by Lincoln Cole
She nodded and set off. “Then you’ll have to get used to it. Smell is the weakest sense, so it will pass shortly.”
“Will it be like this on other planets?” Traq asked. His voice was getting weaker as he struggled to keep up. He was trying as hard as possible not to breathe. She thought back, wondering if the smell of other planets used to bother her so much.
“Everywhere. It’s the same if you go onto a new spaceship. Each has its own smell, but after a while you’ll stop noticing it as much,” she said. Then added, “And it’s also not polite to point out.”
They passed out of their hanger into the spaceport. It was bustling with activity, bodies pressed together. No one seemed too terribly upset about the Union ship in high orbit. Most of the ships she saw were merchant’s vessels. Few went off the planet.
The Union ship hadn’t communicated with the populace and was probably working with the Royal Family through negotiations. They hadn’t started a blockade, but Vivian had little doubt they could. Any ship trying to fly past would be shot down once they declared a blockade.
She just had to be off the world before that happened.
She used her data pad to find the nearest market and then led Traq out into the sunlight. The exit of the spaceport was dominated by a sprawling park filled with trees, flowers, and walking paths. It was packed to the brim with picnickers and wandering pedestrians.
There was a pond at the center of the park and a garden that ran alongside the spaceport. Walking paths crisscrossed their way through the area and trees dotted the landscape, offering shade for picnics and the like. The weather was pleasant and warm, so a lot of people were outside.
To the west ran a brick walkway flanked by enormous granite statues. It connected to the main avenue. The statues depicted ancient heroes in a variety of poses, some holding primitive weapons or leaning on staves. Probably a line of deceased kings and queens. Or perhaps important nobility.
“This place is weird,” Traq whispered, looking up at her.
“It’s just different,” Vivian said.
“The people dress funny,” he observed. “Why is her skin like that?”
She almost laughed when she watched Traq point at a short woman with tinted blue skin. She quickly grabbed his hand and lowered it to his side.
The woman was not amused. She carried herself away with the air of a well-to-do noblewoman. She looked at Traq with her eyes narrowed, then huffed and brusquely walked away with a shake of her head.
“It’s not polite to point,” Vivian said. Traq blushed. “As to why people dress like that. Or why someone would do that to their skin, I couldn’t quite say.”
“Excuse me!” a voice said. It was a deep baritone. She glanced over and saw a uniformed man rushing toward her. He was black and handsome in a silver uniform.
“Hello?” she said. The man ignored her, heading straight for Traq and lifting him in a big bear hug. Traq started laughing and giggling.
“Bart!” Traq said, hugging the man awkwardly from his raised position.
“Hey kiddo, haven’t seen you in a long time.” He turned back to Vivian. “Name’s Bartholomew.”
“Vivian,” she said, biting back an angry response. “You were expecting us?”
It wasn’t a question. “I was. Jack called me a little bit ago to have me keep an eye on this little guy.”
“Jack Cartwright?”
Bart nodded. “Knew him from back in the day, before he went to Terminus and joined the Republican Fleet. I signed up with the Admiralty here instead, but we’ve stayed in touch. He asked me to keep an eye on his nephew and help out.”
“You live here?”
“Nope,” Bart said, “but I used to a long time ago. I actually landed yesterday, and I’m heading out tomorrow. Lucky timing. I said I’d make sure you got here safe and had a place to stay. Jack wants you to stay near the spaceport, and he said he should be here in a couple days. The establishments are somewhat… prejudiced…against outsiders, so I took the liberty of getting you a room and renting a ride.”
He handed her a pair of primitive swipe keys. “We couldn’t possibly…”
“I insist. Jack’s a friend. Any friends of his is a friend of mine.” He checked his wrist watch. “Now is there anything else I can get for you? Directions maybe?”
“I’m looking for a vendor.”
“Food? We have some excellent dishes—”
“Equipment. Specifically water filtration systems.”
His face scrunched up. “That’s an odd request. I’ll have to think about it. I don’t spend much time on the planet or know many people, but I’d be willing to ask around. How about you go to the hotel room and relax. I’ll come meet up with you after I find something?”
She thought about it. She would like to take a more active role in finding the equipment. But, on the other hand, Traq was starting to get tired and overwhelmed, and without knowing where to start searching she would have no better chance than Bart would.
“All right,” she agreed.
“I’ll send you my number if you need anything,” Bart said, setting Traq back on the ground.
She nodded. “You have my thanks.”
“No problem. How much were you planning to pay?”
“Well, I was hoping to trade for it.”
“Trade what?”
“My ship. I’ve got another one on the way.”
Bartholomew laughed. “All right then. I’ll look into it for you. See you in a bit.”
2
Oliver munched his slice of bread idly, watching the group split up and head their separate ways. He’d spent the last five minutes studying one woman in particular. She was tall with raven dark hair and a heavy cloak. She was definitely an outsider. Had he met her on Terminus? No, that didn’t sound right.
And she was armed. That was what first caught his attention. A pistol in her boot was one thing, but he’d wager a month’s salary that she had some sort of bladed weapon strapped to her back. Maybe a Vibro sword. She was trying to keep it hidden but in his years of seedy dealings Oliver had learned how to spot the smallest details.
