by Richard Dee
The destruction of Brethren’s Host was instrumental in stopping the war, which was past the point of winning by either side. Instead the conflict had degenerated into an exhausting and destructive stalemate, with low level terrorism on most worlds, and the odd space battle, though these were rare as the numbers of capital ships decreased. The massive loss of life on Wishart, particularly as it was not intended, forced the two groups to stop and talk to each other. Eventually they reached agreement on the only logical solution, the separation of the Federation into two parts, those who wanted rid of the Blessed and those who were happy to retain religious control. The surprise was that when all the votes were counted on all the worlds, Wishart wanted to remove the Blessed and stick with the new Federation. All of this was common knowledge, growing up it had been recent news. Dror and my father had probably been involved; obviously Dolmen had been there too.
The wheelhouse door hissed open and Myra came in; she seemed surprised to see me, and her face lit up. “Hello, Dave, I thought you had been avoiding me,” she spoke in that soft purr that did things to my brain and scrambled my speech.
“No, of course not, sorry. I’ve been trying to sort myself out here; it’s not easy being someone else.” I gabbled, just like she had done on that first evening.
She came up close and I could smell Sandalwood, one of my personal favourites. “I’m teasing you, silly,” she said. “I’ve had a stack of things to do as well; I’m just here to check some of the gear before I turn in.” She started opening panels on the console and checking the equipment inside. I peered over her shoulder as she looked inside, again I could see that the gear had been uprated from the Navy stuff I was used to.
“Who paid for all the improvements?” I asked.
She straightened up and flipped the panel shut. “I don’t really know but I think that Griff got hold of the Orca from a contact. Whenever you ask him anything all he will say is ‘someone owed me a favour’. We all joined up when it came out from the yard.” She walked around in front of the space and knelt down; I heard the click of securing clips.
I was going to ask her all sorts of questions about Griff and the whole set up when Rixon came onto the bridge. “Hi, Dave,” he greeted me. “Are you on duty tonight? You don’t have to be here all night, you know. Didn’t Tan tell you?”
“Yes she said,” I replied. “Old habits, I’m just looking at all the differences from the Navy way. It’s impressive, must have cost a fortune.”
He was evasive. “Guess so,” he muttered, searching in a drawer. “That’s more Griff’s department.” There was a noise from the panel where Myra was working and instantly Rixon became alert. He walked quickly around to the console as Myra bobbed up.
“Hi, Boss,” she said. “Just checking the repairs are holding up.”
He looked at her and me and reached the wrong conclusion. Without a word he turned and left.
The embarrassed silence that followed his departure was broken by Myra. “Gotta go, good night, Dave,” she said as she left, almost running.
So Rixon and Myra were an item then, which was a shame. I had finished my checks so I turned the alarms over to my cabin and went back there. There were enough questions buzzing round in my head that I knew I wouldn’t sleep and I was right. At least it meant that I didn’t have the dream again. Instead I just thought of Myra. For a time it had looked promising, now I was back to square one. The one positive thing was that I hadn’t made a complete fool of myself.
The next three days passed relatively quickly as I got to grips with my new role. There were the usual Navigator duties, but other things were passed my way, things that on a Navy ship would have had a dedicated officer.
Here, for example, I was responsible for all the suits and safety gear and together with Myra for keeping all the surveys and equipment certificates up to date. That made a lot of things to keep your eye on, any of which were vital to our survival in deep space, and my cabin terminal downloaded a daily work sheet that had me crawling into corners and spaces that I hadn’t visited since my training days. At least I didn’t have to learn the ship’s layout from scratch; it would have made life a lot harder. Myra was friendly and helpful but that was as far as it went.
Considering what I now knew about her relationship with Rixon I was probably a little more reserved with her than I might have been. Her comments had also started me wondering about Griff and how he had got his hands on the ship.
Speaking of Griff, he seemed to drift about and do very little, although he was a qualified watch-keeper and would stand a watch for you if you asked, he had no formal function. He was listed on the crew sheet as cargo officer, but as that was normally Tan’s job it seemed to be duplication.
I asked Tan how Griff was part of the crew.
“He knows so many people, and what’s going on that he’s worth having on board,” she replied. “He finds most of the work that we do, and you should see his traffic stats, he gets more messages than the rest of us put together. Like this job, he probably got it from a contact in the transport guild, normally it would go to one of their ships, but we do them favours and they remember.”
The more I found out, the less I knew.
Chapter Thirteen
Ten hours from Wishart and the gravitational field of its star became too great for the trans-light drive to overcome, so we dropped to sub-light speed. We were still going at about ninety per cent C, and we now started to organize ourselves for arrival.
Tan and the GFH, as Mitch, Stu and Ardullah were known, had been setting up the lashings for our cargo in the main hold, marking out the position of the various items with white chalk on the deck. This would ensure an even load distribution and avoid stressing the hull, always important, but more so during trans-light, which modified the laws of physics in a way thought impossible until it had been done.
