The Hidden Prophet

by Benjamin Douglas

  So, yeah. The pros.

  “Lieutenant, what’ve you got for me?”

  Caspar was still paging through screens at her console. “They really did a number, Sir.” She seemed to be doing her best to keep the glee from her voice. “Top turrets include three full rotators, heavy kinetics. Then an array of mid-ordnance turrets down each side of the ship, labeled as point defense. Another three clustered in the back to cover retreats. But the real treat is the front, which is, well, you saw, Sir.”

  Indeed he had. The front of the Fairfax was almost unrecognizable now, so covered was it by armaments of all shapes and sizes. “Where’d they stick all the bullets?” he wondered aloud.

  Caspar brought up another screen. “Looks like they effectively cut everyone’s living space in half, sir.”

  “WHAT?” Lucas stood, fully intending to march down the hall and inspect the bunk in the captain’s suite. It had been too short for him already.

  “Don’t worry, Sir. Bunk lengths are unchanged. You’ll just have to get creative when you’re getting dressed. Or doing anything else… um… other than in your bunk.” A little blush rose to her cheeks—a rarity. Lucas decided not to tease her about it. After all, he was the one who’d almost left the bridge to measure his bed.

  “Adams,” he said into his comm. “What’ve you got down there? Everything good?”

  The engineer’s voice came back. “I don’t know whether it’s a thing of beauty or a hideous monster, Captain, but I think the design is sound. They’ve added… I mean, they’ve given us… well, I don’t know how we’re going to move around down here to do our work, let’s just say that. But I’ve never been one to complain about extra power.”

  Lucas started to smile. His list of pros was getting longer.

  “Helm, everything look ok?”

  Randall, too, was staring at his console. “Aye, Sir. Guidance systems online, no changes that worry me… just accounting for a little extra power.” He sounded surprised.

  “Sock, put the power layout onscreen.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Sock?”

  Oh, right. The upgrade.

  “Anyone have any guesses how to get the new ship computer’s attention?”

  A beep sounded. It was followed by a laconic male voice. “Did you need something?”

  Lucas, surprised, shifted in his seat. “Ah, yes. Computer, can you put the ship’s engine schematics onscreen? The current schematics, I mean. Of exactly what we have down there.”

  There was the sound of a heaved breath. “I’m sure I could.”

  Lucas waited, while, again, nothing happened. “Did the new computer just sigh at me?” he whispered to Caspar. She shrugged.

  “Computer,” he said again.

  “I have a name,” the computer interrupted.

  “Oh.” Lucas looked around. His crew pretended to be paying close attention to their own consoles. He cleared his throat. “My apologies, computer. How would you like to be addressed?”

  “Well, I’d like to be addressed by my name, and my name is Jeffrey.”

  Caspar bit her fist to keep from laughing out loud. Even Randall looked up.

  “Very well, Jeffrey. Will you please display the current engine schematics on-screen?”

  “Oh, certainly. When you put it that way. Here you are.”

  Lucas peered at the figures as they came up. He whistled. “Didn’t know a ship this size could move like that,” he said.

  “Well, Sir, you know what they say about that,” Caspar said.

  “No, what?”

  She shook her head. “Nevermind.”

  He raised his eyebrows, then looked at Randall. “Alright Helm, start us up.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  The engines powered on, and even from the bridge, Lucas thought he felt a difference. The Fairfax had always been a formidable ship—she was a Kuiper Fleet flagship, after all—but she had never felt quite this potent, like they could jet off across the galaxy.

  The hangar bay doors opened, and the ship lifted from the deck.

  “Take us out, Randall.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  With a little more kick than any of them were ready for, Randall eased them out of the hangar. Once they were in open space, Lucas strapped into his seat. “Alright, helm.” He smiled. “You have my permission to see what she can do.”

  “Aye, Sir!”

  ---

  After a ten-minute joyride, Randall brought them to a free-float. He was all smiles. Lucas grinned back at him. “Good flying, Randall.”

  “Thank you, Sir. But she does all the work.” He patted the side of the helm console lovingly.

  “I suppose it’s time we had a look at these orders,” Lucas muttered. He took out the data stick Cyclops had given him and plugged it into his own console.

  “Jeffrey?”

  “Yes?”

  Lucas shook his head. This was going to take some getting used to. “You don’t sound too excited to be called upon.”

  “Should I be excited about something? Can you give me a reason that might elicit excitement?” It sounded like baiting to Lucas. He wasn’t about to take it.

  “I guess not. Instead, would you display the contents of this data stick onscreen, please?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  A mission brief flashed up on the screen. Everything was clearly organized, which impressed Lucas a bit, in spite of himself. So far Cyclops had been the face of Rome, and Cyclops was, well… a bit brutal. That reminded him. He opened a ship-wide comm. “Officer Jan, would you please come to the bridge as soon as the Engineer can spare you? Thank you.”

  The doors immediately hissed open. There stood Jan.

  “Well, now that’s a little freaky,” Caspar muttered.

  “Hi.” Jan waved shyly. “Officer Adams sent me up, Sir. Said if I was going to keep spoutin’ off about those damned pirate guilds, I may as well come up here and do it where someone might be foolish enough to listen. Apologies, Sir. His words, not mine.”

