by Jim Rudnick
His deep breathing began with long, very, very deep breaths that would pump his blood full of oxygen, again, and again, and again. The time limit was no longer than sixty seconds as to how long a vac jumper could build up their oxygen or when they had to jump. Some jumpers took only a few quick snorts of air then waited to propel themselves at the jump-curtain, while others took the full minute, trying to build up the O2 that they’d need. Then they’d go out there with all the rest of the competitors to test their enduranceuntil they felt the point was reached to hit their exit-pod button to move them to the exit force-field and out of the jump. Such were Jump Games and the rules were simple. The one who outlasted all others out in the arena won. And that was it, Jocko knew … all he had to do was to outlast them all.
Jocko knew that for this training round, he would be out there for around nine seconds or so, nothing to really worry about, but he still used up almost fifty seconds of breathing buildup time. Then at the bell, he began his sprint to the jump-curtain, exhaling every bit of air from his lungs as he built up speed.
When he hit the curtain, his lungs were empty, and it was like the first time all over again. He was back on Neria Prime, the close in world of the system where he had spent almost twenty years mining the iron pits; he remembered the mining bubble explosion right behind him as he fled across the shale and red sands toward the truck ... no air-pack ... alone under the sun ... his skin drying so quickly he could hear it begin to crackle as he sprinted to the force field doorway. He had made it too, and now almost two years later, here at the Nerian Station, 33,000 miles above the system’s capital planet, he sailed weightless in the vacuum, the stars ignored ... his past now ignored ... with only that green catch-curtain ahead as his focus. His leather-like skin now didn’t even blister like some of his past competitors did, nor did his eyes bug out; instead his toughened body starred slowly to the left along his axis as the curtain came up—and he was through and safe once more.
He ran off his speed for a few quick steps and then turned and jogged back around the training gap to the start area on the other side, mentally checking off that yes, everything had again come through a vacuum jump with no side effects. If only all had back on Nerian Prime, he thought, but then shook that off and finished his job at the comm station with the trainer.
“So, let’s take a look-see, alright?” the trainer said.
Jocko nodded, and they both watched a slow-motion replay of his start, jump, his catch-curtain entry, and then landing and finish.
The trainer nodded at Jocko.
“Other than that little veer to the left that your body does ‘cause you push off with your right foot so hard, another perfect jump, Jocko. At 75 yards, your vacuum time was only a bit more than 9 seconds, so well short of the 15-second barrier, and besides you have already done 100 yards, so no worries there at all. In fact, nothing to do now, but go for lunch,” he said as he closed down the comm station and looked across at the russet-colored man.
“Right, let’s get back together say at 1400, okay with that?” Jocko said, not even bothering to wait for an answer as he walked away to towel off the bit of sweat that always covered his body after a vacuum jump as water always came out through a jumper’s pores. He walked off, not thinking about the earlier vacuum jumps, or training, or even becoming a Nerian caliphate citizen member … but of Neria Prime and times lost ...
# # # # #
Around the Nerian Station were docked and moored ships from many of the RIM Confederacy worlds all gathered for tomorrow’s RIM Vacuum Jump Games. There were DenKoss water ships and Leudi cargo freighters, and choir ships from Randi docked beside hunting ships from the Duchy of d'Avigdor, while four or five Barony of Neres cruisers sat out at the fringe of the gathering ships, all docked and gantryed together. Chandler tenders were busy ferrying out supplies, and repair droids were blinking their notice lights as they swarmed out to the various maintenance tickets they were programmed to service. Lying at high-orbit, the Station was a mass of modular wings and units and had been pieced together over the last forty years in the belief that what happened here on the Station would never happen below on the world that owned it.
