Persephone

by Blaze Ward

  Perhaps he could get a contract hauling mail and priority shipments between worlds and charge an extra premium?

  But that wasn’t why they had asked him and his spouse to join them down on the surface of the new world.

  And he had asked. Director Kosnett could have easily ordered them to attend him. Forced them into the administrative shuttle without an explanation. Instead, he had sent a crewman to deliver a hand-written letter.

  Lan hadn’t been on the surface of a planet in nearly two years. He and Kiel normally ran between stations in orbit, only landing on worlds not serviced by a useful station. It felt weird.

  Lighthouse Station was the name the barbarians had chosen. Lan had no idea where they actually were, in relation to any other planet, which was just as well. He couldn’t be accused of anything later. And how did anyone expect a forty-four-year-old man and his forty-seven-year-old wife to overcome an entire warship filled with armed pirates?

  Lan scanned the coops and pastures around them, letting the smell on the morning breeze welcome him. Cow shit. And chicken shit. It reminded him of his youth, and the reasons he had wanted to serve on a spaceship in the first place.

  He laughed to himself as Kiel took his hand, an eyebrow raised.

  “Cows,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  Maybe it did. They were no more native to this world than he was. Both the product of competent pirates with a decided sense of humor.

  “Moo,” she giggled back.

  They weren’t even under guard, as they approached the newly-built house. Merely escorted by one of the female marines that made up part of his normal bodyguard.

  That was how Lan had taken to thinking of them.

  Inside the building, a crowd had taken over the main room, with two big tables slid together and lots of mismatched chairs. Resolute Revolution had nothing but seats fixed to bulkheads and flip-down jumpseats, so these had been stolen from someone else.

  Director Kosnett rose and bowed lightly to them, a proper Khan recognizing honored guests to his Court. Lan’s smile spread and he bowed back even deeper.

  These barbarians were such interesting and polite people for murderous bastards coming to snatch a six-year-old Lan from his dormitory for being naughty. Or something like that.

  They were seated next to the Director, across from two other sub-commanders: Lady Blackbeard Skokomish, and Ground Control Lau, according to the stories he and his spouse had picked up third-hand from their marine escorts and others in the wardroom for dinner. Many of the others were recurring characters in Kosnett’s drama, actors with pay-for-play contracts who came and went as the chess master moved his pieces around the board.

  “Thank you for joining us,” Director Kosnett said. “My crew of lunatic pirates might have finally dreamed up the impossible, and someone suggested that the two of you might be able to offer interesting suggestions.”

  “Indeed?” Kiel spoke.

  She always spoke for them, as a rule. He would trust her judgment in all things, as the only bad decision the woman had ever made was marrying him.

  “And, at the very least, there will be fresh eggs and homemade cheese omelets, with beef bacon and fresh vegetables from the greenhouse,” Kosnett continued.

  Lan felt his eyes grow wide. Fresh omelets, but that made sense, as they had captured chickens, as well as cattle. This was turning into a proper ranch.

  Where in the galaxy did these barbarians get the people to do all this?

  “Ask, Director Kosnett,” Kiel smiled. “We will aid you as our consciences allow.”

  “We have, to date, stolen three vessels from The Holding,” he said, referring to Resolute Revolution, the food transport now called Packmule, and the new escort he had previously heard mentioned. They had seen it on landing, parked across the yard, an older Imperial ship that they had apparently snuck out from under the noses of the guards, to hear his marines snicker.

  “Our next mission is an entire order of magnitude larger and more dangerous than anything we have attempted,” Kosnett explained.

  “Okay,” Kiel said carefully.

  “We believe we have located the planet Mansi,” Kosnett said. “Based on Lan’s remembrances and our own field observations.”

  “Truly?” Lan gasped. “The prison world?”

  “We think so,” Kosnett said. “We have two options now.”

  Rather than continue, Kosnett turned to his First Officer, the woman known now as Ground Control, for reasons that had not been explained any more adequately than had the nickname for the Chief of Security who was universally Stunt Dude.

  The woman gestured to another person and a projection took shape between them, hovering over the table. Eight stations were marked with stars, in a rigid box defending all approaches to an unknown planet.

  Lan felt the ghost rise up from deep within his soul as the memories came back.

  “This is Mansi-B,” she began. “We scanned the planet extensively but passively from the shadows of Mansi-D, and have identified the station we believe is the palace of the Khan.”

  One of the station in the northern hemisphere changed from red to white.

  “We believe we can disable or destroy this station,” the woman continued in a hard, angry voice. “That opens a path to the surface, where we would destroy the kremlin on the ground. At that point, we could rescue any and possibly all of the prisoners currently being held.”

  “But?” Kiel asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “We do not have the hauling capacity to transport more than a few hundred at most,” Ground Control Lau replied. “We would need a dedicated troop transport, at a minimum, but those are likely to be military vessels and taking one would be difficult with our current staffing. Someone suggested we capture a cruise ship.”

  Lan watched a number of heads turn towards an Anglo man with dark hair who suddenly crimsoned with blush. Was this the originator of the idea?

  Lan felt Kiel turn towards him with a quizzical face.

