The Last Star Warden - Tales of Adventure and Mystery from Frontier Space - Volume 1

by Jason McCuiston

  As they reached the now-restored laboratory, the Warden paused to face Quantum. “How was it, do you suppose, that we were able to enter the space-time rift and come back out without becoming time shadows like the crew?”

  Quantum shrugged. “I would speculate that as the rift grew stronger, it also grew more stable in this reality. Thus, it would be less destructive to your atomic structure. Of course, without more data, that is only an educated guess. Would you like me to conduct an extensive study into the phenomenon?”

  The Warden opened the lab door. “Nope. I’m ready to put this place as far behind me as possible. Let’s destroy that gate. After, we’ll send an anonymous message to the U.P.C., letting them know their new toy is broken… On our way out the door, of course.”

  The Warden thought about that brief moment where he was so close to returning to his own time. He had helped to save his reality then, but if he hadn’t been hurled into this era by that act, he would not have been able to save it this time.

  He thought about Ramirez, a stranger for whom he’d felt something he hadn’t felt for anyone in a very long time. That feeling, that attraction, had reminded him that he was still a man of flesh and blood, and not just a mission or a purpose. It also reminded him that he did not have to be alone in this new era.

  As tragic as the encounter on this station had been, it had demonstrated that the Warden was, in fact, exactly where he was supposed to be.

  City of the Mad God

  The sleek, if obsolete, Ranger VII slid effortlessly through the infinite void of Frontier Space, the light from a billion stars shimmering along its silvery hull. After their most recent adventure, the Last Star Warden decided to slow-travel through conventional space for a while so both he and the ship could recuperate.

  For his part, Quantum, the Warden’s interdimensional companion, seemed unflappable, no matter how harrowing or unnerving an ordeal proved to be.

  The Warden lay stretched out on his bunk in the small crew compartment, staring at the metal ceiling, wishing he was as stoic as his blue-skinned friend, as stoic as the Frontier legends claimed him to be. But the truth, like the truth behind all legends, was far less glorious and far more complicated. He was simply a mortal man. He bruised and bled just like every other human being in the galaxy.

  And like many among his now lost generation, the Warden had simply been trained to overcome those vulnerabilities, to keep them hidden. Trained in a system that had perished nearly a century ago, a system created by a society that was no more. At least as he had known it.

  Even as the Warden had saved his universe from an extra-dimensional invasion, he had been ripped from it and hurled into its future to such an extent that his world no longer existed. Not in any real sense. True, he now traveled among star systems peopled by the descendants of his own contemporaries, but he may as well have occupied the parallel universe from which Quantum’s people, the Mechtechan, had launched their failed invasion.

  For all that, the Warden remained hopeful. Hopeful that he could find some remnant of the morality and optimism that had characterized his own era in this new, jaded one defined by corruption, greed, and nihilism. But, almost without fail thus far, it seemed that every time he found some small glimmer of that hope reflected back at him, it was summarily snuffed out by whatever fell circumstances the cruel and uncaring Cosmos chose to dish out.

  He thought of Ramirez, the woman who had so perfectly embodied this era’s dichotomies while inspiring the Warden’s personal interest. He shook his head. “I never even learned her first name.”

  “Warden,” Quantum called from the controls. “We are receiving a priority message. It is addressed specifically to you.”

  The Warden sighed. He hadn’t been in this new timeline a standard year, and already half the Frontier needed him, had come to rely upon him for justice. The other half tended to want him dead, and for that same reason. “On my way.”

  Hovering up the short corridor between the crew compartment and the cockpit, the Warden slid into the pilot’s chair. “What have we got?”

  Quantum’s short antennae whirred slowly above his oversized black eyes. “It is a prerecorded message originating on Cibola Seven, a mining interest in the Praxis Gargantua Nebula. The time stamp indicates it was sent less than six standard hours ago, meaning it has Alpha One priority, given our relative position to the colony’s location.”

