Val had already set into a set of ribs and was growling as he ripped the meat from the bones.
“Ah well, no point being rude now, is there?” Irie muttered, seizing a spiced roll and dipping it in some type of soup. Even El started to eat dainty bites, before he realized quite how hungry he was and ate with abandon.
Cassandra looked from her companions to the expectant eyes of Max Merriman. She didn’t trust him, and it was clear that the feeling was mutual. But it was also clear that this was her life now, at least for the time being. She attacked a side of sautéed fish.
“There. Now, no more business talk, please. If you excuse me, I must go see to the business of running the universe’s largest party.” Max nodded to each in turn, wiped his fingers on a napkin, and slid to his feet, where the guard retinue instantly surrounded him once again and he was escorted out of the room.
“He doesn’t do things by halves, does he?” Cassandra frowned.
“No. Max is…” El considered. “An eccentric.” Irie coughed. “Okay then, he’s downright mad. But I kind of pity him in some ways,” El said, the good food and wine taking the edge from his character. “The Merrimans were one of the noble houses of the Imperial Coalition. Max was the last of his line and the inheritor of a fantastic amount of wealth, before the Coalition Council requisitioned most of it for funding Armcore. He got mad, told them to stuff it, and came out here.” The captain looked at the closed door that the small noble had waltzed through. “I think he misses it. I think he hates living out here.”
“How come you know so much about him, Eliard?” Cassandra tore a bit of bread.
“Who’s this Bator guy? Is he your ‘superior’ that we’ve heard so much about?” the captain returned. Cassandra opened and closed her mouth, but the captain smoothly carried on. “Max might be wild, but he still has some wits about him. He was right, for example, when he said that you’re not like the rest of us, Cassandra. Out here in the wilds, you toughen up. You learn how to take the rough with the smooth. You end up making friends with all sorts of people.”
“And learn to eat when there’s food in front of you,” Irie added, “because you never know when you might be stuck in a three-month deep-space haul.”
Val growled.
Cassandra looked from one member of the Mercury crew to the other. It was clear to the captain that this was the look of a person who realized she was in a minority. He could almost see her calculating how to turn this to her advantage.
“You stole something from Armcore, didn’t you?” he asked.
“What!?”
“It’s okay. We’ve all done it.” El stuffed a spiced cake into his mouth. “But I reckon that this is the first time that you have done it. Although, you do know your way around a weapon’s rig.” He tapped the table, laying out the clues. “But you’re worried about where you are, and not used to the politics out here. I’d say you are a Coalition-baby, who hasn’t spent much time outside of the core worlds.”
Cassandra opened and closed her mouth.
“But you are a very well-trained one. You shot down two Armcore attack-fighters earlier. You led my people out of danger at Tritho’s moon.”
“She knew how to disable a hunter drone,” Irie pointed out between mouthfuls.
“Right. So. Used to taking orders? Living a life whom you know who to trust? First away mission?”
Twin spots of color blossomed on Cassandra’s cheeks. “You haven’t even the faintest idea who I am.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” El said. “But you’re going to tell me, because you need us to deliver whatever it is you stole to Bator. You need us in case it turns out that Merriman won’t help you. And you need us…” He leaned over the table. “Because now we have an entire Armcore battle group hunting for us. I saw something back on Tritho,” El growled. “I saw Armcore raise something from that dustpit of a moon, and it wasn’t human. It wasn’t even Duergar or Sankiss. It was Valyien, and it failed. Now, what did you steal?”
Cassandra looked from one stony-faced crew member to the other, before hanging her head.
“My name really is Cassandra Milan, but I have an active data-space scrub that removes my name from company records every few cycles.”
“Holy crap,” Irie breathed. “That is some seriously expensive codeware.”
“My employers can afford it,” Cassandra said. “I’m an agent for House Archival.”
“Oh.” El didn’t look impressed. I should have guessed that this was more noble court business. And who else but House Archival—the noble house that had dedicated its resources to cataloguing and preserving human history—would be masquerading as archaeologists on a once Valyien-inhabited moon?
“And this Bator guy is House Archival too?” El asked, earning a nod from Cassandra.