The Caliph himself, Sharia Al Dotsa, believed as did all of his citizen members that their nine-world Caliphate would be better served by putting vices of the flesh, of the mind, and of the soul off planet, and hence the growth and huge current size of the Nerian Station in high-orbit. The Station, of course, was still patrolled by the Nerian Ramat, the army of the Caliphate, in their crisp brown khaki uniforms and their polished indigo blue boots. Even now, their small indigo blue shuttles flitted among the off-world moored craft, ferrying their own Customs/Health officers from ship to ship. Many of them were gathered still at the home-craft only docks, awaiting further orders, and many still were moving off to find other newly arrived ships.
Tanner turned back from the forward view screen to make his initials in the log screen in the right-hand side armrest of his captain’s chair and counted themselves as just such a newcomer.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Bates the Marwick Ansible officer of the day said, “Permission to board for Nerian Customs/Health request from port aft mooring station …” and awaited Tanner’s wishes. Bates was a good Ansible officer, Tanner knew, but surely, he could have handled this himself, he thought.
“Um … anything special about that request, Lieutenant?” Tanner queried, his voice quiet in the normal Bridge hubbub of a mooring at a space station. Helm was busy with final vectors to arrange for gantry issuing, and while Tactical had no duties, Tanner could see that Lieutenant Rizzo was running diagnostics.
“Sir, not really … but I did think that what with this being the Nerian Caliphate and all, that I’d at least check their boarding officers. And Sir, one of them is a Nerian Caliphate Royal, least that’s what his blue robe says and his ID states …” he finished off, his voice just as quiet as his captain’s had been.
“Odd, a bit, I suspect,” Tanner said but then nodded back to allow them to board. “Keep me apprised, Lieutenant, of where they go and whom they talk to—all the while let’s not let them know we’ve got ship’s surveillance on them, shall we?” he said and watched as Lieutenant Rizzo now with a surveillance program to quickly setup coordinated with his Ansible officer.
“Helm, we all done?” Tanner asked as he stood to quickly go to his ready room just off to starboard. His Helm officer nodded and then confirmed that yes, all was done mooring wise, the gantries were rolling up to their aft boarding ports, and the Station chandlers were awaiting supply orders. Tanner nodded to his XO, and Templeton took over the work needed to get that started. Tanner retired to his ready room.
On screen on the ship’s computer terminal, he quickly logged in and notified Lieutenant Rizzo that a sub-feed of the Caliphate Royal’s surveillance should be sent here to this screen, and in a moment he was looking down at the Marwick aft boarding port. He noted the usual exchange of credentials from the Customs and Health officers in brown khakis to his Lieutenant Greeley who was today’s Deck officer. Tanner looked behind them to see what this fuss was all about, and he whistled to himself.
The Caliphate Royal was tall, more than six and a half feet, he judged, and clad as usual in the royal Caliphate indigo blue robe and shawl, an ajrak colored with fields of brown and the indigo blue in diamonds among the design. No one but a Royal could wear that style or color, Tanner had heard, but he had never actually seen one before. “I wonder,” he said as he watched the boarding team make all the needed exchanges and questions were asked and answered. The Caliphate Royal just nodded assent when asked a question or two by the Marwick lieutenant and offered up nothing more. Not a bit of trouble, Tanner thought, and he was about to turn off the surveillance feed when he heard the Royal address Lieutenant Greeley directly.
“Kind Sir,” the Caliphate Royal said, “I am Nusayr al-Rashid, the new ruler of Olbia, one of the Caliphate realm worlds, and I wondered if it might be possible to meet wit
h your Captain? Captain Scott, I believe, but only for a short time?” he said, his voice as polished as the indigo boots he wore. He simply stared at the lieutenant and said nothing more.
Lieutenant Greeley, however, was a bit flustered by this odd request and showed it to a degree.
