Sands of the Solar Empire (The Belmont Saga)

by Ren Garcia

  “Looks old,” Taara said.

  “It is old. Though it doesn’t look like much, the NTH can kill anything with one shot—people, ghosts, robots, monsters, unsubstantial entities, and demons as well. I’ve used it to kill demons before, lots of times.”

  “You’ve fought demons?” Taara said.

  “Sure have. My mother used to like to summon demons at me all the time. I’ve killed a lot of demons with these. Believe me, these things work. You do not want to get shot with an NTH.”

  “Why would your mom do that?” Taara asked.

  “Because she was a Tyrol and a sorceress. Sorceresses don’t play around.”

  A-Ram studied the pistol. “So, I take it your thought is for me to use the MOLLY with abandon, and then when the demon comes to take my soul, you’ll shoot it dead with this pistol.”

  “Sounds like a good plan to me. I’ll shoot the demon dead, and I’ll shoot the Fiend too if he shows.”

  He looked dubious. “I don’t know.”

  Taara laughed. “Well, heck, I’ll do it! I’m not scared. Bel here will look out for me, right? Give me that thing!”

  A-Ram shook his head and handed her the MOLLY. She quickly put it on and stuffed it under her shirt.

  “So, how does it work?”

  A-Ram puzzled for a moment. “Well, it’s hard to explain. You just do what it is you want to do. It’s like moving your arm—how do you explain how to move your arm—you just do it. But, what about the Sisters? They’ll get mad if we use it and not register first.”

  “Well,” Stenstrom said. “Seeing as how there don’t appear to be any Sisters around, and our Com facilities are probably working as well as life support right now how about we’ll let them know first thing once we’re on Bazz? I’m certain they won’t mind.”

  A-Ram was dubious and, after a bout of inner turmoil, nodded. “Yes, yes, I imagine that will be fine.”

  “All right,” Taara said. She turned to Stenstrom. “You got me, Bel?”

  He raised his NTH and cocked the ancient-looking hammer. “I’m ready.”

  Taara took a deep breath and pulled her Marine cap off. She was deceptively good-looking: short black hair, fine brown eyes, her long black sideburns.

  “What are these pieces of hair you’re wearing?” A-Ram asked regarding her sideburns. “Is that common on Bazz?”

  Taara appeared lost in thought. “What? These are Mollocks. They mean I’m not married. Men on Bazz like to know where they stand when approaching a woman they don’t know. Want to get married, A-Ram? If so, I’ll cut them off and give them to you. That’s how we do it.”

  A-Ram giggled.

  Taara, wearing the MOLLY, looked around the darkened corridor.

  “Anything happening?” Stenstrom asked.

  Taara pointed to the hatch. “Well, the first thing we need to do is check up on life support, then get the ship out of this list. The wingtip roll isn’t serious. It’s the nose-down list she’s in that’s troubling. We have approximately thirty-two, point six-four hours until she begins entering the atmosphere. Worse, we have approximately nineteen, point six two-eight hours before the Fleet reclamation team arrives from Planet Fall to recover the vessel—the scouting vessel Demophalon John is en route and under orders. Their boarding the ship will instantly cost Bel his appointment per Fleet rule—that is the main thing.”

  Stenstrom smiled. “Pretty impressive, Taara. How are you knowing all that?”

  “No clue—I just do. Cool, isn’t it?” She suddenly pointed at Stenstrom. “Someone very dear to you is on that ship.”

  “What?” Stenstrom asked.

  Taara blinked. “What’d I say?”

  “You said someone very dear to me is on the scouting ship that’s coming for us.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. I don’t think I know anybody on the Demophalon John.”

  “I don’t remember saying that.”

  A-Ram chuckled. “That’s the MOLLY playing tricks on you. Happens sometimes. So then,” he said, “how are we going to get the Seeker out of its terminal orbit?”

  Taara walked down the corridor. “We’re going to go three sections forward to access point J-91. We shall then enter J-91 and crawl five hundred feet forward until we arrive at engineering carbuncle 2. Once there, we will shunt eleven percent of the grav-pack’s stored solar power to the outboard wing thrusters where we will stop the lateral roll. Using the same technique, we will then thrust the nose upward and climb to one-hundred seventy-four thousand feet where we will enter a standard D-Zone parking orbit right down the middle, and, thus, the crisis shall be averted. That’s what the reclamation team is planning to do.”

