Elite

by Allen Stroud

  ‘Of course,’ Ennis replied. ‘Goes without saying, but why’d you bring me? Surely one of the juniors would be better.’

  ‘Imperials are impressed by the pips,’ Jander said. ‘Just stay non-committal, we’ll talk more here once we’ve finished.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Coming in to dock now, sir,’ Anders said from the pilot’s chair.

  The shuttle closed on the motionless ship. From out here, Jander was reminded again why people favoured Imperial designs. The craft was all curves and lines, every exhaust port and weapon mount, built into the shape, a marvel of architecture that hung in space above the Furnace, which by contrast, drew its architectural inspiration from an industrial plant.

  ‘Cassom better keep a battery locked on,’ Ennis growled.

  ‘Can’t see them trying to run or fight after coming all this way to talk,’ Jander replied.

  The shuttle slid alongside the Courier. There was a faint hiss of directional thrust and a familiar metallic clump indicating anchor. A green light flashed. Anders keyed up the atmospheric seals and after a moment three more green lights winked on next to the cockpit door. ‘Secure and pressurised sir,’ the Ensign said.

  ‘Well done,’ Jander replied. ‘Sit tight until we get back.’

  He released the straps on his chair, stood up and with Ennis a pace behind, clumped out through the door towards the new corridor connection with Godwina’s ship. Jander turned the handle of the pressure hatch to open it and let the powered release draw back the hinge. Lumbering around in zero gravity wasn’t something he did regularly. The central command module of the Furnace operated at rotation, unless they got into a fight and there wasn’t much call for admirals to lead shuttle missions, but Ambassador Godwina had insisted they meet on her ship, a concession he was prepared to indulge.

  ‘Want me to go first?’ Ennis asked.

  Jander realised he’d stopped moving. ‘No it’s fine,’ he said and walked into the temporary passage that connected the two ships. The metal plates gave slightly under his magboots, responding to his forward momentum, but the structure was entirely safe. It’d been thirty-seven years, almost to the day since he’d last boarded an Imperial ship. Then he’d been a Verquiaxian woodsman who’d travelled to Alioth and been put in charge of a boarding party because he knew how to use a rifle. He strode along the length and tapped his fingers on the door.

  It opened into the other ship and a nervous-looking bald man in ornate robes stood behind it. He bowed as he caught sight of Jander then managed to get even more nervous when he noticed the pistol in Ennis’ hand. Jander inclined his head in return. ‘I’m Admiral Bryce Jander. This is my First Officer.’

  ‘The ambassador is expecting you,’ the man replied and gestured. ‘This way please.’

  The Imperial ship was dimly lit. Guidance lighting sprang up in front of them as they walked, but quickly winked out behind.

  ‘Follow,’ the man said and keyed a control panel. A door slid back and Jander stepped through into a well-furnished room that might not have looked out of place in an administration building. A duraglass table with datascreens held on a curved arm, three seats, rotated towards one another and an assortment of bottles containing coloured liquids on a side shelf drew his eye.

  ‘Lavian brandy Admiral,’ a woman’s voice from behind him. ‘One of the perks of the assignment, can I pour you a glass?’

  Jander turned around. The lady who had spoken was dressed in robes as well; the cloth, heavy, ornate and covered in symbols and writing. She drew back her hood to reveal a waspish thin face. Jander guessed she was sixty or more years old, but age was always difficult to determine across different worlds. What did attract his gaze were the angry bruises that covered the right side of her face. ‘Perhaps later, Ambassador,’ Jander said.

  Godwina smiled and lightly touched her bruised cheek with her fingertips. ‘Appears a lot worse than it is; a parting gift from my hosts.’ She gestured at the chairs. ‘Meetings in deep space are always such a clumsy affair. Still, needs must.’

  Conscious of Ennis a step or two behind, Jander moved awkwardly towards one of the seats. ‘Your needs are why we are here Ambassador.’

  ‘Of course and you have my thanks for that,’ Godwina said. She seemed to glide across the floor, an achievement in zero gravity, and turned to Ennis. ‘There is no need for weapons just yet, Commander.’

