Starhold

by J. Alan Field

  “Not a chance, but I really needed a drink. I’ve had a long day and you probably have too. This job seems to consume us. I thought about wearing a nice dress for dinner tonight, but look at me—still in uniform.”

  “Well, I definitely think it’s time we get you out of that uniform,” said Maxon with a playful grin.

  Choi sauntered over to the couch where Maxon sat. Her shapely frame bent down and she took Maxon’s face into her hands.

  “No more about Victor. No more fleets or fleet deployments. Just you and me tonight, my love. It’s important to me.” She leaned down to give Maxon a long kiss and then grasped her hands to pull her to her feet. As they headed for the master bedroom, Choi grabbed the bottle of bourbon from the liquor cabinet and Maxon buzzed the kitchen on the intercom.

  “Master Chief Harren, we won’t need you anymore this evening.”

  * * * *

  Two blue uniforms lay intertwined, much like their owners in the bed across the room. Pants, shirts, and underclothes tossed haphazardly into a heap on a chair. Gold epaulettes, each with one broad and three regular stripes peeked through in a couple of places. The uniforms were as alike as their owners were different. The chair held blue on blue, the bed held ice on fire.

  Morning came too quickly. They had collapsed in each other’s arms, fatigued from lovemaking and alcohol. Choi awoke first, went to use the bathroom, brushed her teeth and then slid back into bed. Thanks to modern medicine, there was no hangover. Both of them had taken what many people called ‘the magic pill’ last night, which minimized the effects of intemperance. Too bad there aren’t magic pills for other maladies Choi thought, like ambition or jealousy.

  The bedroom clock read 09:32. There were things to do and Choi needed to motivate herself. She regretted deceiving Maxon into thinking they had two days together, when all they really had was last night. She regretted many things regarding Maxon, except their feelings for each other. Choi genuinely adored Maxon and she knew the other woman was deeply in love with her. Elevating her head and resting it upon her right arm, she lay watching Maxon sleep, gazing over the woman’s reddish-brown hair, her sharp eyebrows and thin lips. Choi let minutes roll by as her eyes devoured her lover.

  Maxon woke to find Choi staring at her. “That’s creepy,” she joked.

  Choi kissed her gently. “Good morning, my love.”

  “Oh, don’t kiss me until I brush my teeth—don’t go anywhere.”

  Climbing out of bed, Maxon glanced out the window. “Looks like they’re going to have a nice day for the game,” she said, referring to the Pan-Union Cup Final. First Consul Polanco had invited both of them to the match as his guests, but each had declined, citing other plans.

  Maxon hit the bathroom and brushed her teeth quickly. When she returned to bed, Choi embraced her and kissed her passionately. She was pleasantly surprised at the level of Choi’s morning ardor, which Maxon soon matched. Their two bodies merged as one, with Choi conducting the passionate symphony of repeated pleasure and release that lasted for nearly an hour.

  The final waves of pleasure washed over both of them and Choi felt her lover’s body relax beneath her. She carefully positioned herself, remaining astride Maxon, left hand holding her face as she swooped in for one more open-mouthed kiss.

  Choi stared into her lover’s face. “I do love you, Channa, but it has to be like this. I am so very, very sorry.”

  Maxon’s expression shifted from bliss to confusion. “Sorry about wha—”

  Channa Maxon’s eyes opened wide and her face grimaced with pain. She started to scream out, but Choi slapped her left hand across her lover’s mouth. Maxon managed to glance downward and saw Choi’s right hand, which held the knife she had just plunged into Maxon’s side. Blood spurted and the pain spread. Maxon struggled to defend herself, but Choi had situated herself on top to control her victim.

  While Maxon was in the bathroom, Choi had retrieved the knife from a pocket of her uniform and hid it under the pillow. It was a simple matter to seize it with her right hand and strike.

  As Maxon struggled, another blow came as Choi again thrust the knife deep into her prey, just above the hipbone. The Tezrinan struggled less now, as the toll of the wounds and the shock mounted. Her eyes fixed on Choi—eyes that expressed both horror and sadness.

