Border Worlds (United Star Systems Book 1)

by J Malcolm Patrick

  The citizens in the streets still utilized ground transportation. There were many automated underground and surface mass transit systems and even personal transportation. The upper city regulated traffic differently. You summoned an air-car and spoke your destination and the computer guided the car to its destination. There hadn’t been a collision in civilian air traffic for a hundred years. In some instances you needed a security pass in order to instruct the air transport to convey you to your destination. Such was the level of security on tech-5 worlds.

  Having spent most of his years in space, Aaron figured this was probably the third time he’d ever used civilian air transport. He still preferred ground transports which he had a measure of control over. Rachael was seated to his right looking out the viewport.

  “Aaron, aren’t you at least going to take a glance? How can you command a starship and get motion sickness in an air-car?”

  He shrugged. “Easy. I can’t feel the difference between the ground and a starship deck,” he said, clenching his teeth. It wouldn’t do good to throw up on her now, not when they were getting along so well. “They really should add inertia compensators to these things.”

  “They decided not to,” she said. “Otherwise it would be as bland as space. I never get tired of it, no matter how many times I’ve been on upper city transports.”

  “Bland is good . . . I’m glad at least one of us is enjoying this,” he said, holding over. “I might need your assistance to disembark. I don’t feel so good.”

  She turned to him.

  “Oh my,” she said. “I didn’t know it was this bad. Wait . . . you’re not going to heave your guts in here are you?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut tight. “I’ve considered your reaction to just such an eventuality and decided to try hard not to.”

  Her lips curled into a thin smile. “Thanks for the consideration . . . I think.”

  He risked a glance up at her and caught her blue eyes. They served to distract him from the motion of the air-car. “So tell me why our pre-arranged signal leads us to a couples club?”

  “Again?” she asked. “Does it sound more convincing the more I explain?”

  “Humor me for the moment. It’s something to keep my brain focused on besides the movement of this evil thing.”

  She laughed. Either she was enjoying seeing him squirm with motion sickness, or she was enjoying a light moment in good jest—albeit at his expense.

  “Couples clubs on Atlas are notoriously shrouded in secrecy and privacy. It’s the best place for a meeting of this kind. Our contact proposed it and we agreed.”

  “I don’t disagree with your reasoning,” he said. “And in any event, you’re in command down here when it comes to the wheeling and dealing.”

  She paused her sightseeing to study him. “Is that how you really think of it?”

  “It isn’t quite how I imagined it would be, but I’m certain even this has been an unusual assignment for you.”

  She nodded. “It has. Usually assignments are unexciting. You go somewhere, you debrief a source, or you meet with a contact, or watch a target for weeks. And the only thing sinister your target does is maybe obtain a fraudulent ticket for an interstellar tour. At least that’s been my experience.”

  The air-car stopped at the disembarking pad affixed to a large octagonal platform. A long gangway stretched almost forever into a vertical structure which ascended through the clouds. A host greeted them and escorted them into the VIP lounge area of the club. The local tech-5 company employees certainly knew how to relax from their high-pressure work schedules.

  Seated in a closed off section away from everyone, it was time to blend in. The host set down the drink Aaron ordered, a dark colored bubbly beverage.

  “What did you order again?” Rachael asked.

  “Forget it, it’s an old Earth drink—carbonated—you wouldn’t like it.”

  She looked at their host. “I’ll have the same thank you.”

  When the host returned with her drink and she had her first sip, her lips curled into a frown.

  He snickered. “It’s my father’s favorite.”

  Music blared from the speakers. Their partition wasn’t sound proof. Probably so for all the booths. The facilitators probably figured the patrons in the booths wanted to hear the music. And if they didn’t, they could go to any one of the other thousands of similar establishments. They all had the same mandate—keeping the citizens happy and productive.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled. That caught him. Her beauty was stunning and it was hard not to stare. It was more evident since she’d dropped her near permanent scowl she seemed so fond of. Her light blue eyes radiated.

  She looked over at him. She’d caught him staring.

  “What?” she asked. But her smile had not completely faded.

  Aaron shrugged. “Nothing, it’s just . . . I like your smile. You should smile more often.”

  She blinked back at him rapidly. Was he too candid? Well it’s a lounge, regardless of their purpose for being here—it was a relaxing atmosphere. And by now, their relationship was informal. No more Lieutenant and Commander.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Maybe I will.”

  Did she just wink at him? He was sure of it!

  Aaron’s eyes quickly shifted back to her, it was his turn to blink rapidly while staring.

  She seemed genuinely concerned. “Are you alright, Aaron? I thought you’d begin to feel better once we disembarked the air-car.”

  Those eyes burned into him.

  “Of course. Yes, I’m fine. Thank you! And how are you?” he blurted out.

  Why couldn’t a hole in the floor swallow him right now?

  His foot rapidly tapped the flooring. Had his host tampered with his drink? Maybe they mixed it incorrectly—it was an odd and old mix to get right but it tasted fine. His cheeks felt warm. He had to calm himself. There wasn’t much light, maybe she couldn’t see his discomfort.

