Fleetfoot Interstellar: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 1

by P. Joseph Cherubino

  “One ‘aye’ is sufficient, but I appreciate your enthusiasm. Excellent work,” Drexler said, and closed the channel. He turned to Darzi and said, “Lieutenant, let’s see how dumb these remaining Lizards are.”

  “What if they’re not?”

  “Then we have tobacco. Just follow my lead,” Drexler said, moving over to the supply closet where several Reptiles were locked away. He picked up a random heavy object that looked like some kind of tool and pounded on the door with it. “Hello!” Drexler shouted, “Are you in there?”

  Pounding and hissing formed the response on the opposite side of the door. “I still can’t understand you! Just hang on! We are trying to free you now. The door is stuck.” To illustrate his point, Drexler banged on the door again. “Oh! Wait a minute. I think I’ve got it.”

  Drexler backed away to the door controls. He subvocalized over secure comms to Tara and Huey, who stood just outside the door, rail pistols primed with non-lethal rounds. Darzi positioned herself far from the supply room door and arranged her jacket for easy access to her rail pistol. Drexler mouthed the word “Ready,” and punched the button that opened the door. He picked up his stogie again and puffed nervously.

  “There you are! Are you OK? It took us a while to free you.”

  “Who are you!” the first Lizard to leave the closet demanded. He was larger than the others. His rank insignia showed he was a junior crewman, just like the others emerging from the small space behind him. But, since he was larger and more aggressive, he was the leader of his group.

  “My name is Arthur Sevrenstein of the Trade Union Rescue Division. We got your distress call.”

  “We made no distress call.” the Reptile replied. He was of the long-snouted variety, with wide-set eyes that moved in unison. The Lizards behind him looked more like old-earth geckos with much thinner skin.

  “Well, not ‘you,’ exactly,” Drexler backpedaled, “but your ship sure did. Standard Trade Union automated beacon. You’ve got major system failures here. We almost didn’t make it. Our shuttle crashed in your cargo bay.”

  “Crashed? Something attacked us. Was it you?”

  “Attack? No, no. Why would you think such a thing?” Drexler asked, pouring it on thick. “Why, I’ve never heard of Trade Union Members attacking each other inside the trade lanes.” He turned to Darzi and asked, “Karen, have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  Darzi responded, barely hiding her amusement at suddenly becoming “Karen.”

  “Ah, no, Mr. Sevrenstein. No, I have not. Maybe our friend is in shock.”

  The Reptile was doing far better at resisting the tobacco fumes than his colleagues behind him. The other crew members followed the glowing end of Drexler’s cigar as it bobbed up and down while he spoke. He puffed again, making sure to spread the smoke around as much as he could.

  “You say you are from the Trade Union. Why do you have illegal substance?”

  “This? You mean tobacco? Ah, we are from the Federated Americas, where tobacco is legal. I am from The Brasilia. In fact, my home is where most tobacco comes from. It was such a difficult rescue, I forgot the silly rules. Smoking gives me such relief.” Drexler produced a cloud to emphasize his point, then set the trap. “I hope you won’t report us for this.”

  “Maybe if you give us some, we won’t report you,” one of the smaller crew members said, peeking around the waist of the large Alpha.

  “Of course, I would love to share,” Drexler said. He moved across the bridge where his box of twenty cigars lay on a control console. He was worried about being attacked when the Lizards emerged from the closet, but that was nothing compared to the fear he felt when the Lizards rushed the box. He stepped out of the way quick as the Lizards fell over each other to grab cigars. The Alpha Lizard was first in the scrum. Several cigars were destroyed in the process.

  “Boys, boys!” Drexler urged, “There’s plenty for all of you. Just hang on, let me get you a light.”

  It took a few minutes to get all the cigars lit properly. Drexler took his time showing the reptiles how to smoke properly. Their strange, inflexible lips made it hard for them to get suction, but they managed in spite of this. Darzi’s hand moved closer to her sidearm when Drexler closed the humidor and put it under his arm. Even with lungs full of smoke, the Lizards kept their eyes on the source. Drexler worried that he may have underestimated Reptilian desire.

