Declination

by David Derrico

  “Maybe the SPACER bastards behind all this terrorist activity?” Zach asked rhetorically. “Maybe one of the big pirating conglomerates sick of me kicking their tails?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I don’t think a pirate group could have pulled this one off. The forgery was very precise. And it had to be coordinated with the self-destructing terrorist ship. I don’t know who forged the logs, but the SPACERs had to be behind it.”

  “Is that what’s going on at Utopia?” Zach asked. “More pirate activity?”

  “No,” Ryan replied, taken aback. “I guess you haven’t heard. You had better get ready and get to the briefing room.”

  “Heard?” Zach asked, walking to the closet where his flight suit hung. “Heard what?”

  Ryan flashed him a surprised look, clearly in disbelief that he didn’t know. “It’s the damned Vr’amil’een, Zach,” he replied solemnly. “They’ve invaded.”

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 5

  The transport slowed to sublight speed and Dex scanned the tactical display, quickly finding what he was looking for: a ship beginning its descent to the planet’s surface.

  “Inferno, this is the Cerberus. Hold position, please.”

  The viewscreen flashed to life, filled with Anastasia’s face. “Dex?” she asked, her excitement tinged with a touch of concern. “What are you doing here?”

  “I figured you might need an escort during the negotiations,” Dex replied, “and I am here to offer my services.”

  Anastasia smiled. “I’m always glad to have you around, Dex. But is there something going on that I should know about?”

  “No,” Dex said uneasily. “Nothing solid, anyway. I just figured better safe than sorry.”

  Captain Mason smiled again. “Very well then. Ariyana, please transfer the landing coordinates to the Cerberus. Dex, I’ll see you on the ground.”

  “Yes, Captain,” he replied. “Cerberus out.”

  Dex nodded to Retro, his pilot, and the younger man began moving the ship toward the planet, preparing to follow the Inferno down on her approach vector. Dex looked to the ragtag fleet encircling the planet, and a look of consternation crossed his face. This is the best the SPACERs can do? he wondered incredulously. These are the same people with access to imploding thermonuclear cores, advanced pirate ships spanning the Sector, and enough people on the inside to forge flight logs and get security clearance for terrorist attacks? And this motley group is the best they can muster for their big blockade?

  Dex, for one, did not buy it. He knew his instincts had been correct: the SPACERs, as usual, were up to something. And, as his ship descended through the thick atmosphere of New Berkeley, he knew he was right in the middle of it.

  . . . . .

  Anastasia walked down the entry/exit ramp to find a squad of Confederation Commandos flanking her path. The soldiers, each dressed in full combat armour, stood at attention, brandishing heavy phaser rifles across their chests. Though the six men along the pathway represented only half a squadron, even half of an elite Commando squad was a force to be reckoned with. Besides, Anastasia knew, the other six members of the team were undoubtedly stationed nearby, watching for trouble. Actually, she corrected herself, only five soldiers were unaccounted for—just at the bottom of the hatchway was Dex.

  “You’re pretty serious about your escort duties, I see,” she said as she walked down the exit ramp, embracing Dex when she arrived. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Dex released the Captain from his muscular grip. “Commander Dex Rutcliffe reporting for duty, ma’am,” he barked. More softly, he added, “It’s good to see you too, Ana.”

  The Captain smiled and looked down the pathway, which led from her ship to a large domed structure that loomed in the distance. Brilliant green and vermilion banners hung from the sides of the golden building, and its metallic walls reflected the light of the midday sun into Anastasia’s eyes. Facing back to the blue velvet path before her, she could see that a bit beyond where the line of Commandos ended, a group of people stood awaiting her arrival. The woman from the viewscreen did not appear to be among them.

  “I guess we might as well go get this over with,” she sighed.

