by Britt Ringel
Captain Garrett Heskan led the boarding party out of the shuttle. He walked down the ramp with an ease and grace that suggested a degree of comfort with pomp and circumstance far above his apparent age. Hollarans have always been big on ceremony, Covington reminded himself. I just hope he realizes that our tiny navy can’t match the grandeur of his Commonwealth… if, in fact, that’s where he’s from.
The notion that the honorable man walking toward him could be a Brevic sailor threatened to upend everything he knew about the Republic. Everyone knows that ‘Vics are hyper-aggressive, dishonorable and untrustworthy savages, he thought. This man can’t be one. History was replete with examples of Brevic treachery against AmyraCorp’s key ally, the Commonwealth, and he had been educated on every transgression. Besides, ‘Vics hate what privateers and the corporate systems stand for. They hate our values and beliefs. No self-respecting ‘Vic would be caught dead in Seshafi or be able to integrate so well among us.
Covington exhaled slowly a final time to settle his heart rate at a level just below that experienced in his last combat. When Heskan locked eyes with him, Hawk’s captain valiantly fought to keep his bearing. The fleet commander, on the other hand, simply smiled. That friendly expression sent chills down Covington’s back and a feeling of pride upward into his chest. Behind the great man, Covington barely recognized Heskan’s almost equally renowned but civilian-garbed former first officer. The woman was only a few years older than himself but she carried the gravitas of an admiral.
Although puzzled at the time by Vernay’s decision to forego a potentially devastating fusillade against the Saden rearguard in favor of grazing shots against its main, Covington determined that the scale of honor tipped toward protecting one’s comrades over destroying the enemy. He had thought long and hard about her actions and accepted them as yet another, vital lesson about valuing life above glory. His mind returned to her enigmatic origins. That’s a Commonwealth tenet too, he told himself. A ‘Vic would be more than happy to sacrifice her troops for a killing shot at the enemy. He reflected on months-old news stories about the Brevics defending a star system using an all-out attack on retreating Hollaran forces rather than withdrawing to defend a populated planet from the invading Hollarans’ forward elements. Mark can’t be right about Heskan. It’s just not possible. If these people were ‘Vics, it would throw everything I’ve been taught about them since I was a child into question. Nothing good or noble can flourish in the Brevic Republic. It simply is not possible.
Vernay’s noble choice of defense over offense made the treatment she received from the Seshafian media nauseating. Lurid rumors churned among the talking heads and refused to die. It made Covington feel ashamed, for the first time in his life, of his heritage. As he watched the lithe predator glide down the shuttle ramp behind her commander, he predicted the future with a sickening revulsion. We’re going to chase these people out of Seshafi with our pettiness and politics. They are showing us the way forward… they’re forging a new code of honor based on the simple reality that our warfare is changing whether we wish it to or not. Sade started this. He felt his right hand tremble slightly at his temple. And we’re ushering them out the airlock with our prejudice.
Covington pushed the dreadful thoughts aside and opened his mouth to address the man who commanded the entirety of the Seshafian Navy. Once again, the outlander beat him to the punch. Heskan offered a jaunty salute and smiled more broadly. “My crew and I request permission to come aboard, Captain.”
The unanticipated courtesy choked Covington’s voice. “Of course! Captain, please. Welcome aboard! We’re honored to have all of you with us.” Stop gushing, Clayton! Only after his internal rebuke did he realize he was still holding his salute. He dropped his hand and jutted it toward Heskan. Gooseflesh broke out over his arms as they shook hands.
Covington noticed coy smiles emanating from Heskan’s command team. They were not expressions of superiority but more akin to amusement. “If you would allow me to personally escort your party to your quarters, sir. Then, once you’re settled, perhaps we could have the honor of giving you a tour of Hawk.” Covington smiled unabashedly. “I know my crew is anxious to meet you all.”
“That sounds great, Clayton. I’ve been very impressed with Hawk’s performance and I’d love to meet the people behind it.”
