by M. D. Cooper
“Fair enough. So,” Pierce gestured at the empty space between them where the holo of the battle had played out, “if I’m to believe that this is all real, then you’re the vanguard for this force? It’s sweeping through Nietzschea now?”
“Now you’re getting it,” Chase replied. “The bulk of our fleet will be here in a few weeks, under the command of Colonel Rika.”
“Colonel?” Pierce spat out the word in disbelief.
“Yeah. Colonel. Pretty much everyone who serves under her is a mech, too. When they get here, we’ll have to make sure that you selling her at auction stays on the downlow. If word of that got out, there wouldn’t be enough left of you to pull DNA from.”
Pierce had paled visibly, but didn’t respond, her lips instead forming a thin line.
“Good.” Chase nodded. “Now that we’ve finally gotten that out of the way, there was all this actionable intel you were eager to trade in exchange for continuing to draw breath.”
“Well, what do you want to know?” Pierce asked in a guarded tone. “I could talk all day about tons of shit, but that won’t help much.”
“Let’s talk Parsons first,” Chase said. “Is there an active resistance in the system?”
“Active?” Pierce rolled her eyes. “I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say that.”
Chase lowered his face into his hands and shook his head. “Fuck, Pierce. Do you have to have an editorial comment about everything? I get it, you’re reaaaal clever. Now just answer the damn question. With details about what you know.”
“Fine,” Pierce chewed out the word. “There are a few groups on Naera that have tucked themselves into mountainous regions, living in caves and shit. A few pirates here and there, too. Nothing significant or organized…. I should know, I’ve sold them half their weapons.”
“Pirates?” Chase pressed. “As in lone wolves raiding merchants, or crews hitting civil and military targets?”
Pierce’s gaze met Chase’s eyes. “Nothing like what you’re hoping for. I suppose some have hit smaller stations and raided a few supply depots. But it’s not a force that will help you take Parsons.”
“I’m not looking for help taking Parsons,” Chase replied. “I’m looking for help holding it. A system is a lot more than a few warships defending it. It needs leaders.”
“Gee, you really do care.”
Chase ignored her comment. “Tell me about the rebels you know of.”
Pierce went on to describe what she knew of the pirates who operated in and around Parsons, which stations were known to harbor them, and what resources she suspected the rebels in the mountains on Naera possessed. Several former political leaders were rumored to be amongst them. Several other Genevian leaders were currently in power, most reviled by the populace, who saw them as traitors.
Chase wondered how much of the leadership was truly opportunistic slime, and how many were like Sandra—or at least, what they hoped Sandra to be.
“Tell me about the Parsons People’s Militia,” Chase said.
“Stars, what a shit-show, they—”
“What did I say about the editorial comments?”
She groaned. “You take all the fun out of everything.”
“That’s me.” Chase slathered his words in sarcasm to get his point across. “The fun police. You were saying?”
“I think I’ll have something to eat now.” She turned to the servitor. “A beer, whatever you have that’s malty, and a salad with grilled chicken. Kaiser dressing, if you have it.”
“Of course,” the servitor said, and trundled away.
“The PPM,” Chase reiterated.
“Well, where do I start? Their ships are mostly hulls that have sat in scrap nets since the Niets took Parsons. A couple of them are Genevian ships, but most are Nietzschean hulls. By and large, they’re crewed by your types.”
“My types?” Chase asked, his brow lowering. “Mechs?”
“No, soldiers who don’t know how to do anything but make war.”
Chase didn’t credit Pierce’s statement with a response, and twirled his finger, indicating that she should carry on.
“Right, so you get people like Sandra. She means well, but she’s a puppy playing with sharks—”
“Wolves,” Chase interjected.
Pierce’s brow lowered. “What?”
“Puppies don’t typically end up in situations where they play with sharks. The saying is that they play with wolves.”
“I’ve seen vids of puppies in the ocean. Pretty sure that’s where the sharks are.”
Potter said.
Pierce was staring at him, clearly expecting him to either challenge her or accept her ridiculous statement.
“OK, have it your way,” Chase said to her. “I’m curious, have the Niets sent the PPM ships against any of the pirates?”
“Yeah, a few times. Always with a Nietzschean escort, though. Just in case. Half the PPM crews are probably from the pirates. In the militia, they get to do the same shit, it’s just legal now. They’re like state-owned privateers.”
“What about Sandra?”
The woman shrugged. “She’s been effective, though I think she’s nabbed a lot more outsystem pirates than in. You know, now that I think of it, she also seems to catch more Niets who are breaking the law than Genevians.”
“Though it won’t really matter anymore,” Pierce finished.
“Because we’re here?” Chase asked.
“No. Well, yeah. But even before you came, things were changing. More ships are coming in from the Genevia System—replacing those that buggered off a few months back. The Niets must be stamping hulls like they have nothing else to do.”