  She might not be able to see him, but her hearing wouldn’t have the same issue, and he was bumbling.

  “Are you sure you’re alright, Aaron?” She studied him for a moment and put her hand on his. “Severe motion sickness can be intense.”

  He flinched at the touch and withdrew his hand. It wasn’t an intentional reaction. He felt so out of control. Her scent itself seemed rigged to intoxicate him. He bit down hard and the pain helped him focus.

  “Aaron, your lip is bleeding,” she said.

  Damnit, he bit down too hard. He touched the offending lip. Looking at his fingers, he saw a small spot of blood.

  Before he could do anything else, Rachael pulled a napkin from the table and dabbed the lip.

  “Hold it there,” she said. “Use the ice from your drink, it’ll stop the oozing.”

  He took the tissue from her and pressed it to the cut lip. It’s just a slight thing and she’s so . . . so caring. So soft and genuine. He didn’t want to look anywhere else, but at her.

  “There you should be good now,” she said.

  As the drum in his chest began to beat at a steadier rate, the activities of the room came back into focus. He heard something familiar in the background. It can’t be. Oh it just cannot be!

  This isn’t happening.

  A song was playing over the lounge speakers it was mum’s favorite. A classic. Very few people besides him would know it. Next to him Rachael was humming, she wasn’t humming right, but she was humming. She turned and saw him looking at her.

  “Aaron, let’s dance!” she said.

  Something was definitely wrong with their drinks.

  “I don’t dance, really. Ask Vee he’ll tell you.”

  “That’s fine! I’ll show you. Come on!” she insisted.

  “No really, I’ve got two left feet. I’d just step on your toes, then you couldn’t stand tomorrow to work and we have a mission—”

  “What?” She cut him off midway. “Oh shut up. It would be strange if we didn�
�t dance, this is a couples club remember?”

  Aaron was sure this had to be some pre-arranged signal she’d deliberately not mentioned. Meeting at a couples club and dancing—how clever.

  She grabbed his arm and yanked him up from the booth.

  Damn she was strong.

  She led him to the dance area where one or two other couples had already begun to dance slowly. He kept his eyes closed and allowed her to lead him on the floor. Like a child who closes its eyes and says to the world you can’t see me. He was lying of course. He knew how to dance. He might not be the smoothest hot stepper, but he knew basic steps. Rachael stopped. He opened his eyes staring directly into hers. She took each of his hands and placed them on her. She stepped slowly and led him.

  Overhead the music boomed.

  She leaned in closer to him with an amused look on her face. But still a genuine one. She was enjoying this!

  “What are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Panic,” he said, inclining his head, “yes, definitely panic.”

  She laughed. And he caught himself smiling.

  Her expression turned serious. “You know you’re really handsome when you smile. You should do it more often.”

  They both laughed again. And for the first time in a long time, he forgot about the Fleet. He forgot about the mission and about Trident. The only thing important was being here, right now, in this moment, with her. Her warmth, the feel of her slightly against him, the music—nothing compared.

  He didn’t think it was possible anyone could make him forget the things that seemed to be the most part of him.

  “My mother loves this song. It’s one of her favorites,” he told her, just as she stepped back and he spun her back towards him. She held his arms around her waist and giggled. There wasn’t a more comforting sound than her giggle.

  “I love the song. I’ve never heard it before, nor have I ever heard anything like it,” she said.

  Bump!

  Either the dance floor got a little crowded or—

  Thick arms closed in around both their necks and squeezed their heads together.

  “Booth six, two minutes,” a voice whispered.

  Aaron had the disturbing feeling of familiarity.

  Although startled he maintained his composure and finished the dance. Rachael leaned towards him. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Describe bad feeling, like we’re about to be whisked away and chopped into fine pieces kind of bad or—”

  “Not quite,” she said.

  She didn’t elaborate. Instead, she grabbed his hand and held it as they strolled over to booth six. The round doors parted sideways and he took a deep breath and stepped through.

  His eyes widened and he blew out his breath as the doors sealed behind them. Despite the dim lighting, the figure standing before them was unmistakable.

  This was the last person he was expecting to see.

  Chapter 18 – Separatists

  Upper City

  Atlas Prime

  They had come a long way to meet their contact.

  Yet, Aaron found himself unable to form words. Out the corner of his eye he noticed Rachael looking from the “stranger” to him and back again.

  “Son,” his father finally said.

  “Dad?” Aaron muttered. The lump in his throat didn’t permit him to say more.

  Patrick Rayne stepped forward and embraced him. “It’s great to see you, son. The things you have to do these days, just to get a glimpse of your own son. You don’t know the hollow feeling inside when they first told me about Trident.”

  Their bond hadn’t diminished although separated by time and space. He spoke to his father as often as he could, but the responsibilities of command meant he’d been unable to see him in the flesh for five years.

  A single tear streamed down Aaron’s cheek.

  He hugged him back. “I’ve missed you so much, dad . . . you don’t know.”

  “I’m pretty sure I do, son.”