  “Officer Jan.” Lucas motioned for him to take a seat to his side, near Caspar. “Tell us about Rome.”

  Jan took a deep breath through his nose. “Ok, so. Here’s the thing. Rome is like this uber secret secret, like the best-kept secret in the game, like so well-kept that a bunch of gamers think even the designers don’t realize what’s going on.” He began to speak very rapidly. “Because here’s the thing, here’s the thing. Like, Rome is just Rome Inc., right? Like, they’re just a corporation, they’re just there so that the pirates in the game have a target. At least that’s why all the other corps are there. And that’s like, a bulk of what the gameplay consists of, I mean a bulk of which the gameplay consists, it’s like, just flying around, getting your crew, doing badass upgrades, you know, but all the time you’re just picking off cargo from the corporate freighters and I know it sounds kinda terrible but it’s actually really cool, cause it’s like a steal-from-the-rich-give-to-the-poor kinda thing, like you’d never steal from, like, a health corp that was actually doing any good in the system, I mean, of course you do steal from health corps, cause, like, it’s based on reality so much they don’t really exclude the kinds of jobs that get done, but you always know it’s like from really big, corporate, just big health corps that aren’t really in it to help people, you know, they’re just in it to profit of off other people’s sickness and illness and dying and stuff, and so you never really feel too bad about hitting them up, it’s like—”

  Lucas held up a hand. “That’s great, Jan. Thanks. But Rome?”

  “Right, right. Thanks. Ok. Rome.”

  Lucas nodded.

  “So, ok. Here’s the thing. Rome, you don’t attack. You never, ever sack a Rome freighter. And no one knows why. Except that the game is heavily based in reality, like it sort of emulates how the guilds actually operate, herego it follows that in reality Rome Inc. has some kind of inexplicable immunity from piracy, too, which is crazy we
ird, because, I mean, c’mon, we all know it, Rome is huge, they’re hauling crazy amounts of freight around the inner system, there isn’t a bigger whale out there, so statistically it just doesn’t make sense, because they should probably be taking the bulk of the hits, if anything.”

  He paused to gulp some air. Lucas nodded again. “And that’s the big secret about them?”

  “Noooo, no no no no no no no. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. The iceberg is big, the iceberg is scary. I know a few things about the iceberg. Do you wanna know what I know? What I don’t even know, but just think maybe I know? Do you have some time, Captain?”

  Lucas sighed and glanced at the screen. ETA at their destination was twelve hours. “I suppose I do.” He peered at the screen again. “Wait a second… am I reading that destination correctly?”

  Randall looked up. “Afraid so, Sir.”

  Lucas fell into the chair. They were heading back to Ceres.

  Chapter 8

  “So why Moses?”

  Joyce sat in the co-pilot seat, putting her hair back and wrapping it into a bun. For a fleeting moment, Ada almost wished she still had her long hair. She smiled a little, remembering how her mother had used to comb it for her every night before bed, and how later she and Raya had combed each other’s hair. No matter. It would grow back.

  “A little joke. Moses started as a program designed to coordinate automated diggers back in the family mine. He processed all the command codes for our equipment, so my dad started calling him the lawgiver.” The smile, if a little sad, grew a little bigger.

  “Huh.” The bun complete, Joyce rested her hands on the console in front of her.

  “You know how to operate any of this?” Ada asked.

  “Me? Ha! You know what I did back on the station?”

  Ada shook her head. “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “You ever go down to the red-light deck?”

  Another shake, and Ada blushed a little. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. We do what we have to. I’m just happy to have gotten out, and apparently not a second too soon. I can’t say I have many skills that you’d find useful in a co-pilot, though, if that’s what you’re asking. Unless we’re driving stick.” She winked.

  Ada laughed with her for a moment, feeling awkward. Then she shrugged. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got Moses.” A loud snore filtered into the cockpit from the living area. “And Bone Crusher, of course. How do you know him?”

  Joyce pursed her lips and lowered her eyebrows. “How do you think?”

  “Oh.”

  “You really need to let it go. You just met me. You don’t know me.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Again. My bad.”

  “Yeah, your bad.”

  The cockpit was silent for a few moments.

  “So… where to?” Ada still wasn’t sure what had happened back at Carmen’s station, or why Joyce and Bone Crusher had apparently organized her escape, though she was thankful. She assumed some trade-off was expected in the form of her piloting ability—or in Moses’ piloting ability, rather. Their little ship was a bit cozy, but could apparently survive without docking for some time, provided they had enough necessary provisions in stock. Her stomach rumbled at the thought, and she wondered if they had anything on board.

  “I don’t know—you tell me, pirate lady. I haven’t been out of that hab in six years. Ceres? Do they still brew wine on Ceres?”

  Ada scoffed. “Only if you like your wine out of a metal canister.” She tilted her head, thinking. Ceres wasn’t a horrible option. Oh, it was a horrible place, there was no denying that. But there were plenty of people and businesses and crews and ships and…

  “Hey!” She sat up. “What happens to this ship?”