  Taara shook her head and smiled. “Wow! Who just said that?”

  “You did. What about life support?” A-Ram asked.

  “We can check its levels, but there’s not much we can do to get it going without engine power.”

  Stenstrom tossed her short black hair. “A-Ram, when should we expect our supernatural visit from the demon?” he asked, his NTH pistol at the ready.

  “After she’s done.”

  They walked to the next hatch, and A-Ram and Stenstrom started pulling on it again with the pole.

  “No, no, fellas, look . . .” Taara casually approached a side panel, opened it, and pulled a small lever. The hatch opened easily. “See, it’s easy if you know what to do.”

  “That would have been nice to know a while ago,” Stenstrom said discarding the pole with a clank.

  They made their way forward two more sections and found access point J-91. Taara pulled the cover off and slid into the small space, using her fingers to pull herself ahead.

  She abruptly came back out. “You guys hear a fire? I hear fire—cracking, popping.”

  “I don’t hear anything,” Stenstrom said. “Do you, A-Ram?”

  “No.”

  Taara shrugged it off and re-entered the access point. Shaking a fresh Holystone, Stenstrom followed, with A-Ram last. Looking at the bottoms of Taara’s boots and the holstered muzzle of her SK, he crawled along after her, ready to use his NTH should a demon pop up. The noise the rolling ship was making was pronounced in the tube. Stenstrom could hear a steady “buuuuuuurrrrrrrrr” as the ship creaked relentlessly.

  But then, he thought he heard the sound change. Suddenly the creaking became:

  “bbbbeeeeelllllmmmmoooonnnnnnnnttttttttttttttttt . . .”

  And that wasn’t all. Stenstrom thought he could hear the sounds of people talking beyond, footsteps, a distant pounding, and, most disturbingly, a slight laugh.

  “Shhh,” he said. “You hear laughing, A-Ram?”

  “No.”

  Stenstrom was relieved. “Good. I must be hearing things.”

  “I hear screaming,” A-Ram said.

  * * * * *

  Sometime later, they crawled to Engineering Carbuncle 2. Stenstrom had spent a fair amount of time on starships, but he had never seen anything like it to this point. It was a cluster of ducts, cable trunks, connectors, and valves—it was like looking at a partially dissected elbow-joint, with all sorts of systems running here and there. Taara was already busy unplugging thick cables from an open access point.

  “What do you have here?” he asked her.

  “These are the power cables for the grav pack. Solar energy comes in, and is stored in the central grid, where it’s then distributed throughout the ship via these cables. Right now, Section 84 in the rear of the ship is without gravity as I’ve unplugged it. I’m going to take this power and run it over here to the outboard thrusters.” She blinked and smiled. “Boy—I’m probably really MOLLYing this all up—better not go anywhere with those pistols, Bel, since I’ll probably have a whole slew of demons after me before long.”

  A-Ram came into the carbuncle. “That was horrible,” he said, his leggings grimy from the crawl. “There is somebody back there; I know it.”

  Taara pulled the cable and plugged it into a connector hidden by a mass of wir
es. “There,” she said. “The wing thrusters should now have power—not much, as the grav-pack doesn’t store a whole lot of juice, but it should be just enough to ease us out of the roll.”

  Stenstrom gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Great work, Taara. So, what’s next?”

  “Next, we have to make our way to the bridge and give the wheel a yank. That should do it.”

  “What about life support?” A-Ram asked.

  “According to these gauges, it’s not bad. The ship isn’t generating any fresh air, but a craft this size, fully pressurized, will have enough air to last the three of us quite awhile. It might not smell all that great, but it’ll do.”

  A-Ram looked around. “Let’s get started—and let none of us get separated until the issue with the demon—and the Fiend— has been resolved. And I don’t think it’s as easy to kill off a demon as you think it is, Bel. They can be pretty clever, so I’m told.”

  They made their way from the carbuncle to the main corridor. Opening the hatches one by one, they made the long trip into the frontal section of the ship. They opened a lift door and, using a set of service rungs, began climbing.