  “So, boys,” Drexler said with a grin, “Let’s talk about your fine ship, shall we?”

  And talk they did. The more they smoked, the less inhibited the Lizards became. Drexler opened a channel to Reggie, who recorded the entire conversation. It didn’t take too many questions for the Lizards to reveal every order their ship received for the past six months. The Lizards tried to veil their divulging of sensitive information, but they were too stoned to realize exactly what they were giving away. The juiciest bit of information gleaned was that all of the remaining crew members were considered the weakest. They were the ones who lost the fight to join the hunt for Drexler. The tobacco ploy worked far better than Drexler imagined.

  “We might turn a profit yet,” Drexler subvocalized to Reggie.

  “What do you mean?” Reggie asked. It was rare for him to be surprised.

  “Let me ask you this: how much do you think the Lizards might pay to get their ship back and for us to keep this information under wraps?”

  “Drexler, I’m proud of the play you made here. I couldn’t have done better myself, but what you are thinking of now is a very, very bad idea.”

  “Reggie, I’ve got a crew to pay and a brewing mutiny on my hands. If have a better idea, you best tell me.”

  24

  Hundreds of Arachnid ships formed concentric, sweeping curves and attached themselves to the rim of The Protector. Fourseven stood close to the continuous band of transparent bulkhead that surrounded the bridge. From the top of the rounded command section set into the broad disk of the main hull, she calculated the time to complete docking and struggled to remain patient. Now that she was with her ship again, she wanted nothing more than to be underway.

  Cila sidled up to her to take in the view. The spider stood half as tall, but Fourseven realized she carried an outsized presence among her own kind that readily translated to Fourseven’s own children. It was more than the fact that Arachnid society was matriarchal by nature. As a leader, Cila presented her authority through an unusual combination calm confidence and extreme determination. She gave few orders, but did so as if stating laws of nature.

  Fourseven found the physical size difference between male and female arachnids amusing. The females were often smaller, but more often held positions of authority. In the societies of the Winged Species, the larger insect was usually in charge, whether male or female. She supposed Cila found her social structure just as strange. It was the lack of formality that Fourseven struggled with most. The Arachnids followed a clear hierarchy, but were not big on courtesy, even between differing ranks. As much as they argued among themselves, Fourseven had a hard time understanding how they could be so effective. They managed to bring the ship’s systems online in half a day. Her own engineers could barely keep up.

  “I have crews on cleaning detail now. Most of the heavy systems work is done. Your decks will be sparkling in no time.” When Cila broke the silence, Fourseven twitched. She almost forgot Cila was there.

  “Thank you, Cila, your army is truly impressive.”

  “Army,” Cila said, trailing off, “Just a few weeks ago, these Arachnids you call an Army were mostly ranchers, nature preserve stewards and hunters. A few were even school teachers and artists.”

  Fourseven thought about this for a moment. She understood to what Cila alluded. “My kind has always been a warrior class. Everything is war to us, sometimes war with bloodshed, sometimes without, and very little in between.”

  “Your kind and mine are very different,” Cila acknowledged, “but not in the ways that matter. We are doing this for our families.
Save the planet, save our families.”

  “Many believe my mission is hopeless, and that I am a false prophet.”

  “Well, sting them then, and let them rot.” Cila said without hesitation. The profanity stunned Fourseven for a moment, then brought on a burst of laugher that rattled her wing shells loud enough to fill the bridge. Arachnids turned to the sound, surprised they were not the ones laughing.

  When she recovered, Fourseven said, “I love the way your kind comes out and says exactly what you feel. Sometimes I feel we Winged Species are so bound up in the trappings of formality that we forget what is important.”

  “We Arachnids feel that way about you too, but that has never diminished our respect for you. I’ll ask you not to repeat this, or I’ll never hear the end of it, but almost everyone I talk to wants to honor to your service and the service of your kind.”

