by Joe Vasicek
“Thank you, sir.”
“Allow me to introduce the others. This is Ståle Anderson, administrator of the Colony steelworks.”
James nodded to the gray haired man, who nodded back.
“And this over here is Stanis McIntyre, Chief Executive Officer of the port authority’s warehousing complex.”
“Sir.”
“And this,” said the patrician, pointing to a man in crisp business attire, “is Jeppe Hanson, President of the dockworkers’ union.”
The man offered his hand, and James shook it, albeit with a little unease. What are a corporate boss, a union president, and a factory owner doing at the same table?
The patrician continued to introduce men and women of similarly high stature. Just as conspicuous, however, was the absence of anyone overtly active in the political arena. The military wasn’t represented either, though one of the younger men was an “intelligence contractor.” James had never heard of him.
This is the heart of the lion’s den, he told himself. The shadow government that Lars warned me about. He would have to be on his toes.
“And now, my friends,” said the patrician, “let’s get down to business.”
Only after he moved to take his seat did everyone around the table do the same. James followed suit, but Sara remained standing. She cleared her throat.
“It will be my pleasure to report on my recent assignment,” she said, addressing, the room, “but first, allow me to formally introduce Commander James McCoy. You may recognize him as the brother of Stella McCoy, whose intervention with the Hameji helped us to survive the humanitarian crisis at the start of the occupation.”
James smiled. As every eye in the room turned on him, he realized that not everyone welcomed his presence. He shifted uneasily under the combined weight of their stares.
“Not to be rude,” said a pudgy middle-aged man near the center, “but whose interests does he represent, exactly?”
“Commander McCoy is with the Civil Defense Corps,” said the patrician, “and as the newest commander in that organization, he has the proper rank in that organization to justify his seat at this table.”
So that’s why he gave us our promotions at the spaceport, James thought. Still, if this was a shadow government, why would they be concerned about rank? That would only make sense if—
They don’t want me to represent the Corp’s interest at this council, he realized with a start. They want me to represent the interests of this council to the Corps.
“It’s about time we had someone halfway competent from the military on our side,” said Ståle.
“Certainly,” said Sara. “Now, if you will please turn to your screens.”
She hit a series of keys on the control panel in front of her, and the wallscreen behind her lit up with the first slide of her presentation. James glanced down at the smaller display in front of his seat and saw that the images were the same.
“Before traveling to Gaia Nova, I was briefed by the inspection team sent to Zeta Nabat six months ago. Their report on the ramjet fleet was quite extensive. After confirming the key points of the report with our Nabattan contact, we were able to negotiate an agreement for the purchase of the fleet.”
She hit a key on the control panel, and the presentation proceeded to the next slide, which displayed schematics for an unusual type of starship. It was shaped like a short cylinder, with the center hollowed out like a doughnut. A large funnel on the forward end was connected to a spherical reactor, with magnetic field projectors wrapped around it. On the back end, a massive shield protected the rest of the ship from what looked like a rocket.
“These are the schematics for the twelve sublight ramjets that the Nabattans have offered to sell to us. They are rated for interstellar travel within particle dense regions such as nebulae and molecular clouds that are inaccessible via conventional jump drives, and have a maximum velocity of about seventeen percent the speed of light.”
“Where are the hab units?” someone asked. “All I see are cargo modules.”
“The ships were originally designed for transferring cargo to the prison world at Zeta Nabat. Prisoners were frozen in cryo, while the captain and crew spent most of the voyage in stasis as well. However, the Nabattans have modified the cargo modules to allow conversion into self-sufficient hab units capable of supporting several hundred people.”
“Several hundred? But the population of the Colony numbers in the thousands. If the voyage to Chira is going to last more than a hundred years, how do you expect us to live in such a cramped space?”
“That’s a very good point,” said Sara. “Fortunately, each ramjet comes equipped with enough working cryotanks for us to put up to eighty percent of the population into stasis. That should leave more than enough room for the remainder to live comfortably until we arrive at our new home.”
So it’s a combination generation ship and cryosleep transport, James thought to himself. That’s certainly one way to colonize the heart of the nebula.
“Why do we even need the hab units?” one of the engineers asked. “If we have enough space to support a living population, then why not put everyone into cryo?”
“Because it was cheaper for the Nabattans to modify the existing design than to fabricate more cryotanks,” Sara answered. “Besides, with the reduced population, it shouldn’t be difficult for us to make these hab units self-sustaining for the long voyage. The Colony itself is capable of supporting us for long periods of time without outside help.”
That’s only because we were forced to after the Hameji slagged Kardunash IV, James thought. Without those convoys, this station would have been reduced to a derelict years ago.
“How are we going to get our people to these colony ships?” someone at the far end of the table asked.
“That’s a good question,” said Sara. She moved on to the next slide, which showed a two-dimensional rendering of a starmap, with Karduna on one side and Zeta Nabat on the other.
