Starship Freedom

by Daniel Arenson

  "And here comes the Freedom's shuttle now," Niles said. The drone rolled his two little cameras toward the sky. "Ugly machine, isn't it?"

  "We can't all look like bejeweled footballs," Emily said.

  Niles huffed. "I told you, Emily, I am not football-shaped, I am a prolate spheroid."

  "Oh quiet, or I'll send you to America and they can toss you around at the Super Bowl."

  The drone dipped in the air, his lights dimming. "Good heavens, don't even joke about that, Princess. Can you imagine me, as beautiful and sophisticated as I am, tossed around an arena full of sweaty Americans, fake grass, and cheap wine?"

  "I think they drink beer at football games, Niles, not wine."

  The drone shuddered. "Beer. The very word is loathsome. I hope they don't have beer aboard the starship Freedom, let me tell you."

  They watched the shuttle descending toward the palace grounds. The vessel was boxy, loud, and covered with armored plates. The hull was raw metal, sporting no gold, no jewels. Its only decoration was a symbol painted onto the hull: a blue star with three red stripes on each side, spreading out like eagle wings. The symbol of the starship Freedom.

  "Definitely an ugly machine," Niles said with a huff. "And that star-and-stripes symbol? Dreadfully American! Somebody ought to tell them that the Alliance includes Great Britain too, along with Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and many other English colonies. The symbol should have been a crown, perhaps. Now that would give the military some class! Do you suppose we can speak to the commander of the starship about replacing the symbol?"

  "Oh, do be quiet, Niles," Emily said. "The shuttle isn't ugly. Oh, it looks nothing like the gilded chariots of the royal family, I know. But that doesn't mean it's ugly. This shuttle is a military machine. It's strong. And that's what matters."

  Niles snorted. He didn't even have nostrils, but he managed to snort. "Military machine might be an exaggeration, Princess. The starship Freedom hasn't fought a battle since the reign of Queen Victoria II. Not since your grandfather served aboard her, may God bless his valiant heart. Today the Freedom is a floating museum. A tourist trap. This shuttle is nothing more than a glorified Ferris wheel pod."

  "Quiet or I'll leave you behind," Emily said.

  Niles raised the pointy front of his body, his way of raising his nose. "You can't. Your mother told me to accompany you, and that I shall do."

  "I'm seventeen years old, and I have a fussy robot chaperone," Emily muttered. "Aren't I lucky?"

  "I should say so!" Niles said, completely missing her sarcasm.

  The shuttle blasted its stabilizer thrusters. The engine roared, and the exhaust ports glowed red. Heat bathed the palace grounds. The shuttle landed with a thump.

  Her ride was here.

  * * * * *

  The shuttle door opened, and out stepped an Alliance Fleet soldier.

  He was a tall, older gentleman with a wonderful white mustache. He wore a resplendent full-dress uniform, the most formal type of uniform a soldier owned. The fabric was purest white, dazzling with golden cuff links and polished buttons engraved with little wings. White gloves added an extra touch of class. A military cap completed the ensemble, sporting a blue star above the visor.

  "Good morning, Your Royal Highness." The old soldier bowed before her. "I am Sergeant Major Oliver Darjeeling. It's a true honor to meet you. I am at your service, my princess."

  Like her, he had an English accent. But Emily spoke with a posh upper-class accent, the highest form of the King's English. This soldier spoke with a working-class accent. From London, she thought.

  Emily held out her hand for him to kiss, an anachronism that had been making a comeback in recent years. "The honor is mine, sir."

  Darjeeling kissed her hand, then straightened. His eyes shone with tears. "I never imagined I would get to meet you, Your Highness. I remember the day you were born." He cleared his throat. "But please, no need to call me sir. I am neither officer nor nobleman, merely a humble soldier at the service of his princess." He gestured at the shuttle. "I'm here to accompany you to the starship Freedom, Your Highness. Please, after you."

  "Excuse me!" Niles floated closer. "I shall enter first. I will secure the area for our princess."

  Nose raised, the drone hovered into the shuttle. He emerged a moment later.

  "Well?" Emily asked. "Did you defeat all the brigands and warlords hiding inside, Niles?"