  “Most ships would probably be filled with guests at any point that you approached it,” she said with a frown. “Those vessels maintain fixed courses, but do not have any sort of deadhead built in, so you might be dealing with hundreds or possibly thousands of prisoners. I’m not sure that improves your logistics.”

  “Crap,” Lau muttered under her breath.

  “What was your other option please?” Kiel spoke into the rising murmurs.

  “The other option involved running for home with some or all of this squadron and coming back with a large invasion force,” Kosnett explained. “Assuming we can convince the fleet to spare the ships necessary.”

  “Have you considered a hospital ship?” Lan asked before he was even aware of himself speaking.

  “A what?” Lau turned to face him.

  “Hospital ship,” Lan repeated. “Those fly circuits of less-developed worlds, providing more advanced medical support than smaller colonies can perhaps sustain on their own. And they are on fixed schedules.”

  “Dearest?” Kiel asked, concern underlying her tones.

  “These men have been captured by The Eldest and sentenced to a lifetime of internal exile, rather than ever being sent home,” Lan turned his anguish on her. “I can’t imagine that the crew would resist the effort to help, if they were truly dedicated to their purpose. And many of the former prisoners would probably be in sad shape, because I cannot imagine The Holding provides such services.”

  “Are you sure?” Kosnett asked in turn.

  “I cannot speak for a medical professional, Director,” Lan said. “But it is the only ethical solution I can suggest. Perhaps you should return home and bring an invading horde instead?”

  “If they’re worth their Hippocratic Oath, I can speak for them,” the blushing man suddenly leaned forward and slammed an apparently angry fist onto the tabletop hard enough to make everyone jump. “And if they aren’t, then someone needs to remind them what they are all about.”


  Ground Control Lau turned to this man now, studying him for several seconds.

  “Careful, Andre,” she said in a voice that was only partly teasing. “I might have to put you in command of such a ship.”

  Lan watched a complex set of emotions range across the stranger’s face. Anger, fear, and empathy were preeminent.

  “Veitengruber,” the stranger called Andre said to a man wearing a traditional Aquitaine Centurion’s uniform next to Lady Blackbeard. Possibly for Lan and Kiel’s benefit. “How were you treated?”

  “I was a slave,” the man replied in a cold, distant voice with traces of deep anger buried underneath and starting to bubble to the surface. “My choice was to work or starve, doing whatever tasks the overseer decided I should undertake.”

  “Should we kidnap a group of medical professionals and hijack their ship in order to rescue more of your comrades?” Ground Control continued.

  “I would suggest something good for the gander, Andre,” the man said. “But we’re the nice guys, so keeping them as slaves of the Empire for the rest of their lives is not an ethical position. But they can settle for a few months of discomfort until Phil lets them go.”

  Director Kosnett turned to the blond man next to him, the temporary First Officer that Lan thought was named Evan.

  “Find me the circuit,” Kosnett ordered in a dark voice. “At the least, we’ll take one and see if it suits our needs, or if we should just sail it home and turn it over to the Fleet before we come back to stomp on some rats.”

  Lan felt a chill run through his very soul at the Director’s tone. He had known hard men in his time, but had never heard such a simple turn of phrase that sounded so implacably lethal.

  Kosnett turned to Lan and Kiel now and bowed his head.

  “Thank you,” he said simply.

  And just like that, the storm was gone from his face, like it had never been. But Lan would never forget those eyes. He suspected they might factor in nightmares for many years.

  Lan wanted to ask why the war these people had started was accelerating, but he turned to the Centurion who claimed to have been a slave. He was a tall, almost lanky man with brown hair and a forgettable face, but there was something burning there now.

  “Sri?” Lan asked.

  “We have not been properly introduced, Xi Arakh Goran Lan and Nu Ulap Narah Kiel,” he said in a harsh voice striving to be level and calm. “For seven years, after I was captured at Samara, I was a slave on Abakn. I worked on a cattle ranch similar to this one. I was once Imperial Flight Lieutenant Granville Veitengruber, but I have chosen to take up arms as a member of the Republic of Aquitaine Navy now. I will see Mansi liberated if it is the last thing I do.”

  Lan felt Kiel take his hand under the table. Up until now, Director Kosnett and his forces had been engaged in a simple war. This was larger.

  This felt like Armageddon.

  And he was going to help.

  Growing Up (November 3, 402)

  Andre felt a presence more or less materialize on his right, but he didn’t look away from the sun just about to slide behind the western mountains and plunge this valley into sudden darkness. It made a nice metaphor for his life, recently.

  Shit was getting weird.

  Rather than speak, the stranger leaned against the same fence rail, weight forward and enjoying the silence.

  Andre glanced over after a time, expecting Heather. He was shocked nearly out of his senses that it was Veitengruber, the newest recruit.

  The former pilot was everything Andre wasn’t. Tall, blond, ruggedly handsome. Even relatively skinny compared to Andre’s overall squishiness. Of course, the man had spent seven years as a slave on a cattle ranch, so doing hard work on a daily basis, rather than sitting down in medbay being fat and happy with Kermit and Max.