  Ennis’ face coloured. He glanced at Jander who nodded and the pistol disappeared. Godwina smiled again and sat down, Jander and Ennis did the same.

  ‘How can we assist you, Ambassador?’ Jander asked.

  ‘To business then?’ Godwina said. ‘The matter I would surmise is of mutual interest seeing as you are here, fortuitous for me indeed, although I note your reserve. You can assist, whether you elect to, is your choice.’

  Jander looked at Ennis who rolled his eyes. He turned back to Godwina. ‘We’re a military organisation, Ambassador. You’ll forgive me but word play isn’t part of my remit.’

  Godwina’s expression sharpened. ‘I will be plain for you, Admiral. I need your ugly ship and its escorts. I need your pilots, fighters and military expertise. In exchange, I offer you a galactic antique and slumbering behemoth.’ She leaned forward. ‘I offer you Lave.’

  * * *

  His headache worsening, Pietro followed Pasion down the hill. At the bottom, their destination; a ground vehicle, four-wheeled with two seats and an open transport section on the back. A vehicle designed for roads, not the overland dustbowl they were in. ‘Your ride?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Pasion replied. ‘Been mine a long while and will serve for a time to come. Don’t let appearances fool you.’

  Pietro sighed, a protracted discussion on the vehicle’s appearance and ability could wait. He knew the look of a proud owner. ‘How far we got to go?’

  ‘A couple of hours, then we’ll examine your fever,’ Pasion said. He opened the driver’s door and climbed up into the cabin. Pietro moved around and got in the other side. The engine rumbled into life, a throaty growl, deeper than the buggy from before.

  ‘What happens if they chase us?’ he asked.

  ‘Standard protocol is for them to head back and wait for relief,’ Pasion said. ‘We’ll have a fair lead before they’re organised and there’s a few other things we can do later.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You’ll find out.’ The old man stared at him, his expression concerned. ‘Best you rest up for now, before we get where we’re going.’

  ‘I’m not tired,’ Pietro said, but immediately realised he was lying. The crash felt like a lifetime ago and he’d not slept for days before that. He sat back in the seat as Pasion manuevered the vehicle out towards a set of tyre tracks and began to follow them. Must be where Renner and Gebrial went. The transport rumbled along the route and picked up speed. Pietro guessed they were making eighty or a hundred klicks. Every jolt increased the throbbing pain in his head. He couldn’t remember ever travelling in something so antiquated. ‘Why no hyperrail?’ he asked. ‘Or hovers? Wouldn’t hovers’ be faster?’

  Pasion laughed. ‘Lave’s a strange place, in a lot of regions you’ll find tech to rival the Core Worlds and then other places where solutions are a bit older. This planet’s been colonised for more than eight hundred years, but the focus was never on making things comfortable. A century back, Highland was a rainforest with a couple of isolated settlements, mostly folk who didn’t want to be found, so no point in building a huge transport link for them. Later, when they exported carbon, they airlifted all the gear in and out. The people were gone, no need for vehicles. Now it’s all abandoned and no need for anything.’

  ‘You and your friends are still here.’

  Pasion glanced and him and smiled. ‘Yes, abandoned apart from us.’

  ‘Renner said you’re his revolutionaries,’ Pietro said.

  ‘Mister Renner is an example from a well-meaning group who’d like to see Lave restored to a glorious pe
destal of galactic politics. His views don’t quite agree with mine.’

  Pietro’s hand moved to the meson carbine on his belt. ‘So you’re not friends then?’

  ‘Things change,’ Pasion said, ‘opportunities come and go. I work with anyone who wants to improve life on this planet.’

  ‘You think Renner will do that?’

  ‘He might,’ Pasion said. ‘Right now, he, yourself and the Imperial girl you brought here need help. Anyone on the run from Walden is a friend of mine. You can trust me, Mister Devander, particularly as I saved your life.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ Pietro said and let his hands relax.

  ‘You can also trust I will call in that favour,’ Pasion added.

  Pietro sighed. ‘I guessed you might.’

  * * *

  Ennis started laughing, making both Jander and Godwina stare at him. ‘Control yourself, Commander,’ the admiral chided.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Ennis said. ‘I never heard such a crazy suggestion, an Imperial turn up here and offer us a planet? You couldn’t dream anything like it!’