* * * * *
Chase spoke with the other five prisoners before getting to Sandra.
Becka, the stationmaster, confirmed much of what Pierce had said, though the woman was odious in the extreme. She wasn’t Nietzschean, but she clearly wished she were.
Potter had garnered the same impression.
He wrapped up his interview with Becka after just half an hour, marveling that this woman who had been the ultimate authority when he lived on Dekar was now entirely at his mercy.
The Nietzschean garrison commander was a different story entirely. Major Idar was a true believer in the Nietzschean philosophy, but had the tact of a pregnant hippo. That he’d been relegated to keeping what peace he could on Dekar wasn’t surprising at all.
Chase concluded his chat with Idar in short order. He then spoke briefly with each of the other three captains, noting that all were Genevians who had served in the GAF. Two fit the mold that Pierce had described: pirates who were happy to make the upgrade to militia-privateer.
When Sandra finally settled into the seat across from Chase, he opened with a question certain to get a reaction.
“What would you think if I put Pierce in charge of Dekar Station?”
The woman’s eyes grew wide, and she opened her mouth to respond, only to close it and remain mute for half a minute before finally stringing together a sentence.
“I’m going to skip past how that’s within y
our authority and go right to ‘what are you on?’ ”
“If she’s so bad, tell me,” Chase leant forward, steepling his fingers. “What did Captain Mixon do before he joined the PPM?”
Sandra’s eyes narrowed. “I see where you’re going with this. Sure, he wasn’t exactly an honorable guy. Raided some merchants out beyond the heliopause on occasion. But he legitimately cares about people, and that makes him useful. Pierce doesn’t care about anything other than her coffers. The woman is built out of raw greed.”
“That’s my assessment as well,” Chase said. “She’s smooth. A real chameleon. Still, that may be why she’d make a good administrator for Dekar. One thing’s for sure, I can’t put Becka back in charge—that woman would be making a call to her friends further insystem before the first shift change.”
“OK, I know I said we could skip past how this is your job, but how is this your job?”
“How did Becka get made stationmaster of Dekar?” Chase asked.
Sandra shrugged. “Same way I became captain of the Melrose. The Niets put her there.”
“And how did they get the authority to do that?”
The woman across from him sat back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. “They won. But you haven’t won, you’ve just managed a stay of execution.”
“You saw what the Asora’s shields could withstand.”
“Sure. It was impressive. But you can’t take a system with one ship, that’s been proven a million times.”
Chase nodded, noting the passion with which Sandra spoke. “You’re certainly right about that. Why do you think I’m speaking to the seven of you? We need intel, the sort of information that doesn’t get logged in the station datastores. There are people in Parsons who hate the Niets, who have been preparing for this. If we can partner with them, then we have a chance to secure this system for Genevia. If not, then we’ll have to pass it by for now.”
“ ‘For Genevia’? What the core does that mean?”
A grin spread across Chase’s face, and he leant forward. “Sandra, for someone who hates the Niets as much as you do, I’m surprised that you’re not leaping at this opportunity. Nietzschea’s falling. It’s already started. We hold Blue Ridge and Iberia. We’ve also destroyed the Nietzschean shipyards at Epsilon.”
“Epsilon?” Sandra asked. “I remember that place…. I heard that they were refitting Harriets there.”
“That they were,” Chase nodded. “Those ships are all on their way to Thebes now.”
“To attack it?” Sandra asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“No, to complete refit, then we’ll likely get some in the Marauder fleet. Others might go fight in the Pleiades.”
Sandra’s mouth worked silently again. This time it didn’t last as long before she blurted, “Enough riddles, Captain Chase. What the hell is really going on here?”
Chase played the holo of the battle in the Albany system once more. This time, he got the sort of reaction he’d hoped for.
Sandra’s expression of raw skepticism faded, replaced by one of wonder and hope. “Is this real?” she asked in a muted voice when the playback was complete.
“It is,” he replied. “Now do you understand? Nietzschea isn’t the only major faction in the region anymore. What’s more, it turns out that they’re a proxy nation for another group called Orion. You’ve been trying to establish a livable status quo in the wake of the war. I’m here to tell you the war we just went through was a prelude.”
“Fuuuck,” Sandra muttered. “Well, I guess this is the silver lining.”
“What is?” Chase asked.
“We got word just yesterday that none of the new ships we were promised are coming.”
“Huh….”
“ ‘Huh’ what?”
“Well…” Chase tapped a finger on his chin. “Pierce seemed quite convinced that ships from Genevia were still inbound.”
The woman across the table from Chase barked a gleeful laugh. “Well I’ll be! I think I know who Pierce’s mole in the PPM is.”
“Who?” Chase asked. “And how?”
