Slave Mind

by Rob Dearsley

  A ship glided overhead, its atmospheric thrusters whining and kicking up spray as it went. It was an old cargo haulier, one of the successors to the Folly, its arrowhead shape silhouetted against the night, floods glowing around the twin cargo bay doors on its underside. The Folly had been her home. Its crew her friends, her family. Now it was all gone. They were all gone.

  “Arland,”

  She looked over her shoulder to see Simon jogging through the driving rain, trying to shield himself with a small plastic slip.

  “We’ve got something.”

  She turned to face him. Hope, tempered by caution, kindled inside her. Maybe they weren’t as stuck as she had feared. Perhaps there was still a chance they could pay the Binaries back for everything they’d wrought and find a way to stop the Terrans. It was a tall order, she knew, but they had to do something.

  “What did you find?” she asked, as they moved to the shelter of a transport stop.

  “Hale found alignment data for the Augite III sat link. She and Vaughn think they can use it to work out where they were communicating with.”

  If Augite III had been linking back to the Spooks’ central data core then it meant they had a location, or would soon.

  ◊◊

  Back in the hotel room, the four of them clustered around the small computer console, watching Vaughn input the data.

  “You’ve calibrated for universal expansion?” Hale asked.

  “Yes, and galactic rotation,” Vaughn answered. “I picked up a couple of tricks from Jax.”

  On the screen, a green line projected out from the Augite system across the void and toward the heart of colonised space.

  “Interesting,” he said, as the line intersected with the Mica system. He tapped at the keyboard for a moment and zoomed in to show the now thicker line traversing the system.

  “What about Mica V?” Arland pointed to where the line passed right by the fifth planet.

  “Could be aimed for a satellite,” Hale suggested.

  Vaughn nodded thoughtfully and zoomed the image in further, so the fifth planet filled the screen, the paths of the moons and stations plotted in automatically.

  “Our best bet looks like Mica Vb,” Simon suggested, pointing to the second moon, whose orbital path intersected perfectly with the projected transmission line.

  They had a target. The unanswered questions, the frustration, the losses didn’t matter anymore. There was something Arland could do. Something she could attack.

  “How are we going to get there?” Hale turned to Simon. “Have you still got contacts in the military?”

  Simon shook his head. But the question pulled at something in the back of Arland’s mind. Something she’d seen at the spaceport.

  “Hang on.” Arland displaced Vaughn at the computer and flicked through various lists of ships currently in-system. There it was, the SDF Jean-Luke. The captain’s name was listed next to that of the ship.

  “What you got?” Simon asked.

  She pushed him back before he could read the display. “I may have a way to get us to Vb.” She walked to the window, muttering, “This is not going to be fun.”

  Vaughn stepped over to scan the screen. “I take it you haven’t spoken for a while?”

  “No,” Arland replied. Not since her court-martial.

  She went to the wall-mounted coms console, and after a couple of minutes of working, got patched through to the Jean-Luke’s com centre. “Please put me through to Captain Arland on the Jean-Luke. Tell her… Tell her it’s her daughter.”

  Twelve

  - The Reclaimer, In orbit above Topaz IIa -

  Dannage cast a last look at the Folly. She was locked down, clamps securing her to the deck. Even if he could get back there without getting shot, he’d never be able to take off. Not that it made the damndest bit of difference.

  Above them, ranks and ranks of fighters, transports and other support craft hung from docking gantries in a docking bay larger than some of the Terran ones. The Reclaimer, Recoup’s mobile headquarters, was the biggest ship in the colonies.

  “What now?” he asked the official.

  The Recoup agent looked down at his flex. “We’ve got what we came for, we’ll ship you down to the planet. From there you’re free to go.”

  Dannage had an almost uncontrollable urge to punch that smarmy git in the face. They’d taken everything he had left. Beside him, Luc moved silently, his head down. Dannage had never seen him so downcast.

  They approached a small transport ship. The official checked something on his flex. “This will take to you Topaz IIa. It was predicted you’d come here eventually.”