  Jander glanced at Godwina, whose lips had thinned into a dangerous smile. ‘The commander is correct in one thing, your proposal seems farfetched,’ he said.

  ‘Without explanation it would,’ Godwina said. ‘I may find it difficult to put the matter out in plain terms for you gentlemen, but I will try.’

  Jander sat back. ‘Very well, I’m listening, Ambassador.’

  ‘I have been stationed on Lave for a number of years,’ Godwina said. ‘My previous circumstances are irrelevant to this conversation, so I will not go into them. I expect you have some knowledge of the system’s illustrious history?’ Jander nodded. ‘Good, then I’ll move on to more recent events.’

  ‘Lave has been ruled by one man, Hans Walden, for nearly one hundred years. In all that time he has remained at the head of a dictatorship built on the propaganda of returning Lave to its place as the greatest political power in human space.’

  ‘Many independent systems are ruled by warlords and madmen,’ Jander said, ‘this planet doesn’t sound much different.’

  Godwina nodded. ‘This is so, but none possess the capacities of this system. Your data should confirm that Lave dominates this sector of space. It remains a slumbering irrelevance. With the right push ...’ she left the words hanging.

  ‘You think this Walden has a real plan?’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Godwina said. ‘There is something behind the rigid laws and constant surveillance. I attempted to reach out to a senior official and persuade him things had to change, less than an hour later three men assassinated my guards and dragged me into an alleyway. Walden’s people think me dead and I am lucky to be alive.’

  Jander frowned. ‘Whilst I’ve sympathy for your plight, Ambassador, I’ll need more reason than this, before I look at changing our plans.’

  ‘I understand,’ Godwina said. ‘Let me ask you a question, why are you here?’

  ‘We are contracted to provide security for Wreaken Construction and Mining,’ Jander said. ‘The contract is a matter of public record and follows all the requirements of Independent system law.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Godwina said. ‘Mineral exploration and stake negotiation does not require the use of a one hundred year old recommissioned battle carrier.’

  ‘This isn’t about why we’re here,’ Ennis growled.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Godwina said, ‘but the fact that you are, presents an opportunity. I was rescued by the same people who attacked me, someone else’s body substituted in my place. A rebellion forms on Lave, they may not be ready yet, but they grow in strength and with you, they could overthrow Walden.’

  * * *

  As they drove across the barren landscape, Pietro’s world became smaller and smaller. He was only vaguely aware when they stopped.

  ‘Don’t move him,’ said a voice, ‘and don’t touch him, we haven’t worked out how it spreads yet.’

  ‘How’s the girl?’ Pasion asked.

  ‘Sick.’

  Pietro tried to open his eyes and get up, but neither happened.

  ‘He’s conscious, but barely. Get the door and I’ll inject him.’

  A cool breeze, then the sharp stab of a needle; Pietro’s eyelids were forced open and he found himself staring into the serious face of a boy.

  ‘I’m ... okay ...’ he managed.

  ‘You’re not,’ the boy replied. ‘You contracted a powerful bacterial infection that’s going to kill you and your friend if we don’t act. I need you to help me.’

  Pietro tried to reply, but couldn’t. Instead his head drooped and the light started to fade. He felt hands on his shoulders. ‘He’s gone,’ the boy said. ‘Now get him to the ward.’

  Chapter 24: The Other Prefect

  ‘Landing time estimate, twenty-three minutes and twelve seconds.’

  Bertrum Kowl flicked off Niamh’s dataslate audio and sat back in his chair. He was aboard a military-issue air transport shuttle, the best available on planet and a great deal faster than the mass transit airships; the only other way to make an intercontinental journey. Hyperrail transfer in Ashoria was well established between the larger settlements and used all across Neudaal, but many people needed shuttles for longer distances and they remained essential in Ardu and Kadia owing to the terrain.

  Bertrum looked out of the window. The vast Eastern Ocean spread from horizon to horizon and a low level mist, lit orange by the sun, made for a beautiful view. He couldn’t see their destination, but he would soon.