  “How far up is it?” Stenstrom asked.

  “Four decks,” Taara replied.

  In the drafty, dark lift shaft, they heard more noise, a groan coming up from below. “Did you hear that?” Stenstrom asked, pulling his NTH.

  They heard, in the distance, a thin voice saying: “. . . Taara . . . Taara . . .”

  “Oh, that’s creepy,” she remarked.

  Stenstrom felt very concerned for her. “Taara, I shouldn’t have let you do this. I should have done it.”

  “Why—I’m not scared. I wanted to do it. Besides, you’ll protect me, should I need it, right? Let `em groan all they want.”

  Stenstrom was impressed by her courage.

  They continued climbing a few more decks and then opened the door to the bridge.

  The Bridge.

  Stenstrom had a quick flash in his head. The white-shirted crewmen manning their posts; the bustle, the excitement. Countess Sygillis of Blanchefort in her elegant gown sitting in the command chair (shoeless as always, no doubt), and Captain Davage prowling behind ever ready to grab the helm. He could hear the voices, the shouted orders. He savored the thought.

  Wait!

  One of his Holystones designed to detect danger was rattling in his HRN pocket. Something was waiting for them on the bridge. “You two wait here a moment, I want to check the bridge and make certain it’s safe. There might be some floor boards missing or dangling cables still carrying a charge. Give me a moment.”

  Taara and A-Ram waited in the lift shaft as Stenstrom stepped into the bridge. It was incredibly dark. Even with his Holystone he could see very little, it was like a wall of darkness inhabited the bridge.

  “How’s it look?” Taara asked from the shaft.

  “Just a moment.”

  He checked his HRN to see which Holystone was rattling. It was his Astral Plane detector, and that gave him great pause, for he’d had a number of encounters with the Astral Plane throughout his life and none of them had been pleasant. He reached into his HRN and pulled out several blue Holystones which could block the Astral Plane and close any doors which might be open. He threw them into the dark and they scattered.

  Their effect was immediate. The wall of blackness pulled back. The Astral Plane played havoc on one’s perceptions, he saw all sorts of things as the blue Holystones began to work. He saw sprays of color and momentary glimpses of the bridge. He thought he saw the floor studded with cruel, jaw-like metal traps designed to capture large animals. There was a vortex of movement and the doorway to the Astral Plane shut. His detector went quiet. After another moment, the bridge seemed to be clear. It was dark, but his Holystone lit it up in soft yellow light. He carefully stepped out, looking for traps.

  “Are we good, Bel?” Taara asked.

  He trudged about, not finding anything. The blue Holystone worked. He’d have to add a few more protections later to further secure the bridge. “Yes, I think so. Come on in.”

  They stepped in. Save for the yellowish light from their Holystones, the bridge was in pitch dark. Detail emerged as they walked in. The sensing positions were covered with tarps, the navigator’s chair was missing entirely, and the Ops panel was removed. The Missive’s station was still intact. Braided wire and bits of wall material lay about on the floor. The emergency lights, long since drained, lurked in the corners.

  Someone had trapped the bridge.

  Hints of movement. A-Ram was certain he’d seen somebody.

  Stenstrom waved his Holystone—his thoughts dark. Who could have done this?

  The helm wheel emerged from the gloom. It was turning slightly, moving with the ship’s roll. Seeing it reminded him of his mentor, Captain Davage, and his Countess and of Lt. Kilos. This bridge was their place, full of their memory, and he pushed the dark thoughts from his head. The bridge was theirs. It was now safe.

  He walked up to the helm and gently touched its worn surface. “Captain Davage once held this in his hand,” he said with awe. “The wonders he once worked with this wheel.”

  A-Ram approached it. He looked at the wheel—eager. “May I?” he asked.

  Stenstrom stepped back, and A-Ram planted his feet.

  “My whole life, I’ve always wanted to hold one of these for real—it was a dream I had.”

  Stenstrom bowed. “Dream no more, A-Ram. Do your thing; the helm is yours.”

  He smiled and put his hands on the wheel. He took a deep breath. “What are your orders, Captain?”

  Stenstrom blushed. “Taara, which way are we rolling?”

  “To the starboard,” she said, rooting around near the vacant Ops station. “Three quarter’s roll per minute.”