  Joyce shrugged. “Hadn’t thought about it. Don’t suppose I much care. Bone Crusher, you care?”

  Another snore.

  “I wonder if Carmen will be looking for it. It hardly seems significant, compared to most of her operation.”

  Joyce huffed. “I’m not sure Carmen has much of an operation anymore. Did you see the fireworks as we pulled out of there?”

  On a whim, Ada asked Moses to pull up any sensory or cam data from their takeoff. Rear cams had recorded the whole thing, and she pulled it up on her console. It looked like just seconds after they’d jettisoned out, the station had collapsed in one enormous fireball.

  “Who did that?” she wondered aloud.

  “Who cares?” Joyce left her seat. “They did us a favor. I’m gonna go lay down a bit. You good up here?”

  “I guess so. So, Ceres?”

  Joyce gave a fake grin and two thumbs up, then left the cockpit. Ada groaned inwardly at her conversation skills. One more thing to work on, once life settled down.

  “Moses, how far are we from Ceres, in travel time?”

  “Approximately seven hours, Ada.”

  “Is there any food on board?”

  “Negative.” That sealed the deal.

  “Ceres it is. Set in our course and take us to Ceres, please.”

  “Order confirmed.”

  Ada leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, and did her best not to dream about breakfast.

  ---

  “Ada, wake up.” She was jostled violently forward, and had to brace herself against the console, her arms still heavy with sleep. Bone Crusher had a hand on her shoulder. He probably thought he was being gentle.

  “Hiya, Crush.” She wiped her eyes and stretched. “What did I miss?”

  “Just a lot of empty space,” Joyce said from the co-pilot seat. “Until this.” She pointed directly forward, out the short viewport that spanned the front of the ship at eye-level. Ada peered through the port and saw chunks of twisted metal and other assorted space garbage flying about. She glanced down at her console. The stuff seemed to have all come from a common origin point, and probably not too long ago. A tidy little debris field in the middle of space.

  “Whoa!”

  Ada glanced up at Joyce, then looked out the port again and saw a large piece of what used to be a ship hull slowly spinning toward them.

  “Moses, would you kindly take us around, rather than through, the debris field in front of us?”

  Beep. “Yes, Ada. Order confirmed.” The ship tipped to the left as Moses guided them in a semi-roll off to the side.

  “And while you’re at it, run a scan, see if you can pick up an ID or any identifiable materials.”

  “You mean like that?” Joyce was pointing at the hull-piece they had just avoided as it drifted off to their right. An insignia was blazoned on the side, a bit charred around the edges now, but legible. Ada would have recognized the carrion crow anywhere. She cursed under her breath.

  “One of Carmen’s. Moses, scan for survivors, too.”

  Joyce seemed skeptical of that order, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Scans complete. No survivors. No functional ship ID.”

  “Thanks, Moses.” She sighed, watching as the piece with the carrion crow drifted out of sight. “Think it was related to what happened on the station?”

  Joyce shrugged. “Won’t say she didn’t have it coming, if it was. Can’t say I much like the idea of whole crews just dying out here in the void, either, though.”

  “No.” Ada fiddled with her console. Time had passed as she’d slept, and Ceres was less than an hour away. “So.” She turned around to face Joyce and Bone Crusher. “What do we have in the way of weapons?”

  ---

  They were only minutes away from the planetoid when Moses announced they were receiving a wide broadcast communication from the orbiting station. Ada told him to play it for them.

  “… a state of emergency and has been quarantined; repeat, Ceres surface is in a state of emergency and has been quarantined. All approaching ships, please alter course. No one will be allowed into the tubes at this time. Please contact Empire Station Geta-4 for further information. Ceres surface is in a state of emergency and has been qu
arantined; repeat, Ceres surface…”

  “Shut it off, Moses.” The transmission ended. Ada rubbed her chin.

  “What’s going on out here?” Joyce said. “A girl spends a little time on her back, and when she gets up, the whole system’s falling apart.”

  Bone Crusher guffawed.

  “Geta-4 is that station in orbit?” Ada asked.

  “Confirmed,” Moses said. “Geta-4 is the Empire’s presence in the inner belt.”

  Ada pursed her lips. She didn’t much like the idea of cozying up to the Empire. On the other hand, they had no reason to know she was a Colonial, or what her parentage was. On the other other hand, she’d been running with pirates, and was now flying a vessel stolen from pirates, with two other pirates. But the only other settlements in the area, as far as she knew, were private habs, and she had no guarantee they’d be able to land at any of those. If they did, it would mean theft and pillage to pick up supplies and to power up the ship for more flight. If they docked at the station, would they be able to at least have a meal and juice up the engine while staying under the radar?

  Her stomach rumbled loudly.

  “Me too,” Joyce said. “So. Geta-4?”

  “Geta-4. Moses, please bring us in line with the station and ask for permission to dock. Someplace inconspicuous, if you can arrange it.”

  “Order confirmed.”

  Ada’s stomach continued to roil, but she wasn’t sure if it was the hunger or the prospect of walking willingly into Geta-4.

  Chapter 9

  It wasn’t all bad.