But her face…why did she look so damned familiar?
He stuffed the last bit of nom in his mouth, wiped his hands, and hurried up the road. He disappeared into the crowd and weaved his way down a few alleys. He didn’t dare approach the woman directly. Not until he knew more about her, or what she might have worth stealing. But the soldier, on the other hand…
After sidestepping a few people and ducking around a corner, he stepped out just as the naval officer turned down his street. Oliver glanced back over his shoulder and intentionally bumped into the tall black officer, pretending to be distracted.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, stumbling to the side.
“It’s no problem,” the soldier said, helping Oliver catch his balance. Oliver nodded to the man, then his eyes went wide in mock recognition.
“Oh,” he said, taking a step back. “You’re an officer.”
“Yes?” the man said, irritated.
“You wouldn’t happen to serve aboard the Urden, would you?”
The man looked puzzled. “Yes. Do I know you?”
Oliver shook his head. “No, sorry, it’s just…You serve under Admiral Hektor Menschen?” The man nodded. “Well, then it’s my lucky day. My name is Oliver Atchison,” he added, offering his hand. Tentatively and with suspicion on his face, the man shook it.
“Bartholomew Grace,” the officer said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m in something of a hurry.”
“Of course,” Oliver said, falling into step as the man walked off. His mind played through possible ways of gaining the man’s trust. He’d helped a friend deliver a shipment of goods to the Urden earlier this morning, and he still happened to have the paperwork in his pocket.
He rolled the details of his lie into place and began casting his net, “As I said, it was lucky I bumped into you. The port crew never showed up this morning to pick up the
crates of ammunition.”
He pulled the folded envelope out of his pocket and handed it to the man.
Bart stopped walking and a grimace crossed his face. “None of them?” He opened the envelope and saw that none of the details had been filled it. Oliver didn’t feel compelled to tell Bart that it was only a copy.
“How many men should there have been?”
“Four,” Bart said. Oliver shook his head. Six had shown up, he remembered.
“No. No one showed up and we weren’t sure what to do,” Oliver lied.
Bart sighed. “This is going to cost us half a day. If those bastards are out getting drunk…”
“I was on my way to the spaceport now to send a message to your Munitions Officer. I wanted to see if it was okay to have my own men deliver the crates to the Urden,” Oliver said. He added a little extra lie, just for effect. “No shipping charge, of course. Since you’re an officer, I hoped maybe you had the ability to authorize that without unnecessary paperwork.”
Bart nodded. “I do, and I appreciate it. What’s the soonest you could have them brought up?”
Oliver grinned. “Actually, I sent them up this morning, but I’m relieved to have the little details sorted out. I didn’t want to cause your ship to leave late on account of my goods being delayed.”
Bart blinked. “Oh, the crates were already delivered?”
Oliver nodded. By your own men nonetheless, he didn’t add. More than likely those men would get reprimanded now for supposed dereliction of duty. But Oliver didn’t care. All he had to do was fudge the paperwork that was send to the Urden later.
“Yes, they were. Would you mind signing there on that line for me?”
“Of course,” the man said. He scribbled and handed the paperwork back to Oliver, who stuck it back in his pocket.
“Thanks very much for your time, Corporal,” he said, bowing and starting to turn away. He hesitated just long enough to make sure the officer could get another word in.
“Wait,” Bart said, fishing in his pocket. He pulled out a credit data pad. “This was my bonus for last month. You’ve saved me quite the hassle, and I would be much obliged if you split this with the men that delivered the goods,” he said.
“That’s very kind of you, sir,” he said solemnly, slipping the pad into his pocket. It was turning out to be a profitable day. Bart scrunched his face up and thought for a moment.
The effort made him look kind of like a giraffe, Oliver decided.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about…water purifiers, would you?”
Oliver almost shook his head. Almost. He knew nothing at all about water purifiers.
Instead, he hesitated, wondering if it had something to do with the raven-haired woman.
He shrugged. “I know a bit.”
“Any idea where I could purchase them?”
So that was it? “How many are you looking for?”
“Several,” the man admitted. Oliver spent a moment processing the information and trying to decide how to use it.
He did know a lot of merchants in the city, and he was confident that he could track anything down if given enough time.
Plus, if it turned out those purifiers had nothing to do with the woman, he could just pass the contact along to one of those other merchants…for a fee, of course.
So he lied.
“You know, I think you might be in luck. My partner and I recently acquired an as-is warehouse from a failed business venture. I haven’t read through the entire manifest yet, but I thought I saw water purifiers on the manifest. I’m not sure how many, but I’m guessing, say—” Oliver decided to go big: “—twenty.”
Bart’s eyes widened. “That many?”
Sure, why not. “Yeah, I believe so.”
“Any idea how much they run?” Bart asked.
Oliver rubbed his chin. Hmm… “I’m not an expert, but I’d say around eighty thousand credits apiece,” he said, deciding that sounded reasonable.
Bart nodded, considering. He hesitated as though trying to make up his mind about something, and then asked tentatively, “Would you be willing to trade for them?”
