Beyond Those Distant Stars

by John B. Rosenman

  Gage's jaw hardened. “So McMasters chose you, is that correct? Well, ser, we have your file too. Please explain why the commanding officer of an Imperial cruiser would choose a Level Two, Battle/Nav/Comm tech with thirty-seven months experience who's only twenty-one years and two months old.”

  Oh shit, Stella thought, glancing at Thunderheart. Though she and her officers had anticipated such questions and Lee's responses were well-delivered, they sounded increasingly implausible. Piled layer by layer on top of each other, they created a fragile tower that trembled in the relentless gale of Gage's interrogation.

  “I was Sloan Williams’ personal choice,” Lee answered, his voice ringing with sincerity. “He communicated his preference to Commander McMasters shortly before the engagement.”

  Abruptly, Colonel Powers reentered the picture. “First officers don't advise commanders to jump a snot-nosed junior tech six levels. That's third-rate pula shit, son.”

  Despite Gage's sharp look at Powers for interrupting, her face indicated her agreement. “Colonel Powers is correct, Song. At the very least, your appointment violates established procedure.”

  Stella saw Lee glance briefly at fellow officers in the bridge. “With all due respect, General, I believe my promotion does fall within a commander's discretionary wartime powers. But aren't we all overlooking the important issue here? We have a fully operational Scaley ship.”

  “I will determine what's important and what's not,” Gage snapped. Her eyes bore into the camera. “How do we know your crew haven't mutinied, killed, or imprisoned your commanding officer and taken control? That would explain why she hasn't communicated with us.”

  Double shit. Stella threw Thunderheart a frustrated look, seeing him scowl at Gage's words. Of all the subjects she didn't want raised, this was the worst. With morale and obedience tattered in the ranks, mutiny aboard ship was a specter that haunted many officers.

  A battery of voices from Loran Base overrode Lee's reply. Gage silenced them with a chop of her small hand.

  “I'll repeat my question. First Officer Song, how do we know you and your crew haven't committed treason?”

  End of the line, Lee. You've taken this ruse as far as it will go. Stella manipulated a vortex and faced Gage's now hostile expression.

  “General Gage,” she said, “I am Commander Stella Singlethorne McMasters, presently piloting the Slug spaceship they call the Pregnant Song.”

  Gage and others stared at her for five seconds. Finally ... “You mean ‘Scaley,’ don't you?” Gage said.

  “I do not. The Scaleys are puppets created by the Slugs.”

  Powers waved his hand impatiently. “What do you mean, ‘Pregnant Song'? How do you know the ship's name, much less how to pilot it?”

  She sighed, wondering why Gage permitted Powers to interfere. The general seemed to be a strong leader. Could discipline at this base have eroded because of sustained military losses? “I don't pilot it very well, Colonel. I'm still learning, figuring things out. As for the name, it's a long story, ser, and I'd rather explain in person.”

  On the monitor, Powers’ face trembled with anger. “I'm your superior officer, McMasters. If you—”

  “That'll do, Colonel,” Gage cut in. “Commander, we seem to be at an impasse. I can't allow you to approach until I have satisfactory answers to certain questions.”

  Damn it, Stella thought, I always hated diplomacy. Never had patience for it at all.

  “General Gage, with all due respect I'm exhausted, totally wiped. And I'm getting progressively fricked off. Through considerable valor and as much luck, my crew and I managed to capture an enemy vessel. In addition, we've just jumped a wormie. My sole desire at this time is to deliver the alien ship safely to you so our experts can study it. With what I've learned about the enemy's technology and the tissue samples we have obtained from the alien, I have no doubt that we can turn this war around. But-we-can't-do-it-if-you-and-Colonel-Powers-continue-to-interrogate-us!”

  Powers opened his mouth. Gage silenced him with a jab of her finger. “I sympathize with your situation, Commander, but you must realize my concern for base security.” She crossed her arms. “I wouldn't be so strict if it weren't for the fact that you might not be what you claim and could destroy this base.”

  Stella nodded reluctantly. “It's a real nice situation, ser.”