  Ahem!

  Rachael!

  They parted and he introduced them. “Rachael, this is Patrick Rayne, my father. Dad, Rachael. Dad, how—”

  Rachael spoke over him. “Mr. Prime Minister, you need to explain your presence here.”

  “It’s complicated, and it’s simple. I am not your contact within the separatists. I am the separatists. Their leader anyway although not even they know it. I am the leader of Atlas and this movement,” Patrick paused, likely to give them time to munch on that. Aaron still stood staring. Patrick continued. “We don’t have much time son, don’t speak just listen. The USS isn’t the USS your mother and I raised you in. After the war, the Fleet in particular began to make USS policy. The civil government had no choice to defer to the demands of our mighty Fleet heroes who saved us from the clutches of the Empire. They used the horrors of the war forever etched on our psyche to push a military agenda. But they took their policies to the extreme, not simply content with ensuring our safety, but rather ensuring it through galactic dominance. In the last thirty years, the United Systems on insistence of the Fleet has executed an aggressive expansion policy. The so-called galactic civil war sees large budget increases to the Fleet while everything else languished. Many former high-ranking USSF commanders are now the leaders of the USS, essentially a passive military coup with the support of fear mongering.

  “Their shortsightedness resulted in resistance. The Mercenary Coalition, the Coalition of Independent Worlds, and League of Non-Aligned Worlds all former member worlds who’ve declared independence from the USS and formed mutual defense and trade treaties. These Conclaves now see the USS as the oppressor, not the Empire. This has created more enemies than they bargained for, all in the name of security.”

  “Dad, you and I have never seen eye to eye on Fleet policy, but I don’t see how you can call it fear mongering when in this case the threat was very real. We lost half our space to the Imperial Navy before a miracle of technology snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. What would have happened had we not developed stealth tech and advanced warp capability?”

  “It’s one thing to ensure your survival, son, and it’s another to reverse the role and become the oppressor. The Empire has needs to expand for resources and population yet our aggressive expansionist policy has claimed almost every habitable resource rich world nearby. What we’re doing is forcing them against a wall.”

  “The Empire is reaping what they sowed,” Aaron said. “Let them expand into the outer arm.”

  “Hardly worth the effort. With minimal exploration of the outer rim who knows how many habitable planets there are. Six months away at high warp is not ideal for an expansion endeavor. We are forcing their hand.”

  Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “Let them come, we’ll turn their clocks back several generations this time. We won’t stop at Hosque.”

  “You’re suggesting genocide, son. Your mother and I didn’t raise you this way.”

  Aaron’s tone turned serious. “I am suggesting that if it comes down to a choice between us and them, then there is no choice. If they attack, we ensure they don’t have the capability to do it again for a very long time.”

  “That’s why I started this movement many years ago. Because I know they’re too many people who think like you throughout the USS. Without the Border Worlds Alliance resources, the USS will think long and hard about their aggressive expansion and ability to dismiss the Empire.”

  “Why all the shenanigans then, dad? Why not as the leader just see your way out? Why the cloak and dagger Separatist movement?”

  “As a junior congressman ten years ago, I established the movement to expose the aggressive policies of the USS. I thought if I could bring the issue to the front, and gain popular support against these policies, then the USS would have no alternative but to listen. It’s taken some time, but now I feel there is enough support for a referendum to leave the USS. I had no plans of being the elected leader of Atlas Prime at the same time, but my ris
e through congress and popularity provided the opportunity and I took it.”

  Aaron shook his head. “You’ve manipulated people towards your views and now you are poised to seal the deal with the referendum. As the Prime Minister, I am sure the support for the Separatist movement skyrocketed with all the subtle resources you had at your disposal.”

  “I really didn’t bring you all this way to argue with you, son. Take this,” Patrick handed him a datachip. “It contains evidence of a conspiracy within the USS to ignite a war between the Empire and us. It seems backing the Empire up against a wall hasn’t provoked them enough, and the warmongers have taken a more direct approach. They’ve used the Separatist movement as a scapegoat. Unknown ships attacking Imperial civilian and military patrols along the border and raids by unknown ships deep into Imperial space. They’ve even attacked USSF assets. I won’t let them push us to war, and certainly not blame us for it.”

  “You’re both missing a big piece of this puzzle,” Rachael interjected.

  They’d both forgotten she was there.

  “Neither of you seem able to see beyond your own biases. Allow me. Let us suggest someone within the USS suspects you, PM Rayne, as the Separatist leader or at the very least a sympathizer. By attempting to blame separatists for the attacks on Imperial space, your movement loses popular support among the people. Then they might see you as nothing more than troublemakers, directly provoking the Empire, and they know the Border Worlds would be the Empire’s first target. Once popular support is against you, your movement is over. It’s likely that whatever plans these conspirators have are already in motion. If that plan is war, then they’ve just secured the entire backing of the USS, without worrying about where the Border Worlds stands.”

  Aaron looked back at his father. “She’s making perfect sense, dad. And I suspect those elements will go to extremes to sabotage your movement.”