“Sir, I can certainly ask—I mean, yes, of course, I will ask but I can offer, Sir, that as we’ve just moored here off your Station that the captain is normally very busy, tied up in fact with all the various command duties that accompany such a docking. But please, if you just give me a moment …” he said as he quickly punched in an inter-ship comm link and spoke quietly to the daily Comm officer. Tanner jumped in quickly and affirmed that the Nerian Royal was to be taken to the conference room on Deck One and offered full ship’s hospitality while Tanner moved to the central axis turbo-lift to drop to Deck One to meet this strange Royal.
“Wonder what he wants, and more, what he needs,” he voiced to himself as the lift moved down the thirty decks. Tanner moved over to the conference doors and saluted the visitor’s guard, a CPO in the Marwick Provost Corps and was saluted in return.
Inside the conference room, the Royal sat casually in one of the comfy sofas that was placed over at the far wall of the room. Tanner joined him and sat opposite taking his cues from this Royal and looked and waited. Moreover, he did not wait long.
“Your admiral, Admiral McQueen, has asked me to relay a message to you. Personally,” he said, “I think that this is very different, but we owe the admiral—the Caliphate does, I mean, and as such, the Caliph Sharia Al Dotsa, my first cousin, has charged me with this message, Captain Scott.” He half-turned to look out of the starboard side windows and watched as another brown and indigo blue shuttle cruised by slowly … aiming at a group of off-station moored ships up against the curve of the galaxy and the glow from within.
Tanner waited as he thought that this was a very strange messenger to carry such a seemingly secretive message from the admiral, but he sat and awaited same.
“Your admiral has sent just this, Captain,” the Caliphate Royal said very clearly and succinctly.
“‘Beware the Barony,’ and that, I’m afraid is the sum total of the message, Captain.”
“Sum total?” Tanner inquired, his voice rising at the end of that phrase.
“All is what I meant, Captain. I have repeated the full three words that I was given and have left nothing out. That is what the message was in its entirety, Captain. On that and our sacred scrolls, I swear,” the Caliph’s son added and bowed his head as all Caliphate citizens did when they swore on their most religious artifacts, their sacred scrolls.
Tanner nodded. He looked away out the conference room windows for a full minute, trying to determine why the admiral had sent such a message, when in his opinion, only he had any idea of what was to occur in the next few days. He nodded once again to the message bearer and looked the taller man in the face.
“Was there anything else, any time line or anything at all given with that message?” he inquired once again.
The Caliph’s son shook his head in the negative sense and rose at the same time, the blue hem of his ajrak swirling around his ankles.
“Not at all, Captain. The message relayed was all that there is … and I must now go, kind Sir. Perhaps I will see you at our Jump Games tomorrow, or you may one day visit me on Olbia,” he added very politely as he bowed deeply and swept away through the now opening door and to the landing ports, his Provost guard now trailing behind him.
His message had been timely, Tanner thought, but in fact he was already aware of the Baroness and her Pirates … but as to how the admiral had found that out, he had as yet no inkling of that.
Or was that it? Maybe the admiral was referring to the Jump Games themselves … and while he knew that the Barony had entrants in the games, surely there could be no way to “rig” a vacuum jump to win. Either the jumper made a successful jump, or they didn’t … and died trying. So … why the warning Tanner wondered as the admiral knew nothing about the upcoming confrontation with the Pirates.
He pondered on that for a minute or two more as he watched the Caliphate shuttle appear from the port side of the ship and slowly move off and back toward the Station areas that it was directed to. Behind the Station lay the bulk of the galaxy, foaming with light and dust clouds, but here at the edge of the RIM, all was bordered by the blackness of inter-galactic space. Beyond the RIM lay misty small galaxies at great distances, big enough to be impossible to try to breach using the current FTL drives that powered all inner-galactic travel. And even though there were a few stars that lay against that black cloud, Tanner knew that they were the very edge of the Rim itself, and as Confederacy members, he would be visiting them too in the future. But not today … today it was a simple police action for the Jump Games. Least of our worries, he thought, but still needed. Bloody hell, he added to that realization and moved back toward the turbo-lift and the bridge.