  Fourseven didn’t know what to say, but her spreading wings spoke for her. Activity paused on the bridge as the distant sun shone through iridescent wing membranes like sun through stained glass. Leader broke the silence with grateful news.

  “General Fourseven, General Cila,” Leader spoke in high primes, “The Protector, her fleet and your armies are ready for flight.”

  Fourseven turned with her wings spread wide. “Set a course for Kelgar 7 and proceed with all haste.”

  “Maximum speed!” the lead Arachnid bridge engineer shouted.

  The Protector made a banking pivot and turned the convex base of her disc toward the sun. The edge of her disc glowed blue, then white as the particle fields energized. In a few seconds they reached fractional C. A few minutes after that, they reached terminal velocity that rivaled the light of their home star. Blinkpoint came with a white flash on the bridge, and The Protector made her transit into the ether as if she was never there.

  ***

  Where before, Abhay was wounded, sad and angry, now he was simply confused. The moonlight in the apartment courtyard made ordinary shadows seem surreal. The layers of deception all around him formed hopelessly tangled knots in his mind that he struggled to unravel.

  “So,” Abhay said, “General Blevins promoted Malik to keep him close, and everyone believes the General is aligned with the Isolationists?”

  “Yes,” Parveen said, closing her eyes and leaning back on the bench. This was the third time she ran him through the entire scenario. Each time, she had to correct a single, fatal misunderstanding.

  “OK, that much, I get. But how do you expect to keep Blevins in play if the Isolationists lose?”

  “We don’t. Blevins knows he’s expendable. We have a nice escape and retirement plan worked out for him.”

  “More mud fund?”

  “Oh yes, my dear. You have no idea how much mud is in this particular fund. I always knew the monsoon would come.”

  “I’m starting to realize how much of a pessimist you really are.”

  Mother Parveen opened her eyes again, twinkled them towards her son, said, “I am a stalwart realist,” with mock offense.

  “I’ve never seen you so thrilled. You’re like a small child with a toy.”

  “I won’t deny it, Son. All creatures are happiest when engaging in their purpose. I was born for days like this.”

  “Mother, I doubt your sanity.”

  She patted him on the leg, said, “Ask more questions, dear.”

  “I still don’t get how Malik believes revealing the ancient defense plan benefits the BJP. I mean, I was involved in the plan at the highest levels, but I always believed it was a stupid idea.”

  “It wasn’t a stupid idea at the time. Six centuries ago, it made perfect sense. It was a reasonable hedge against aggression. All the other Sentients understood that the Reptilians were most likely to break the peace, so they were excluded from the plan. Its fatal flaw was that it did not account for prolonged success.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The longer the Trade Union existed in peace, the less important a collective defense plan became. Eventually, much of the plan was just forgotten.”

  “We never forgot,” Abhay said, his hand rising absently to the place where service ribbons that once adorned his chest.

  “Strange how fortune works. Our world was marred with its own internal struggles. Our own violence allowed us to keep an eye out for trouble elsewhere. Take, for example, the Caliphate Worlds. The Saudis, the Persians and their united planets have lived so long in peace, they have forgotten what violence means.”

  “I’ve always admired them for that. My political career cast more than a few looks their way for examples of how to govern.”

  “Of course, theirs is a singular Human achievement: a society based entirely on art, science and spiritual devotion without coercion. Granted, they arrived at this place after more than a century of brutal warfare on Old Earth. But their society has a critical flaw. Their weakness lies in the fact that they are a closed and homogeneous society that can only survive in isolation. Lucky for them, space is big. Every sentient World that lives in peace can only do so by the various diasporas that create shields around them.

  “Mother, the Federated Americans would say you are ‘preaching to the choir’. I’ve encountered this position countless times in my career, mostly from the Merchants and those who do business with them.”