  The drone grumbled, "I did see a rip in the upholstery. I think we should turn back."

  Emily turned toward Darjeeling and smiled thinly. "Forgive my drone, sir. I mean, um … Mr. Darjeeling." Her smile widened. "Can I call you Mr. Darjeeling?"

  "You may, Your Highness."

  "Thank you, Mr. Darjeeling. Oh, and … you don't need to call me Your Highness every time. Most people use that title when they first greet me, then simply call me ma'am. Or a simple Emily is fine too." She smiled.

  "My apologies, ma'am. You are most kind to correct me. If you don't mind, I will call you ma'am."

  "Of course. If that makes you most comfortable."

  "Here, ma'am, watch your step." He held her hand, helping her climb the narrow stairs into the shuttle. "Welcome aboard. Please have a seat."

  The shuttle contained six seats, all empty. Darjeeling sat at the helm. Emily hesitated, wondering if she should take a back seat. She decided to ride shotgun. Perhaps that was inappropriate for a princess, but she wanted to sit beside Darjeeling, to speak to him while they flew. The old sergeant, with his wonderful white mustache and polished cuff links, seemed a charming fellow. Emily already loved him.

  She entered the cockpit. The back seats remained empty. She had taken no security guards on this trip, despite her mother's consternation.

  I don't need guards, she had told her mother. I'll have Niles with me. And besides, soldiers of the proud Alliance Fleet will surround me.

  Reluctantly, her family had agreed. Thank goodness.

  She settled down in an upholstered chair. The one with the rip. This was clearly no royal carriage. And the military had not bothered to spruce it up. That was good. This was a military machine, all grit and gruff, as it should be. After all, when tourists visited the Freedom, they wanted the full experience. They wanted to feel like they were back in World War III, fighting the nefarious Red Dawn. In this cramped cockpit, the illusion was complete.

  Well, aside from Darjeeling's resplendent uniform. Emily doubted that during the war, soldiers flew to battle with golden cuff links and parade gloves. The sergeant was clearly excited to meet her, so she would forgive him for overdressing. And after all, it was Christmas.

  "Strap in, ma'am," Darjeeling said, taking hold of the yoke. "You might want to hold on to your robot."

  "I do not need anyone to hold me," Niles said, his silver nose rising.

  "Very well," said Darjeeling. "Three. Two. One. And—"

  "Wait, perhaps I—" Niles began.

  "Liftoff!" Darjeeling said.

  The sergeant shoved down a lever, and the shuttle's engine roared.

  They soared into the sky.

  Emily inhaled sharply and clutched her armrests. Her seat belt suddenly felt ridiculously unnecessary. The g-force was pressing her so hard into the chair Emily thought they'd need a spatula to scrape her off.

  Niles, who was hovering in midair, flew across the cabin. He slammed into a bulkhead and wailed.

  "Why, you ruffian!" the drone cried. "Darjeeling, I order you to slow down! You're going to get us killed, scoundrel!"

  The mustached sergeant ignored the drone. Holding on to the shuttle yoke, he glanced at Emily.

  "Are you all right, ma'am?"

  She nodded. "Yes. I'm fine. I spent the summers of my youth riding horses outside Windsor Castle. This shuttle is no more aggressive than a good English stallion."

  Darjeeling smiled. "This is a Sparrow-class shuttle. At twenty meters long, with room for a pilot and five passengers, the Sparrow is among the smallest vessels the Alliance Fleet oper
ates. But today, ma'am, you'll get to witness far more impressive machines. The fabled Eagle starfighters. The mighty Rhino-class heavy marine transporters. And of course, the grand old lady herself—the starship Freedom."

  Emily listened but her attention was split. She kept gazing out the window, watching the land drop down below. Buckingham Palace soon looked like a toy, then shrank and shrank some more, becoming a mere stamp. Then all of London seemed small.

  Emily had flown to space before. In 2199, anyone with some money could holiday on the moon, tour the rings of Saturn, or skydive on Titan. Some adventurers even flew near the sun in the heavy, ultra-thick Nightships that could withstand the terrible heat. Emily had done all those things. But she had never visited the Freedom, despite all those hours spent admiring the painting of her grandfather.