  Anastasia led Dex between the assembled Commandos and toward their greeting party. The Captain smiled subtly as she realized that the three people awaiting her were keeping their distance, noticeably cowed by Anastasia’s guard detail. She could see that the man in the center was a Faruvian, a lean, cat-like being whose prehensile tail whisked silently to and fro at her approach. Faruvians were well known for their grace and dexterity, and Anastasia tried not to let herself be prejudiced by the fact that they were equally well known as the best pickpockets and thieves in the Sector.

  “Captain Mason,” began the Faruvian as she approached, his deep, sonorous voice eerily soothing. “What is the meaning of bringing an assault force to these friendly proceedings?”

  Anastasia tried to hide her smile. “You know as well as I do that this small group is here purely as my personal escort.” She flashed him a stern look. “It will, of course, be completely unnecessary, I’m sure.”

  The Faruvian cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together skittishly. “Of course, of course,” he replied, traces of a smirk evident behind his thick whiskers. “Allow me to introduce myself, Captain. I am Felor Kittamen, and I have been instructed to provide for your every need while you await the negotiations tomorrow morning. If you would follow me …”

  “Tomorrow morning?” asked the Captain. “I am ready to negotiate now.”

  Felor released a soft mewing sound, apparently taken aback by the request. “But, Captain,” he said softly, his tail’s agitations accelerating, “I am afraid that will not be possible today. But I assure you that early tomorrow—”

  “Then I will return tomorrow when you are ready to negotiate.”

  The Faruvian’s face took on a pleading aspect. “Please, Captain,” he began, “we have prepared lavish accommodations for you and your crew. We respectfully implore you to stay as our guests.”

  Anastasia studied the lithe cat-man, wary of his motives. But, she reasoned, she would be at least as safe on the ground—guarded by Dex and his squadron—as she would be in her ship. And the SPACERs had spent the last five years rallying public support behind them, support that would vanish instantly if they were to attempt to harm Anastasia or her negotiating party. It was a frustrating feeling—knowing they were up to something, but not being able to put her finger on it—but Anastasia saw little to be gained by refusing to play along with the Faruvian’s feigned hospitality. “Very well,” she agreed. “I accept your offer.”

  The Faruvian’s slitted pupils narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Good,” he said, his voice again calm and soothing. “Now, if you would follow me, I will lead you to your suite.” He extended a hand toward the building. “I am sure you will enjoy your stay with us, Captain. Welcome to New Berkeley.”

  Anastasia exchanged a quick glance with Dex, who tacitly returned her look of concern. Welcome to New Berkeley, she repeated in her mind. Welcome to New Berkeley, indeed.

  . . . . .

  The airlock door slid open and Alexis watched impatiently as the river of humans and aliens hurriedly filed past. The crowd of people parted for a moment, and she saw Ryan, scanning the deck for her briefly before she caught his eye. In a moment, Alexis was there, embracing Ryan and pecking him affectionately on his cheek, warm and strangely tender for a man as well built as he. An odd look crossed Alexis’ face as she hugged him, borne from her sudden revelation that she had missed Ryan far more than she had admitted to herself. She fought to push from her mind the fact that his arms, always solid as ropes of titanoferrite, felt comforting and comfortable around her slender waist. Catching herself, she reluctantly released him and turned away as she caught herself gazing into his dark eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked, grinning. “Do I have something on my chin?” He lifted his right hand to his face
to search for the offending particle. “What?”

  Alexis smiled. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m just glad to see you.”

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Lexi,” he agreed. “But why—”

  “So—are you ready to go kick some lizard butt?” she asked awkwardly, quickly changing the subject. “Can you believe those damned Vr’amil’een? What the hell are they thinking?”

  “You’d think they would have learned not to mess with us last time,” Ryan said, seemingly forgetting about Alexis’ odd behavior. “Or the time before that.”

  “I think we’ll teach ‘em this time. ConFedCom can’t be too happy that they chose to attack Utopia.”

  “We’re sending everyone we have at them,” Ryan added. “Hey, that reminds me—they’re sending Zach’s squadron, too.”

