by Daniel Gibbs
But out here, in neutral space, going from planet to planet and hiring on with any spacecraft looking for an extra hand, out here, she was a moving target. And she got to see the galaxy. Worlds that still had peace. No rationing, no war reports dominating the news, no cheap politics with everyone accusing one another of defeatism.
Nothing to remind her of Lowery. Of what she had done.
Miri's eyes went back to the display. Five percent. The hours passed in the end. She was nearly out of time.
Maybe, maybe that was okay. Dying out here, alone in the dark, just herself and God, perhaps that was what was meant to be.
She prayed it was true in the moments before she fell asleep for what might be the final time.
5
Gamavilla
Lusitania, Independent System, Neutral Space
5 August 2560
The Parliament Building of the Republic of Lusitania was a work of art. People from across the planet, indeed from across the Trifid Nebula region, came to view the building of alabaster marble and granite from its place at the end of the Plaza of the Republic—known locally as Praça da República—while on its north end, it was bordered by the Rua da República that connected to the aforementioned Plaza, being one of the main roads of the capital city Gamavilla. The south entrance facing the Plaza was faced with marble sculptures of some of the most significant figures in the history of the founding states, with the fresco above the classical columns at the entrance depicting the signing of the Accords of Colonization between the leaders of the Portuguese, Moroccan, Galician, and Basque colonists who had settled the planet four centuries before.
Inside of the building, public tours were permitted limited access to see the works of art bequeathed to the Republic over its existence. Beautiful paintings and sculptures, calligraphic art in the Islamic style, and fine crafted items of Berber make were all found in the Rotunda to celebrate the peoples of the Republic.
At present, a group of schoolchildren was the largest group of visitors, tended by a teacher and four chaperones who were seeing to their charges. They were reviewing a painting of the landing of the Vasco de Gama, the colony ship that gave Gamavilla its name.
Without prompting, a man in an elegant dark suit spoke. "You are enjoying yourselves, I hope. Education is always served by enjoyment."
"I am," a particularly bold child announced from the group. One of the chaperones, and a teacher, gave the child a look, but he seemed unfazed by it.
"There is quite a story behind that painting," the man said. "It was made ten years after colonization by the first great painter of Lusitania, Miguel Hakkaoui. He was half-Moroccan himself and landed aboard the Idris ibn Abdallah."
"But I thought each nation stayed apart in those days?" another child asked. "In school, they said we had no unity."
"Not yet. But some of our people were working on that. We enjoy the result of those labors and efforts. Can anyone tell me why we came out to this planet?"
After several seconds of seeing no other response, the eager boy said, "To get away from Earth. We followed the Exodus Fleet to Sagittarius, although we did not join their Coalition."
"Why not?" another child asked.
The man answered before the boy could. "Because we wished to be our own peoples. We had cultures we wanted to preserve. This is of understandable importance to me, you understand, for I am the Minister of Culture—and Trade."
With that revelation, Duarte Vitorino enjoyed the shocked, almost horrified expressions on the faces of the teacher and chaperone. Another politician might be bothered that they had not immediately recognized him, especially not like they might recognize Caetano—but who wouldn't know Cristina Caetano, the She-Wolf of the Tagus Valley? He was just fine with his relative anonymity, though. There were other ways to get things done than to be the center of attention.
"I am quite sorry," he added, devoting his attention to the group. "I rarely get to go unrecognized, and it was a treat to see the children enjoying their trip. Thank you for your time. I must be off now."
"Thank you for your time, sir," the teacher said, still shaken. "We are honored. Are we not, children?"
The children agreed in a chorus that combined the genuinely enthusiastic with the utterly bored.
Vitorino smiled and nodded before moving on.
After a meeting with the Prime Minister and other senior legislators on his pending trade agreements, Vitorino left the Parliament Building to attend to his favorite café. It was a lovely place along the Plaza called Abdul's. Named for its Moroccan founder, it nevertheless served cuisine from across Lusitania, and Vitorino enjoyed the recipes used. He preferred sitting out on its streetside tables and seeing the life of Gamavilla's center, the people attending its café.
