Arkship Conquest

by Niel Bushnell

  ‘No records. Come see me, tell me what he’s doing. In time, you might try the drink.’ He gestured to the untouched glass on the table.

  ‘If you wish it, Scribe.’

  ‘I do,’ he said with chuckle. He was trying to make it sound friendly, but Gina knew she could not deny him. She bowed, feeling angry, and turned to leave.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ the Scribe called after her as the door closed.

  MEANING

  Prince Halstead stared in surprise at the empty holograph display.

  ‘They left?’ he checked, unable to believe it.

  Commander Watson glanced up, smiling. ‘Transit vector confirmed. They’re gone.’

  ‘The Benwick? Are they okay?’

  ‘No damage,’ Watson confirmed.

  Halstead turned to look out of the windows. The arkship Benwick drifted alongside, half hidden in the blue-grey night of the Cluster. The space around the two arkships was empty, just the void of churning gas and the odd fragment of rock tumbling by. ‘Every single time we’ve encountered an arkship from the House of Draig they’ve attacked us. Why turn tail this time?’

  ‘They have their own war to fight now.’

  Halstead frowned. It didn’t feel right. ‘Even accounting for the civil war, they still outnumber us. Valine wouldn’t give up without a fight.’

  Watson checked the operations map data feed. ‘The first wave of missiles dented their Gilgore grid, nothing more. They just turned and left.’

  ‘Check for enemy contact. I want fighter squadrons patrolling the region. We can’t have a Draig assault when the others get here.’

  ‘I’d prefer to move the rendezvous point, just in case,’ Watson advised.

  Halstead nodded. ‘How soon can we transit?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes,’ Watson replied.

  ‘Do it. Transmit the new coordinates to the Benwick and the other members of the Harvest Union. How far out is the Evanine?’

  ‘They should be here in two hours.’

  Halstead smiled, relived that the other Kenric arkship would be with them soon. The two vessels had been apart for almost a month while the Evanine converted fuel in the Belt, and it would be good to have his family together again. ‘Keep them informed.’

  Commander Watson nodded, turning to find her navigation officer.

  Alone at the operations map, Halstead’s mind returned to the message sent by Valine. He activated the retrieval system and replayed the audio file.

  ‘Ark Royal Caerleon, this is Valtais Valine of the House of Draig. I bring greetings of peace to our friends in the House of Kenric. I wish to talk to the prince. There are matters of mutual importance to discuss. I am not your enemy, Prince Halstead, and I offer you a truce.’

  He played it again, trying to understand her meaning.

  Matters of mutual importance.

  I am not your enemy.

  Prince Halstead felt a shudder pass up his spine as the fear that dogged his nightmares began to haunt his waking moments. But he was being irrational, and he dismissed the idea immediately. He did not believe in ghosts. And yet, the suggestion remained in his mind, taunting him. Was Orcades Draig still alive? Halstead’s visions of the future were fleeting and hard to recall, but from time to time, his recollection became lucid, and he thought he saw the disfigured image of his half-brother, still alive.

  He closed the audio file and turned to watch Commander Watson undertake the preparations for Cube transit. He buried his fears deep inside, distracting himself with the detail of his duties. Soon, they would be underway, traveling to their new rendezvous point. His meeting with Bara would have to wait for a few more hours.

  ULTIMATUM

  Commodore Orava double-checked the Haukr’s holograph display before he turned to find Orcades Draig. It was still strange to think of this burned, disfigured old man as his Valtais. There was hardly any physical resemblance left, but there was no denying it was him. The rage was still there, hidden behind his mask of pain, but it made itself visible from time to time. His spiteful streak endured, even if it was less obvious now. Only this morning he had picked a quarrel with Simonson over a minor uniform violation. The discussion escalated quickly – as Orcades no doubt intended it to – until Simonson was dismissed to the brig. Orava couldn’t protect him any longer. Orcades would have his revenge, that was certain, and Simonson would probably disappear one night, or choke on his own tongue, or–

  There was no benefit in speculating, better to put his old friend out of his mind. Orava wasn’t going risk his family over this. Loyalty still meant everything to him. Martin Orava was Draig through and through, but doubts about Orcades lingered in his thoughts.

