by Nick Webb
Several silent minutes later the helmsman spoke up again. “Now passing over the southern continent. We’ll be at the pole in fifteen seconds.”
Titus glanced at tactical again. The man shook his head.
After another minute, the helmsman cleared his throat. “We’ve passed the polar region.”
“Nothing, sir. No sign of the Phoenix,” said Captain Titus.
Trajan steepled his hands in front of his chin. “Scan all orbits of Destiny. Look for a debris cloud.”
“You think Velar might have just destroyed them?” asked Titus.
“No, I don’t. But we may as well exhaust the possibility.”
Another silent two minutes passed, and the tactical officer spoke up again. “No debris clouds so far, sir.”
“And we’ll be approaching the northern polar region shortly, sir,” said the helmsman.
Trajan murmured to himself, “Mercer, Mercer. Where have you gotten yourself to?”
Titus cleared his throat. “You don’t suppose they’ve landed somewhere? Hidden themselves under some foliage or covered the ship with camouflage or the like?”
“It’s possible,” Trajan said. And he nodded. “Indeed, if we don’t find them in orbit, either as an intact ship or a debris cloud, we’re forced to consider the possibility. Either that or they’ve flown out to hide behind one of the gas giant planets—but that is unlikely.” He sat pensively for a few more moments before standing up briskly out of his seat.
“Comm. Open up a channel to Velar. You’ll find I’ve placed the appropriate frequency on your console display.”
The comm officer’s eyes darted over to a section of his console, and he nodded in recognition when he found it. “Channel open, sir.”
“Velar of the Urensys syndicate, this is Admiral Trajan of the Imperial Fleet. Is now a good time to talk?” His voice sounded perfectly polite, as if the man actually cared—as if he were calling on an old friend. Titus realized the man could hit all the right notes—pitch perfect—without actually feeling any sentiment behind what he was saying. A true psychopath, indeed.
The main speaker on the bridge came to life. “This is Velar. Greetings, Admiral Trajan. Welcome to Destiny. I must say, I hadn’t expected you so soon. Is there a problem?”
Trajan smiled. “I was about to ask the same of you, Velar. Tell me, do you know the whereabouts of the NPQR Phoenix?”
Vague, inaudible voices muffled in the background before Velar replied. “The last I saw of her, she was hovering over the northern polar region. They seemed to think they could avoid being seen there.”
Trajan glanced at the sensor officer. The man shook his head. “We’re passing the north pole now, sir, and still no sign of them.”
Admiral Trajan began a slow pace around the command console, and Titus stepped back to avoid being caught in the middle again. The vulture was swirling.
“They apparently have moved on,” Trajan replied. “Tell me, Velar, Do you suppose they were warned of my arrival?”
The response was immediate. “Absolutely not! I run a tight ship here, Admiral. None of my people would dare betray me….”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said, cutting her off. “Still using the Domitian Collar, I suppose. Barbaric, but yes, it does get the job done.” He continued pacing. “Do you have any guests there?”
“We do. The former Captain, his First Officer, and the Chief Engineer. And two marines,” she added, “one alive, and one dead.”
A dangerous smile broadened on Trajan’s face, which combined with the cavernous pit of the eye would be enough to give a brave man nightmares. “Quite a quarry you’ve got yourself, madam.”
“And does our deal still stand? We get to keep them and the rest of the crew, right?” She sounded nervous. Titus smiled inwardly. She had every right to be. If it were up to him, he’d bomb the entire slaver complex without any further conversation.
“Yes, it stands. But we have no deal if the Phoenix has escaped with nearly her entire crew still aboard.”
Titus could almost hear Velar sweat. “Understood, Admiral. I’ll get the word out. My people will find them if you don’t. Not to worry. The Phoenix is as good as yours.”
Trajan’s pace came to a head back at the captain’s chair. “It is mine, Velar. Don’t forget that.”