# # # # #
Most of the ship’s officers were asleep this night as the CS Valiant ran her training course off the world of Roor, about midway between the Duchy and the Barony. This narrow strip of space owned by neither world system was only five light-years thick, yet held more than a dozen worlds with allegiance to neither the Duke nor the Baroness.
Called the Free Channel by many, these were the worlds that were courted at some length by both of the two powers lying to either side. Yet most had deferred any choice to be made by playing one against the other, Cadet Ensign Radisson knew, more perhaps as he was a Roorian and felt almost at home back in the Free Channel area.
Add in the Free Channel cloud nebula that was more than a light-year thick, with its swirling red, magenta, ochre, and orange wisps, this supernova remnant partially blocked the Free Channel space as it remained like a sentinel between these two powers.
As Comm officer, he was on duty at his station while the clock above the ship’s front screen slowly climbed the minutes left to a full twenty-three hundred hours. Almost time to call them, he thought.
Around him on the cruiser’s Bridge were three other cadets, all acting ensigns like himself, and the lone ship’s officer, Lieutenant Brent, sitting and almost dozing in the captain’s chair. His fellow ensigns were all making like they were bored, trying to find something to do. If they were like me, Radisson thought, they’d be sweating under their tunics. Fraser was over on Tactical, like he was paying attention, but he tilted his head as he glanced at Radisson too often with a look to the clock on every other head tilt. Jorgenson was acting helmsman tonight, and he fiddled with his TachyonDrive thrust settings, trying to coax just one more notch out of the engine. And Smith, over on the Ansible, was listening to God knows what, but his eyes never left the clock that now said three minutes more.
At a moment after the clock signaled via the chimes that it was twenty-three hundred hours, the turbo lift doors opened and Cadet Ensign Rand appeared with a tray of coffees and snacks for the Bridge crew who still had more than three hours left on their duty shift. As he carefully walked to the Tactical station, behind and to port of the captain’s chair, he placed the tray with its mugs and closed boxes carefully on the display table.
“Compliments of the bakers down in the galley, lads,” Rand said, nodding at each of the cadets who came over to pick up their mug and box.
“Not a lotta fresh-baked smell,” sniffed Lieutenant Brent, as he slowly straightened out in the captain's chair and gestured to Ensign Rand. “Maybe those cadets need some more time on Donuts 101,” he said with a grin.
“Not to worry, Lieutenant, as they didn’t send one up for you anyways,” Cadet Rand said as he walked the mug of steaming coffee over to the captain's chair and placed it gently on the armrest.
The lieutenant shrugged and reached for his mug as Cadet Radisson then spoke up.
“Not to worry, Lieutenant, you can have mine,” Radisson said as he arose from the Comm station and walked over to the captain’s chair. As h
e walked, he opened up the closed box pulled a sidearm from within, and pointed it directly at the lieutenant, stopping directly in front of the surprised officer.
“What in hell do you think you’re doing, Cadet?”
“Just sit tight, Lieutenant. I must ask you not to move, nor to bother trying to ring an alarm,” Radisson said, as Cadet Smith nodded to him.
“All your chair functions have been severed, and I’m sorry to say that you are our first prisoner, uh, Sir. This is a mutiny,” he added, his voice surprisingly strong.
Around him, the other cadets also pulled out their recently acquired sidearms and moved away from their assigned stations. Jorgenson moved to the turbo-lift while Fraser and Smith flanked the captain’s chair.
“Mutiny?” Lieutenant Brent said with a large dose of incredulousness in his voice.
“There has never been a mutiny on any Academy ship. There’s no place to go out here, no place to hide, and the whole damn Rim Navy will be on your tail in less than a day. Mutiny? What, were the donuts not so good, Cadets?” he said as he began to rise.
It was at that point from behind him that Fraser keyed his stunner and the lieutenant immediately slouched back, knocked out from the sidearm and asleep for at least a half-hour.
