by Allen Stroud
‘This planet is part of the only truly united multinational organisation in the galaxy. We hold true to the ideals of the Co-operative and we do not cry out for some miraculous salvation from a Creator, nor bemoan our legacy! With your help and support, we follow a plan to return and populate the vast ocean of stars.
Technology has helped to make the loud voice of our unity even louder. The thrones of Earth and Achenar shake at the mention of Lave!’
The hyperrail slowed into another station; the view outside, much the same to Gebrial, barren and flat. She glanced at Jallin who shook her head. The doors opened and a man got on, taking a seat near the couple. His eyes lingered on Gebrial’s bags and she held her breath, but as they pulled away he glanced out the window.
‘... Your sweat, your toil, your commitment, propels us to our manifest destiny ...’
Three stops and no one got on. Gradually, Gebrial noticed more houses and larger industrial buildings. In the orange sky, a massive metallic balloon drifted in the same direction they were going; underneath hung a large compartment, similar to their carriage on the train. Gebrial marvelled at the speed, powered only by three huge propellers.
‘... the plan brings us to triumph soon. Nothing so glorious can be done quickly. The majority of people living today will journey to the stars as we bring our truth to the galaxy. Be ready, for you might be called to serve at any time, raised into the circle of our Interstellar society ...’
Instinctively, Gebrial glanced around. The man stared at her, when she caught his eye, he looked away. He had a personal slate in his hands. Her heart thumped in her chest and she reached into her pocket. The grip of the gun Harker had given her felt reassuring. Her eyes went to Jallin again, but she was watching something else, out of the window.
They pulled into another station and the man stood up and walked past Gebrial to the exit with his head down. She realised she’d been holding her breath and let it all out in a rush. A whole group of people got on. There were houses and all sorts of different buildings. She couldn’t see the balloon ship, but a shuttle flew over with a whoosh of engine noise. She glanced at Jallin, who mouthed the word ‘two’. Two stops then, Gebrial thought.
Through the window were tall buildings, spires and stacked office blocks. Cities were a little like home. Jallin said Ashoria was the biggest on the planet. It certainly seemed big, with the urban skyline stretching away to the horizon. Here and there in the sky were more shuttles and she caught sight of another balloon ship.
They reminded her of the older districts on Codorain, built for function and purpose, then adapted and changed, with little sign of the angular lines she’d been used to in the reconstructed Imperial sectors. She felt the tears on her cheeks before she realised she was crying and wiped them away quickly, hoping no one had noticed.
‘We cannot know the future, but a man who does not plan to shape it and puts faith in fate or chance is a fool in denial ...’
The hyperrail eased into another station, more highrise buildings and people. Two men in dark grey uniform as well, both glaring around the carriage with professional interest.
Gebrial kept her head down and her hand on the gun.
* * *
Heldaban Kel walked slowly across the hangar bay in his magboots, following Archaeo towards the berthed ships.
‘I thought you might enjoy this one,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Beats manning a sensor screen.’
Kel stared at the gleaming fuselage of a Cobra Mark III. The ship looked like it had never flown. The metal hull plates shone like mirrors. ‘One careful owner, eh?’
‘Station commander’s pride and joy,’ Arhaeo said. ‘He’s in the ulitity module along with the rest of his crew. She’s yours. You earned her.’
Kel grunted. ‘My steal, doesn’t make it all the way mine.’
‘Yeah, but you’ll find a way on that.’
‘What else d’you discover?’
‘Four old Viper Mark Is. A few of the kids like ‘em.’
Kel ran a finger over the wing tip of the Cobra, leaving a smudge on the corner. ‘Bet she’s a slut; all preening on the outside and a bad ride inside.’
‘Well you can be the judge,’ Archaeo said and turned away.
‘The others okay with this?’
She stopped, turned back and nodded. ‘Everyone is.’
‘You get this changes nothing?’ Kel said. ‘I’ll buzz the mining station for a while, but after, I’m gone.’