“Of course, Admiral. I didn’t mean otherwise—“
“I know what you meant, Velar.” Trajan looked peeved. “Just hear me now. If that ship is not found in the next twelve hours, I’m afraid our deal may have to be altered.”
A long pause.
“Yes, Admiral. Velar out.”
Trajan turned to Titus. “Captain, prepare a squadron of fighters to patrol the orbits of Destiny. I want that ship.”
“Yes, sir.” Titus spun on his heel to motion to the Wing Commander behind him, and pointed at him, indicating he carry out the Admiral’s orders.
“Comm officer?” Trajan said, peering over at Ensign Evans.
“Yes, Admiral?”
“You’ll find another set of carrier frequencies there on your panel. I need to speak to Dr. Stone.”
Ensign Evans studied his console, and nodded. “Yes, sir. Entering frequencies now.”
Titus could hear the Ensign mutter into his headset, talking with some communications operator on the other end, when finally a sterile voice sounded over the speakers.
“This is Dr. Velasquez,” said the female voice, without a hint of emotion. “Dr. Stone is indisposed at the moment. May I pass along a message?”
The look in Trajan’s eye could melt right through a solid composite metal hull. “Indisposed? He had better hope he is indisposed with research, Dr. Velasquez, and not his hobbies. I’ve come to retrieve the Cybernetic Institute’s first deliverable. I assume it is ready?”
With hesitation, the voice continued. “I—I’m not entirely sure. Please stand by, Admiral.”
Dr. Velasquez’s voice cut out, leaving an uncomfortable silence reigning on the bridge. Trajan was seething, that much was clear. Titus only rarely had seen the Admiral actually angry. Usually, the man was calm and collected, even as he ordered soulless, horrific acts.
Titus cleared his throat. “Sir? Would it help if I sent down a contingent of—“
“No, Captain, it would not. I already have an entire squadron of marines and technical staff down there as a permanent reminder to the good Doctor of our arrangement.”
“And that arrangement.…” Titus trailed off as the eye came to rest on him.
“Is none of your concern at the moment, Captain,” Trajan replied icily.
Titus clammed up immediately, breathing a sigh of relief as the speaker blared to life again, saving him from the conversation.
“Admiral, th—this is Doctor Stone.” The voice was high, and nervous. “I have good news, Admiral. Lymphatic response is normalized, and the protease catalytic enzyme response is now off the charts! The next step is to normalize the synaptic response in the cortex, and stabilize the electromagnetic response of the—“
“Doctor, Doctor, Doctor. Do you think you can fool me?” Trajan asked, dangerously.
“E—excuse me, Admiral?” The man sounded like he’d swallowed his tongue.
“I know about you, Doctor. My men have described to me your … habits. And I’ve looked the other way because until now you’ve delivered. But if I find that the Empire can no longer trust you with its science funding, you’ll find that I have no problem cutting off the dead weight, if you know what I mean.”
“But Admiral, I assure you that—“
Trajan stood up and interrupted. “Do you have the first deliverable ready?”
“Yes! Yes, I do. At least, part of it.”
“Part of it,” Trajan repeated, in annoyance.
“Yes. You wanted to test it, correct? Well it is definitely in the testing stage. I can’t deliver the amount requested, b—b—but.…” The man hesitated, the nervousness in his voice coming loud and clear through the
speaker. “But would .1 kilos be sufficient?”
Trajan pursed his lips, and sat back down again. “Will that be enough to perform a dozen or so tests back at the testing center on Corsica?”
“Yes! More than enough. I’ll— I’ll, I’ll package it up right away and have it ready for you whenever—“
“Very well, Doctor. The Emperor will be most pleased with your progress, I’m sure. He follows your research personally. Did you know that?”
“Uh … no, sir. I didn’t,” the man stammered. Titus imagined a half-balding man in a white lab coat with flop sweat running down his temples.