  The Warden grunted as the dimly lit image of a disheveled, hollow-eyed man filled the display. He appeared to be middle-aged, with flowing white hair and a droopy moustache, his lined face studded with a silvery beard. A dark uniform of some kind hung loosely from his broad shoulders, the collar open around his thick neck.

  “Warden,” the man said into the camera, his deep voice raspy and overused. “My name is Maximo Ryan, Chief Constable of Cibola Seven…” He turned sharply to peer at something outside the camera’s view, his pale eyes narrowing. “What was that…?” After a pause, the man muttered to himself. “Nothing… Something… Where was I? Oh, yes… Warden, I need your help. There’ve been… murders. Murders nobody’s talking about… the bodies are missing… Not only that…”

  Again something off-camera distracted the man. Jumping to his feet, he shouted, “Who’s there? I’m warning you, I’m armed!”

  The Warden and Quantum exchanged looks.

  After moving around the camera for a bit, Chief Constable Ryan finally returned to conclude his message. “Please, Warden. You’ve got to come, and come soon… There’s something going on here on Cibola Seven…” He licked his lips, face so close to the camera the Warden could see tears filling his bloodshot eyes. “I think… I think it’s some kind of conspiracy… I think they’re in on it with him, and they know I’m onto them… I think he’s trying to drive me mad…” He jerked his head away again as if listening.

  Shoving his face against the camera, Ryan hissed, “Hurry! There isn’t much time!”

  When the message ended, the Warden and Quantum stared at the blank screen in silence.

  “That was… certainly interesting…” Quantum rubbed his undersized chin.

  The Warden ran the message back and paused it on the image of Constable Ryan’s wild-eyed face. “Set a course for Cibola Seven.”

  “You are aware that man shows signs of mental instability and paranoia. This could be a simple case of contacting the local authorities and suggesting they help him get medical assistance.”

  The Warden closed the display and turned to face Quantum. “True. But he obviously holds a position of authority, and he’s probably armed. If he is suffering some sort of psychotic break, he could pose a threat not only to himself but also to others. Besides… there’s an old Earth axiom that says, ‘Just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.’”

  Quantum’s huge eyes narrowed, and his childlike mouth flattened. “And who are ‘they’ in this specific situation?”

  “That’s what I want to find out.”

  ---

  Cibola Seven occupied a rather large asteroid at the heart of a dense, mineral-rich belt on the fringes of the Praxis Gargantua Nebula. A steady stream of commercial and tourist traffic moved between the colony and the nearest Einstein-Rosen bridge.

  “Who owns Cibola Seven?” the Warden asked, watching the line of heavy corporate freighters emerge from the violet and pink gases of the nebula. “I see six different logos on those ships, all big Earth corporations save for that one. Looks like C-7 over a silver skyline. A local company?”

  Quantum glanced at a data display. “Cibola Seven is an independent interest, owned by the local population. It was founded by Undoc settlers shortly after the Breakthrough around two standard decades ago. Its sovereignty appears to be unofficially recognized by both the major corporations and the United Planetary Council.”

  “That’s odd. Or at least very unusual. The place has become so successful in that short a time that they can hold their own against the corporations and
the U.P.C., in defiance of the non-settlement laws? And they’ve done it so well they even flaunt it with a thriving tourist industry…”

  “Mostly gambling establishments and pleasure resorts,” Quantum offered. “The colony supplies 27.9 percent of the galaxy’s growing lithium requirements, giving them a considerable advantage when negotiating treaties and contracts.”

  The Warden grunted. “It always comes down to money, doesn’t it?”

  The scope of the colony’s wealth and influence became apparent as the Ranger VII joined the landing queue and entered the multihued Praxis Gargantua. Vast orbital ports and docking stations encircled the moon-sized asteroid of Cibola Seven. These bristled with dozens of anchored freighters and luxury ships, where holds were gorged with precious resources or passenger cabins expelled swarms of money-laden thrill-seekers and vacationers. Transports and shuttles moved in a steady ballet between the colony and these satellite stations to facilitate the transactions.

  The asteroid itself glowed with brilliant strands of multicolored lights like holiday decorations beneath its wispy violet atmosphere. Though its surface never saw the light of any sun, Cibola Seven did not sleep.