  She didn’t understand it herself, but Choi suddenly became angry. Maybe she needed the anger to do what had to be done, to spur her on to finish the job. “You’d never betray Victor, not even for me!” she snarled. Pulling the serrated blade out of her victim and tossing it aside, she raised her right hand into a fist. With brutal force, she struck Maxon across the face, eliminating whatever consciousness remained. Choi dismounted her lover as Maxon’s blood seeped across the bedding and down onto the carpeted floor.

  In the kitchen, Master Chief Harren checked the clock on the wall, which now read 11:02. She assumed the women would be sleeping late, but had prepared breakfast for whenever they decided to stir. Clearly, that ship had sailed and she needed to begin lunch. As she considered what to prepare, the door to the kitchen opened and Harren turned to see who it was.

  Coming toward her was Admiral Choi—a completely naked Choi, wearing only a peculiar expression on her face. Harren’s jaw dropped as she considered what was going on. Was Choi drunk? Were the admirals playing a practical joke on her? Not likely. Perhaps she had fallen asleep and was dreaming. As Choi walked closer, Harren saw red liquid smeared on her leg and thigh. It was unmistakably blood.

  “Ma’am?” was all that Harren could say. The admiral stopped walking and produced her right hand from behind her back—it was holding a small pistol.

  Tilting her head to one side, Choi shot Harren in the forehead. The body dropped onto the tiled floor. “You’re dismissed, Master Chief.”

  A few seconds after the shooting, there was a ratting at the kitchen back door, one that led to an adjacent greenhouse. She swiveled her body to the right, arm extended and weapon at the ready, but she didn’t pull the trigger again. Showing himself was Major Maurice Seydoux, leader of Choi’s security squad.

  “Report.”

  “The Maxon security team has been neutralized, ma’am. All ground security and comms have been disabled,” said Seydoux, looking directly into the admiral’s eyes, careful not to lower his gaze.

  “Good work, Major. I’m going upstairs to take a quick shower. Have the helicraft ready to go in fifteen minutes and contact the shuttleport. We need to lift as soon as I arrive.”

  17: Masks

  Bakkoa

  Planet Earth

  The cell was small, but not cramped—something along the lines of five square meters. His timepiece had been taken from him, but Carr judged that he had been detained for around two hours, give or take. His cell was one of three in a windowless room. There was one on his left and another situated diagonally to his right and both empty.

  Carr knew he was in the Government Compound by the signs he had seen and comments he had heard while being escorted inside. This was the center of authority in the settlement known as Bakkoa. It would be a good place to find answers, but he needed to find them quickly. Task Force 19 would be arriving soon and he needed to be in space with information when they arrived. Hopefully, someone would be curious enough about him that they wouldn’t let him languish here for days.

  So, the list of things to do: find out what’s going on, escape, grab Sanchez and Mumphrey, get back to Kite and into space, brief the task force. Simple, no problem. There just had to be another way he could make good money. If he got out of this mess and made it back home, maybe he could turn his antiques gig into a full time profession. Alone, he might be able to live well off that kind of work, but…

  As it turned out, someone was curious. Shortly, guards arrived and escorted the handcuffed Carr through several hallways into a large foyer. There, sitting behind a desk next to a large door, was the young man who had tricked him into the back of the police truck. The boy seemed to have a
permanent sneer affixed to his face.

  “Well, if it isn’t the superspy himself,” snickered the youngster. “The Lord Governor wants a word.” He motioned for the guards to usher their prisoner through the door.

  The huge office was ornately appointed with paintings and objets d'art scattered about the room. A gentleman sitting behind the desk closed down a holographic program he had been working on and got to his feet. Around six-foot tall, he was a distinguished looking man with dark hair and a salt and pepper goatee. Carr thought he looked to be in his late-forties, maybe fifty. He wore an olive colored tunic suit, which looked like a cross between a business suit and a military uniform.