“Zeta Nabat is located about one light-year within the nebula itself, and is therefore inaccessible to us. The starlane that runs through the nebula will be patrolled by the Hameji, but the Nabattan smugglers have a secret starlane that they use to get to the edge of the nebula, here.”
She pointed to a point on the map marked RENDEZVOUS, where the clouds of the nebula met the emptiness of interstellar space.
“The Nabattans have agreed to meet us there and ferry us to our ships. They’ve assured me that they have enough transports for us all.”
A low murmur of approval went up around the table. James could tell that the people liked what they were hearing.
“How difficult will the voyage be?” someone asked.
“Not too difficult, from what I understand,” Sara answered. “While the Colony is traveling through space, it will continue to operate normally.”
“That’s not exactly true,” said one of the engineers. He was one of the younger men at the table. “Most of the civilian infrastructure on the Colony itself runs on solar power, not on the NOVA reactors that will power the station’s jump drive.”
“I thought you engineers were supposed to get on that problem?” someone else interjected.
“And we have, but it’s still going to require a significant sacrifice from the people. We can’t power all that infrastructure and still get this station to Zeta Nabat.”
“Will we have enough power to care for the people’s basic needs while we’re in transit?” the patrician asked.
“Yes,” said the engineer, “though not much more than that.”
“Then that will have to do.”
“If you’ll pardon my asking,” interjected another man at the far end of the table, “how much will the operation cost?”
Sara took a deep breath. “To be blunt, the costs will be quite high.” Several men grunted, their eyes glued to their screens. “However, as you can see in this next slide, they lie well within the parameters established by this council. The
station itself will go to the Nabattans, of course, along with all of our heavy equipment. In addition, they require almost half of our total GDP in steel.”
A low murmur arose across the table. “That’s quite a lot of production,” said Ståle. “Our refineries are currently able to run only at half-capacity, so even in a best case scenario, it would take us at least a standard year to put all that together.”
“The Nabattans said they would also be willing to accept one hundred and fifty cargo haulers and sublight freighters in lieu of the steel quota.”
The table practically erupted with protest.
“One hundred and fifty? That’s almost the entire civilian fleet!”
“There’ll be an outcry if we try to seize those assets from the private sector.”
“What are we going to use for transport when we arrive at the Chira system?”
“We can’t do it.”
“I’m afraid that we’re in no position to negotiate better terms,” said the patrician. “The unexpected massacre at the conference raises the specter of a Hameji reprisal. For security reasons, we must prepare to depart for Zeta Nabat as soon as possible.”
“That’s right,” said James, unable to sit by silently any longer. “There’s a major power shift happening within the Hameji command. If they can trace the organizers of the conference back to us, it’s not going to be good.”
All the heads around the table turned to face him. He suddenly wondered if he’d spoke out of turn.
“What evidence do you have of that?” someone asked.
“I met with my sister just before the massacre,” James answered. “She told me that a faction of hardliners led by a general named Tagatai has been taking over the ranks, and sees any attempt to put limitations on their power as a threat. We can expect them to clamp down as hard as they can.”
A low murmur rippled around the table. The people began to look anxiously at one another.
“In that case,” said the patrician, “we need to go public with these plans at once.”
“But what about the General Assembly?” came a voice further down the table. “The opposition is going to have a field day with this.”
The murmurs around the table rose in pitch.
“I agree,” said the patrician, “which is all the more reason why we must go public as soon as possible. I know it’s a hard sell, but we must move this decision through the General Assembly as quickly as we can. The stakes are high and the issues are complex, so it’s going to take a coordinated effort to push it through. We don’t want anything to blow up in our faces.”
Such as the existence of this shadow government? James thought to himself. He could just imagine the look of disgust and horror on Lars’s face when he found out the rumors were true.
“Just a minute,” said a grizzled old man near the front. “What do you mean, ‘reprisals’? What do you expect they’ll do?”
“In the worst case scenario,” Sara answered, “they’ll send a battle fleet to exterminate us.”
The room fell instantly silent. James stiffened as all eyes turned on him.
“Commander,” said the patrician, “is that true?”
“It is, sir.”
He nodded, his expression grim. “In that case, I move that we begin charging the station jump drive immediately. That way, we have an emergency escape option if we need it.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” asked the woman dressed in a sharp business suit. “If word leaks out that energy is being diverted to some undisclosed project—”
“We’ll be able to bury it,” said the CEO of the Colony’s main energy company. “The numbers aren’t too difficult to obscure.”
James frowned. Are they talking about outright fraud? Colony law mandated that the production and distribution data for all companies be shared publicly. Advocacy groups and think tanks regularly scoured the data for suspicious anomalies. If the shadow government could evade even them, then transparency was just a farce.
“As long as the station jump drive is as primed as you can manage,” said the patrician. “And don’t fudge the data too much. As soon as we go public, half the advocacy groups on this station will be looking for a way to turn the people against us.”