His lunch usually went peacefully. But today, he knew it would not. That expectation was proven correct when he looked up to pour another glass of Madeira and noticed the approaching figure.
Paulina Ascaro. She was, like him, a politician, and she'd been his colleague as the Commerce Minister. But she was with the Party for Democratic Unity and had lost her Cabinet Ministry after a snap election. Vitorino thought her solely to blame for this, as she'd tried—and failed—to break the governing coalition by voting against a new bill streamlining the rules by which the government could enact the State of Siege. While her voters in the city and region of Zalain within the Basque districts returned her to the Assembly in defiance of the government, her party failed to gain the extra votes that would thwart the government in signing the law.
Were Vitorino the more paranoid type, he'd be worried about being seen with her in public. She was, after all, a significant Opposition leader, and his coalition allies in Cristina Caetano's PdDN—Partido da Defesa Nacional, Party of National Defense—particularly hated her. They tend to hate everyone who disagrees with them, given their fascistic nationalist ideology. The accusation he was working with her might cause him trouble. But he was confident in his influence within his party, the National-Republicans, and in his standing in the government, so he let her approach without comment.
She was near him in age, and was in fact three years younger as far as he knew, but looked ten years older. Her nose seemed almost too small for even her pinched-in face. Brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, covered as they were by the austere dark business jacket she was wearing that helped hide her thin frame that made her look almost anorexic. Not that she was weak, of course. Vitorino thought her greatest vice was not weakness but her strength of will, which often translated into a stubborn behavior he considered mulish and counter-productive. He refrained from a sigh and set down his fork, waiting to hear her speak.
"Minister, good afternoon," she said, her Portuguese accented from her Basque upbringing.
"Good afternoon, Assemblywoman," he said amiably. "Would you like to sit? I bought a bottle of Madeira that I have yet to complete."
"That won't be necessary," she said. "I just wanted to confirm that those trade treaties you've supported have met final Cabinet approval."
He smiled. "Some of my colleagues should be careful. Caetano would be incensed to know you have ears in the Cabinet."
"I'm sure she would. It will make her attempts to complete a fascist takeover of our world more transparent."
Vitorino sighed. "Come now, Assemblywoman—"
"Don't tell me you believe her sated, Minister. You're too intelligent by half. The woman intends to consolidate power and remove the last vestiges of our rights. The behavior of her political thugs makes that clear."
Vitorino couldn't argue the point. The PdDN's behavior did often go too far, at least that of their street-level members. And members of the Party for Democratic Unity and other democratic parties were often their victims. "We have censured the conduct of her people more than once, and she does what she can to rein in their passions," he said, a hint of humor in his voice at how untrue the statement was.
"That’s the government's line, I know, and it's a sick joke," Asc
aro replied. "You gave her the Defense and Home Ministries. She controls the military, the gendarme, the RSS, and the police. And she uses them on my supporters while her own get away with literal murder!" There was clear heat at the end. Ascaro's parliamentary calm was weakening.
"Her party is third in seats. No functioning government coalition can form without them," Vitorino pointed out calmly. " Caetano knows it. I'm afraid I can do nothing, not until we have another election."
"You're assuming we have another one. With the State of Siege laws…"
"I'm well aware of your concerns, Assemblywoman. But again, I can do nothing. I am Minister of Trade and Culture, not the Prime Minister. Perhaps the PdDN will weaken before the next election cycle."
"Even if they did, the violence the PdDN uses will warp the results. You and I both know they undermined the last election."
"The investigation was inconclusive."
Ascaro laughed bitterly. "The investigation under the police agencies you put their leader in charge of."
Vitorino leveled a look at her. "Just what do you want from me, Assemblywoman?"