  Dannage shook his head and ducked into the shuttle. Of course, he’d come back here.

  It was home.

  ◊◊

  Arland stepped from the gloomy aft compartment of the SDF dropship, and into the stark brilliance of the Jean-Luke’s main hanger bay. Off to her right, two more dropships waited, perfectly aligned on their landing pads. Hale, Vaughn and Simon followed her out, squinting against the brightness.

  A pair of armed troopers approached. The one on the right, a commander by his epilates, held up a hand to the four of them. “You, stay there. Private, check them for weapons.”

  At his command, the private slung his gun and pulled out a scanner wand. “This will only take a moment,” she said almost apologetically as she ran it over Vaughn.

  “Not a problem, Miss,” Vaughn said.

  She shot him a small smile and moved on to Simon.

  “You people try anything, and I’ll take you down,” the commander added, his eyes never leaving Hale.

  “That may be a slight overreaction, Harris.” Arland recognised her mother’s voice a second before Captain Arland rounded the refuelling depot, her uniform starched rigid. “Are they clear, Sandy?”

  The private finished casting the wand over Arland and Hale. “They’re clear, sir.”

  “So, Shauna.” The irritation was clear in her mother’s voice. “What have you gotten yourself into this time? Please don’t tell me that reprobate captain – what was his name? – has dragged you into this Terran mess.”

  “Dannage,” Arland supplied. “And sort of. We have information linking the Terrans with the cover-up on Augite III.”

  Her mother sighed. “There was no cover-up. The hearing’s results were clear-cut.”

  “No cover-up my ass!” Arland tried to rein in her temper. This had been a stupid idea; there were other ways to get to that moon. Ones that didn’t go through that self-righteous, arrogant, self-serving… “Half the evidence records were redacted. The official mission report doesn’t even state the name of the damn system.”

  “Captain,” Hale said, her voice calmer than Arland’s. “If you’ll just look at what we’ve found.”

  “Don’t waste your breath.” Arland turned to go back to the shuttle.

  “Stop right there,” her mother ordered.

  “I’m not one of your soldiers anymore,” Arland snapped back.

  Before her mother could reply, Harris put a placating hand on her arm. “Sir, perhaps we should move this to a more private location.”

  Her mother nodded. “But just Shauna.”

  Arland took a breath, calming herself. “Hale and Vaughn are specialists. I need their help to explain.”

  Her mother’s jaw worked for a moment before she turned away. “Fine. But the Comet-head stays put.”

  Comet-head? Arland didn’t recognise the term, and to her mind, it sounded like an insult. If it was, Simon didn’t take it as such, he just tipped an imaginary hat and leaned against the shuttle, happy as you like.

  Shaking her head, Arland followed her mother and Harris. Despite Hale’s presence, she felt like a child, in trouble again.

  ◊◊

  Arland sat opposite her mother and Harris in the small briefing room. The file pages they’d gotten at the spaceport spread out across the table top.

  “This is clearly fabricated,
” Harris said. Up until that point, he’d listened to them in silence, looking almost disinterested. “Utter nonsense. Meant to send you on a wild chase, no doubt.”

  Vaughn said, “This work, it tallies with certain research projects. The veracity of which can easily be verified.”

  Hale leaned forward, the chair groaning under her weight. “And these designs are Terran in origin. So, whoever made them had to have been in contact with, or at least aware of the Imperial Fleet.”

  “How do you know what ‘Terran designs’ look like?” Arland’s mother asked, mirroring Hale’s posture.

  This was the rub. Their trump card, as it were. Arland wasn’t sure how her mother would react. She and Hale had talked about it on the way over. It was the only way they could get her mother to believe their story, but it was a massive risk. There was a good chance that her mother would have Hale shot on the spot. Arland too probably.

  Hale took a breath and leaned back. “My name is Commander Hannah Hale, XO and first officer of the Terran Imperial Cruiser Heimdall.”

  The room went so still they could have heard a pin drop.

  A chair clattered across the deck and Arland’s mother was on her feet, her sidearm pointed at Hale. “What the heck? You brought one of those things onto my ship?”