“Who’s not important. I’ve been carefully routing information through different people for almost a year now, trying to rule out people as informants for Pierce. If she doesn’t know, then I’ve finally found my leak.”
“Tell me more about these ships that aren’t showing up.”
Sandra leant forward, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I was pissed about not getting new ships—you can imagine why. Anyway, I got the news from one of our regular couriers. He’s just a hair under three months out of Genevia at this point, but before he left, he saw a ship enter the system and when it did, things ramped up a lot.”
“What ship was that?” Chase asked, wishing the woman would just get it out, already.
“The Belgara.”
Sandra dropped the name in a hushed voice, her eyes alight as she shared what must have been significant news.
“And that is…?”
“Really?” Sandra asked. “Stars, you’re really out of touch.”
Chase shrugged. “There’s a lot of galaxy beyond Nietzschea’s borders. What’s so special about the Belgara?”
A nonchalant shrug fell from Sandra’s shoulders. “Oh, nothing. It’s just Emperor Constantine’s flagship.”
THE PINNACLE
STELLAR DATE: 11.27.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Capeton Orbital Habitat, Capeton
REGION: Genevia System, Old Genevia, Nietzschean Empire
Seven weeks ago…
The sound of running water slipped into Jeremy’s mind, converting his stress-induced dreams of schedules and deadlines to a memory of the last time he was on Shaya, hiking a trail next to a burbling stream on the planet’s surface.
Eventually the water’s sound grew louder and, in his dream, the forest grew dense, the trail’s incline becoming steeper, moss-covered rocks now peering out from under a thick cover of leaves.
Before long, he came to a gap in the trees, a small clearing that allowed him to see beyond the thick canopy to the cliffs that lay ahead. Tumbling over them was a waterfall. The stream that cascaded over the seventy-meter cliff wasn’t large, but it lay in the lee of prevailing winds, and when the temperature was right, fell with little mist, which was the case this day.
Jeremy continued his hike, pushing forward, starting to feel an urgency to reach the falls.
Something was wrong.
The trail became more precipitous, moss on the rocks crowding the narrow path became slick and wet, offering no purchase. He slipped once and slammed his knee into a sharp root, ripping his pants. Though he was bleeding, Jeremy didn’t slow, pushing on faster and faster as the waterfall’s muted roar grew louder.
The undergrowth grew thicker, obscuring his visibility as he clambered over roots and rocks. He looked around, suddenly realizing that he’d lost the trail altogether.
It didn’t matter, he could hear the sound of the falls, he just had to keep moving toward it, pressing ever forward, though he knew not why.
Jeremy pushed his way through a grouping of ferns and nearly fell when the plants gave way to reveal a boulder-strewn streambed. He made his way down the rocks, one eye on the waterfall to his right, one on the terrain he was clambering over.
Then he rounded a large boulder and saw a sliver of red flowing past in the stream—a crimson highlight against the water’s reflection of the clear blue sky. His mind cried out in alarm, and he scrambled around the rock to see the broken body—
A scream burst from Jeremy’s throat as he fell backward into the stream, struggling to regain his footing while the
water tried to pull him under.
“No!” he wailed, clawing at the water, feeling it wrap around his arms and pull him down. “Stop!”
In an instant, the sounds of rushing water disappeared, and a bright light shone all around him.
“Alarm off,” a robotic voice said, thrusting reality back into the fore.
“Shit,” Jeremy muttered, looking down to see that his arms were tangled in his sheets.
He extracted himself to find that his body was slick with sweat. Closing his eyes, he drew slow, shuddering breaths until the pounding in his chest slowed, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
He lowered his face into his hands, wiping the tears from his cheeks with his palms, lips pursed tightly in an effort to keep further waterworks at bay.
“I’m so sorry, Anatha,” he whispered. “I miss you so much.”
It took ten minutes more for Jeremy to leave the comfort of his bed, his final action before rising was the deletion of the ‘river sounds’ option from his alarm. He set it instead to a simple klaxon.
At least that will wake me up immediately.
He walked to the san and stepped into the shower, letting it wash away the tears and guilt, using the full ten-minute allotment before walking out and looking at himself in the wall’s holoprojection.
His dark, ruddy skin held a hint of extra red from the hot water, and he shook his head, asking himself for the thousandth time what a dirt-sider like himself was doing on a place like Capeton Orbital.
Out in his cabin’s mainspace, he saw that the small servitor had set out a meal of eggs and some sort of substance that was supposed to be bacon.
“Baconesque,” he muttered to himself as he sat at the table and stared out through the porthole, sipping the coffee the servitor handed him.
The view was the same as it always was these days: chaotic. The Capeton Yards were overflowing with ships. New hulls were being assembled at a near-frantic pace before being moved to long strings trailing from the surface of the dwarf planet below.