“Oh, yes. He does indeed. Your research is extremely important to him. He is a man of science, after all.” Trajan sat down, and his voice took on a softer, more reasoned tone, apparently trying to calm the scientist down. “An enlightened man, he is. Emperor Maximilian was still in his graduate program in Biology when his father, Emperor Justinian, died and he inherited the throne. I assure you, he understands what it takes to make the great strides you’ve made.”
“D—does he?” Doctor Stone was starting to sound a little more at ease. “Then, perhaps I can ask a small favor? To help the research along? I seem to be running low on subjects.”
Trajan stirred in his seat, a look of annoyance crossing his face. “And what of the last shipment of Terran girls I arranged last year?”
A long pause. “Used.”
Trajan sighed. “Very well. The Commander there will send his men to the streets and pick out some new ones. How many?”
Stone hesitated. “Twenty?”
“Twenty missing girls is not easily covered up, Doctor.”
“On Corsica, sure,” came the curt reply. “But on D-Destiny? That many disappear every week. The slavers are quite active here.
Trajan nodded slowly. “Done. Anything else, Doctor?”
“Th—that should be it. I await your shuttle to transfer the deliverable.”
“Excellent. Trajan out.”
The Admiral glanced up at Titus, as if sensing a question. “You look concerned, Captain. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
Titus cleared his throat, and swallowed, not wanting to raise the subject on the bridge in front of the crew. But the Admiral seemed eager to address his questions. Especially the most obvious question of all.
“Sir …” he began, choosing his words carefully. “Do we—that is, does the Empire engage in kidnapping?”
“Kidnapping?” Trajan looked genuinely surprised. “Kidnapping? Of course not, Captain. Though I can imagine how you’d be left with that impression. No, the Empire does not kidnap. Do we reassign children of dissidents? Yes, naturally. Do we send entire families to the reeducation centers? When the corruption runs deep in a family, yes. Do we kidnap? No. Most assuredly.”
“Yes. Well—“ Titus began.
“Then what was that conversation about, you’re wondering?”
Titus nodded. “Yes.”
“A good question. With an easy answer. You see, the Doctor is working on a special vaccine to prevent an incurable new disease that is raging through the frontier worlds. He requires subjects to test it on. The most vulnerable to the disease are the weak. The destitute. The street people. So naturally, they are the ones we’d want to help first. We only bring in those most at risk. For their own good.” He lowered his chin and stared at Titus. “Isn’t that rather beneficent of us?”
“Yes. Yes it is, sir. But what did Stone mean when he said the previous girls were … used?”
Trajan nodded. “He is a scientist, Captain. And scientists have such a utilitarian way with language. I’m sure he just meant that, as a testing resource, the pool of subjects had been used up. What he probably should have said is that all the girls are now immune from the sickness that will surely sweep through this world within a few months. Years at the latest.”
“I see,” said Titus, unsure of what to make of it. The explanation sounded plausible. But he’d never heard of a sickness sweeping through the frontier worlds.
Trajan nodded, as if reading his mind. “Yes, the existence of the threat has been classified. To keep hysteria from spreading. No sense in allowing panic to set in. No, Captain, the Emperor would much prefer to keep this under wraps. To cure the epidemic before it ever really gets started, and surely before it becomes common knowledge.”
Titus inclined his head in acquiescence. “Very well, sir. Shall I prepare the shuttle, then?”
Trajan stood up, and straightened his uniform. “Thank you, Captain. I was just about to ask. Such foresight. Really, I could not ask for a better assistant,” he turned to the rest of the bridge, raising his voice, “Or a better crew.” He said something similar the week before, praising the bridge crew for all to hear. Just before he blew the Chief Engineer’s brains out. Trajan turned back to Titus. “I’ll be in my quarters. Find that ship, Captain.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied as the Trajan stalked out the rear door of the bridge. He turned to the Wing Commander. “Prepare a shuttle. Send it to the Cybernetic Institute down on the planet to receive delivery of … a deliverable.”
How odd. A vaccine. Being developed at an institute for cybernetics.
It didn’t add up.
But it wasn’t his job to add it all up. It was his job to find the Phoenix. He turned his attention back to his console, and got to work.