Clayton turned and quickly motioned to several able spacemen. “We’ll get your bags stowed, sir. Now, if you and your party would please follow me.”
* * *
“All sections report ready. We can get under way, Captain.” Hawk’s first officer disconnected the communications channel with a practiced gesture before turning to his captain.
Covington sighed with relief. “Thank you, Scott.” The tour of Hawk had gone off without a hitch. The chief, who already insisted on running a tight ship, saw to it that every compartment was spotless, and the gleam from not only Hawk but also her crew had impressed the dignitaries. During the tour, Heskan and his officers had been fulsome with their compliments and Covington had held no doubts as to their sincerity.
He had grown up used to receiving praise and acclamations from both juniors and superiors but always wondered whether the commendations resulted from his natural abilities or his family ties. However, feedback from the former Hollarans had always been unequivocally based on performance. Whether Heskan was his line section leader or his fleet commander, the candid assessments from the man were equal parts sage teachings and brutal honesty. There was never a question where a ship captain stood with him. While many high-ranking officers in the Seshafian navy carefully calculated and parsed their words before the gentry of AmyraCorp, the Hollarans found their own virtue in speaking frankly and openly about matters of war.
Maybe they’re more measured when it comes to their politics, Covington wondered, but when it comes to conflict, these people say what needs to be said. I guess that’s a necessity considering the nature of their enemy. The Hollaran-Brevic War appeared to be ending and to the relief of every Seshafian, the right side had emerged victorious. In the beginning, there had been real fear that the Republic’s aggression could alter the balance of power between the two governments, or worse, draw the Federation into the war. That had been avoided. Sometimes, Covington reflected, the good guys do finish first. He glanced casually at Hawk’s system plot. “ETA to the tunnel point?”
The navigator consulted his console briefly. “Five hours, twenty-one minutes until dive, Captain.”
Covington shifted in his chair restlessly. He wanted nothing more than to run down to Hawk’s lounge in the hope that one of the Hollarans was there, but he did not want to push his duties onto a subordinate in order to “hobnob” with the celebrities on board his ship. There will be plenty of time to be around them, Clayton. If you want to impress them, just do your job.
Chapter 13
“But that would strip you of your honor,” Tannault replied above the din inside Hawk’s mess. Captain Nguyen nodded in support over his plate while the younger Seshafians looked eagerly across the table to the newcomer. They had been sailing for twelve days now and the lunchtime table discussions on Hawk had become epic.
Commander Vernay smiled in understanding but countered, “Your idealism is admirable, Joseph, but ultimately, it could kill those serving under you. Your duty to those men and women outweighs your personal reputation.”
“I should think they would willingly die for their idealism,” Tannault ventured. He looked pointedly at Nguyen before adding, “After all, isn’t that the greatest threat of war? The threat of succumbing to baser instincts and losing your honor?” More nods of acknowledgment filtered around the table.
Vernay shivered and offered vaguely, “There are threats coreward of us far greater than oneself, Joseph.”
“Surely the ultimate defeat is losing yourself, Commander?”
Vernay assessed her companions and sighed. “I appreciate what you’re saying and it’s easy to agree with you sitting here, but whe
n you’re fighting not only for your life but the lives of everyone around you, you begin to realize that concepts like honor take a backseat to survival.”
“It’s the losing yourself argument all over again,” Tannault said casually as he waved his hand.
Vernay shook her head. “I’m not talking about the survival of your identity, Joseph. I’m talking about the survival of your comrades, the citizens of your state; their children.” She exhaled with a growing frustration and dropped her silverware to her plate. “Look. Honor and virtue are ideals we should all hold ourselves to but it gets more complicated when you realize that maintaining your own, personal honor may mean sacrificing millions or even trillions of lives.”
“IaCom would never do something like that,” Nguyen insisted.
“There’s not even a billion people on the Twins,” Tannault dismissed.