  Gage ran a hand through close-cropped hair. “I'm glad you understand why I can't allow any risk.”

  “General Gage,” she said, “let me introduce you to someone who feels very deeply about honor and honesty.” She beckoned Thunderheart over to stand beside her.

  Gage studied him and his uniform. “Ah, a member of the Emperor's Arm. What's your name, soldier?”

  “Thunderheart, General.” He paused. “I belonged to a dek-path, all sworn to the Emperor's service.”

  “'Belonged'? Where are the others?”

  “They are dead, ser. All nine gave their lives when they boarded this ship.”

  Gage's eyes softened. “I'm sorry, Thunderheart. My condolences.” She pursed her lips. “Thunderheart, has Commander McMasters told the truth?”

  Stella saw Thunderheart turn to her and felt his respectful gaze. “On my honor, General, she has. Commander McMasters would never betray or endanger our cause in any way. As one consecrated to defend the Emperor with his life, I swear this as a sacred oath.”

  Gage's cheekbones worked beneath her skin, and her fingers tapped the table. The silence lengthened. Stella could only wait-and hope.

  “Fair enough,” Gage finally said. “Here's my order, Commander. You will direct First Officer Song to proceed with you to a distance of exactly one hundred thousand kilometers from this base. At that point, he will remove the cradle that secures you and proceed alone under guard to our docking bay, where he will surrender the Spaceranger and its crew to our security police. Commander McMasters, you will wait motionless for a squadron of firedarts that will approach and guide you in. You are to consider yourself under arrest. The slightest sign of resistance or deviation from my instructions will cause you to be instantly treated as one of the enemy. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, General,” Stella said. “I am hereby ordering First Officer Lee Song of the Spaceranger to obey and I will obey also.”

  “Good.” Stella heard Gage murmur to Powers that both ships would be carefully scoured for bombs and other hazards. Turning back to Stella, she pulled a handsome officer with sand-colored hair to her side.

  “Commander, this is Captain Orian. He will lead the squadron that will direct you in. You are to obey any orders he gives you.”

  Stella nodded. “I look forward to meeting you, General,” she said.

  * * * *

  Hours later, as the space station grew in her displays, Stella could not help feeling impressed even though she had seen numerous holos of it. So this was Loran Base, aerial monument to General Ulysses Narraganset Loran, who was not only Defender of the Emperor and Supreme Commander of Imperial Forces but the Conqueror of Rebel Insurgents and a glorious Living Legend. Stella remembered hearing stories as a small child about how he had singlehandedly engineered a strategic withdrawal from rebel hordes at the Battle of Kakkistan, saving thousands of lives.

  Above the Slug's holovid displays, Loran Base appeared with a clarity and resolution Imperial technology lacked. Orbiting above Etienne, a cloudy methane world, the base's gleaming, slowly revolving silver globe measured twenty-five kilometers across. Switching to close-up magnification, she was able to make out features of the base's elaborate interior structure through transparent parts of its shielding.

  As Gage had ordered, Lee removed the cradle from the Pregnant Song when they were one hundred thousand kilometers from Loran Base. It was an operation that required an hour and nearly thirty crew, who moved over the ship's hull in expert hops with only slender tethers to prevent them from drifting off into space.

  When the operation was completed, the guard ships accompanied
the Spaceranger to the base for docking, leaving Stella stranded. She was alone now with space, the stars, and Thunderheart, who smiled tightly at her. She managed a smile back, and her thoughts turned to Jason. If only it was he who sat beside her instead of Thunderheart.

  Then General Gage came back on. “The Spaceranger is now safely docked, Commander. Because of your ship's size, we're assigning you to a berth reserved for one of our hammerhead dreadnoughts. The firedart squadron will direct you there. I want to reemphasize that you are not to move or maneuver your craft in any manner until your escort arrives, and that you are to proceed slowly in the center with them in locked formation.”

  “Aye, aye, ser,” she responded, strangely reassured by this tough little fireplug of a woman. “I do appreciate your situation, General,” she said.

  Gage smiled. “And I do appreciate yours, Commander. I know you just want to get that damn crate you're toting here so you can get it off your back.”