  “Remove the cuffs,” the man ordered one of the guards and then motioned toward a chair. “Please sit down, Mister, um?”

  “Carr, Frank Carr.” No use to play games with names at this point.

  “I am Lord Governor Sheel,” the man said, taking his seat again. “Frank Carr—yes, I understand you people still use multiple names. My people have it down to just one.”

  “How nice for you. And, exactly who are your people?”

  “Splendid,” Sheel smiled. “Right to the point—no insincere social niceties. Very businesslike, which I appreciate, especially on a hectic day like today. Let us not play games. I will answer your question, but before I do, I’d like to know which government sent you. Are you from the Commonwealth?”

  “No. I’m a representative of the Sarissan Union.”

  Sheel was amused and gave a toothy grin. “Ah, so now that you’ve been captured, you’re a representative, a diplomat. Pardon me for saying so, but this morning you and your friends seemed very much like spies.”

  “What friends? I came here alone.”

  “Come, come, Carr. I thought we agreed not to play games.”

  “Those were your words. I didn’t agree to anything,” stated Carr flatly. He looked at Sheel intently and cocked his head. “So, who are you people?”

  “I’d like to hear your impressions first. Who do you think we are?” asked Sheel with an amused look.

  Carr took a breath. He needed to be tactful because here was finally a chance to get some answers. He had to turn the interrogation around, so that he learned more from Sheel than Sheel learned from him. “I thought you were from the Rim, but certain things don’t add up. For example, the coincidence that you use the same language as my people.”

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  The Lord Governor laughed. “In that, you are very wise.”

  “And then, there’s that fancy hypergate you’ve got out at Lagrange Two. I’ve never seen one quite like it. It almost looks like it’s more than just a hypergate.”

  “It was.”

  “Was? Trouble?”

  “It exploded this morning with over forty people dead, including some of our most brilliant scientists. A tragic accident, at least we think it was an accident,” Sheel said in a darker voice. “Your people didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?”

  Be careful, I could be made a scapegoat for a lot here… “My people don’t kill civilians, Governor,” Carr replied sincerely. “But, back to the question at hand, the one you promised to answer.”

  Sheel rose and went to the sideboard to pour himself a glass of wine. “And so I shall. A glass of wine?” The two guards standing near the door glanced at each other, knowing that no wine would be coming their way.

  “I wouldn’t mind a glass of water,” he replied. “By the way, Governor, you have some lovely art here.” Always a good tactic to try to befriend the enemy on an outside topic.

  “Thank you,” answered Sheel while pouring. “All part of my predecessor’s collection, and now mine.”

  Upon closer inspection from his chair, Carr zeroed in on a particular piece. He rose to give it a further look, remembering his situation only as the guards rushed over to restrain him. He stopped and raised his hands just as the guards grabbed him and slammed him back into his chair.

  “My apologies, but I was just curious about that piece,” he said pointing to the pedestal next to the sideboard. On it was a tall porcelain vase, exquisitely painted in blue and white. “Is that—is that a Dragoneer Vase from the Qing dynasty?”

  Sheel sat on the side of his desk and stroked his goatee in a pensive look. “I’ll satisfy both of your questions with one answer. Where my ancestors are from, there was no Qing dynasty. That is indeed a Dragoneer Vase, but it is from the Zhang Dynasty.”

  Carr looked at Sheel for a moment. Whatever the riddle was, this man was enjoying it. And he said no games…

  “I may be a little rusty on my ancient Chinese history, but I don’t think there was a Zhang Dynasty,” Carr replied slowly, thinking he must be wrong.

  Satisfaction spread across Sheel’s face, as though he were a teacher pleased with the response of a particularly slow student. “You are correct. On this Earth, there was no Zhang Dynasty, but on the Earth of my ancestors, there was.”

  Silence stretched out as Carr considered the Governor’s words.

  “A parallel planet?”

  “A parallel universe.”

  “You’ve got to be joking,” said Carr. Then again, it would explain a great many things. “So, if I walked over there and punched one of your guards in the face, I wouldn’t find a big lizard underneath a plastic mask?”

