And that was it. Cyrus Jones was now officially an IMF officer—and pilot. There was no fanfare or cheering for him like there was for most of the other cadets-turned-officers, but he had grown accustomed to being alone. No family had come to visit, and he had not left the base in the northern California mountains since arriving eighteen months ago. Why should he? Everything he needed to become the best pilot in the galaxy was right there.
After all the new officers had received their pins, the admiral returned to the podium for a few more words of inspiration then dismissed the new graduates to a night of celebration before they began their new assignments. Most of them would be leaving in the morning for various training facilities around the world to begin their careers as gunship or transport pilots. A few would begin training to pilot low-warp vessels.
Cyrus would not be joining his fellow graduates in celebration. He was going to begin preparing for his assignment. In the morning, he would begin flying the Falcon 3W. He didn’t know how long it would be before they let him push the vessel to its engineered limits, but he figured it would be soon. He was the best, and you don’t keep the fastest bird in a cage for long.
Chapter 2
Cyrus slowly became aware of his surroundings again. The room looked as it had before: bright lights shining on stainless steel. He tried to look around but couldn’t move. In fact, he didn’t even feel like he had a body. It was like he was viewing the room from far away.
As everything faded away, he saw a severely maimed man lying on a table. It left him feeling queasy as he drifted back to unconsciousness.
***
Something was wrong. It was supposed to be a simple exchange, but they had been gone too long.
Normally, the IMF didn’t negotiate with hostiles, but word had come down from ITC Command to proceed with caution. They didn’t want an expensive war if it could be avoided.
In his short time as an IMF officer, Cyrus had learned that profit often ruled their actions. And that the Intergalactic Trading Company, who supplied their ships and had final say on all operations, cared about nothing more than profits.
Cyrus tapped the intercom button. “Belzaire, energize the warp system,” he directed the Falcon 3W’s warp engineer.
“Do I need to remind you that warp travel is not permitted in this sector?”
Cyrus was very aware of that particular regulation. After three warp-enabled ships were destroyed in this sector, the ITC had decided that no ITC or IMF ships could travel at warp speed there. It had taken them weeks to reach this particular cluster of asteroids once they entered the warp-free zone. It normally would have taken a few hours.
“Better safe than sorry.”
Cyrus knew Belzaire would have the warp field generators ready for warp speed, if needed. He continued scanning the area for anything that might indicate trouble.
The sensors picked up the high-energy blasts a moment before the distress call came.
“Cyrus, we’re under attack.” It was Captain Chavez. “Energize the photon cannons and give us some cover.”
He had already anticipated the need and immediately opened fire on the men pursuing the landing party. Cyrus was careful in his aim, preferring to distract and injure. He didn’t believe in unnecessary killing, and he didn’t know enough to determine if these men deserved to die.
The moment the hatch to the cargo hold closed, Cyrus took off. By the time the captain returned to the bridge, the Falcon 3W was speeding away from the renegade outpost, but they were far from in the clear.
“Seven enemy ships in pursuit, Captain,” Cyrus reported.
“Full power to the shields,” Chavez ordered. “There’s too many to fight. We’ll have to outrun them.”
“That’s not going to be easy, Captain. We may be the fastest warp ship in the galaxy, but we aren’t designed to outfly Vim fighters at sub-warp speeds.”
“Do your best.”
Cyrus knew that even his best couldn’t make the Falcon 3W faster than Vim fighters. They may not possess time-warp technology, but the Vim were masters at everything battle-related. It only took a few moments for the pursuing fighters to close in.
“The lead ship is nearly in firing range, Captain,” Cyrus reported. “Our only option is to fight or jump to warp speed.”
“Warp travel is prohibited in this sector,” Chavez replied. “Besides, it’s too dangerous.”
“So is trying to fight seven Vim fighters.”
A photon blast shook the ship. “Shields eighty-eight percent,” a computerized voice reported.
“Captain, we need to make a decision.”
Captain Chavez was uncomfortable disobeying ITC regulations, but he was even more uncomfortable with the idea of facing seven fighters. “Take us to warp speed, Cyrus,” he said reluctantly.
That was all that Cyrus needed. “Prepare for warp speed, Belzaire,” he said into the intercom.
“Ready when you are, Cyrus.”
The Jabuka warp engineer made time-warp travel possible—there was some genetic trait in the species that allowed them to create a warp field—but it was the pilot who controlled it. Without another word, Cyrus raised the warp field and engaged the engines. The Falcon 3W momentarily froze in time, then disappeared into the asteroid field.
There was a reason that warp travel was banned in this sector. There were too many chunks of debris that were big enough to destroy a ship. Enough collisions with even small meteorites could destroy a ship. The only chance a ship traveling at warp speed had was to avoid the debris that penetrated the warp field. Even experienced warp pilots rarely made it back from a warp-speed flight without heavy repair work.
Cyrus wasn’t just an experienced pilot, though. He was the best pilot that the Intergalactic Military Forces had ever trained. Within an hour, they had cleared the no-warp zone unscathed and were flying at warp three toward Earth.
He had never learned what they had been sent to retrieve, and Cyrus didn’t care. To him, it was just another successful mission on his flawless record.