  “Yes. That is because it happens to be a fact. Every Sentient homeworld owes its peace and prosperity the Professional Astronaut class. That is why many Sentient races, such as the Forest People, exile those who choose to live in space. Once you leave the Forest Planet, there is no going back, unless it is for official business. I’ve always understood the wisdom in this.”

  “Now you sound like the isolationists.”

  “As a pragmatist, I must recognize valid points when I hear them. I don’t have an issue with their observations, I have a problem with their solutions. The answer is not to build thicker barriers; the answer is to deepen engagement. While we do consider war a form of engagement, our job is to avoid it if we can or win it we must.”

  They waited on the arrival of the Forest Child Ambassador. His trip to the Palace Apartment Complex was a risky move. There was no way to hide the movements of such an official from prying eyes, so the visit came under the pretext of a summons from Abhay, who still had a seat on the Interplanetary Relations Committee. When the Ambassador arrived, a body double would take his place. All Parveen would reveal beyond that was her intention to travel with Abhay and the ambassador somewhere in the Union.

  Abhay brought a hand to his mouth and gripped his chin with thumb and forefinger. A sharp intake of breath made Mother Parveen start with concern.

  “What! What happened?” she asked, looking around the courtyard for some physical sign of crisis.

  “Margaret,” he said, running both hands through his long, black hair. “How could I have forgotten her? She will come with us, of course.”

  Mother Parveen remained silent for a moment, then said, “I was trying to compartmentalize this as much as I could.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means your wife is another complication right now that we really don’t need.”

  “Tough shit,” Abhay stated flatly. Parveen was truly surprised.

  “Indeed. Much more so since your dear wife has been doing everything she can to try contacting her brother.”

  “She what? When?”

  “Since you left for Government House. It’s been hell keeping her out of the channels. She is very good with computers, you know.”

  Abhay hung his head, shook it. He stood, said, “Mother, no more secrets from family,” and subvocalized a message to Margaret through his comm implant. Parveen had no response.

  When Margaret entered the courtyard, Parveen made an excuse to leave and brushed past her son and daughter in law nearly escaping notice. Margaret took one look at Abhay and knew something bad was coming. He invited her to sit on the stone bench that was still warm from his mother. She sat in that spot,
then slid to the far end of the bench, with a closed body language and wary eyes.

  Abhay proceeded to tell his wife how her father was a suspect in a historical crime. He told her that they met while Abhay ran the secret BJP military program to discover what her father knew about Keystone Ship. He confessed that he was ready and willing to have Drexler killed as part of this mission, and that he would likely execute her father if he was apprehended.

  Margaret didn’t cry. She didn’t shout. Her skin grew paler in the moonlight and her breathing grew shallow until Abhay could not tell whether she breathed at all. She grew perfectly still and remained so until Abhay thought she was another garden statue. He could not bring himself to break the silence, because he did not know what else to do.

  “I am trying to understand,” Margaret said with a voice so toneless it might as well have been a shout, “how our marriage cannot be a lie if everything surrounding it is.”

  Abhay wished she had shouted, or cursed, or struck him. Instead, he felt as if he had opened her veins and drained her blood.

  “Our marriage is not a lie. I love you more than anyone or anything.”

  “So now that your world is falling apart, you have little left to lose. That’s why you come clean now?” Margaret said. Color crept back into her face and her voice gained the slight edge of anger.

  “Oh no?” Margaret asked, rising from the bench along with her anger, “Why don’t you tell me how it is, then? Or did you just do that? So, I was part of the mission that you fell in love with, and so much the better to get closer to my family. My God! I helped you plant spies on my ship...”

  “Your ship?” Abhay said, instantly regretting calling her out on the reference.

  “Yes. My ship. My home that I suddenly realize was my home all along, and not this place!”

  “Please, Margaret, don’t say that. Your home is with me, mine with you. Come away with me on this mission —”

  “Mission!” Margaret screamed, “Have you not heard a fucking word I’ve said! You lied to me! For years! I’m not even sure we had a marriage, and you want me to run away with you on some covert op as some kind of second honeymoon? Have you bumped your head?”