  Arland jumped up, trying to get between her mother and Hale.

  Hale didn’t move, her hands flat on the table. “I understand your concerns, Captain. But I mean you and your people no harm.”

  “No harm?” the captain was apoplectic. “You’re out there murdering civilians by the millions, and you expect me to believe that? Shauna, get out the way.”

  “I can’t do that.” It was Arland’s turn to be calm. “Hale’s no threat. She’s not part of the attacks. She helped us escape the attack at Gypsum.”

  “Massacre,” her mother corrected. “Gypsum was a massacre. There was no major military base there, no strategic value.”

  The image of Dannage crying and broken in the Folly’s hold flashed into Arland’s mind, raising her own anger again. “I know. I lost friends there, damn it. But Hale’s not part of it. She’s lost as much as any of us, and she’s still here, willing to help.”

  Harris spoke, his eyes never leaving Hale. “Captain, we don’t even know that she really is a Terran. I’d like to have her taken for a full medical exam. We need to be sure she is a Terran before we decide what to do with her.”

  ◊◊

  Dannage closed his eyes, tasting the salty tang of the spray on his lips, hearing the rush of the waves as they crashed against the sea wall beneath him. He’d spent so long running away from here. This little backwater planet, empty and boring. They’d all thought of it that way as children, dreaming of going to one of the central worlds, or even an industrial system like Mica, just away from this boring planet.

  Now he revelled in the peace, in the chance to be alone. No one breathing down his neck. No crazy plan to pull off. No one he could fail, again.

  The wind buffeted him, and he fought against it, holding onto the guardrail long after the cold and wet had numbed his hands.

  As a child, he’d played along the front, imagining giant alien ships coming over the horizon to attack. He and his friends were always the brave heroes, holding the line against innumerable odds. Of course, they’d always won out just in time for tea.

  Now it had actually happened. The ‘aliens’ were real, but he was no hero, nor was he brave. Heroes didn’t let people die, heroes didn’t run. He was a joke, a failure. He’d lost nigh on everything. It wouldn’t surprise him to find Luc had flown off in the Folly while he stood here. Then he really would have nothing. He strained, listening for the sound of the engines, but couldn’t hear a thing over the wind and the waves.

  Maybe that was why he didn’t want to leave. It was like white noise for all his senses, blocking out the universe, giving him time away from that place where he was a failure. Time to think. But all he could think about was how badly he’d screwed up. Sam, Arland, Hale. Damn it.

  Frustrated, he pushed away from the railing and started stalking down the front. If his memory was accurate, there was a pub at the other end of the harbour.

  Alcohol might stop this interminable thinking.

  ◊◊

  Hale pushed herself up onto her elbows. She lay in bed in the Jean-Luke’s medical bay, her feet dangling off the end. She’d never been considered tall back in the Imperium. She longed for an Imperial ship with full-height decks and proper sized furniture.

  Armed guards, small ones, stood on either side of the med-bay door, thinly veiled anger in their eyes.

  “So, doctor. Is she a Terran?” Harris asked the blue-clad CMO. They were over the far side of the bay. Probably out of earshot of a modern human. Hale didn’t have any trouble listening in. Vaughn stood off to one side, pensive.

  The older man shuffled, paging through notes on his flex before answering. “Without a Terran baseline to test against, I can’t say for sure. But the gene-splicing present in her DNA is well ahead of current medical technology. And then there’s this.” The CMO held up scans of her ship-link. “We’re not entirely sure what it does, let alone how it works.”

  “We called them ship-links,” Hale supplied. The guards’ weapons snapped up. “They allow us to access the ship’s central data core.”

  The CMO shuffled nervously, avoiding her gaze. “As I was saying, this all points to a human culture far more advanced than our own. Vis-a-vis the Terrans. On balance, I would say, she is, by modern standards, not entirely human.”

  “Thank you, doctor.” Harris was about to say more when the door slammed open.