***
The deckplate creaked, and Senator Galba held his breath. He’d heard the klaxons, and the announcements to man emergency stations, but there was never any mention of what was going on.
Turning back to the half-disassembled console panel, he poked his probe back into the circuitry. It’d been so long since he’d worked with electronics. Forty years? Forty-five? His father was insistent that he learn a trade. As insurance. Just in case the family’s fortunes fell. And so he spent two years as an apprentice tech in the Imperial Senate Office building.
He grinned to himself. That’s when he bagged his first woman. She was young, like himself, tall, shy, and lit up whenever he casually tossed a compliment her way. Ah, the way they’d steal away to that utility closet during lunch….
The deckplate groaned again, and he glanced up at the walls and ceiling nervously. The ship seemed to be protesting some kind of strain. Some intense pressure. With a press of a button, he flipped on the power to the terminal and navigated to the ship’s tactical situation software, hoping to see the source of the moaning of the deckplates. Heh—it reminded him of tall, shy tech-girl. She always moaned. Not like Willow, who only cursed like a marine whenever she got frisky.
Within minutes, he found the source of the ship’s problems—about ten meters of ice water covering the hull. What in the world was the Captain thinking?
The Rebels must be hiding. But who could they be hiding from?
There was only one answer to that question.
And so he shifted to his new task. If he could force the Phoenix to come out of hiding, the game would be up.
All it would take was a simple power buildup on one of the hull’s gravitic plates. That would serve both his purposes: disrupt gravitics, and possibly cause a hull breach, forcing them to surface.
Within minutes it was done. Careful to make the buildup escape attention of any engineer who might be monitoring, he set the charging rate low. It would take hours. Maybe days. But the damn thing would blow eventually, and then it’d be all over.
The Plan would continue.
And he could retire to his Corsican beach house. Finally.
The door slid open without a warning. Dammit—he thought he’d locked it.
“Need any help, Senator?”
Wonderful.
He snapped his head around towards the door and saw Private Ling’s bruised and battered face. A smile tugged at the marine’s lips.
“What in the blazes are you talking about?” said Galba.
Ling stepped into the cramped utility room. “It struck me a few minutes ago. You look exactly like th
at one Senator. You know, the one who heads up the Truth and Reconciliation Committee? The one trying to improve Empire-Old Earth relations?”
Galba rolled his eyes and turned back to the console, stuffing a few wires back into their places and shutting the back panel. “You’re seeing things, Private. But don’t worry.…” He turned back to face the young man and flashed a big smile. “I get it all the time. In fact,” he grunted as he stood up, and leaned in closer, “You’d be surprised how much pussy I can get when I impersonate a Senator.” He waggled his eyebrows at the young man as he stepped towards the door.
“So … you’re not Senator Glib? Gliba?” The young man looked positively disappointed. Good.
“Alas, my friend.” The door opened and Galba stepped through. “But if I see him, I’ll let you know. So long!”
He turned and hurriedly walked away before the marine could change his mind about his identity. Something would have to be done about it, of course. He supposed he could tell Willow. See if she could finger the marine for the previous explosion. She had mentioned last night in bed that the XO was hot on the saboteur’s trail.
“Hey! Stop!”
Galba froze, and turned his head, cautiously. Private Ling stood behind him, arm extended.
“You forgot something.”
Galba paced back, and took his tool bag from the offered hand.
“Thanks, soldier,” he said, nodding once before turning to resume his retreat.
“No problem,” Ling called after him.
He turned the corner, and quickened his pace through the common area, past other Imperial marines sprawled out on couches and chairs, and headed for the stairs.
***
Jake was numb. The image of the twin blasts of blood streaming out of Suarez’s nose refused to leave his mind; neither would the image of the eyes jerking into an unnatural, twisted gaze. He didn’t get much time to dwell on the death immediately afterward, as Velar had rushed in and, using some device in her pocket, made the rest of their heads nearly explode in pain.