, eyes rolling back in their sockets.
Bay Don didn't know which of the girls to help first.
Then, a teacher pushed her way through to Ran Val, freeing Bay Don to dart forward and wrap her arms around Mas Val's shoulders. The girl was simultaneously screaming and sobbing as her father floated further and further from the Dessia.
Tor Val climbed shakily to her feet, stunned. She and her daughters could only watch in horror as Lad Val somehow found the strength to raise a hand to his heart, then extend it towards his inconsolable family before his air finally ran out and his teal face turned dark green inside his helmet.
His sightless eyes remained fixed open as he drifted further and further away from everything and everyone he had loved.
It took two days for the ship's course to be changed and for rescuers to devise a way to retrieve Lad Val's body from the vacuum of space.
Lad Val's return to the Dessia was only temporary. In accordance with Malatian tradition, his body was placed into a casket made of organic material. Following the funeral service, this pod would be ejected out into space where it would navigate to the closest gas cloud and explode, reducing the pod's occupant to his or her constituent elements, returning the deceased individual to the universe.
This process was known as The Journey Back.
Toward the end of the service, Bay Don had once again sat with the two young girls while Tor Val, dressed in traditional purple mourning attire, stood to deliver a speech. In it, she honored her late husband and announced that she would be stepping into the role as President in his place.
Many of the gathering had turned to study Saf Tah's reaction to this news but his expression remained impassive. Only those close to him would later bear witness to the full ferocity of his rage at his quest for power being thwarted yet again.
And so, Tor Val became the first - and so far, only - President of the new colony of Alma Nine, rewarding Bay Don for her efforts in comforting her daughters at a time of need with a position as her assistant.
In the intervening years, Bay Don had been at Tor Val's side almost constantly. Through the difficult period of establishing a new home for the colo
nists, during a heavily contested re-election process, and now she would be there for her friend as she guided the planet into this exciting new phase of galactic citizenship.
The kettle clicked off as steam revealed the presence of boiling water inside, just as Tor Val's office door swung open to reveal an extremely tired looking President. Beyond, her normally immaculate desk was strewn with paperwork, with stacks of files set out on the carpet like an ocean of information surrounding a busy wooden island.
"Heading home, Ma'am?" Bay Don inquired, accepting the loss of yet another cup of steaming mogneti. She took Tor Val's briefcase to carry it for her.
Tor Val nodded. "Having dinner with the girls tonight," she said with a weary smile. "Mas Val is home from her studies for a few days' vacation."
Bay Don raised her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised, as the pair set off down the corridor. "It's been a while since all three of you got to spend some time together, hasn't it?"
"Almost four months," replied Tor Val. "I'm looking forward to the chance of discussing topics that won't result in utter political turmoil, like homework, grades and boys!"
"You know you are going to have to meet with Saf Tah at some point tomorrow, don't you?" Bay Don pointed out.
"Doesn't mean I have to look forward to it!" chuckled Tor Val. "The man's grumpy enough at the best of times. Now he knows I've kept him out of the negotiations with the Etheric Empire, he'll be out for my scalp."
Bay Don chuckled. "What, and give up that precious twinkling mohawk of his? I doubt it!"
Tor Val wrapped an arm around her assistant's shoulders and pulled her close. "We can do this, you know. Together, we can take Alma Nine kicking and screaming into the future."
"You can," countered Bay Don. "There's no we in all this."
"Don't you believe it," said Tor Val with a mock scowl. "I couldn't have done any of this without you watching my back."
The two women reached the rear exit of the government building, and Bay Don hurried to open the door for her boss. "Have a good evening with the girls," she said. "Say ‘hi’ from me."
"Will do," responded Tor Val, "but Mas Val will expect to see you before she heads back to school."
"I'll pop around tomorrow after work," Bay Don promised, handing Tor Val her briefcase.
Tor Val turned as a sleek, black limousine pulled up at the door and the shaven-headed figure of Hip Win climbed out of the passenger seat. He opened the rear door to allow the President to climb inside.
The President hesitated. "This isn't my usual car," she pointed out to her head of security. "And that's not Rol Tak, my usual driver."
"Rol Tak is unwell," Hip Win explained, "and your usual car is undergoing its annual service. I have personally checked this replacement vehicle, and vetted the new driver."
Tor Val nodded. "That's all I needed to hear."
Bay Don watched as the President climbed into the back of the car, her shape barely visible behind the limo's tinted glass. With an almost inaudible hiss, the vehicle pulled away and sped off.
As she turned to head back to her office and her long awaited cup of mogneti, she noticed Hip Win pull out a portable communicator and dial a number. The conversation he had with whoever picked up was very short indeed.
All he said was: "It's on."
Alma Nine, Taron City, Highway 59, Tor Val’s Car
Gan Roj glanced in the limo's rearview mirror to check where Tor Val was directing her attention. As hoped, she was engrossed in one of the several pieces of paperwork she had removed from the open briefcase on the seat beside her.
So engrossed she hadn't noticed that they were traveling on a highway heading out of the city center, in the opposite direction from her home.
Gripping the steering wheel with his left hand, he worked to pull two items from the right pocket of his coat. The first was a bottle of prescription painkillers, the only brand that now made any kind of difference to the agonizing cramps in his stomach.