  “Very well, roll three-quarters to port and ease us out.”

  “Aye, sir. Rolling three quarters to port,” he said.

  He turned the wheel, fought with it for a moment, and then eased the roll to a stop. “That was a lot harder than I thought it would be. There’s a ton of resistance.”

  “The ship’s not working right now, silly,” Taara said. “Get a working ship, and it’ll move like glass.”

  With A-Ram standing behind the wheel, Stenstrom and Taara surveyed the bridge.

  “Well, the Ops panels are gone, along with Navigation. The Missive’s station appears fine, and the sensing arrays appear to still be here, as they are rather obsolete, and it looks like the plumbing’s out in Captain’s Office—I mean—your office, Bel.”

  “Looks like we’ll have a long walk to use the bathroom for now. What else do we have?”

  Taara flopped down into the Missive’s chair. “That’s it—ship’s pretty much dead. The gas-compression engines are still here, but without the SM coils to power them, they’re not much use. At least it’s quiet in here, and the air’s not too stale yet.”

  “Do we have Com at all?”

  “No way.”

  Stenstrom shook his head. “Well, here we are. It’s not much at present, but it’ll have to do until we get to Bazz. We have the whole ship to spread out in, but I advise we stay together until I can kill the demon coming for Taara’s soul.”

  “Thanks,” Taara said.

  “Don’t forget about the Fiend, Bel,” A-Ram added.

  “How could I forget? Taara, you can have my office to sleep in until we get matters sorted out.”

  “I’m not some tea-drinker from Kana, Bel. I don’t need a room to myself. I can handle the two of you.”

  He laughed. “Fine then. So, let’s to it. Let’s get the ship out of this list.”

  7 Lt. Gwendolyn

  The Seeker was now in a high Zone D parking orbit, safely pulled away from the slow, rolling dive it had found itself in. The demon that was supposedly coming for Taara’s soul still hadn’t shown, and Stenstrom wished for it to come so they could get its killing over with.

  Since arresting the decaying orbit
, they had managed to get a little power to the bridge by denying gravitational service to some of the rear areas of the ship. They now had dim lights, partial forward and ventral sensing, and port and starboard roll. They also had a feeble stream of stale air pushing in at 1/24th life support from a ventilator.

  They also got the backup com system running.

  It wasn’t long before a message came chattering in.

  Appearing dimly in the flickering Holo-cone was a stern-looking woman dressed in a lady’s Fleet Tremblar uniform. From what Stenstrom could see, she was a rugged woman with dark brown hair tightly pulled back under her large triangle hat. She had a strong chin and a big forehead with either gray or green eyes. Very attractive, in a husky, solid sort of way. Behind her, crewmen bustled about. She stood with polished grace and had a long rapier-like weapon hanging at her side.

  She spoke, her voice slightly garbled from the low power of the com.

  “Are you Paymaster Stenstrom, Lord of Belmont?”

  Stenstrom, unlike the famous Captain Davage who preceded him, liked the captain’s chair, so he dramatically sat down in a flutter of his HRN coat and cleared his throat. “Aye, I am. Belmont-South Tyrol to be precise. Well met. And you are?”

  “Lt. Gwendolyn, Lady of Prentiss, commanding officer of the scouting ship Demophalon John. What is your situation, sir? Fleetcom is very worried about you.”

  Stenstrom looked around and leaned forward. “Are they? Half-scuttled, that is our situation, as well they should know.”

  “What is the status of your life support, please?”

  Stenstrom took a deep breath. “A little stale, but not bad.”

  Lt. Gwendolyn tried to look around, but apparently could see little through the poor connection. “Paymaster, my Hospitaler has a few important questions for you, if you would be so kind.”

  A female Hospitaler, wearing the usual black and silver uniform of a Samaritan, pushed her way into the Holo-cone. She, like the captain, was a solid-looking lady with blond hair twisted into a number of long, sinuous braids decorated with beads. Her silver helmet, winged in the usual fashion, sat askew on her head. “Paymaster Stenstrom, well met. I am Morgan-Jeterix of the Ephysians, Lady of Thompson, Grand Order of Hospitalers. Might I say I had the honor of serving with your father for a time—truly a goodly and honorable man.”