“Um…” Oliver said, wondering how deep the hole was he was digging for himself. “Trade what?”
“A KMV1 merchant vessel.”
Oliver almost fell over. “A what?” he asked, the words slipping out.
“It’s a starship,” Bart said. “Merchant class, excellent cargo space.”
Oliver knew that; he was just completely caught off guard. “Can I have some time to think it over?” he asked, composing himself. Bart nodded.
“How about you come meet my friend in a while and we can discuss it?” he said.
“That sounds fine,” Oliver said, sure he meant the woman.
“Meet me at the Grand Hotel at eight,” Bart said.
“All right,” Oliver said, shaking Bart’s offered hand again and disappearing into the crowd. He glanced at his watch. It was six now. That gave him two hours to figure out what an actual water purifier cost.
Chapter 18
Sector 6 – Jaril
Maven Ophidian
1
Maven Ophidian stood on the bridge of the newly renamed Crusader Class Warship Eisle, formerly Evelyn’s Grace. She’d picked the name that morning, hating the name ‘Evelyn.’
She was looking out at the world, Jaril, with mild disdain. It was a beautiful place, she had to admit. Pleasant but backward. It would be a nice acquisition for the Union. When they swore allegiance.
She stood in the center of the Captain’s deck, ignoring the bustling activity around her. The officers gave her a respectful berth, but she knew that was more to do with her reputation than anything else. Many years ago she learned that her attire put people on edge.
She eschewed the gray uniform Darius suggested she wear. He thought that if she wore the same outfits as the crew they might accept her. She disagreed. Standing out was the best chance she had of being taken seriously. Instead, she wore crimson and black robes to hide the oxygen tank she carried. A tube ran to her oxygen mask, inflating and deflating in a rhythmic fashion.
When she defected from the Ministry with her sister and Darius Gray, she became a General in his new army. She was skilled in using her implant—telekinesis, like her sister, but considerably more powerful—and was not averse to using it as a show of force. If she remained with the Ministry she had no doubt she would have been chosen as a Shield.
Not her sister. Her.
“Sir,” a voice said behind her. She held up a gloved hand, signaling for the messenger to wait and then counted to fifty. She had to be in control of every conversation she entered if she wanted to cull respect.
Finally, she turned to face the man. He stood a full head taller than her, standing at attention and staring at the wall over her shoulder. He was handsome in a pathetic drone sort of way.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice altered by the modulating speaker inside the oxygen mask. The end result sounded coarse and deep, nothing like the soft voice she was used to in private.
“You said you wanted us to scan for vessels that aren’t local,” the man said. He was tall with sharp features that never betrayed even the slightest hint of fear. His cologne was overwhelming, and she wondered if he was trying to impress her.
“And…?”
“We found one,” the man said, unflinching.
“Of course, you did,” Maven said, turning back to the view screen and crossing her hands behind her back. There was no hint of surprise in her voice.
She had ordered the scan of every ship entering or leaving the atmosphere. Most shared similar ID tags, but some would have to be off-world traders. Probably from Terminus.
“It landed near the capital, Mys,” the officer said. “Should I send a team down after it?”
“No,” she said. “It is probably just a trade ship. We’re still trying to be civil with the authorities. Keep an eye out for when it tries to leave, the
n catch it. Dismissed.”
“What if…” the man started, then hesitated when he realized he was talking out of turn.
She turned slowly, hands still behind her back, and stood perfectly still. All the activity on the deck had stopped and all eyes were on her. She waited, making sure she had everyone’s attention and then brought her gloved right hand from behind her back, holding it in view.
“What if…” she echoed, holding up her hand as if admiring her nails. The man swallowed.
“What if they speak make their presence known? That would break the treaty we’ve established.” the man said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.
“I doubt they will. However, your concern is noted. It is a bridge we can’t cross until we reach it,” she said, lowering her hand and letting the budding energy dissipate. Then she added, more forcefully this time, “Dismissed.”
The man saluted and rushed back to his post, shoulders slumping with visible relief to be out of her presence. She unnerved him, just as she unnerved most of the crew.
She had to take things one step at a time. She doubted this treaty would last—it was Darius’s stupid idea, agreeing to keep all outsiders off of the planet while negotiating—and even if it did work it wouldn’t get the results she needed.
She needed to keep her eyes on the bigger picture. The long-term prize. Bombing the planet from orbit—Alyssa’s more stupid idea—would destroy the very resources they were trying to acquire.
Chapter 19
Sector 6 – Jaril
Vivian Drowel
1
Vivian paced impatiently in the modest hotel room, waiting for Bartholomew to arrive. She was impatient. Evelyn’s Grace was up in orbit above, and no matter how confident she acted in front of Wade, she understood what it meant.
If they found out she was here, they could kill her without breaking a sweat.
And if they knew who she was, they would.
When the knock finally did come at her door it was everything she could do not to run and throw it open. As promised, Bartholomew stood in the doorway. He was accompanied by a thin man with pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes.
“May we come in?” Bartholomew asked and then noticed Traq was asleep. “Actually, out here should be fine.”