"A sign that you understand what is going on," she replied. "A sign you're not as blind as the others. Lusitania is on the cusp of falling to fascism. The Estado Novo hasn't made our society more secure; it's made it more unstable than ever."
"That's as much your fault as anyone's," Vitorino pointed out. He watched Ascaro's face change from surprise to anger at the charge. "The democratic parties have their own militants. In your own Zalain, Basque regionalists burnt down a PdDN party office, didn't they?"
"After the mayor of Zalain was shot in the streets by a PdDN militant," Ascaro retorted.
"Still, it contributes," Vitorino answered evenly. "By taking violent means, you make it easier for Caetano and her people to justify their behavior. You make the Estado Novo more necessary, not less."
"It was one incident," she replied. "Our parties are usually the victims of civil violence!"
"It is regrettable. But it is the world we live in." Vitorino reached for his utensil. "Now, I don't wish to be rude, but I must finish my meal before my next appointment. I have important business to attend to."
"Yes, I'm sure you do," Ascaro said icily. She turned and walked off.
Vitorino smiled at her back and returned to his meal.
6
The stiffness was the first thing Miri noticed when she woke up. Her entire body felt like it was a board. Two days alone in the vacuum, mostly unmoving, left her body unready to begin movement.
The second thing was that she was breathing air. She was alive.
The third? The light around her. She was no longer in space, but aboard something. In something, maybe. A ship? A station?
As she twitched, movement showed on the periphery of her vision. She found herself looking up at a grizzled older man and a plump middle-aged woman. The former had a long, bushy, wiry beard of gray and black mixed in, the latter had wheat-colored hair graying across her head. When they spoke, it took Miri a moment to recognize the language, causing her to miss some of it.
Her focus gathered enough to make out the Russian of the speakers. "—want to know. She is from a protected ship."
"She needs rest. Look at her!"
"The Brothers are in charge, and they want to speak to her. She will stay here regardless, but they must know. Do not try their patience, Yevgenya."
The woman sighed and stormed off. The man, however, began examining her. "You are awake," he said in broken, halted English. "That is good."
Miri's voice was hoarse as she managed to ask, "Where am I?"
"Aboard ship Morozova. From Cyrilgrad."
"Cyrilgrad. You are—Old Believers." She kept herself from using the word "starovéry." For the moment, it was best if they didn't know she could speak and understand Russian.
"Yes." He gave her an urgent look. "You are not from League?"
"No. No."
Miri could guess her instinctive look of disgust at the idea was more convincing than her verbal reply. A glimpse of relief came to the man's face. "Good. Brothers would throw you out airlock. Their father and uncle killed by League."
Miri hid that she was already guessing this. Old Believer brothers with a vendetta against the League and a ship named Morozova? That could only mean…
The door to the ship infirmary opened, and Yevgenya returned, this time in the company of two men. They looked similar, with just a year or two in age difference, wearing blue spacer jumpsuits. One had a full beard and mustache, the other a thinner beard, and both had the same blue-gray eye color.
"Feodor, how is our guest?" asked the one with the full beard, speaking Russian as Miri expected.
"Recovering. She was on her last breaths of oxygen when you brought her aboard. It will take time for her to regain her strength."
The second asked, "And what ship is she from? The suit is from the Kensington Star, but you know how spacers are about keeping suits..."
"Ask her yourself, Piotr."
The second, the one with the smaller beard, turned his head to Miri. "You are from Kensington Star?" he asked, now speaking English with a strong accent.
"I am," she replied. "Karla Lupa." The alias was the one she used for the roster.
"What happened? Why did you abandon your ship?"
"We were attacked," she said. "By a League cruiser."
The two brothers shared looks. "Can we trust her, Pavel?" asked the other, again speaking Russian.
"Maybe, maybe not. We should check the roster of the ship, maybe we can confirm the name. Not that I think it is her real name. I do not believe she is a normal spacer; none would risk days in void, or slow death, even to escape the League. More likely to shoot themselves. She is different."
