by Matt Verish
That was way too close.
As her nerves settled, Tessa’s gaze fell upon the unfamiliar weapon her attacker had dropped. She pushed away from the wall to collect it, not willing to leave anything to chance. As she knelt down, a thought occurred to her, drawing her attention toward his helmet. I suppose it’s worth a shot.
“Beatrix. I’m going to need you to establish an unsolicited NuFi connection.”
Tessa nodded and grabbed the man’s head. She grimaced when she turned him so those lifeless eyes gazed back at her. “Contact made.”
That shouldn’t be a problem.
“As a ranking officer of Military, I, Captain Tessa Adrace of United System Starforce, am officially authorizing this neural fidelity connection. Proceed.”
Tessa let go of the head the moment her Ocunet paired with his. She was certain those vacant eyes would haunt her for the rest of her life. Now, let’s see what dark secrets you assholes have stored away in there.
As she made her way back to her ship, the AI filtered through all of the information. It selected any documents, videos and images pertinent to the keywords given to her by Cole. She didn’t expect much, though this last second idea was the best she could come up with in the face of being marooned. And the more she considered being left to suffocate aboard the Research space station, the more she wondered about the Black Dwarf soldier she had so recently killed. What could he have possibly been doing aboard, all alone?
She slowed upon entering the bay when a particular document was brought to her attention. The words “Classified Military Document” stared her in the face like a death warrant. She had not expected to locate anything of import, let alone delicate government information in the hands of the enemy. Were she to obtain anything pertaining to what Cole had asked her to find, she had been given strict orders not to investigate the findings herself. Given her current mental state, following any orders—especially form her XO—seemed an impossibility.
She opened the file...and immediately contacted Cole.
“Are you en route?” he asked, looking haggard.
Tessa was on the verge of hyperventilating as she continued to read. Stars were forming in her vision, and shadows were closing in, threatening to take her from consciousness. Her lips parted, but no words were uttered.
“Tessa, what’s the matter?”
There was no denying the legitimacy of what she read. She cleared her throat and tried again. This time she was able to communicate her thoughts, despite how dry her throat felt. “Cole, you were right. It’s all true....”
He blinked. “What are you saying? Have you departed the space station?”
She pressed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head. “No. I...how can this be?”
“How could what be? Tessa, what’s wrong? Talk to me!”
She took the deepest breath of her life and looked Cole dead in the eyes. “I’ve discovered a communiqué from the Daedalus.”
The XO’s jaw fell.
“You were right. About everything.” She was crying, she knew, but there was no way to wipe away the tears. “Admiral Musgrave is working with Black Dwarf. Oh god, Cole, she sold us to the enemy. I have official pass codes here which would allow anyone access to virtually every UniSys facility, Research space stations included.”
“That’s why there was no immediate distress call,” Cole reasoned, his voice sounding empty. The klaxons raging behind him sounded like the end of the world. “Black Dwarf had all the time they needed to carry out this mission before they contacted us at their leisure.”
Tessa nodded. “That’s right. It’s all here.” She struggled to keep her composure. “Cole, your mother made a deal with the devil to allow BD the opportunity to take whatever it was they needed off of this station. And they succeeded! Venom-2 sacrificed himself trying to divert a transport.”
Cole only stared.
“And that’s not even the worst of it. Not even close. Specific orders were given for BD to destroy anyone and anything associated with the Asterius.” She didn’t want to speak the next part, but felt it crucial. “Your name was singled out in this. Your mother wants you dead.”
She could see this last statement had taken Cole aback. “Cole, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he replied, distant. “She failed. Now get back to the Asterius.”
“Aye, Colonel. I’ll upload the...” She focused on a particular line of the communiqué, and her heart nearly stopped. She began to run.
“Tessa? What’s wrong?”
She turned off the feed and climbed the ladder leading to her ship. She was panicking, she knew, her arms shaking uncontrollably. Thankfully her ship’s AI would take care of the autopilot return to her base.
The canopy sealed above her head, though she never had the opportunity to take off. Her world quaked, and she looked up from her controls in time to stare into the center of the sun. The resulting force behind the infinite white was equally as destructive.
Here’s a sample chapter for your reading pleasure
1
ICV-71
Thirteen years of kissing corporate ass, and it’s finally paying off.
Cole Musgrave stepped onto the lift and ascended toward the ICV platform. Today would be one for the history books. At least in the eyes of the company men and women for whom Cole worked, it was an historic event. SolEx had chosen him over everyone else to lead their experimental Interstellar Cargo Vessel on its maiden voyage into the stars. Thirteen back-breaking years as a driven, overworked company boot-licker might have permanently stained his nose an unflattering brown, but his “dedication” had also paved the way to his coveted position as a test pilot. It was the closest to interstellar travel he would ever get. Even if it meant doing it on a delivery schedule.
The soft hum of the lift did little to calm Cole’s nerves, and he could feel his palms sweating inside his pristine faux leather gloves. The familiar block lettering of his company, SolEx, on the backs of his gloves stared up at him, and he clenched his fists, creasing the unblemished exterior. He knew all too well he would be tossing these in the trash before the week’s end.