  Arland pushed her way in. “I want to—” She saw the guard’s guns. “What do you think you’re doing, you muppets?”

  “Shauna.” Arland’s mother followed her in. She looked harried. The pair had probably been arguing since Hale had been taken away.

  “Captain.” Harris snapped to attention and saluted. “The doctor has confirmed Miss Hale is a Terran.”

  “As far as I can tell,” the CMO corrected.

  Harris glared at the CMO. “Permission to execute the prisoner.”

  Hale froze, not wanting to draw attention. She didn't even breathe.

  Arland, by contrast, practically exploded. “You can’t do that!”

  “Now you listen to me.” Harris advanced menacingly on Arland. “I’m XO of this ship. So, yes I can.”

  “Not according to SDF legal regs.” Arland’s jaw tightened, her tone becoming clipped. “You admitted she’s a prisoner. If you believe she’s an enemy combatant, then she should be granted POW status. Under the Sytems’ Unity Regulations, you have to hold her until the conflict has ceased.” Harris tried to cut in, but Arland bulled on. “Or you believe us that she’s not affiliated with the attacking ships. In which case, she’s a refugee and you have no cause to hold her.”

  “Are you quite done, Miss Arland?” No one missed the emphasis Harris put on her title.

  Arland was about to reply, no doubt fuelled by anger and irritation, but her mother cut her off.

  “Having spoken to Shauna, Mr. Corrin and Mr. Vaughn, and looked at the evidence they have acquired myself, I believe this line of enquiry is worth perusing.” She held up a hand, forestalling Harris’s objections. “If there is a chance this links back to the Terran attacks and gives us a way to stop them, then we have to investigate.”

  “Captain, our orders are to stay at full combat readiness. We can’t spare the resources to go chasing stories.” Harris’s posture tightened in irritation.

  “There is already a recon shuttle scheduled to pass Vb. It wouldn’t affect our readiness for it to have a couple of extra passengers.”

  ◊◊

  Two hours later, Arland found herself in the back of an SDF dropship. Opposite her, Hale hunched down in a chair. Simon checked his gun, again.

  Vaughn had, again, elected to not join them on the combat mission.

  “What’s a
Comet-head?” Arland asked.

  Simon looked up a smiled. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before. I thought everyone knew about the terrorist attack on Obsidian IV.”

  Arland vaguely remembered the news stories. Neo-separatists had taken the whole capital city hostage.

  “Only way to get a strike team in quietly was an orbital HALO jump.” Simon’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Volunteer only. I was one of the lucky few.”

  “Wait,” Hale cut in. “You jumped out of an orbital ship, onto a planet?”

  “When you put it like that, it sounds easy.” Simon grinned. “But yeah. Ablative strike plates held up against the heat of entry, and once you’re below the troposphere, it’s just like a normal atmo-drop.”

  “Two minutes to drop off.” The pilot’s voice filtered through the overhead speakers. “Be ready to go.”

  The trio went to checking the equipment that had been quietly provisioned from the Jean-Luke’s armoury. For her own part, Arland had a telescopic sniper rifle and a sidearm. Ironically, the same equipment she’d had on Augite III. Both Simon and Hale had compact rifles. Simon also had a demolitions pack slung across his shoulders. What he thought he’d accomplish with it, Arland didn’t know. Personally, she thought he was a little crazy for bringing it.

  The shuttle dropped into a hover a couple of feet above the surface of the moon, its thrusters kicking up a cloud of grey dust. Arland jumped from the ramp, landing lightly in the moon’s lower than normal gravity. A moment later, Hale and Simon joined her.

  “We’re clear,” she said into her com.

  The shuttle spun on its axis, allowing her to see into the cockpit. The pilot, a scrawny man, more beard than person, saluted them before shooting off to continue his patrol of the system.

  “Crater’s about two clicks that way.” Simon pointed east.

  Their brief research, both in the hotel and again on the Jean-Luke, had shown an old facility nestled into a crater near the moon’s equatorial line.

  They set off, the low gravity giving them a long, loping gate that ate up the distance with ease.