As we approached orbit, we called the customs post and sent all the documents that Rixon had been compiling. Then we waited, sometimes you were boarded, he had told me, and sometimes they didn’t bother, it all seemed to depend on their mood on the day. Being in the Navy, we had never had an issue with customs, we went where we wanted with no check, so it was all new to me. Anyway, we were empty on arrival so there was nothing to interest them and they left us alone. More proof of the effectiveness of my new identity.
After clearance was granted, we commenced our descent.
Wishart had no auto landing system, so I was free to take control, or at least programme Nancy with the instructions passed from the port. No doubt they were watching our passage and would intervene if they thought it was required, but they left it to me.
We dropped through the clouds, which were extensive in what we learned was the Northern winter and started to be buffeted by strong winds, the tower had advised us of a little local turbulence. Nancy turned the dampers up to compensate, even so she struggled to keep us on the glide path, in the end I took manual control and managed to avoid the wrath of the tower with a fair amount of luck, and a little sweat.
Rixon was on the bridge drinking coffee and saying little as we descended, sure enough the land appeared as a featureless plain, dotted with houses and barns, linked by wide, straight roads. There were clusters of large sheds holding harvesters and other farm machinery. Lines of large yellow machines crossed the giant fields, it looked like they were ploughing or planting crops because they were followed by flocks of birds, fighting over worms and scraps.
There was a distortion to the line of the horizon ahead; it quickly grew into the ruins of Brethren’s Host, a mass of twisted metal, now starting to show a green tinge from the ivy and other plants that were recolonizing its broken structure. It was a huge area, and the sight brought a sad feeling to me. I had heard of it, and seen the video in school, but it hadn’t captured the magnitude of the event. It was easy to see how this one random act had changed the course of history.
As we passed over the city, in the distance past the port, we could see the
new Brethren’s Host rising from the plain, almost a copy of the first but this time the half-built buildings were covered in scaffold and surrounded by hovering cranes, showing the determination of the people to rise above the horrors and destruction of the Holy Wars.
We crossed the port threshold at reduced speed; a laser beam illuminated our assigned loading bay. All I had to do now was align with the beam and follow it to its source. As I flew down the beam I could see the bay we were headed to and realised that we were the wrong way round for loading; our stern ramp would not line up with the gap in the blast walls. That would slow down the load, as everything would have to be manoeuvred past the wings before it could be brought on board.
I considered going round again and approaching from the other direction, but that would take a few minutes. Hoping that I wasn’t showing off too much, I slowed and put the Orca into a hover. Swivelling the ship around on the spot I lowered the gear and backed down to as soft a landing as I could make it in the breeze.
I called Myra and handed over control for shut-down. Rixon drained his coffee and put the cup down.
“Nice flying, Dave,” he said. “Driving like that will be useful if we need any fancy stuff.”
I basked in the praise. Dror had either grunted or managed to find some minor procedural fault in my manoeuvring. “Thanks, Boss. I just fly the way the Navy taught me, it’s nothing special.”
“Don’t be so modest,” he warned. “I’ve checked out your records remember, best cadet pilot, the Admiral Millman award for precision flying and winner of the Cuthbert Cup three times running, the only time it’s ever been retained.”
These were all Navy honours for ship handling and navigation in a competition setting, and the depth of his background checks got me worried, what if he had spotted some of the other things on my service record?
Rixon said nothing more; he crossed to the ramp control panel and transferred control to the local position, by the door in the hold. “Tan,” he called on the intercom, “you have the ramp; don’t open it till you see one of the Chenkos on the monitor.”
“Okay,” the mate replied, her voice sounded hollow on the speaker as it bounced around the empty hold. Rixon turned to me, he looked tense, that was something I hadn’t seen before.
“The Chenkos are Griff’s contacts,” he explained. “I haven’t worked much with them. They have a reputation and I’m not a trusting soul so the ramp stays up till Griff says so.” The way he said it showed there was some sort of history, clearly there was no honour amongst thieves as far as these Chenkos were concerned. I’d never heard of them.
“Well the name’s not on the Navy list of POI,” I told him. “But Wishart was right on the edge of our patrol area anyway.”
“Typical Navy, all three letter abbreviations,” Rixon muttered. “What’s this one mean?”
“Sorry, old habit. It’s Person of Interest, and you mean TLA.” I tried to make a joke of it, but he was right, the service was obsessed with abbreviations, and it drove us all nuts trying to keep up with the new ones. The idea was to speed up communication, half the time it slowed it down as you worked out what people were talking about. “Anyhow,” I continued, you call Mitch and Stu the GFH, so what’s that if not a TLA?” Rixon grinned just as Griff called from the ramp.
“I’ve got Vlad Chenko on my cell, he’s on the way and the gear is ready to load, the first crates will be here shortly.”
Rixon relaxed. “At least it’s Vlad,” he said. Seeing my questioning look, he elaborated. “They’re twin brothers, Vlad and Van Chenko. Vlad is the older, more sensible one, he keeps Van in check; most of the time.”
“Okay,” I replied, sensing that there was a story here.
“Like I said, I don’t know them very well, except by what I’ve heard. Van is trouble. He’s got some sort of mental problem, but he worships his big brother. There’s more, but that’s enough for now. I can deal with Vlad; like I said he’s the sensible one, it’s purely business with him.”