  ‘Valtais,’ Commodore Orava said, catching the eye of his leader. ‘Signal is confirmed: the arkship Melrakki is in range. The Hundur is also close by. Should I call for reinforcements?’

  Orcades smiled, exposing his blackened teeth. ‘We will not need them. Prepare for battle, but I want to speak to him first. Contact Waffron.’

  Commodore Orava gestured to his com officer, who set about bridging a link between the two arkships. After a brief delay, the woman nodded to the commodore.

  ‘This is Commodore Orava of the Draig arkship Haukr. I wish to speak with Commodore Waffron.’

  The channel fizzed and popped, an elongated silence, then a voice responded. ‘Waffron here. Have you come back for another beating, Martin?’

  ‘We outnumber you. Our other arkships are close by.’

  The voice laughed. ‘You outnumbered us last time. Didn’t seem to make much of a difference.’

  The commodore reddened, aware of his flight deck crew observing him. ‘I have someone who wants to speak to you.’

  Waffron began to laugh. ‘We got your message. You think I’m going to believe Orcades is alive? Don’t bother with your games.’

  Orcades snatched the com from Orava’s hand.

  ‘Commodore Waffron. This is your Valtais. You’ve known me a long time, and you know how much I value loyalty amongst my people. I can forgive this silly dispute, as long as you bow down to me, now. This is your only chance.’

  He waited, listening to the empty channel.

  ‘He’ll be running a voice check,’ Orava said quietly.

  ‘He doesn’t need to do that. He already knows the truth, and he’s afraid.’

  The voice cracked over the com. ‘Haukr, we should meet, discuss this face to face . . .’

  Orcades grinned, activating the com again. ‘No, we do not need to meet. I am your rightful leader. Either you surrender now, and your flight deck crew take you into custody, or – by the gods! – I will not stop until every soul on that accursed arkship is torn in two. Do you hear me? This is your Valtais! You will obey me or die.’

  Waffron responded quickly. ‘Your time is over. You don’t have the same hold over these people as you once did.’

  ‘I give you ten seconds.’ Orcades replied. He nodded to Orava to prepare to act.

  Commodore Waffron remained defiant. ‘We will defend our . . .’

  Another voice could be heard, speaking to Commodore Waffron. It was too quiet to decipher the words, but their intent was clear.

  ‘No,’ Waffron replied. ‘I am in command here.’

  Orcades took the com again. ‘Kill him. Kill the traitor!’

  There was the noise of a scuffle, raised voices, then a single shot rang out. The flight deck fell silent.

  ‘Valtais . . .’ It was a new voice, a younger man speaking over the com. ‘Commodore Waffron is no longer in command. The Melrakki and Hundur are yours to command.’

  Orcades raised his arms in a defiant gesture, and the entire flight deck erupted in spontaneous cheers. ‘One shot. I have taken two arkships with one shot fired!’ The cheers became even louder, echoing over the com from the flight deck of the Melrakki. Orcades was more than a man to them now, he was risen from the dead, a legend reborn in the eyes of his people, here to lead them back to the light.


  Orava joined in the cheers, swept along by the emotions around him, and he realized his doubts had disappeared. He was glad Orcades had returned from the dead. Finally, they had a figurehead to rally around, someone that could bring about an end to this bloody civil war.

  RETRIEVAL

  Gofal shut down his sensory inputs, robbing him of vision and sound. The table and the rest of Library One disappeared, and Gofal was free to let the absorbed texts surround him. He needed to focus on the problem, without external distractions.