  “Really?” she asked. “That’s great … I bet he could use the action after his little layoff. And it’ll be great to fight with him again.”

  “Well, who knows how much contact we’ll have with him,” Ryan cautioned. “He could be strafing drop zones on the other side of the planet while we deal with their Armada spaceside.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she agreed. “But it will be good to know he’s out there with us, anyway. Have you seen the latest intel reports of what we’re up against?”

  Ryan beamed her a cocky smirk. “Checked ‘em on the way over,” he replied, hoisting his wrist-worn nanocomputer in the air. “I think I’ve finally perfected this baby.” As if to prove his point, the nanocomputer, untouched by his free hand, projected a sparkling silver flower into the air.

  Alexis reached for the hologram and pretended to smell its petals. “You always knew Arcadian praesanthemums were my favorites.” She smiled, awkwardly realizing that they were now alone in the spacious room.

  There was a brief but noticeable silence. “I guess we had better report to stations before we get under way,” said Ryan.

  “Yeah,” Alexis muttered. “I guess we should.”

  The edge of Ryan’s lip snaked upwards. “Are you sure there’s not something on my chin?”

  Alexis tried not to smile. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sure.”

  . . . . .

  Zach donned his helmet, its comforting form fitting perfectly over his head. He closed his eyes, smiling as the ship’s canopy sealed around him and the fighter powered up, automatically running its preflight checks and startup sequence. It seemed to take longer than usual before the alert board flashed green, but once it had, Zach could do little but wait anyway. After all, the Divine Hammer was still traveling through hyperspace, and he could hardly pop the bay door and take his fighter for a spin to ease his restless boredom.

  He checked the ship’s chronometer, which showed another four and a half minutes until realspace emergence, four and a half minutes before Zach could begin his redemption.

  Four and a half minutes before he could take his accumulated frustrations out on some unfortunate Vr’amil’een pilot’s hide.

  Zach triple-checked his weapons display and ran his fingers over the control stick as he thought about his last encounter with the Vr’amil’een. The vicious lizard-men had first tried to destroy the Apocalypse, and, soon after, Zach had found himself helping to defend Earth itself against a Vr’amil’een assault force that was not supposed to exist.

  But they’ve really crossed the line this time, he thought. Though their strategy was almost identical—using the Confederation’s distractions to launch an assault—their target this time was the resort planet of Utopia, a multiracial planet intentionally devoid of so much as a single military structure. Many Vr’amil’een had even been known to frequent the planet, the most popular destination in the Sector for vacationers, gamblers, con men, and people of all species looking for a place to hide from both the law and civilized society. The amalgamation of peoples the planet attracted was remarkable, and one was as likely to find a well-respected bureaucrat or businessman as a convict or pirate lord. And the mix of alien species on Utopia was second to none, which begged the question: Why would the Vr’amil’een attack here?

  But I’ll make the bastards pay.

  The helpful chime of his alert board found Zach biting his lip and squeezing the control stick to the point of sharp pain in his fingers. He felt the momentary disorientation as the ship slammed back into realspace, and the pounding alarm klaxons did little to ameliorate his discomfort. In a moment, however, the transit sickness had passed, and his comm board flashed a green light indicating that he was free to launch from the fighter bay.

  In an instant, the bay door was open and the fighter had leaped from the deck like an enraged pterodyne, speeding through the opening as Zach powered up his weapons and scanned the sensor grid.

  Damn, he thought. There’s no one out here.

  But he was wrong. It only took a moment before a squad of Vr’amil’een fighters—fifteen, according to the display—became visible against the background radiation emitted by the system’s twin orange suns. As the fighters swarmed toward Zach’s squadron, he had little time to contemplate the immense size of the Vr’amil’een occupation force, and even less time to wonder why the better part of the Vr’amil’een Armada was clustered around a resort planet half a galaxy from the middle of nowhere.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  Anastasia awoke to the scent of blueberries, carried in through the slitted curtain that served as the door to her spacious bedroom. The room was dimly lit, though the Captain could see from the sunlight filtering in through the curtained windows that it was well into daytime already. She rose, donned a robe, and walked through the curtain into the suite’s main room.