“You misunderstand her meaning,” Heskan interjected from the table’s end while placing his datapad on its surface. He had been listening to the conversation while replying to the latest building summary for his house. Construction was nearing completion and for an additional price, the contractor was offering a wide variety of style-appropriate furniture. The dizzying choices proved to be a tedious but necessary task. Heskan currently did not even own a bed. “She’s not talking about Sade, Captain.”
Nguyen looked skeptically at Heskan. “Even the Brev… even the major powers don’t take life on that scale.”
Vernay flinched slightly as Heskan cautioned, “There’s more out there than the three major powers, Yon.”
The senior Seshafian’s expression twisted in momentary confusion. “The Chetellx haven’t shown any interest in conquest. In fact, they’ve barely shown any interest in humanity at all.”
“We’re not even sure if they have warships,” Tannault added.
“Yeah, they don’t want anything to do with us,” Lieutenant Mark Hall agreed. “We’re too changeable.” He made air quotes as he spoke the final word.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vernay asked.
Hall’s eyes brightened considerably at the topic. “I watched a recording of the final conference between them and the Federation six years ago. We asked them if they wanted to trade goods with us, have cultural exchanges and so forth. The leader of the Chetellx delegation clicked away with its assistants before the automated translator stated, ‘The colony did not seek contact with humans because you are much changeable.’” Hall shrugged lightly and explained, “It was only the third meeting between us so computer translations were pretty bad. The Federation delegation asked what that meant but the thing clicked away for nearly a minute without any of it being accurately translated. Finally, the Chetellx just gave the chemical formula for nitrogen triiodide.”
“What’s that?” Covington asked.
“N-I-Three is an inorganic compound and a highly unstable explosive,” Hall expounded. “I didn’t know what it was either until I watched the video. Anyway, the chair of the delegation thought the Chetellx meant that humans are too volatile or dangerous. It was the last meaningful meeting we had with them so we never got a chance to find out.”
News of the alien race was a scarcity in the Republic. “That’s the last time we met with the Chetellx?” Heskan asked.
Hall dipped his head. “Basically, sir. The Federation still sees them every one hundred and eleven days at Pwenet. The Chetellx dive in there at precisely the same interval and repeat the exact same thing each time.”
“What do they say?”
“It’s like some sort of ritual where the Chetellx reaffirm the border between themselves and humanity.” Hall stabbed a piece of synthetic meat with his fork. “Then they tunnel out.” He popped the food into his mouth.
“If only the ‘Vics were as respectful of national boundaries,” Tannault said off-handedly.
The table shared robust laughter with some exceptions.
“Well, I still believe,” Tannault said with a growing volume, “that I’d rather keep my honor intact than trade it for something as fleeting as a victory.”
Vernay snorted lightly. “Lose a war and see if you feel the same way.”
Covington’s datapad chimed loudly to preempt any response.
“Captain, Lieutenant Ivers here, sir.”
“What is it, Scott?”
“We’ve moved up in the queue to dive to Nyx, Captain.”
“We’re in a queue?” Selvaggio questioned. “In Enyo?”
Covington looked across the table and nodded. “Just by coincidence, ma’am.” He addressed her formally despite equaling her rank. “Ship traffic from Enyo’s main orbital is arriving at the Nyx tunnel point at the same time we are. There’s nothing after that.” Covington pressed a forefinger to his datapad. “Okay, thank you.” He began to raise his finger but stopped. “What happened, Scott? Why’d we move up?”
“Hold on, Captain,” Ivers responded. After a beat, the answer came. “The ship ahead of us is a salvage ship designated Darlane Salvage One-One. It’s sailing with a disabled freighter under its restraint and it looks like they need to rearrange their load before they dive.”
“They’re adjusting their load after disembarking?” Nguyen asked rhetorically. “That’s strange.”
Selvaggio dipped her head. “That implies that they sailed with an unbalanced load on their way to the tunnel point. I’d hate to be the cargo master of that ship. Still, it’s better to take a look and be safe than sorry.”
“I remember how obsessive the tug crew was before our dive on our last corvette,” Truesworth reminisced.