  Sheel chuckled. “I can assure you that we are all human beings and that I am telling the truth about crossing over from another universe.”

  “So that hypergate wasn’t just a hypergate. You’re saying it was a… a bridge between dimensions?”

  The Lord Governor nodded. “We called it the Threshold. My people, the Rhuzari Empire, built the first one in my universe. Like a hypergate, it was supposed to project travelers through many light years of space, but without the requirement of another hypergate at the destination end of the journey. Imagine the freedom that such a device would give its owners—and the power.”

  Carr considered the possibilities. “Exploration would flourish. If habitable planets were discovered, colony ships could be sent immediately.” He paused to consider other prospects. “And war fleets could be moved around almost at will. You could use that kind of device to instantly project forces deep into an enemy’s territory. It would be an incredible advantage.” Carr took a gulp of water. “But something went wrong.”

  “Obviously. Our colony fleet was being sent to colonize a planet over three hundred light years distant from Rhuzar, our homeworld. Over two standard years of conventional travel in an instant. Tests had been conducted and it should have worked. Our fleet entered the Threshold and we came out here. We arrived in not only in the wrong place, but in the wrong universe.

  “And so, realizing our plight, we went to work. We took this planet that your ancestors had so inanely destroyed and terraformed it. The irony—terraforming Terra, which is what we commonly call our planet Earth. And don’t feel so bad, my ancestors practically destroyed our home as well.”

  Carr was getting a headache trying to take it all in. “So, you built another Threshold to try to go home.”

  “Not to go home,” corrected Sheel. “This space, this newly discovered universe, is fertile ground. It was to be presented to my Emperor as a gift. It would be a new theater of conquest for Rhuzari forces and new provinces for the Empire.”

  “Until your little explosion today. So, won’t you just build another one of these Thresholds?”

  Sheel shook his head. “Regrettably, the indispensable genius behind the Threshold’s construction was one of the fatalities in this morning’s explosion. There will not be another.”

  “Guess the invasion is off,” jibed Carr.

  “Not necessarily. I believe we have enough firepower in the ships at hand to make a good start on a new empire.”

  “And let me guess—this new empire will be headed by, oh, I don’t know, you maybe?”

  “I don’t see why not.
As Lord Governor, I am already the leader here. It will be a simple matter to change titles.”

  “Governor to Emperor, just like that. You only have what, somewhere between fifteen to twenty thousand people here. How are they going to conquer millions?”

  “Our fleet is more than a match for anything your people or anyone else in this galactic neighborhood can put up against us. Our shield technology alone gives us an edge, as does the Imperial Wrath, that titan-class warship you’ve undoubtedly already observed above the planet,” said the Lord Governor. “I think that after we burn a few of your worlds from high orbit, your people will be very anxious to join my new realm.” A chill ran up Carr’s spine. Sheel seemed to be confident, but not delusional. He may have good reason to believe this scenario could work.

  “You’re counting pretty heavily on technology. The sheer numbers are against you, you do know that?” Carr realized he was sounding like someone whistling past the graveyard. Director Tolbert had forwarded the after-action report on the Battle of Uritski to him while he and Sanchez were on Rusalka. He understood how powerful the Rhuzari ships must be.

  “We will build more ships,” the goateed man promised. “I may have lost Doctor Acree and his Threshold technology, but I still have shipbuilders and a shipyard. You should also understand just how much of a technological advantage we have. With our passage through the Threshold, we not only crossed dimensions in space, but in time as well. The human calendar here says it’s the year is 2568. I was born on Rhuzar in the year 2721. We’ve not only come from another universe, but from almost two hundred years in the future as well. I believe that our two century tech advantage will be decisive.”

  Carr looked down at his empty water glass. “You sure you won’t have a glass of wine,” chuckled Sheel, “you look like you could use it.”

  “I’m sure I do. It’s a lot to take in,” admitted Carr. “So how parallel are these two universes? For example, would there be another Frank Carr in that universe?”