Archaeo shrugged, a thin line adding to her wrinkled forehead. ‘That’s your choice. No one’s going to think bad whatever you do.’
‘This ain’t a bribe then?’
‘A little one,’ she replied. ‘Faith’s in, by the way.’
‘Faith?’
‘Yeah, she’ll fly the clipper with us. Fresh crew, all keen.’
Kel nodded. ‘Makes sense, further the Ronin goes in-system, more likely the Alliance follows.’
‘You think they will?’ Archaeo asked. ‘You met their Admiral, he that type?’
‘Couldn’t say,’ Kel said, thinking. ‘Only got a few words in before he kicked me off the deck.’
* * *
The senior officers’ meeting room was almost empty.
Almost.
Admiral Bryce Jander sat alone staring at the three-dimensional sector display. The Ronin’s transponder signal flashed out from its new location.
The Lave system.
Jander looked down at the dataslate in his hands. He’d written two detailed messages, to be sent back to Admiralty Hall on Alioth. The first detailed the fleet’s reasons for withdrawal from Quator and abandoning of the Wreaken contract.
The second message explained why he’d invaded the Lave system.
The bridge comms light flashed and he pressed the reply. ‘Yes?’
‘Admiral, all ships have reported in. We are at combat alert and ready to jump.’
‘Thank you, Aimes, any word from Mister Ferris?’
‘Nothing sir. None of the Wreaken people are responding.’
‘What about the Remlokked crewman?’
‘Resting fine in the Havillard’s sickbay, Admiral.’
‘I see, thank you again.’
‘Welcome sir.’
Jander shut off the comms and stared at the messages, one to end my career, one to send people to die, both breaking agreements.
He considered sending the return message and calling off the incursion. According to his brief, military passage through a sovereign system required permission from the standing authorities. In disputed systems, the stipulations were much less clear. Do five words in a broad comms message constitute a dispute? Jander knew the answer.
No.
He’d have to resign if they went back. There’d be no appreciation of the legal bind. The admiral who let his fleet get stolen right from under his nose. The holo-vids would love the story, the fact it was only one ship wouldn’t matter. The disastrous Morgan Federation campaign of 2324 was still taught in naval academies throughout space. Do I want to be someone’s history lesson? Jander thought.
He stood up and manipulated the viewer of the sector display, zooming in on the Ronin’s transponder. A hyperjump into Lave would bring them into the edge of the system, the other side of an asteroid field. A quick operation to retrieve the ship and jump away might work, provided the Eagle fighters disabled it and a shuttle dragged it out, but the plan relied on the clipper being somewhere accessible and I reckon our saboteurs won’t make things easy.
He thought about the privateer Cassom had brought on board, Heldaban Kel. Couldn’t be a coincidence, nor could the corporate blackout now. Jander felt backed into a corner and that made him angry. He went back to the chair and picked up the dataslate, his finger hovering over the withdrawal message, but then, he stopped.
What do we gain out of backing away? Isn’t that a worse case of selfish pride and hubris?
His finger moved to the second message. War meant death. Officers a
ccepted the responsibility with the post. A commission meant ordering men and women into places where they could die. Five words from the planet suggested people were dying there already.
Jander pressed the send button, watching the program initialise and the message disappeared. Then he re-opened the comms channel to the bridge.
‘Aimes, give the word, power down the rotational section and begin co-ordinated jump countdown, set the clock.’
‘Affirmative, Admiral, jump clock set.’
* * *
‘I think you’ll find your quarters here pleasant,’ Walden remarked as they walked down a station corridor. He stopped at the end, turned and gestured to an entrance on the right. ‘This room has been mine for many years.’
The door panel peeled back with a quiet hiss and Bertrum stepped into a large darkened chamber, dominated by the view.
Lave.
One complete wall was a vista of the planet, journeying through space. The Eastern Ocean passed below, the waters resplendent in the warm orange glow of the star. From this room, Lave Station gazed down upon her beautiful planetary parent, but Bertrum knew her to be no submissive child, she was cunning and capricious.