He glanced over at the suit standing next to him—his big-wig traveling compatriot for the journey. The perfectly pressed slacks, jacket and tie—complete with the company colors and logo—made Cole grin.
Arthur T. Forester, he mused, recalling an image he had once seen online. That’s not a company approved uniform, Art. Guess you won’t be helping me heft any 200 pound crates today. Not with those pencil-pusher muscles. With a thought, an entire biography appeared before his eyes and Cole scanned the data—dictated by the company, of course—on his high-profile companion. Damn, he’s way younger than me! he thought as he glossed over the man’s—the kid’s—impressive education. Barely out of college and he’s climbing the corporate ladder quicker than a politician. He must have some massive college debt to pay off.
“I’d very much appreciate it if you would stop that incessant creaking.”
The profile dropped from Cole’s vision, and he forced his hands to stop clenching. He blinked and smiled politely at his superior. “Sorry. Old habit. Just anxious to get underway.”
Forester gave no reply. It was obvious to Cole that he, too, was enjoying the spoils of NuFi and its endless wonders and pitfalls. He’s probably conspiring onto whose head he needs to step in order to reach his next lofty position. Cole purposely popped a single knuckle and pretended not to notice Forester’s glare. Oh, this launch is going to be great.
The lift mercifully reached its destination and glided to a halt before a massive bay door. It was immaculate white and sterile, as was most everything inside the S3. Hospitals could only dream of being so clean.
Cole’s first footsteps across the polished floor clicked as though he were wearing tap shoes. He could only imagine how much money was wasted on buffing them into mirrors in a room dedicated to experimental spacecraft. Explosions, charring, and chemical leakage were common here. He shook his head and caught up to his zealous “co-pilot” at the end of the tunnel and expected to see the afterlife. Instead he was greeted with a much more impressive site. The tunnel opened out into a domed research facility large enough to easily contain an entire Dreadnought class warship. He supposed it would have to, though the S3’s sheer size never ceased to amaze him.
Cole kept his head on a swivel as he admired this top secret location. People in company lab coats and jumpsuits milled about on multiple levels, gesticulating like stilted mimes as they undoubtedly discussed schematics through shared NuFi. It was difficult to say if anyone was actually doing anything, or just putting on a show to impress their equally distracted superiors. No one paid him any heed as he continued his stroll toward the prototype ICV. He would’ve snapped a photo of the area to show his buddies down on the lower hangars, but his Ocunet and NuFi access were denied. He had not seen any notification of such a privacy invasion. Getting crafty, SolEx. Next you’ll be capable of digital inception. That was a terrifying thought.
At the center of the confusion was a solitary object, gleaming beneath the onslaught of lights which showcased it for all involved with the project. This particular “object” was none other than the ICV-71, the sole reason for his promotion. Sleek and equally polished as the floors upon which she rested, the ICV-71 was an impressive work of art and technology. Though the ship was dwarfed by the sheer enormity of the hangar, there was no denying his new craft’s scale. The vessel was a vast improvement over SolEx’s other bulky transports; she was streamlined in all the right places, and inconspicuous because of the dual engines placement to hide the massive cargo hold. It was no mistake that this ship was built to look more like a fighter than a freighter. Interstellar delivery was a dangerous career.
Send out the former Military guy with a penchant for recklessness, Cole thought as he closed in on his prize. Not that it matters, he considered, recalling from his research that he would essentially be a glorified backup pilot as this new model ICV was purportedly almost completely automated. We’ll see about that, he thought, fully aware that he was about to board a prototype which was most certainly plagued with glitches. There was a reason they sought out a veteran Starforce pilot to oversee the ship safely on its initial journey.
His brow furrowed as he came within fifty yards of the vessel. Blank canvas! Sure enough, there was a distinct lack of corporate decals applied to her hull, and Cole was instantly suspicious. What sort of test flight was this where company property was without its illustrious logo?
“Impressive, isn’t it? Forester asked, his gaze upon the ship.
Cole nodded as he stepped up beside the suit. “Yep. Never thought I’d see anything without the company brand obviously displayed and larger than life.” He smirked. “Maybe it’s on the chassis...” He feigned bending down to glimpse beneath before glancing up to regard Forester’s raised eyebrow.
“Not an accident.”
Cole stood up straight, intrigued by Forester’s comment. “Purposely left off?”
“Purposely hidden,” came the cryptic response. Forester turned away before Cole could press him for any more information.
“The ICV-71!” came the booming voice of a man from behind. Cole spun to take in the view of a group of suits and lab coats marching their way toward him and Forester. He caught a glimpse of a cute engineer near the front of the pack. “Our newest F-Class cargo vessel!”
“Is that...?”
“Our Chief Executive Officer?” Forester finished as though one of the most revered company owners in all the System was not heading in their direction.