  Stella laughed, seeing gray-white blips emerge from stations on the base. The firedarts were on their way.

  She sighed. “I could sure use a bath,” she said.

  Gage's eyes sheared off-screen, and then flicked back. “You'll have it, and I'll throw in some of my choice caviar and vintage champagne to wash it down.”

  Caviar she had heard of but never tasted. Champagne was unknown to her. As the firedarts approached in two formations of what looked like twenty apiece, she savored the prospect of depositing her burden, telling them everything she knew, and receiving a pat on the head for a job well done. Who knows, perhaps she'd even receive a commendation from the Emperor.

  Something streaked by overhead-blips of light. Then more. She blinked, snapped alert.

  A blast of flame struck the plexiport, and a monitor signaled a hit. Another blast and then another followed as the firedarts closed quickly toward her, their formations abruptly fanning out.

  They were being fired upon!

  Her mouth opened in disbelief. Betrayed, and by Gage! The sleek firedarts were mere kilometers away now, and yet she sat motionless, blindly following the general's orders.

  Quickly, she reached for her artillery board as frustrated anger ripped through her. It tasted bitter, bitter as dashed hopes.

  Damn it, it's not fair, it's not right! she screamed inside as the first firedarts streaked past. I'm on your side. I killed the enemy and brought their ship all this way to help us! But the firedarts didn't hear her. Nor, she knew, would they have listened even if they had. They just came on and on, closer and closer.

  And then they were upon her.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  It was as if she were in a nest of enraged hornets, stung again and again. As the firedarts streaked past the plexiport, shield monitors overhead signaled hits with staccato rapidity. They indicated twenty-two in nine seconds, and even the superb shielding of the Slug ship, which had quickly regained its power after the vigilant's attack, had now lost a third of its capacity.

  Reaching into the yellow vortex, Stella wrenched and guided the Pregnant Song into full power. At once it rammed forward and shot out of its cage.

  As with the vigilants, if she'd had time to accelerate, she could have outrun them. Her tiny attackers, faster and more mobile than the vigilants, swarmed about her, needling her in a barrage that triggered a constant complaint from the monitors. Shielding was now down to half. She was vastly outnumbered, and being overwhelmed only underscored her limitations in piloting this craft. Despite the memory, knowledge, and new way of seeing which she had inherited from the Slug, she couldn't ignore that the drive and weapons controls were meters apart on different consoles. Convenient for a being that acted through thought alone, they were impossible even for a ‘modified’ human to use when strapped in a chair and surrounded by hostile forces.

  Straining forward, Stella reached into another force field and abruptly decelerated. Then, like a whale that seeks to dislodge small parasites that bite and cling to its body, she rolled and yawed and windmilled the craft in crude circles. A green monitor directly above signaled two hard hits as the Pregnant Song plunged erratically through space.

  Someone was shouting. She turned, seeing General Gage gesture fiercely from the screen.

  “You lied, betrayed me!” Stella snarled.

  “No! Captain Orian acted without authority. Orian's parents were killed in a Scaley raid, and his brother was on that vigilant you just destroyed. We think he must want revenge.”

  Now's a great time to find out, Stella thought, swinging the Pregnant Song viciously into a swarm of firedarts. A monitor shrieked and she saw one of them shatter into a million pieces. Good, that meant there were only thirty-seven left.

  “Commander,” Gage shouted, “Orian ordered their comm terminated, so we can't recall them. We're sending a rescue squadron at once. Hold on! I'm sorry!”

  Stella had no time for apologies, especially since the base was so far away. The firedarts swarmed upon her; wherever she turned they roared in her face, stirred to a killing frenzy.

  Then all at once, it changed. One moment the Pregnant Song consisted of mechanical notes; the next it was a symphony that was vitally alive. She blinked at the drive system and artillery board, seeing not a machine of bits and parts but a sensitive life form, a machine raised to such a level that its processes had become dimly sentient, imbued with a deep organic potency. And she...