  He’d been in the room for almost two days, slowly working through the shelves of stored documents, uncovering the details of life before the Fracture. They painted a vivid picture, of a time of prolonged panic and loss. The evacuation of Earth was the largest movement of people in history, a time of incredible turmoil and hardship. Under tranquil circumstances, the task might just have been possible, but the unfolding crisis had sparked a global war as nation states crumbled under the pressure. Families, conglomerates and other organizations took charge, using any justification to escape the oncoming destruction. Globalization gave way to the age of the individual, and the rule of law crumbled, replaced with a desperate anarchy. But in amongst it all, Gofal found the minutia of daily life carried on. Babies were born, people fell in love, they grew fruit and wrote down recipes for risotto. It was these records that he enjoyed the most, they gave him a much clearer image of life at that time. The other archived data was still missing critical information, and he was certain now that some of it had been deliberately deleted.

  And then there was the logbook from the arkship Haven, written by its captain, Jorge Hannovan. On the surface it appeared to be a typical record of the arkship’s journey from the Earth to the outer edge of the Cluster. Their desperate escape from the Fracture shockwave made for particularly interesting reading, the increasing danger contrasting starkly with Hannovan’s matter-of-fact writing style. But Gofal had noticed something, a rhythm present in the text, hidden in the structure of the paragraphs themselves, something that suggested another level of information.

  It was like reading sheet music, Gofal realized. The mathematical structure consumed him, teasing him to bring order to its chaos. He let the images of the logbook spread out in front of him, so that the entire book was in view, then he played with their configuration, arranging the pages in rows and columns of varying numbers. Finally, he settled on an eight by eight grid, and, like hearing a beautiful symphony emerge from the black notes written on a page, the solution made itself visible to him.

  ‘Ah,’ Gofal said.

  ‘What is it?’

  The voice took him by surprise and he switched his external sensors back on. Librarian Horst was stood opposite him, looking nervous. She was alone today; Otto would be at school.

  ‘Forgive my outburst,’ Gofal said, ‘I was not aware you had entered.’

  ‘Did you fall asleep?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘In a manner of speaking, yes. I switched off my external sensors so that I could better focus on the problem of Captain Hannovan’s logbook.

  She looked down at the journal, turning it round to face her. ‘There is a problem with it?’

  ‘More of a secret. I noticed a pattern to Hannovan’s writing, a very subtle repeating cypher hidden in the shape of the handwritten words.’

  Horst opened the book, staring at the entries written in ink on the yellowed paper. ‘You think there is a code hidden in here? In handwriting?’

  ‘In hindsight, we should have been suspicious. How many handwritten ship’s logs do you have here?’

  She shrugged, not seeing his point. ‘I don’t know what’s in these boxes.’

  ‘But have you ever come across a handwritten journal from this era before?’

  Horst thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think I have.’

  ‘Exactly. Most logs would have been made on computers, a far more efficient way to store data and link it to other relevant pieces of information. This book harks back to a much older era. The author has chosen this method for a very specific reason.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Longevity. Over time, data storage corrupts, or the retrieval system falls out of use and is superseded by a more efficient system. Whole archives must be converted or are lost to history. What better way to overcome this problem than by going back to the original form of data retrieval: our eyes.’

  Horst turned another page, leaning closer to inspect the pen marks. ‘And there’s a secret message in here? Why would he do that?’

  ‘The information was dangerous. It had to be hidden or it would be suppressed and wiped from history. I believe Hannovan wanted to ensure that this information survived.’

  ‘So, he wrote it down, in code?’

  Gofal imagined the captain putting the plan together, and a new understanding dawned on him. ‘No, Hannovan could not have written this. In order for the handwriting to contain the hidden information, it would require the originator to have tremendously accurate dexterity, and processing power in excess of a human mind. This book was written by a bot.’

  ‘A robot?’

  ‘Under Captain Hannovan’s supervision, yes.’

  Librarian Horst stepped back from the book, her arms folded over her body, lost in her thoughts. ‘What is the message? What’s hidden in this book?’

  Gofal hesitated. ‘I need more time to be certain, but it concerns the very origins of the Church of the Infinite. If I’m right, then your entire religion is built on a lie.’