  Dex rose from the table at her arrival, standing over a decadent assortment of fruits and pastries that had evidently been very recently delivered to the suite. She smiled as she noticed that a small section had been painstakingly removed from each piece of food on the table, undoubtedly to be tested for poisons or other drugs by her ever-vigilant personal guard.

  “Good morning, Captain,” he said, bowing slightly as she seated herself at the table. “I trust you slept well.”

  “Very well, thank you, Dex,” she replied, reaching for a pear-shaped fruit and taking a delicate bite. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “I have taken the liberty of checking the food for toxins,” Dex replied, changing the subject. “It all checked out,” he added, as if he wouldn’t have mentioned anything if it hadn’t.

  “Thanks,” she replied. “These pear-shaped things really are quite good, by the way, whatever they are. Have some.” She gestured to the trays of food, clearly more than she could eat in a week.

  “No, thank you,” Dex demurred. “I had some SRPs earlier.”

  “You can’t live on ration packs,” she scolded him, momentarily feeling like the Commander’s mother. “Now, eat something.”

  “Actually, you can live on them. They are designed to contain all the essential—”

  “That’s an order.”

  Dex sat, scowling as he picked a pastry from the tray nearest him. “But real food tastes funny,” he protested, sounding a bit like a petulant child. “I—”

  Just then, the door chime rang, and Dex rose from the table to answer it. Of course, the gesture was unnecessary, both because the door could be opened by voice command and because Dex’s squad would have surely screened any visitors before they came anywhere near the door to the suite, but Dex had his hand on his holster nonetheless when Anastasia bid their visitor to enter.

  The door swished aside and in stepped Felor Kittamen, replete with the obnoxious smile that Anastasia had quickly grown to loathe.

  “Good morning, Captain,” he mewed. “I trust you have enjoyed our accommodations thus far?”

  “Everything has been wonderful, Felor, thank you,” Anastasia replied. “When can we begin the negotiations?”

  Felor’s tail agitations increased in speed. “As soon as you are ready, we may begin.”

&nb
sp; “Very well.” Looking toward Dex, she added, “We will be ready shortly.”

  The cat-man smiled his obsequious smile, bowed, and wordlessly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  “I don’t think he was too happy that you insinuated that I would be coming along,” Dex observed as Anastasia returned to her room. “I think he’s offended that you don’t trust him.”

  “Let him be offended, then,” Anastasia replied, quickly dressing and readying herself from behind the bedroom’s curtained doorway. “As long as he realizes that you’ll be by my side for the duration of my stay here.”

  Anastasia heard Dex check the power cells on his phaser. “Let them try something,” he dared. “Oh, how I’d love to pay back the SPACERs … .”

  “I know,” said Anastasia, emerging from her room already fully dressed. “I know, Dex. We all would. But we’re not here for payback. We’re here to try to stop the terrorism and hostilities from escalating.” She paused a moment as she watched Dex sight along his phaser barrel. “We’re here on a mission of peace, remember.”

  Dex belatedly looked up at Anastasia, replacing his phaser in its holster. “Oh, I know,” he said quickly, hooking a pair of concussion grenades to his utility belt. “Peace is my middle name. Not to worry.”

  Anastasia said nothing as she walked past him and opened the door to the hallway. She was greeted by two Commandos, standing at attention at their posts just outside the door. Each end of the hallway was also guarded by a pair of soldiers.

  Dex followed her out, returning the salutes of his men as he followed Anastasia down the short hallway. At their approach, one of the Commandos guarding the east hallway doors opened them and stood at attention.

  On the other side, sitting on a plush bench in the middle of a rounded chamber, was the Faruvian. He rose at the pair’s approach, taking a sidelong glance at the guards at the door before he spoke.