We felt the rumble of the ramp opening, and through the outside camera we could see a line of lifters with wooden crates and pallets on them. The line stretched back to the blast walls. “Time to go and earn a crust,” said Rixon, as he headed for the door. “Tell you what, come with me.”
I followed him down towards the hold.
By the time we had made our way down, loading was in full swing. Tan was identifying each crate and shepherding it into the correct position on the deck, where the GFH were lashing them down, using straps from the bins at the side of the hold. It was clearly an operation that they had performed many times, and the hold quickly filled.
I could see a group of men at the bottom of the ramp, Griff and some others. “Just wait here till I call you,” he said as he walked down towards them, dodging the lifters and pallets.
I wondered why; maybe it was to do with not knowing them well.
As I watched, Rixon joined the group and Griff introduced him. My view was interrupted by the passage of crates but it seemed that the body language was strained, as if there was tension in the air, of emotions in check. Rixon called me down. “Dave, come and meet the customer.”
I walked down the ramp, not really knowing what to expect. Why was I being presented like this? Rixon and Griff were talking to a tall blond man, dressed in expensive clothes, with a briefcase chained to his wrist. The gusting wind blew his hair across his face and he brushed it away, irritably. He was flanked by two large shaven headed men who I took to be bodyguards. They had dark glasses and ill-fitting suits, with the obligatory bulge under the armpit. What I could see of their necks was heavily tattooed; snakes in red and black writhed on their skin.
“Dave Travise,” Rixon introduced me, “this is Vlad Chenko.”
He looked at me and for an instant his expression flickered, as if a shadow had passed in front of his face; it seemed like he was disappointed about something.
Chapter Fourteen
Out of the hull it was cloudy and chilly, a wind blew into our faces and it smelt of grain, a good earthy smell. I put out my hand, and the two guards twitched, Vlad inspected it and chose to ignore my gesture, turning to Rixon he spoke, in a high pitched whisper, “No he’s not, I know Dave Travise, and this is not him.” Beside me I felt Griff tense, as if he had received a static charge, Rixon said nothing.
I retrieved my hand and tried not to look shocked. “Yes I am,” I said, “and I should know, scan me if you want.”
Chenko laughed, his bodyguards joined in. Vlad waved his hand and they stopped, instantly. “If you’re with Rixon and Griff, then Rick has done his stuff, and I’m sure that’s what the chip says. Look, whoever you are, don’t take it personal but we both know the truth. I’m not out to expose you, but don’t act the innocent.” There was silence.
It started to rain, large cold drops of moisture bounced around us. I didn’t know what to do so I just stood there. Even though no one was speaking I could tell that I was unwanted. Everyone ignored me, I felt like the embarrassing relative at a family party.
Vlad spoke to Griff, “Here are the papers.” He unchained the briefcase and handed it over. “When you’ve taken off I’ll send a message to give you the destination.” He went to move away, but before he turned he gave me a knowing smile, a smile which said, ‘I know all about you, and I’ve got the power because of it’. It part scared me and part made me very angry – angry with Vlad for knowing straight away; angry with Rixon for bringing me here and exposing me. And angry because Rixon and Myra were an item. I even began to wonder if I was really in the right place. While all this went round in my head, Vlad left with his two shadows in tow.
“I’m off to get the clearance then,” said Griff. I thought that strange, he could do it over the radio, but maybe he had a bribe to pay or some other purpose. Rixon waved his arm in dismissal. Griff slapped me on the shoulder as he passed and whispered in my ear, “Don’t sweat it, Vlad’s a twisted bastard, he loves to stir it up, and getting u
s all fighting each other would suit him.”
Rixon started to walk up the ramp, but I had had enough humiliation and wanted some answers, I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round. His face was a picture of shock and surprise; he shrank back as I lent in close. To make my point I grabbed a handful of his shirt, my fist under his chin lifted him onto his toes. A loaded lifter roared past.
“I don’t know what your idea was there,” I spoke slowly and with force, my head about an inch from his face. “But in case you think that was clever, try and show me up again, see what happens.” I pushed him away and he sprawled onto the ramp. I walked away from him, and was about six feet past when I heard a click. I stopped.
“Got your attention then,” he said, as I turned to see the pistol pointed at me. “I’m sorry, I wanted you to see him, because one day I might have to kill him and his psychotic brother and I might need your help to do it. There are things going on here that you don’t know about. Let’s just say that I need you to be angry with him, and not with me.” He actually looked and sounded genuinely apologetic, a tone I had not heard from him before.
“Come on, Dave,” he continued. “Would I give him a lever like that over me, think about it?”
He had a point. “Go on,” I said.
“Look,” he continued, “he just confirmed my suspicions. Surely a bit of humiliation was worth that.”
“Not to me,” I answered curtly, although I guess he was right, in a business like his, any advantage you might have or could get could be crucial. It was all ‘I know that you know what I know’ sort of stuff. I was just so out of my depth here, perhaps I was naive to think life away from the Navy would be all sweetness and light.