“We should launch the PR campaign now, then,” said the businesswoman. “My firm will start with an exploratory study at once.”
“And how long should that take?”
“A week, maybe two. But once we have a good grasp of the public sentiment, we’ll be able to turn public opinion for us much more quickly.”
“As long as you can do it quickly,” said the patrician. “Our next major convoy isn’t due to leave for another month, so we should be able to keep the civilian fleet docked.”
“But who’s responsible for making the decision to jump out if it comes to that?” James blurted.
“The patrician, of course,” said the intelligence contractor across the table from him. “It’s entirely his prerogative, and not the scope of this council.”
James frowned. Since when does one man have prerogative over the lives of everyone on this station? But then he remembered how, as a gunship pilot, he often took that prerogative himself. When it was just him and Sterling between a band of armed pirates and a lifesaving supply convoy, there wasn’t any time to put things to a vote. The same was true here.
He glanced around the table, reading the faces of those present. Were they wolves or sheepdogs? From the power they wielded, it was pretty clear that they weren’t sheep. And yet even though he didn’t like their methods, he had to admit that the work they were doing was necessary—especially now.
“Commander McCoy,” said the patrician. “Since you are more familiar with the Hameji than any of us, can I depend on you to organize a guard to keep watch in case they attack us?”
James sat up straight in his chair. “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Sara will connect you with our people operating the station jump drive. You’ll have all the resources of your position in the Defense Corps at your disposal, but remember, discretion is key. We don’t want our plans to leak to the public until everything is ready.”
“Of course, sir,” said James, cringing a little as he considered what Lars would think of this. Lives were on the line, though. He knew his duty.
* * * * *
Kyla sat on the hard metal slab that served as her cot and hugged her knees against her chest. A harsh white light shone down on her through a plastiglass-covered light in the ceiling, next to a small black camera that no doubt kept watch. Other than that, she was alone in the tiny windowless cell.
James had been right about one thing, at least: the guards hadn’t mistreated her. Not yet. Was that because the cameras that watched her also watched what they did to her? It didn’t matter.
Being in custody gave her a lot of time to think about things. Was James really going to get her out of this place? He had promised, yes, but promises were often empty, and she’d long ago learned not to trust them. With James, though, she almost expected him to keep it.
Even if he did, though, it wouldn’t make anything better.
Kyla hated to be in anyone’s debt. Debt was leverage that people had over her, a way of taking away her control. Her mother’s debt had led to the eviction that had forced them down to the lower decks, where they could barely eke out a living. The pimps that kept so many other young girls trapped always made them feel as if they owed more than they could pay. And even though James seemed sincere enough, Kyla still hated the idea of owing him anything. It made her skin crawl, as if spiders were running down her back. And if he really did all that he said he would, how could she possibly repay him?
As these thoughts churned through her head, the wall to her right flickered. It flashed red with large black letters, each as large as her arm, that read: ATTENTION: ARRAIGNMENT HEARING IN 5:00 MINUTES. As she watched, the clock began to count down.
What’s going to happen? she wondered. Sweat formed on
the back of her neck, and her palms began to feel clammy. If James didn’t come for her, she would probably be sent off to child services. As much as she hated being in his debt, she feared that outcome even more.
She watched the clock without saying a word until it read 0:00. The screen went blank, then flashed on again, this time with a man’s face filling most of the frame. He was old, with graying hair and a salt-and-pepper beard. He had a deep, jowled frown and a bony chin, with a cybernetic eye enhancement. The screen was so large that Kyla could clearly see every wrinkle on his forehead. She shuddered as he looked right at her.
“Prisoner 10642: Kyla Jeppson,” he said. His voice boomed in the tiny prison cell. “You are hereby arraigned before this court on charges of trespassing on a privately owned starship, the Freedom Star. Present at this court are Judge Metcalf, myself; Citizen Lars Stewart; and Commander James McCoy of the Civil Defense Corps.”
Kyla’s heart leaped in spite of herself as the judge mentioned James’s name. Sure enough, two smaller boxes appeared on the far right side of the screen, one showing Lars’s face, the other showing James. He was dressed in his military dress uniform, the same one he’d worn when he’d discovered her.
“Hello,” he said, smiling as he waved to her. “How are you holding up?”
“The commander will please refrain from speaking out of turn,” the judge said, his expression utterly impassive. “The prisoner has a right to legal counsel, which will be provided for her if she cannot afford counsel for herself. Citizen Stewart has indicated that he is legally trained and qualified to represent the prisoner. Do you accept his offer of counsel?”
Kyla stared at the screen in silence. In the corner, Lars nodded to her.
“Will the honorable judge permit me to talk with the prisoner privately?” he asked.
The judge nodded. “Very well. You are permitted to confer on a private channel.”
His face flashed out, and was replaced by Lars’s. Compared to the judge, his lopsided smile and twinkling eyes made him seem positively welcoming. Kyla relaxed a little.