“He is my mentor. He sent me to infiltrate Armcore as soon as he heard of their interest in the moon of Tritho Prime. We didn’t know what it was that they had found, not really, but we couldn’t let them have it if it was Valyien.”
“It was,” El said and described the strange metal-flower ovoid that had hung in the air over the pit.
Cassandra nodded, reaching into her robes to pull out the small black box unit that Irie had seen her disengage from the computers on the moon of Tritho. It was barely as long as her palm, but it was fat and block-like, with a series of segmented plates and access ports at either end. A data-stick, El thought. Exactly the same as you would find in the Mercury or on Charylla or throughout the galaxy. Wherever a lot of encoded codeware needs to be stored, transported, and uploaded somewhere else. She stacked a plate and laid the box reverently on the table in front of her.
“I know it was Valyien” the agent-archaeologist said. “This data-stick contains something called Alpha.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “I was in the middle of trying to get to the bottom of it, but I think it’s an AI.”
“An Artificial Intelligence?” Irie frowned. Everyone knew that they, too, were expensive and rare. “What has AI tech got to do with Valyien relics?”
“We don’t know, but we think…” Cassandra took a deep breath. “We think that Armcore was trying to create an artificial Valyien intelligence.” She tapped the box carefully.
“That’s impossible. All the Valyien are dead.” El scoffed.
“But that would be incredible though, if they pulled it off!” Irie said, her engineer’s eyes lighting with glee. “Just think about it! Every significant technological break-through that humanity has achieved in the last thousand years has been because of retro-fitting Valyien technology, right?” The small woman looked around the table. “Even getting us into space in the first place was because of the Valyien First Contact. And then we got warp drives thanks to finding one of their ships, we developed field technology thanks to the Orb, even photon-mesa weaponry was due to the Lance that Armcore discovered. If we could recreate one of their intelligences, and patch it with one of our own super-computer AIs…”
“Yes. An infinite supply of Valyien technology, thousands of years ahead of our own.” Cassandra nodded. “It would break open the entire universe for us to explore. Star engineering projects, warp drives that could cross galaxies, maybe even dimensions…”
“Death.” The Duergar’s words cut through their wonder like a bullet in a crowded room. When they all turned to look at him, they saw that his broad, troll-like features were twisted with hatred. “It will only bring death, and you humans are fools to explore it. The wisest thing you can do is to destroy that thing now.”
“What? You’re talking crazy, Val!” Irie shouted. Cassandra quickly slipped the data-stick back into her robes as fast as it had appeared.
The Duergar looked at the smaller human reproachfully, almost with sympathy. “You forget who it is you talk to, little Irie. We Duergar were never a space-faring species. We were uplifted by the Valyien many millennia ago.” He looked at his broad arms, corded with grey-white muscle and covered with hardened skin almost like sc
ales. His shoulders were as broad as Irie and El standing side by side. “Durish lore states that we were changed by the Valyien, made what we are now. They made us their laborers and slaves.”
“Until you revolted,” El pointed out. “It’s not all bad news. Now the Duregar have space tech and warp fields and are a part of the Imperial Coalition…”
“No one knows for sure what happened to make the Valyien leave,” Val growled. “And yes, we now have warp technology and weapons and make very excellent fighters.” The gunner didn’t look particularly pleased with this. “But are we happier now than we were before the Valyien?”
Silence fell across the table, with each of the humans lost in their own philosophical thoughts. Should they destroy Alpha? Should they keep it? Who could they sell it to? It was Cassandra who broke the impasse, laying her hand gently on Val’s massive forearm.
“That is precisely why House Archival wants Alpha, Val,” she said gently. “We seek to preserve it, but not allow Armcore and the rest of the Imperial Coalition to use it. Not until we’re ready. Bator wants to keep it locked in the deepest, strongest vault that House Archival has.”
Val was quiet for a moment, before grunting. “I still think you should destroy it.”
“Well, whatever we decide to do,” the captain said, “one thing is for sure—we still have Armcore coming for us, and we need to figure out a way to stop them.”
“Bator,” Cassandra said with certainty in her eyes. “House Archival will pay handsomely for this data-stick and will protect the Mercury and her crew.”