Covington looked down to his datapad. “How soon, Scott?”
“Twenty-one minutes, sir,” he replied. “We now have the number one spot. It’s Hawk, then the Darlane salvage vessel and Mirific.”
Vernay’s head jerked instantly toward Selvaggio.
“Then four days in t-space,” Covington mumbled to himself.
Selvaggio returned Vernay’s anxious look.
“But just three instant jumps after that,” Tannault added. He looked at Covington and asked, “When’s the last time you’ve been to Nessus?”
“Captain, can I speak with you?” Vernay asked Heskan in a hushed tone.
“Two years ago,” Covington answered Tannault. “Dad took me with him during the annual earnings call. The planet is a madhouse that time of year.”
“I can imagine,” Hall said before turning to Heskan. “Have you been to Nessus, Captain?”
Vernay stood up from the mess table and took Heskan by the arm. “Captain, I need a word.” Rather than wait for his answer, she began to pull his arm. The sight would have been comical if not for the desperation in Vernay’s expression.
Heskan smiled at the interruption and excused himself. As the bantam officer dragged him away from the group, he asked impatiently, “What is it, Stacy?”
After Vernay had hauled him a sufficient distance, she turned to him. Concern etched through her face. “Captain, I’ve heard that name before.”
“Whose name before?”
“Not who, what,” she said. “Mirific. That’s one of the freighters I was supposed to hijack in Erriapius.”
Heskan’s eyebrows arched upward. “What? Are you sure?”
“Audrey Jones, Cry of the Sea, Hour Prince, Hussy, Life Remorah, Mirific, Tovas Proud—”
“Okay, okay,” Heskan said as he held his hands up. “What does this mean?”
Vernay shrugged apprehensively. “I don’t know. It could be a coincidence…”
“But you doubt it,” Heskan finished. After a brief glare at the far bulkhead, he stated, “I doubt it, too. What are the chances a Roberts Clan ship just happens to be in the same Federation system as us waiting at the same tunnel point we’re headed to.”
Vernay glanced nervously around Heskan, back to the mess table. Selvaggio was whispering something into Truesworth’s ear. “What do we say? What can we say? How can we tell them anything without tipping them off as to who
we really are?”
Heskan swore under his breath. “Archduke Covington was very clear about not having our identities exposed. He’s worried about us and about the unpredictable effect that exposing the head of his navy as a former Brevic officer could have.”
“But, if Mirific is an armed Q-ship, we could be sailing into a trap.”
Heskan silently weighed his options. After his deliberation, he announced, “We have to say something.”
Heskan walked the short distance back to the table. The discussion, having turned to the nightlife on Nessus, died upon his return. He looked grimly at Covington. “Captain, I think we need to go to Hawk’s bridge.”
* * *
Lieutenant Scott Ivers’ surprised expression increased exponentially as more and more brass walked into his compartment. “Captain on the bridge,” he announced belatedly while hopping out of Hawk’s command chair. “Something wrong, sir?”
“I don’t know yet, Scott,” Covington replied. He looked back to the group following him. “Captain Heskan, if you don’t mind, sir, what’s this about?”
Truesworth snaked his way across the bridge to Hawk’s sensor console. The baffled SENS officer merely withdrew her hands from her station as Truesworth began to input commands into her panel.
“It might be nothing, Clayton,” Heskan admitted. “However, the freighter that’s attached to that salvage ship might be something other than what it appears to be.”
“What’s that mean?” Ivers asked from his first officer’s chair.
“It means,” Vernay said as she approached him, “that we need to get a better look at that freighter. Jack, check the standata and run a background check on the salvage ship too.”
Ivers’ expression twisted into a mixture of confusion and annoyance. Heskan was empathetic to the situation. We’ve charged in here like we own the place. We can’t just take over the ship. “Captain Covington,” Heskan called him by the honorific to reassert the junior officer’s authority. “May I recommend we get an optical up on those ships?”