They were an incredibly powerful drug, not prescribed to patients unless, like Gan Roj, they were in the excruciating final stages of his particular disease.
There wasn't much hope of him becoming addicted to the medication. Not in the short time he had left at least.
The other item was his communicator. Checking again that Tor Val wasn't watching, he rested the device against the steering wheel and tapped the icon showing the logo for his bank. A few screens later, he was logged into his personal account.
The money was there, as promised. He was now a millionaire.
Not that he'd ever get to spend a penny of it himself.
He emptied the bottle of pills into his mouth, ignoring the sour chalky flavor as he began to crunch down. Then, flicking back to the home screen of his communicator, he launched the photos app and brought up his favorite picture of his wife and children.
Blinking back his tears, Gan Roj pressed his foot down hard on the limo's accelerator pedal.
9
Federation Base Station 11, Nathan Lowell's Office
"Spies?!" exclaimed Jack incredulously. "You want us to work for you as spies?"
"That's one way of putting it," Nathan replied.
"What other way is there?"
"I prefer to think of it as covert intelligence operatives."
Jack frowned. "Same difference."
"Possibly," said Nathan. "But, whatever name we give it, you'll be helping the Etheric Empire to rid the galaxy of those who set out to control or harm innocent people, including all terrorists with affiliations to Dark Tomorrow."
Jack sat back in his chair, running the offer through his mind. The reason he'd enlisted for the Special Assault Marines in the first place was to help those who couldn't protect themselves. That all came to an untimely and unpleasant end following the botched operation on Maralis. Now he was being given the opportunity for a second bite at the cherry.
A nasty-ass terrorist cherry.
"You're already traversing the systems, hauling freight," Nathan continued. "What better cover than visiting areas of interest to collect and deliver cargo?"
"Once we've located a target, would we be expected to take on these bastards ourselves?" he queried. "Because, as much as Tc'aarlat and I try to keep ourselves in shape, there are still only two of us."
Nathan smiled, refilling the trio's drinks. "You'd just be the forward team, seeking out information and sending that back to me. Once we were confident you had located a serious threat, we'd send one of a variety of assets at our command in the Etheric Federation to further assess and resolve the situation."
"So, we wouldn't get to fuck up any bad guys personally?"
"Not unless you requested to do so," replied Nathan. "Then, you'd have our full backing, covertly, of course, which means no one will know."
Jack nodded. "Sounds good to me."
"Can I ask a question?" Tc'aarlat put in.
"Sure," said Nathan. "Would that question be whether you would receive extra remuneration on top of your regular haulage fees for undertaking espionage missions on our behalf?"
Tc'aarlat blinked silently for a moment. "Might be..."
Jack disguised his chuckle by taking another sip of whisky.
"You would be paid a handsome retainer fee, plus bonuses for delivering intelligence which leads to the incapacitation, capture or approved execution of enemy combatants."
Before Tc'aarlat could comment, Nathan added:
"Plus, we would vastly upgrade your ship and provide you with suitable weaponry for your future assignments."
Tc'aarlat exchanged a glance with Jack, then smiled. "Looks like we're in," he said cheerfully.
The three men raised their glasses and chinked them together before downing their remaining contents.
"There is one other issue," began Jack, taking his turn to pour out another round of golden goodness. "Now that we've lost Dollen, we're down a crew member. Although the company started with just the two of us, we've gotten used to having a dedicated
navigator on the bridge."
Nathan took a sip, then put his glass aside and produced his tablet again. "Funny you should say that," he commented, his fingers dancing across the touch screen. "I had a message about that very subject just after we left the bar."
There was a knock at the office door. Nathan quickly spun his chair towards it and stood to deactivate the electronic locking mechanism. "Right on time..."
The door opened and two women entered the room. One of them was a tall, confident, statuesque blonde. The other woman was much shorter. She had dark hair tied back in a ponytail, brown eyes and appeared more timid looking.
"Gentlemen," proclaimed Nathan. "Allow me to introduce you to your new navigator, Adina Choudhury..."
Tc'aarlat was on his feet in a flash. He hurried over to take the hand of the blonde woman, which he stooped to kiss with a chivalrous bow.
"Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the crew of the ICS Fortitude, my dear," he cooed. "I look forward to working with you and, of course, getting to know you better."
"Why, thank you," the blonde replied, retrieving her hand from the Yollin's grasp. "Although I'm Ecaterina Romanov, Nathan's mate."
Tc'aarlat frowned as though he didn't understand her words.
Ecaterina turned to allow the smaller woman to step further into the room. "This is Adina."
Jack crossed the room to shake Adina's hand. "Delighted to meet you," he said with a smile.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" cried Tc'aarlat, his mandibles wide and quivering. "Hang on just a minute."
"Is there a problem?" queried Nathan.
"Yes," Adina snapped. "Is there?"
All eyes turned to look at Tc'aarlat, who was suddenly thankful he hadn't yet found a way to approximate the human bodily function known as 'blushing.’
"No," replied Tc'aarlat, trying his best to avoid Adina's accusing stare. "Of course not. It's just that haulage is a... man's game..."