  FREEDOM

  The soft chime of the door woke Prince Halstead from his slumber. He was sat in his armchair, dressed in the formal finery of his state uniform, feeling groggy. He had not planned to sleep, but the warmth of the uniform had drawn him under, stealing the last half an hour from him. The pad was still in his hand, the data on its screen lighting up his features. He glanced at it, seeing the picture of Valtais Valine alongside the intelligence report. They knew so little about her, and that worried him.

  The door chimed again, and he stood, throwing the pad into the empty chair. He knew it would be Commander Watson, here to bring him to the shuttle bay. It was time.

  ‘We’re here?’ he asked the commander.

  ‘Cube transit was by the book,’ Watson said as they walked the short distance from Halstead’s suite to his private shuttle bay. ‘We’ve rendezvoused with the Benwick. The others are on their way. No sign of enemy activity, but I’ve ordered extra scouts to patrol the region. The grid is charging, we should be ready in case anything happens. And your shuttle is cleared for launch with an armed escort.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.’

  Watson sighed. ‘With Valine, you can never think of everything.’

  Halstead stopped by the airlock to the shuttle bay. ‘That’s what bothers me. I’ve been going over her file, but I just can’t figure out why she left us alone. Do you think she was serious about a truce?’

  ‘I don’t believe anything she says,’ Watson said icily.

  The airlock opened, and Halstead felt a cool breeze tickle his skin as the pressure equalized between the two spaces.

  ‘No, neither do I,’ Halstead replied. He stepped inside, nodding his thanks to the commander, and turned to walk towards his shuttle, Hunter One. The ship was about eighteen meters in length, made up of three decks with the cockpit positioned at the highest point. The narrow body tapered towards the three engines at the rear, the polished hull accentuating its curved design. It was an old ship, dating back almost thirty years, but its unblemished silver surface made it appear new and unused. The royal crest of the House of Kenric was emblazoned onto the front of the vessel, just above the open entrance ramp. As Halstead approached the opening, he was glad to see Reader Aditsan was already there, waiting to talk to him.

  ‘You look tired,’ Aditsan noted, his manner as sharp as usual.

  ‘And you look old,’ Halstead replied.

  ‘Age takes us all,’ Reader Adi
tsan said as they boarded the waiting shuttle.

  True, Halstead thought. Today, he felt weary and ancient, a relic from another lifetime who was going back to walk amongst the ruins of the past. He dropped into the chair behind the pilot, looking past him to see the view from the cockpit window. Aditsan sat beside him, stroking his beard in quiet thought.

  The pilot checked his console, preparing to lift off.

  ‘Wait,’ Halstead said, suddenly struck by a feeling of defiance. He wasn’t so old, was he? He was still the same person who had met Bara three years ago. ‘What’s your name, pilot?’

  ‘Flight Officer Hitch, my prince. Jan Hitch.’

  Halstead set his eyes on the controls. ‘I’ll fly, Jan.’

  The pilot looked over his shoulder, struck with uncertainty.

  ‘You’re relieved, Jan,’ Halstead said, standing.

  Hitch nodded, disengaged the engines and moved to the empty co-pilot’s seat. ‘You have control,’ he said.

  ‘I have control.’ Prince Halstead undid his tunic, freeing his neck from its uncomfortable grip, and climbed into the vacant seat.

  ‘Can you fly?’ Aditsan asked.

  Halstead ignored him, opened a channel to the shuttle bay control station. ‘This is Prince Halstead on board Hunter One, to Flight Control. Request clearance for launch.’

  He waited, imagining the moment of surprise in the control station, then a voice responded. ‘You are cleared for launch, my prince. Flight plan approved.’

  The console confirmed his clearance, and Halstead pulled on the control yoke. The shuttle jolted off the bay floor, drifting towards the exit. It had been too long since he’d taken out a ship, and his control was rusty.

  Halstead activated the com again. ‘Control, Hunter One, we’ve cleared the bay. On our way to the Benwick.’

  ‘Safe flight, my prince,’ the voice replied. ‘Handing you over to Benwick flight control for your approach.’

  ‘Confirmed, control. Hunter One out.’