‘An illusion of course,’ Walden said, following him. ‘The rotation makes any true exterior view an exercise in controlling your stomach. The feed is taken from a satellite, positioned just outside the planetary docking port.’
Bertrum noticed a steady stream of ships approaching the station at the bottom of the screen. Each waited, then manuevered gracefully towards the unseen entrance below, reminding him of fish in a large tank.
‘I forget, this is your first time off planet,’ Walden said. He moved to the centre of the room, next to a chair. ‘Here, take a seat. How fitting that you sit where your grandfather once did.’
Bertrum sat down, still looking at the view. He felt Walden’s presence close, leaning over his left shoulder. ‘Often, I can stay here, watching for hours. An impressive sight, made more so, when you own everything on the screen.’
Bertrum said nothing, but continued to stare. The strangely different gravity, held him to the deck. The forces and speeds generated by each craft and the station itself, were immense. It was hard to relate them to the scene or believe the view wasn’t a window into space. He drank it all in, eyes roaming the void.
‘One hundred and forty years ago today, a man bought a Cobra Mark III from a retiring pilot somewhere in the station dock,’ Walden said. ‘Afterwards, he had one hundred credits in his pocket. He purchased a small cargo and flew out into space to make his fortune. He brought his son up the same and seventy-five years later, his grandson and so on for five generations. All the while, they made money and lost everything. Now, there are Jamesons spread across the star systems, some related, some just chancers who want the reputation. These are wasteful people, capable of much, but ultimately forgotten by the galaxy. Hundreds of others copied them, but not me. Back then, Doctor Hans Walden was a scientist, working in one of the laboratories. There was a Galactic Co-operative and we were the centre of humanity’s adventure in space ...’
Walden’s voice trailed off. He moved away, towards the vista.
‘There are no viewscreens in here,’ Bertrum remarked.
‘No viewscreens,’ Walden replied, seemingly amused. ‘Only I come here and I don’t watch my own speeches.’
In the distance on the far right, Bertrum saw a cluster of shapes, more ships. ‘The Orange Star freighters?’ he asked.
‘Indeed,’ Walden said. ‘Well spotted. They’re mustered for the Diso harvest.’
‘Are you sending them altogether?’
Walden smiled. ‘The ships here represent only a portion of those hired. Many journeying to the further systems are already gone. That was why the issues with Finch and the Alioth deal were so problematic. We are on a timetable, freighters had to be sent. Each one must arrive at their destination within three days of the others. Quite a logistical feat as you can imagine. The ones still here went to Diso first and returned before they leave for their destinations.’
‘Seems unnecessary,’ Bertrum said.
‘Mister Kowl, I have been organising this moment for much longer than your lifetime,’ Walden said. ‘Unlike characters in the holovids, I learned that a plan works best when all involved know their part and no more. A flaw in human character lies in the need to communicate and boast, particularly when we discuss achievements. I will let the results of my work speak for themselves.’
Cogs in a machine, Bertrum thought. ‘You want my trust without granting the same level of trust in return?’
Walden moved, so he was between Bertrum and the view. ‘Mister Kowl, many things are about to change for us all. Soon Lave Station will need a new administrator, someone who can oversee the planet and its prefects.’
Bertrum frowned. ‘You said I would return to Ashoria.’
‘If you wish to, but I assumed you wouldn’t want that, when this is the alternative.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘What is there not to understand?’
‘Only hours ago, you thought I was a traitor, now you’re offering me promotion?’
‘Mister Kowl, you have always been a strong asset to me because you do not question and that demonstrates loyalty. You sat and watched your wife in the interrogation room and still told me the truth, making no effort to lie and protect her.’
Bertrum sighed, remembering that moment and reliving the guilt. ‘It wouldn’t have done me or her any good.’
‘Indeed, but you chose a side and I admire that,’ Walden said.
Did I? Bertrum wondered. As always with Walden, there was a right answer to give. ‘What will happen to her and Karsian?’