Chapter 3
Cyrus opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure how he knew that he had opened his eyes, because there was nothing to see. The shiny metal room was gone. It was as if he was floating in an endless sea of nothingness. Somehow, this emptiness brought clarity, though. He knew…things. Most importantly, he knew it had been his body he had glimpsed in the stainless-steel room. He was severely injured, maybe even dead.
He knew that time was of the essence. If he wasn’t dead already, he would be soon. He had to make a choice: live or die. And even if he chose to live, nothing was guaranteed.
With every ounce of his being focused on returning to that broken body, Cyrus once again let the darkness overcome him. Hopefully, he would awake in his own body next time.
***
Cyrus looked across the poker table at the red-skinned man who had put in the initial raise. He wore an IMF uniform, and his race clearly marked him as a Jabuka warp engineer. Cyrus had a similar uniform, but he had chosen to dress more discretely for this little un-approved expedition to the most notorious gambling hall in the sector.
He looked at his cards—two jacks—then looked at the cards on the table. He had a good hand, but three other people had called the initial raise so there was still a chance he didn’t have the best hand. Cyrus knew if he could get to heads-up with the Jabuka, he would win in the end, though.
He looked around the table, paying particular attention to the three men who had already called the red-skinned man’s raise. When Cyrus looked at them, he saw something in each of them. The Jabuka had been bullying the table all night and generally making himself the most unlikable man in the room. They no longer cared about whether they won or lost, as long as their antagonist didn’t win. If he did win, there would likely be violence.
Cyrus looked at his cards again then at the three men. He gave them a huge smile and nod. There was a lot of money in the pot, but unless one of them had the nuts—the best possibl
e hand—it was likely they would all fold if he could convince them he had the best hand. When Cyrus pushed all of his chips into the middle, they dropped their cards before they even saw if their personal nemesis would call. He did.
Cyrus dropped his two jacks on the table, which matched with one on the board to make three of a kind. He looked up smugly, confident that he had a winning hand.
“You dirty scoundrel,” the red-skinned man screamed as he jumped up, reaching across the table.
The gambling hall may have been one of the seedier places in the galaxy, but it was also highly secure. Two blue-skinned Vim bouncers were on the man instantly, pulling him away from the table. “You dirty cheat! I’m gonna get you!”
Cyrus completely ignored the commotion as he scooped up his winnings. He had just finished putting them into a leather bag when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder and another one took his coin-filled pouch. “I will need you to come with me,” the stern voice of another Vim informed him.
***
This was not going as planned at all. Cyrus had won big within the two hours he had allotted himself, but now he’d been stuck in solitary for over an hour. His chances of returning to the base undetected were dwindling by the moment.
When the door opened, he looked up to see one of the oddest men he had ever seen. Cyrus couldn’t decide if the man had green skin with brown patches or the other way around. He wore what appeared to be a vintage Earth tuxedo, complete with bowtie and cummerbund.
“I would like to thank you for visiting my establishment, Mister Jones.”
So this was the infamous entrepreneur known simply as Mozzie.
“I am sure you know why you’re here.”
Cyrus most certainly did not know why he was there. At least he was pretty sure that Mozzie didn’t know, so he wasn’t going to admit to anything. “I won a lot of money and you are here to personally congratulate me?” he offered with a smile.
The green and brown man instantly went from gracious host to vicious predator. “If you think this is a joke, Mister Jones, you have another thing coming.”
Cyrus swallowed hard, unsure what to say or do next.
“You see, I don’t particularly care who frequents my establishment,” Mozzie continued, calm once more, but deadly serious. “For example, I don’t care if a young officer in a stolen IMF ship wins—or loses—a lot of money…as long as it is done fairly.
“But if it were to get out that I allowed anyone, even an IMF officer, to cheat in my establishment,” he continued, “my business would be ruined.”
“I didn’t cheat!”
“I know that, at least not in any way that my other patrons can, or will, detect,” Mozzie agreed. “But I think it would be best for both of us if you didn’t return…for a very long time.”
The proprietor of the most infamous establishment in the galaxy tossed Cyrus’s bag of coins on the table. “Here’s your winnings, Mister Jones. I wish you the best of luck returning to the base before they realize you have taken the most valuable ship in the galaxy for a joy ride.”
Mozzie turned to leave. Before he went through the door, he turned back and said, “I do expect we will meet again, someday, but please make sure it is some time down the road.”
Cyrus scooped up his bag of winnings and rushed out the door. He would have to push the Falcon to its limit if he had any chance of getting back to the base before the next watch started and it was discovered that the ship wasn’t in the hangar.
***
Cyrus sat in the pilot’s chair fidgeting anxiously as he stared at the ship’s front view screen. They were already an hour and a half behind schedule, and he couldn’t leave without his warp engineer. “Where are you, Belzaire?”
As if summoned by the cry of frustration, Cyrus noticed the red-skinned man from the poker table storming toward the ship’s open ramp. He jumped up and raced down to the entrance to meet the man.
“Where have you been?” Cyrus screamed.
“Locked in a cell.”
“Well, you did attack me,” Cyrus quipped.
Belzaire just glared.