  ...was the Slug, the meld and transference of minds at last complete as they reached together into all the vortexes at once and felt the surge and confluence of myriad forces. They twisted, pulled a little here, prodded a little there and the ship leapt forward like their own body in a second skin, as close as Jason ever was to the Spaceranger. No longer was there any thinking or analyzing, only BEING, the blast of verniers on their right side and the hot roar of cannons on their left as half a dozen firedarts flashed out of existence. And they swam and sang through the ebb and flow of a million currents, some unborn and yet to be, deep in the ship's womb as the Pregnant Song yawed, rolled, fired plasma streams, crushed half a dozen more firedarts and speared others with their artillery....

  Gage was screaming at her from a holovid. “McMasters, stop! You've won, they're leaving! Don't attack anymore!”

  She shook her head, came partway back, finding herself Stella again, not we but me. The alien's residue of despair and ennui was gone, but his stirring unity with the ship remained.

  Scanning the monitors, she saw that Gage was right. The firedarts had been routed, blown to the stars like bits of fluff from a dandelion. None of them was of any consequence.

  Except one.

  A streak of red on its nose singled it out from the others, and she knew instantly who flew it. Captain Orian.

  Stella turned to Thunderheart in the chair beside her. “What do you do to a comrade who betrayed you?”

  He drew in his breath, his dark skin gleaming. “You destroy him, Commander.”

  She glanced at the firedart's shrinking image. “Even if the enemy killed his parents and he thinks they just killed his brother? Even if he bears a deep and secret wound?”

  Thunderheart sat rigid. “The Emperor requires strength and justice, my commander. Anyone can be loyal when the guns are silent.”

  She nodded, his confirmation fanning her rage. “Agreed.”

  “No!” General Gage shouted. “You can't do that. Commander McMasters, I order—”

  Stella deactivated a force field. As Gage's image vanished, she plunged her mind into the yellow vortex, straining for maximum power.

  The Pregnant Song gathered, and then exploded forward, grinding the harness cruelly into their bodies. As she gripped her chair, Stella's mind entered the drive system through a hundred portals, adjusting and fine-tuning it.

  The ship's speed increased.

  For a while the firedart outpaced them. Then the vast potential of the Pregnant Song began to close the gap, and Orian
's ship swelled before them. So too did the distant structure toward which he fled.

  Orian was heading directly back to Loran Base.

  She checked some readouts. Seventy-two thousand kilometers to Gage. Thirteen hundred kilometers between them and the firedart. Why didn't Orian bob and turn, double back the way he'd come? As good as she now was at piloting the Slug ship, she couldn't hope to follow him if he used his greater maneuverability. Orian, though, wasn't trying to do that. In fact, he flew like a man possessed by fear and shorn of judgment.

  Such thoughts humanized Orian and made him a victim, threatening to dilute her fury and frustration. Grimly she concentrated on honing the blunted edge of her purpose. To come all this way, the alien ship in hand and perhaps the end of the war as well, and to have it all destroyed by this one fool!

  Thunderheart was right. The Emperor required strength and justice. There could be no excuses, no mitigating factors. But then she remembered Sloan's betrayal, motivated by an unjust system that never gave him a chance to excel because he was poor. She had snapped his neck but concealed his dishonor. Why had she done that? And more important, why couldn't she now forget her vengeance? After all, despite his actions, Orian had not destroyed their hopes.

  Seeing a squadron of vigilants approach the firedart, Stella made her decision. She reduced her speed and let the firedart streak ahead. Let Gage attend to her own, force Orian to surrender or smash him to pieces if she wanted. Unlike the rest in this unforgiving Empire, she herself could show a little heart.

  Suddenly the firedart exploded.

  She watched the squadron beyond Orian decelerate. Numbly, her mind reached out, bringing Gage back on-line.

  “Commander McMasters,” Gage's white-faced image said. “Captain Orian has evidently taken his life. We've reestablished communication with the firedarts and they've been ordered not to interfere. Report to base. The crisis is over.”

  Between Stella and the base, Orian's passing was a fading whorl on the cosmic sea. She stared at the distant, still decelerating ships and turned back to Gage.