Miri kept her expression from changing. The apparent elder brother was too smart for her liking.
"I am Piotr Sergeevich Tokarev," the elder brother said, his English with an even thicker accent than his brother's. "This is my brother Pavel Sergeevich. You are on our ship Morozova."
Since it was to be expected, Miri gave them strong, shocked looks. "The Tokarev brothers," she rasped. "You… you're pirates."
"We are," said Piotr. "It puts food on our table. Fuel in our ship. Protects Cyrilgrad from League. But do not worry. Kensington Star owned by company that pays us protection. We not harm you."
The relieved expression Miri gave them wasn't staged. "Then, what will you do with me?"
"Maybe we should not tell her where we are going, Piotr," Pavel said, switching back to Russian. "She might panic, think wrong things."
"Then don't," the brother answered.
Miri kept her face neutral, but she did not like the sound of that.
"We go to neutral world," Pavel said to her. "There we contact your company, let you go. Is simple."
"I see." Miri blinked and swallowed. "And, thank you. For saving me."
The brothers shrugged almost at the same time. "Is no trouble," said Piotr. "We are spacers, da? Yes? Spacers do not leave spacers in void. God would punish."
"Feodor Stepanovich will see to your need," said Pavel. "We back to ship watch now. Will arrive at destination tomorrow. You eat, drink, get rest. Thank God for His mercy."
"I will," Miri assured the elder Tokarev.
Without another word, the two brothers departed. Miri said nothing more as the older man, Feodor, escorted her from the infirmary.
7
Henry sat quietly in his chair and enjoyed the view. The Shadow Wolf was making her pre-landing orbit of Lusitania. For the purpose of said landing, the control bridge was fully manned; Cera and Piper at the forward stations, Tia at her post, Yavik at the auxiliary console linking to engineering and system control. Everything was ready; all that remained was clearance from Orbital Traffic Control.
"We should get a good payout, right, Captain?" Cera asked, her lilt complementing her enthusiasm.
"Looking to hit the bars again?" he asked her with a be
mused grin.
"Lusitania has some damn good whiskey," Cera answered defensively. "But that's not all I'm lookin' for."
From her seat, Tia rolled her eyes. "If you saved even a quarter of what you wasted on your shore leaves, McGinty, you could own the Shadow Wolf by now."
"But I don't want to own her," the pilot insisted. "Too much crap to deal with. the Captain's far better at dealin' with it."
"He is very good at it, yes," Piper agreed. "Although I have to admit that a flight to the Acevedo Islands and a few days at one of the resorts there would be a welcome change. All we ever visit on Lusitania is Gamavilla."
Henry didn't rise to the bait. Yanik provided his relief from the discussion. "We have our landing vector," the Saurian informed them.
"Transmit to helm." Henry nodded to Tia. "Sound landing alert."
"Yes, sir." Tia hit a switch on her chair. "Attention crew, this is First Mate Nguyen. We are preparing for landing now." Even on the bridge, her voice seemed to boom over the ship's intercom. "All hands, assume landing seats. You have thirty seconds until first de-orbit burn."
Time passed quickly. At the specific mark of thirty, Cera fired the engines and thrusters. The Shadow Wolf turned toward the planet as its altitude decreased, slowly at first but with growing speed as Cera followed the corkscrew course into the atmosphere. Gradually, the dark void of space gave way to an azure sky. The ship shook from turbulence, but just that. Under Cera McGinty's expert control, there was no danger, and at her guidance, the Shadow Wolf flew lower and lower. Clouds went by, and gradually, the city of Gamavilla, with its Iberian and Moroccan architecture, became visible.
Their destination was at the northern point of the city; the municipal spaceport, largest on the planet and one of the larger ones in the Trifid Nebula region, that gave Lusitania its primary link to interstellar trade. Henry observed the ease with which Cera set the Shadow Wolf down in her customary hangar, D8, and decided she had, indeed, earned the bonus from her share of the haul they were making off Minister Vitorino.