  And then it appeared, Kowl Island; a small insignificant finger of rock, alone in the water, his piece of rock, a little part of Lave to call home.

  The shuttle angled in gracefully, with barely a hint of lean as the pilot made the necessary adjustments. The landing pad lights activated, glowing softly through the haze. He remembered the old stories of Earth, with towers on the coasts using lanterns to guide in ships. Some days, locals made their own beacons to draw the ship off course, it would hit the rocks and they’d steal the cargo. Nothing worth stealing today, he thought.

  The vertical descent was smoother than the administration building lift in Ashoria. Bertrum’s eyes flicked up to his aide. Gramos, the well-built male again concentrating on his own dataslate, but by instinct he raised his head and met Bertrum’s stare. ‘Something I can help with, sir?’

  ‘No,’ Bertrum replied. ‘You’re done for the day. Inform the pilot to return in the morning. I’ll meet you back in the office when you’re next in.’

  The man nodded, as if the unusual request was perfectly normal. ‘Of course, sir.’

  Bertrum smiled as he stood up, the fading engine whine covering the noise of his servo-assisted legs. One hundred and thirty-four days, sixteen hours and twenty-three minutes since I came back here, he thought and moved to the door. Will it be the same as I remembered?

  There was a hiss of pressure release as the hydraulics of the exit activated and lowered. Sunshine greeted Bertrum on the shuttle steps, but nothing else.

  He stepped onto the landing pad alone.

  Bertrum grimaced and walked quickly towards the house as the engines began to power-up once more. The image recognition security had already noted his presence. The duraglass doors to the reception room slid open and he turned around, watching the shuttle lift off, waiting until it was clear and high in the sky. Then, he walked down a staircase into his home, Kowl Island, a place where, occasionally he could relax.

  But not today.

  Lights in the house winked on as he went by. Five portraits stared down disapprovingly from the walls, a father, three uncles and a grandfather. Patten Kowl, in life, the commander of Lave Station, before Walden’s rise to power. After him, four children who’d struggled with his legacy, Uncle Davor – suicide at forty-four; Uncle Stukan, disappeared on the streets aged eighty-five; Uncle Berem, murdered on his first trip off-world and Sanders Kowl; Bertrum’s father.

  Sanders Ko
wl, who’d died cursing his own son’s name.

  Bertrum stopped at the picture and met those eyes. Each of the faces had been drawn from old photographs, the artists commissioned by Bertrum himself. A reminder of what made me, I shouldn’t have stayed away.

  Patten hated his sons for their lack of achievement. In turn, Sanders hated his son for his choice to join Walden’s administration. Bertrum had always wondered if his grandfather would have understood.

  ‘Leyla?’ he called but there was no reply.

  He walked downstairs into the lounge. Walden’s face on the viewscreen in the corner appeared to be the only presence in the room, a lively speech given to university graduates in Hurson eighteen months back. Mercifully the sound had been left low, but it didn’t matter. If he needed, Bertrum could recite every word.

  ‘Leyla?’ he called again, still no answer.

  He went through all the rooms. Kitchen, study, sleeping quarters, even the workshop; a long abandoned recreational past time. On the table, a half-finished wooden sailing boat he’d begun work on; now caked in dust. He walked through and out to the swimming pool, no sign, then the other rooms.

  Nothing.

  The bed was well made and hadn’t been slept in. Leyla’s clothes were still in the drawers and her possessions remained around the house, which was a little reassurance.

  He walked down more stairs and out of the house onto the island’s small beach. He went across the sand and out to the jetty. Gentle waves lapped the shore, masking the hum of the underwater tidal power generators. The sea sled remained exactly where he’d left it. If Leyla had gone anywhere, someone else had provided the transport.

  Bertrum lowered himself carefully down the ladder. The servo rig would operate in water, but he wasn’t a practiced swimmer, nor did he take much pleasure in using the craft. Sleds were a necessity of personal transport across the island archipelago.

  Bertrum went to the controls and slotted his dataslate into the console. ‘Niamh, activate, power-up the engine and assume control.’

  ‘Yes Prefect,’ the computer system replied. ‘Destination?’