Walden shrugged. ‘They will be interrogated for the names of their associates. After that, they cannot be allowed to live. In all this time, I would not be much of a leader if I had not factored some resistance into my equations, yet this was ... surprising ... Quite an achievement in itself,’ Walden frowned. ‘But you knew this, why did you ask?’
‘A need for confirmation, I suppose,’ Bertrum said.
‘Well, I am happy not to disappoint you.’
‘I would like some time to consider the offer,’ Bertrum announced. ‘I must judge the implications.’
Walden’s frown returned. He held Bertrum’s eye, looking into him as if searching for his thoughts in the back of his skull. ‘I’m not sure I comprehend the hesitation.’
‘As you said, many years ago, my grandfather was the administrator of this station,’ Bertrum explained. ‘I have spent my whole life on Lave, I would like the chance to acclimatise a bit, before I accept the same fate.’
Walden’s expression brightened. ‘Ah yes, a little time here to watch the world from a new place - a good thought.’ He held out his hand. ‘I will require your exo support batteries.’
Wordlessly Bertrum detached them and handed them over. Walden stood up, his eyes going to a blinking light in the corner of the room. ‘I will leave you for now. My free time it appears is limited today.’
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Bertrum said.
The door to the chamber slid shut.
* * *
The Cobra Mark III glided out of the mining station launch bay effortlessly, making Heldaban Kel revise his earlier opinion of the ship. Pretty on the outside and carefully, tuned, the controls were responsive and the results impressive. The same model as Devander’s craft he’d flown to Solati. Kel’s hands curled into fists at the memory. The score wasn’t settled. Made the mistake of underestimating him before he dumped me in the airlock. The brief journey out of the station and into the arms of the Federation seemed a lifetime ago.
A swirling mix of Adders, Sidewinders, Cobras and the occasional Fer-de-Lance all reactivated by the pilots ferried out from the station, filled the space around it. In the distance, Kel saw the Python they’d used, depositing more people into their ships. The comms light on the console winked constantly
as Archaeo began pulling pilots together to journey further in-system. Forty or more ships mustered up, no match for LaveSec’s military and security forces, but if they kept things tight, they’d be enough to wreck the freighter fleet. One or two hyperspace flares bloomed as pilots cut out. Can’t blame them, Kel thought. That’ll be me in an hour or two.
He banked left and four Viper Mark Is, also stolen from the station, tore past; four young wannabe rookies, given the chance to prove themselves in the aging fighter craft. The look and shape of the old Viper was familiar to every veteran pilot in the space lanes, although they were gradually being replaced in the core worlds. The message hadn’t reached Lave and Doctor Walden. The Vipers were quick, but under armoured and gunned. For centuries, iterations of the craft had been a station defence staple and they worked best hunting in packs, tracking down lone criminals and privateers. Faulcon deLacy had made their reputation with the fighter, but they were a hundred years out of date with a well-earned nickname as a ‘coffin rocket’. The last of the four went past and Kel flicked open the comms channel. ‘Castellan Station empty.’
‘Acknowledged,’ Archaeo replied. ‘Form up on the clipper for in-system run. Final chance Heldaban ...’
Kel smiled. ‘Good trip,’ he said. ‘I’ll cover here and meet you at the rendezvous.’
One by one the ships disappeared. Drive skipping, a dangerous and fuel intensive practice, would get them in range faster, but it would still take hours to get to the planet, the one weakness of the plan.
LaveSec will be waiting for them.
Chapter 33: The Arrival
The hyperrail eased into the last terminal on the line. Gebrial shouldered her rucksack and picked up the other bag.
A hand grabbed her wrist and she stared into the grey eyes and jowly face of a security officer. ‘If you’ll come quietly with me, miss,’ he said. ‘Don’t make a scene.’
Gebrial tried to pull away, but the grip was iron. She glanced around desperately, but couldn’t see Jallin through the press of people. Before she could think to call out, they were moving, out of the door and onto the underground concourse. She was shoved forwards, the man behind her, and moved with the crowd into the access corridors. The man pushed her into an alcove as people carried on past.