  Nobody in her family had ever visited the Freedom. Not since her grandfather returned from the war.

  He did not return the same man.

  Emily had not known the young Prince Robert who flew off to war. She had not yet been born. But in the family stories, young Robert was a happy-go-lucky officer, quick to laugh, brash and brave. He came back a broken man. He had not laughed since. Not even smiled. It took two years for him to even speak again.

  Some people said that Robert had done something terrible in the war. Something shameful. Something Emily didn't like thinking about. She didn't believe it. None of it. Vicious tabloid rumors! They said horrible things about her too. Robert had simply seen things. Seen too much. Some sights broke the soul.

  Every year, thousands of tourists visited the starship Freedom. To the people, the ship was a symbol of hope. Of the Alliance winning the war. The Freedom was famous across the solar system. The legendary flagship of the Alliance fleet! The famous dreadnought that had broken the Red Dawn lines, liberated Mars, and won the war! Boys and girls across all Alliance nations, from America in the west to New Zealand in the east, from Venus in the dawn to Mars in evening's gloaming, knew of the Freedom.

  But to the royal family, the Freedom was different. It was the place that broke their son.

  Prince Robert had since become King Robert, and he was still a broken man. But Emily had seen the painting. She had heard the old stories. She wanted to visit the place of her family's greatest honor and darkest secrets.

  She was almost there. Her fingers trembled.

  Though it was morning down in Britain, the blue sky faded around the shuttle, and the stars kindled all around. The shuttle had breached the atmosphere. The pressure eased, and Emily felt weightless. Only the seat belt kept her from floating. They were in space.

  * * * * *

  "Well, I swear!" Niles said, glaring at Darjeeling. "I don't think this man has had a single flying lesson in his life."

  "Niles! Be nice." Emily grabbed the drone and pulled him into her lap. "Calm down. We're fine."

  "I am certainly not fine!" Niles said. "I banged myself against the bulkhead. It knocked out one of my sapphires."

  Emily rolled her eyes. "You're covered with jewels. I'm sure you'll survive."

  The drone gasped. "Princess Emily! The sapphire I lost is no less than the Tear of the Nile, a priceless jewel from the tomb of Nefertiti. Your great-grandmother, Princess Elizabeth III, wore it on her wedding day at Westminster Abbey. And now it's rolling around the filthy floor of a military shuttle!"

  Emily sighed. "The floor isn't filthy, Niles. We'll find your gem. Calm down and enjoy the view."

  The shuttle had a large viewport—as wide as a windshield on an antique automobile. It afforded a wonderful view. For a moment Emily simply sat and gazed in awe. No matter how many times she flew into space, the view always took her breath away.

  At first they flew among other vessels. Thousands of shuttles, cruisers, and pontoons glided around Earth. Some ferried tourists from continent to continent; you could travel from Japan to America in half an hour if you hopped through space. Other vessels belonged to the Alliance Orbit Guard, a paramilitary force that defended their territorial space. A few rockets were rising into deep space, carrying passengers to other planets. Freighters and tankers lumbered in from deep space, hauling minerals and gasses from distant mines.

  Then the shuttle flew by satellites. Thousands of satellites zipped back and forth, connecting the world. A few satellites streaked by so closely Emily recoiled, fearful they would hit the shuttle. Many drones flew here too, zipping around in complex orbits, seeking space trash like bees seeking flowers. With so much activity, space was full of random bolts, scrap metal, and garbage ejected from starships. The drones collected it, cleaning Earth's orbit as best they could.

  "Look at those poor drones," Niles said. "What a dreadful existence."

  "If you don't do your job right, I'll have you cleaning space junk with them," Emily said.

  Niles gasped. "You would never!"

  She cuddled the jeweled drone. "Of course not. Though I do think it would build your character."

  The drone lifted his silver nose. "My character is impeccable. I am a paragon of high breeding and class."

  "You were built in a little shop down on Oxford Street."

  "Nevertheless, I've been groomed to aristocratic perfection. I wish I could say the same about you, young princess. Me, a junk drone! Ha! Can you imagine?"

  Emily was preparing a retort when the clouds of satellites and drones parted, and she beheld the Milky Way in all its splendor. It took her breath away.