  Before landing, the Warden donned his form-fitting blue-and-silver spacesuit with its eye-concealing visor, and his belted twin Comet blaster pistols. Quantum was likewise armed and arrayed. They were not taking any chances, no matter how civilized Cibola Seven looked from several kilometers up.

  The Warden and Quantum were met on their assigned orbital landing platform by the Chief Constable and two armed guards. The Chief Constable was a tall, dark-skinned, serious young man who was clearly not Maximo Ryan.

  “Welcome to Cibola Seven, gentleman. I am Chief Constable Artemis Coppenger.” His square jaw flinched through a smile as he shook hands. “Although we are honored to have the famous Last Star Warden as a guest, may I ask what brings you to our colony?”

  The Warden matched Coppenger’s forced smile. “We received a request for help from your predecessor. I take it Chief Ryan has been relieved of his duties?”

  Coppenger tilted his short-cropped head. “Predecessor? I’m afraid I’ve held this office since the colony’s founding, sir. And as for a… Chief Ryan? Well, I can honestly say I haven’t the foggiest notion of whom you speak.”

  The Warden and Quantum exchanged glances. By all appearances, Coppenger wasn’t much older than the colony of Cibola Seven.

  “Perhaps this might help.” Quantum raised his wrist chrono and tapped a button. A small rectangle of light hovered above the device, replaying the bizarre call for help.

  Coppenger showed no visible sign of recognition. Or any other discernable reaction, for that matter. When the message concluded, he shrugged. “I have no explanation. However, feel free to look around if you like. When you get tired of chasing wild geese, you may find that Cibola Seven is a pleasant place to enjoy a little R&R. Judging by the stories I’ve heard since you first appeared on the Frontier, I’m guessing you could use some.

  “If you like, I can introduce you to Mr. Tiberius Chen, the president of the C-7 Bank. I’m sure he would be more than happy to extend a line of credit to the Last Star Warden… and his companion.”

  The Warden nodded. “Thank you, but as soon as we’re satisfied that this was a waste of time, we’ll be on our way and out of your hair.”

  After Coppenger and his armed escort departed, the Warden and Quantum stood on the landing platform watching as people, luggage, and cargo moved back and forth along the busy decks.

  “I have checked several times,” Quantum said. “The message is not a forgery, and it did originate from this colony with a valid Alpha One priority code. The strange man in the video was wearing the same type of uniform as Mr. Coppenger, as well. It is… odd, to say the very least.”

  The Warden nodded. He watched the lines of people passing along the gangways. Those disembarking for their visit to Cibola Seven showed signs of fatigue, excitement, boredom, and every other normal trait associated with long-distance travel. Those making for the ships leaving the colony, however, displayed a variety of unusual quirks.

  He saw people muttering to themselves, looking furtively over their shoulders as if being followed or harried by unseen threats, barely-contained sobs, near-maniacal laughter, and even a few unprovoked altercations that only failed to escalate because of the intervention of armed constables. One departing vacationer almost walked blithely into the jet wash of a launching shuttlecraft before being restrained by a safety bot.

  “There is definitely something going on here, Quantum. We just need to find out what it is. I think we’d best start down on the asteroid itself.”

  ---

  Departing the shuttle bay on Cibola Seven’s top tier, the Warden and Quantum stepped to the illuminated 3D directory. They entered Ryan’s name and even fed the video footage of him into the database, but came up with no results.

  “This is ridiculous.” The Warden gritted his teeth, knotting his hands into fists.

  Quantum looked at him. “Are you feeling unwell? I sense your blood pressure is slightly above normal and you seem unusually agitated by this minor setback.”

  The Warden took a deep breath and shook his head, scanning the passing crowds. “I’m fine. I just… I don’t know. I can feel that something’s not right here. I just can’t put my finger on it. I guess we’ll have to beat the bushes and see what we can flush out the old-fashioned way.”