“The Frederich Caliber,” Cole said, and realized that quite possibly the entire C-Suite and several prospective clients were in-tow behind the surprisingly short, balding man. “Fifteen trillion net worth.”
Forester chuckled exactly how Cole expected a corporate stiff would chuckle. “According to last year’s fiscal numbers.”
“Sorry I didn’t make it my business to discover the exact depth of one man’s black hole-sized pockets.” Cole rolled his eyes and considered just what he would do if good old Fred accidentally deposited a mere one billion dollars into his savings account. He wondered if NASA would reconsider him for Uncharted.
Then the company black tie affair was upon him, and Cole’s anxiety returned. He unconsciously began creaking his gloves, and Forester promptly cast him the stink-eye. Cole ignored him and wondered into what he had gotten himself. Am I chartering a first-class soiree to the dark side of the Moon? He truly hoped so.
“...with a state-of-the-art Dark Matter Processor, and fusion reactor engines concealing the cargo hold...” Caliber continued with his deconstruction of the ICV-71 specs to his entourage. Cole paid him little heed. He had already boned up on the ship’s impressive capabilities. What drew his full attention was the young engineer, her attention solely on, well, nothing.
She’s surfing the digital star ocean! Cole realized with surprise. He was dying to know what she was researching in the midst of such an important occasion. One of her jet black locks came loose from where her hair was tied haphazardly into a bun. She fussed with the renegade strands before discovering him gawking. Her deep green eyes narrowed before she returned to her NuFi vacation.
“...is our seasoned captain, Cole Musgrave, our brave test pilot.”
Cole wrenched his attention away from the engineer and discovered he had a very affluent audience staring expectantly at him. The sun felt much closer than it normally did at that moment. His gloves creaked behind his back in the awkward silence, and he nodded, for it was all he could manage.
A quick wink and a smile from Caliber, and the sales pitch resumed. Cole relaxed and met Forester’s gaze of approval at keeping quiet and composed. He crossed his eyes and double-creaked his gloves in response. Forester’s smile dropped, and Cole turned back to the commercial, victorious.
The dog and pony show continued for several more minutes, and Cole thought he recognized a silver lapel pin on a middle-aged woman wearing a sleek, black business dress and gravity-defying stilettos. Triangular in shape, its design was similar to that of recycling arrows, only they were orbiting around a non-descript planet. Terracom, Cole thought with some trepidation. “Harvesting New Worlds,” he murmured, then swallowed hard.
Forester cast him a knowing glance but did not reprimand him for making a sound. He, too, seemed to exude the slightest bit of anxiety at the sight of the terraforming juggernaut’s presence.
After the group finished their brief inspection of the ship’s interior, Caliber broke away from the pack and stepped up beside Cole and Forester to offer some parting remarks and seal the deal. Cole wrinkled his nose at the CEO’s acrid cologne, though was pleased to see he was taller than him. Even more pleasing was the sight of the cute engineer making her way toward the trio.
Interesting.
Sensing Cole’s penetrating gaze, she gave him a wide berth and stood next to an indifferent Forester. He clenched his gloved hands in response.
“Dr. Lin Dartmouth is the Senior Engineer over this project,” Caliber began, “and she will be joining captain Musgrave and Operations Director Forester on the ICV’s maiden voyage. Her expertise in cryorganics, nanobiotechnology, and
artificial intelligence is unparalleled.” He turned to smile at Lin, whose flawless face remained impassive. “She will be implementing the C.A.I.N. software which will usher a new era of automated delivery.”
And eventually phase me out, Cole thought with no shortage of disdain.
Caliber leaned close to Lin and whispered something imperceptible in her ear. She nodded and raised her hands to reveal a formfitting pair translucent haptic gloves. She gazed off into her Ocunet world and gave a few deft flicks and swipes of her fingers to a computer screen only she could access or see. When she finished and glanced up, a transformation had begun to take place behind her.
Cole stared over his shoulder in awe. “Huh,” was all he could manage. The ICV-71’s outer hull no longer showcased its familiar polished chrome finish. In a blink, the ship’s exterior had altered as though a team of detailers had stopped time and repainted it with the company logo and colors. It was an illusion of some sort, but the effect was so convincing that Cole doubted his eyes.
“Nearly undetectable stealth and a cloaking system Military could only wish for,” Caliber said with sincere pride. “Multiple preset hull designs...” he gestured to the current design, “...as well as a mimetic learning engine designed to manipulate any current environment for near invisibility.”
Another flick of Lin’s wrist, and the ship vanished.
Cole’s jaw fell. Cloaking was nothing new with certain interstellar spacecraft, though the technology had never truly evolved past poorly replicating basic landscapes on stationary objects and military fatigues. Both could easily be spotted from alternate vantages or movement. This, however, was something else entirely. The cloaking system was somehow able to calculate accurate—though not entirely perfect—representations of its surroundings from all angles. Curved areas, recesses, landing gear, glass, everything mimicked convincingly. Unless you were actively searching for the ship, it could easily be overlooked.