  "It's beautiful," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

  For a moment she, Niles, and Darjeeling all stared in silence. The spiral arm of the galaxy spread above, a silver river. Around it shone the countless stars, and Emily realized how small Earth really was. For all its starships and colonies and flying drones, they were just a speck in the cosmic ocean. She lived in a palace among priceless art collected over generations, but she had never seen anything as splendid as the night sky.

  "It sure is something, ain't it, ma'am?" Darjeeling took off his cap and held it over his heart. "God has a mighty paintbrush, and the cosmos is his canvas. I've been serving in the Alliance Fleet for forty-two years, and the stars still take me breath away." He wiped a tear from his eye. "There's only one sight prettier than the galaxy."

  Emily tilted her head. "And what is that, Mr. Darjeeling?"

  "The starship Freedom, of course." The sergeant pointed. "And there she is now. Right off our prow."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Motherclaw Hunger

  18 Billion kms from Earth

  37th night of Hunter's Moon

  576th Imperial Millennia

  Skel'rah, Warweaver of the Great Web, enjoyed her first taste of human.

  They were a tasty species.

  She savored this meal, nibbling finger by finger, toe by toe, keeping the victim alive for as long as possible. When he finally died, still she just nibbled. She wanted to make this meal last. It had been too long since she had feasted.

  I am so small.

  She did not need to look at her body. She felt it. The shriveling up. Over this long year of hunger, she had been deflating, becoming a wet sack. That was the great curse and blessing of the rahs. Sheertone ash keresh. Constant hunger. Constant conquest. The eternal hunt.

  "We do not domesticate." She bit off a rib, crushed it between her teeth. "We hunt. Or we hunger."

  Before her on the deck, one of her many sons reared. His name was Hel'rah. He was large for a male and unusually colored, sporting a gray abdomen and red legs. The mutation was rare, seen only in the most vicious males.

  "Mother, I'm still hungry!" Hel'rah screeched. "Give me a rib. Give me the spine."

  Skel'rah snapped her teeth and lashed her legs, holding him back. "No! Back with you. You've eaten your fill."

  "But I'm still famished!"

  She stared at the new trophy on his back—a human's severed head, the face still locked in anguish. They had found only two humans aboard the space station. Just two morsels!

  "You al
ready devoured one," Skel'rah said. "This one is mine."

  But she would need more food. Much more. One human was not nearly enough to rebuild her strength. She intended to lay many eggs on Earth. That planet was full of fresh wombs for her offspring. There, in human hosts, her offspring would grow strong. Grow into hunters.

  But only if I eat more, Skel'rah knew. Only if I devour enough protein to lay eggs.

  She scraped her claws across the metal deck of the Hunger, her motherclaw. Only one motherclaw flew in the fleet. Motherclaws were the largest starships the rahs built, far larger than the human dreadnoughts. One was enough. One motherclaw could shatter empires.

  Her claws drew lines through the blood on the deck. She applied more force. The claws etched grooves into the steel plates. Sparks flew. That was the way of the claw.

  Sheertone ash keresh. The sharpening of the claw. An endless cycle. It kept a rah forever on the hunt. For wombs. For flesh. It kept their claws sharp, their souls strong. Skel'rah would rather deflate to an empty sack of skin than grow plump and soft. Decadence was not the way of Ishar, the Right Path. And only Ishar could lead to utopia.

  "I cannot wait!" Hel'rah announced. "I hunger too much."

  The young male, the most violent of his clutch, knelt on the deck. He began lapping the blood.

  Skel'rah leaped over what remained of the corpse. She pulled her son to his feet.

  "Stand straight!" she hissed. "You are a rah of the hunter class. You do not kneel and lap like a slitherpup!"

  He snapped his teeth at her. "Silence! This is good blood."

  She slapped him with her claw. The skulls of his back rattled.

  "There is no eresh in lapping blood," she said. "There is eresh only in hunting, in devouring the flesh of live prey. We will be at Earth soon. Control your hunger!"

  Hel'rah nodded, blood dripping from his mouth. "Yes, Mother. Forgive me. It's been so long since our last hunt."