  They spent the next three standard hours exploring various businesses and domiciles of Cibola Seven, asking questions and showing the missing chief’s image. They were met with a wide variety of receptions—from warm and cheery, if confused, smiles to hostile suspicion and angry, foul language—but not a soul admitted to knowing anything at all about a Chief Constable Maximo Ryan or any other missing persons.

  When, at the end of the three hours, yet another irritated Cibola citizen slammed the door in their faces, the Warden pounded the doorframe with his fist. “What the Sam Hill is going on here? If Ryan doesn’t exist, then who sent that message? And why? Is this some sort of trap? If so, why haven’t they sprung it yet? We’ve been chasing our tails long enough for a platoon of mercs or gang of pirates to ambush us at any time.”

  “We should take a break,” Quantum said. “We both need sustenance, and I sense a growing frustration in you that could be deleterious to further investigations.”

  “Deleterious—! How could we do any worse?” The Warden sighed and slid his fingers under his visor to rub his eyes. “Sorry. There’s just something about this case that’s getting under my skin. I shouldn’t take it out on you. You’re right. Let’s get something to eat.”

  Exiting the lift that opened onto the busy Restaurant and Eateries District, they made for a Senesian bistro across the way. The deck was crowded with off-duty, pub-hopping ship crews, vacationing couples who fancied themselves Galactic Foodies, and even a few local families out for dinner. Almost every race in the Civilized Worlds was represented somewhere among the crowds, and if not, they were certainly represented by one of the eating establishments.

  Amid that galactic crowd, the Warden thought he recognized someone. Someone with dark hair and sparkling dark eyes. Someone he knew to be dead. Or as good as.

  “Ramirez?”

  He was yanked from this impossibility by a hand on his shoulder.

  “Look.” Quantum pointed down an alley between a hamburger joint and a Reticulan café. A large shadow crouched over another smaller one, arms rising and falling like violent pistons.

  “Why is he doing this?” the attacking shadow roared. “How do I stop him?”

  “Hey!” the Warden shouted. Shaking off his distraction, he launched into the darkened alley at a run. He tapped his visor to enhance illumination as the attacker sprang away at the sound of his approach. “Quantum, stay with the victim. I’ll catch him.”

  The Warden gave chase, running down the narrow alleyway crowded with waste bins, empty packing crate
s, and various other refuse. It didn’t take long to realize that the passage wasn’t merely a space between two buildings but rather a single part of a much larger labyrinth of interconnected corridors. After losing sight of the attacker, the Warden couldn’t even track him with thermal imaging due to the various kitchens venting into the alleyways. He soon found himself wandering around the maze for several more minutes before conceding the chase.

  Raising his wrist chrono in frustration, he called Quantum. “He got away. Whoever he was, he moves fast for a big guy. Maybe boosted by cyberware or juice. Maybe an alien of some kind...”

  When there was no response, the Warden felt a cold fist tighten around his gut. “Quantum? Are you there? Do you copy?”

  He broke into a run, backtracking his footsteps until he came to the original alley’s mouth. There was no sign of Quantum or the victim. Scanning the surrounding area, the Warden didn’t see any indication of the initial struggle.

  It was as if nothing had ever happened. And Quantum was gone.

  The Warden looked back down the alley, then to the busy restaurant deck, where he thought he had seen Ramirez, the salvager who had died on that doomed space station in HPL-37. “Am I losing my mind…? What is going on here?”

  Without another thought for food, he made straight for the Constabulary Office.

  ---

  “I’m sorry, sir, you cannot go in there!” The prim and proper redheaded receptionist called as he brushed past her. He made straight for the big, antiquated oaken double doors of the inner office. “The Chief Constable is in a meeting of the First Five!”

  “I don’t care who he’s meeting with. He is going to talk to me.”

  The Warden pushed the doors open and glared at the five individuals seated around a large, pentagonal table of polished black marble. A 3D hologram of five austere individuals hovered against the back wall, each person in the depiction a younger version of one of the five seated at the table—save for Coppenger, who looked like he had just posed for the image an hour before. These well-dressed scions looked at the Warden with something between concealed irritation and mild fascination.