  And apparently, the man was silent. Andre was amazed that he just stood there, watching the cattle in the near distance and the sunset.

  Did he miss being on a ranch? Doing all these things? Andre couldn’t understand why he would. The man had his own command now, a warship no less, and would be able to take his revenge on the people who had imprisoned him.

  Finally, Andre couldn’t take the silence anymore.

  “What drives you?” he asked.

  It was a really good opening question for a nurse dealing with patients. You listened to their wants and needs, to their hopes and fears, knowing that such information helped you treat them better and faster, getting them back into the line.

  “I would have said hatred,” the man said after a pause so long Andre thought that maybe he hadn’t heard the question. “But that’s not who I am, or who I want to be.”

  Andre nodded. Those were concepts he understood He believed human were always striving to be the best version of themselves that they could manage right now. Hopefully, tomorrow will be an even better self.

  “Fear, I think,” Veitengruber suggested after another pause.

  “Fear?” Andre asked, shocked.

  This man had survived something Andre figured would have killed him long ago. And come out in a position of authority.

  “I wake up some mornings and just lay there for a second before I remember where I am,” Veitengruber continued. “Thinking I’m back on Abakn and it’s time to go milk cows. That everything has just been a wild fantasy and I’ve never left.”

  “Ah,” Andre said. “I understand that. All I ever wanted to do was be a nurse and help people. I only got this job because we only had three medical professionals, and Heather needed a 2IC who was an officer. Plus one who understood logistics and supply.”

  “What drives you?” the Imperial asked. “You seemed agitated, back there in the meeting this morning. Far more so than I would have expected, even in the little time I’ve known you.”

  “Unprofessional behavior,” Andre finally realized. He had fallen silent for several seconds himself, finding the words. “The possibility that a group of doctors and nurses might not immediately come to the aid of someone, even of former enemies in need. That is not the oath we swear when we take this job.”

  “Does The Holding do it the same way, you suppose?” the lanky man asked.

  “You tell me,” Andre fired back. “You’re the expert here.”

  “Before you and Doctor Hanley, the last physician I saw was the one who handled my intake, when I was first taken prisoner,” Veitengruber said. “I was hosed down naked, given a battery of shots, handed a stack of new clothes, and thrown into a cell. Had I chosen to hang myself in that tiny room, I don’t think they would have cared all that much.”

  “So how did you end up on Abakn?” Andre asked.

  “No clue,” he said simply. “The ship bounced in and out of JumpSpace for about three weeks, I think, counting by the meals served. By the time we got there, I was so starved for human contact that I went willingly when they took us to the surface. Five of us. I ended up on that ranch, with no idea what happened to the rest.”

  “Where’s Deni from?” Andre probed carefully.

  Malondenishk Abarantakratar. Deni.

  Veitengruber’s partner in ways that the Empire would never allow and the Republic wouldn’t even notice. Consenting adults. You found love where you did.

  Andre supposed that Phil keeping Deni on CS-405 was a way of ensuring some level of cooperation from Veitengruber, since he wouldn’t run off in his ship without his mate. Andre wasn’t about to suggest that out loud.

  “NovLao is more or less on the far side of The Holding,” the man said, eyes distant. “They’re smaller than the Empire, maybe the size of the Republic, more or less, but not as integrated or as technologically advanced. Buran has been pushing them back for generations, consuming one planet after another.”

  “Where will you two call home?”

  Andre had only gotten snippets of the story, up until now.

  “Aquitaine, for now,” the man replied. “Nobody knows what shape NovLao is in. He’s been gone for more than
five years, and hasn’t seen any of his own countrymen in that time. Buran might have won.”

  Andre nodded. It would be hell to be without a country, but at least they had a place to hide, while they sorted it out.

  The silence stretched out for a companionable space.

  “I’m also afraid of letting Admiral Kosnett down,” the Imperial admitted out of the blue. “And Heather.”

  Andre nodded in sympathy. It was a fear he woke with regularly, as well. That the hard-core professionals would need something from him and he wouldn’t be able to deliver it. That people might die because he wasn’t up to some task they had trusted him with.

  “Knowing those two, they’re more afraid of getting everyone killed for no reason,” Andre offered. “With nothing to show for it.”

  “It’s war,” Veitengruber replied. “People die.”

  “Yeah, but Phil could have gone home already and been considered successful,” Andre said. “Every day we’re at this, there’s a risk someone stumbles upon us, or a ship breaks down again, and they lose people.”

  “So we should head home?” the ex-pilot turned his head to stare.

  “I’m surprised that Phil didn’t load you up with food and a crew and send you for help already, man,” Andre smiled grimly. “Not a lot that little boat can do against most things, but you sure as hell could get a message to the right people faster than we could.”

  “Persephone might surprise you, Andre,” Veitengruber said.

  “No,” Andre countered. “That ship? Not at all. You? You already have. And continue to. People like you mean we’ll win this war.”

  The Imperial fell silent at that. Andre felt his face turn back to the sun, just finally vanishing beneath the crest. The light vanished with the heat.

  After another minute or two of silence, the man took his weight off the rail, stretched his back, and turned.