“The good news is nobody suspects we were together,” Cyrus said. “But seriously, what took so long?”
“Those muscle-heads went over the video for our entire night of poker,” Belzaire told him. “They kept telling me they knew I was up to something and they were going to prove it. They were just starting over from the beginning when this strange looking fellow came in—”
“Brown and green skin?” Cyrus interrupted.
“Yeah, but anyway, he told them to let me go.”
“That was Mozzie.”
“The Mozzie?”
“Yep,” Cyrus confirmed. “Told me he knew I was up to something and I shouldn’t come back for a very long time.”
“That’s not good.”
“Gave me our winnings, though,” Cyrus said cheerfully.
“That’s not going to mean much if we don’t get back to base, pronto.”
“Agreed. How fast do you think we can go with your modifications?”
“Probably three-point-five,” Belzaire said. “Maybe more, but I wouldn’t push it.”
“Fifty lightyears faster than designed,” Cyrus cooed. “Not bad, my friend.”
“Just don’t hit anything.”
“Got it,” Cyrus said as they parted ways—one to the cockpit and one to the warp room. As he left, Cyrus called back, “Belzaire, what did you have on that last hand?”
“Pair of twos.”
Both men laughed as they prepared to race back to base at three hundred fifty times the speed of light.
***
The flight back to base was fast—faster than anyone had ever traveled before—and thankfully uneventful. Cyrus actually thought they had gotten away with it as he guided the ship into the dark hangar. As he set the Falcon down, however, the entire warehouse lit up and he could see dozens of security officers through the view screen, surrounding the ship.
“Crap,” was all he could mutter before a command blared over the intercom.
“Jones, Belzaire, outside now!”
At least they weren’t storming the ship with guns drawn.
Cyrus and Belzaire met at the ramp and walked out together, both feeling way more confident than the situation should have warranted. Cyrus was the best pilot in the fleet, bar none, and knew they wouldn’t do anything other than make his life uncomfortable for a while. Belzaire was one of the few people in the galaxy that was capable—due to his heritage— of generating a warp field. He already viewed himself as an indentured servant, but a very valuable one, so he knew there wasn’t much they would do to him either.
Vice Admiral Spiraculi was waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp, surrounded by half a dozen security officers.
“Belzaire,” the vice admiral nearly spat (Cyrus had always wondered why Jabuka never had last names). “You are complicit in the theft of an IMF spaceship. The fact that you were not flying does not excuse your willingness to participate. Effective immediately, you will be re-assigned and have no further contact with Mister Jones.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Spiraculi interrupted. “Officers, confine him to his quarters. He is to have no visitors until he is re-assigned.”
The vice admiral turned to Cyrus. “Mister Jones, you are a talented pilot, but you are not above the law. Due to your previously spotless record, I am inclined to show lenience. I cannot, however, completely ignore this transgression. You will be formally censured and demoted one pay level. Gather your things and report to Captain Chavez. You will be leaving on a deep-space assignment in two hours.”
And that was it. His night of fun was over. And so too, apparently, was his only true friendship.
Chapter 4
Cyrus woke again in the same bright room. This time, he could sense his body, even if he couldn’t feel anything. He still couldn’t move, but he realized he could blink. Maybe I didn’t die after all.
Whoever was in the room was talking quietly. He couldn’t understand anything being said, but he got the impression the speaker was trying to comfort him. A moment later, a gloved hand brought a mask down over his face.
Everything faded away once again.
***
Warp three. The fastest a human being had ever traveled—except Cyrus and Belzaire, but nobody else knew that. Cyrus had flown at three hundred times the speed of light so many times it was second nature, and he was now the only pilot in the IMF certified to fly at that speed.
Too many ships had been destroyed and the Intergalactic Trading Company had started regulating who could fly their fastest ships. Cyrus wasn’t sure if the ITC was more upset about the money or the loss of life. Probably both, because it took both a niakrim warp generator and a Jabuka warp engineer to fly at warp speeds. Both were extremely rare.
It wasn’t that Cyrus didn’t care about his fellow pilots, he just didn’t worry about things that didn’t directly affect him. As long as he got to fly the Falcon 3W, he didn’t really care if no one else was allowed to.
“Bring us out of warp at the next star system, Cyrus,” Captain Chavez interrupted his thoughts. “It’s been a long day and you need some rest.”
Another one of the ITC’s pointless regulations, as far as Cyrus was concerned. He didn’t need anyone telling him when to stop flying.
Cyrus wasn’t ready to stop flying for the day and figured the captain didn’t know the star charts well enough to realize he could stop any time he wanted. He kept on flying.
Nearly an hour passed before the captain spoke up again. “How are we coming on finding a place to stop and rest?”
He could hear the accusation in Chavez’s voice. “Next system is only a centi-year away, Captain. Should be there in fifteen minutes.”
Cyrus turned back to the captain with a smile, meaning to reassure him. It was the first mistake Cyrus had ever made as a warp pilot. The look of terror on Captain Chavez’s face told him all he needed to know.
The Expanding Universe 4: Space Adventure, Alien Contact, & Military Science Fiction (Science Fiction Anthology) Page 45