El’s eyes lit up when he heard the words ‘pay handsomely.’ “Well, why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?” He slapped the edge of the table enthusiastically. “It sounds to me like the Mercury has another job!”
Beside him, Val sighed heavily.
10
The Price of Friendship
“Psst. Captain!”
El awoke in the dark with a banging headache and his eyes full of light.
“Bahhh!” he groaned, flailing at whoever was attacking him. He failed to hit the source of the light, but it pulled away nonetheless, revealing the under-lit face of Cassandra, looking the worse for wear herself as she peered over his bunk.
Oh, I think I remember what happened last night… El rubbed his eyes, which felt like they were trying to squeeze their way through his skull. The crew of the Mercury had eaten their fill and resorted to drinking as the night had worn on. Despite Max’s protestations that the Merriman was living a hand-to-mouth existence out here in the wilds, it didn’t seem to stop a near endless supply of alcohol and food being brought to their table. El thought he remembered several of the others of Merriman’s Court asking one or the other of them to dance. All of them had refused, apart from Val, somewhat surprisingly, who had tried to teach them all the Durish Hornpipe. From what the captain remembered, it contained a lot of hopping, stamping, and growling.
“Uh. How did I get here?” he murmured, wondering if he was going to be sick. “And where is here exactly?”
“Guest apartments. The Merriman guards showed us to them last night…or sometime this morning, remember?” Cassandra said in a whisper.
El didn’t remember, and instead pushed himself upright (the room spun) to see their quarters anew. He was in a pod-shaped room, on a comfortable bed that was wider than he was. When was the last time that happened? he wondered. The room had smooth, organic-sculpted walls with gentle pink lighting, aside from the glare of Cassandra’s work lamp. At one end was an open archway, which El recalled now, were a suite of other rooms, presumably which housed the rest of the Mercury’s crew.
“Why are you doing this to me?” El moaned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“Here, take these. They’ll help nullify the hangover.” Casandra dropped a couple of blue and white-banded pills into his hand as she stood up and turned for him to get dressed.
El swallowed the acrid little pills more out of confusion than any faith he had in this woman but was surprised when he started to feel his headache receding, and the ache in his limbs replaced with a warm energy.
“One of the benefits of being an agent. I started to load up on them last night, when it became clear what Merriman was doing,” she said, holding out the captain’s trousers behind her back.
“What was Max doing?” El said, sounding vaguely annoyed.
“He was trying to drug us. It was obvious. Oldest play in the book, right? Get on our good side, load us with alcohol and expensive food…” Cassandra shook her head. “I should have seen it coming. As soon as he mentioned Bator…”
“Your supervisor?” El clipped on his blaster.
“Yeah. How would Merriman know him? Why would House Archival contact Merriman’s Court, of all places?”
“Max has always had a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, even out here,” El growled. It was how he stayed alive, after all.
“Well, I still don’t like it. Come on.” Cassandra led him into the main sitting room of their apartment, where Val and Irie were already strapping on weapons and checking their gear.
“No, wait a minute, Cassandra. I might not trust Max, but I know him. I’ve known him for a long time…” El hissed angrily. “Guys? Isn’t that right?” he called to the others.
“Because you’re from one of the imperial noble houses?” Cassandra turned on her heel and raised an eyebrow at him.
“Uh…” Crapsticks. El’s eyes widened. If they figure out where I came from, they won’t respect me. “What are you talking about?” His eyes flickered warily to Val and Irie, in particular Val.
“Don’t sweat it.” The Duergar grinned, a horrible mangling of fangs and yellowed teeth. “We’ve known for a long time that you’re Coalition, boss,” Val said.
“You have?” El blinked in surprise.
“Of course.” His engineer rolled her eyes. “Who else would know just what spoon to use in an Andusarian meal?”
“Oh,” El said, feeling vaguely stupid. “For what it’s worth, it was my choice to leave the, uh, the academy…”
Val laughed heavily. “We figured that you probably did something to make them throw you out. You’ve never been good with authority figures, Captain.”
I guess I haven’t. El felt completely discombobulated by this revelation. He had spent the last ten years carefully building up a name for himself as a daring, fearless, and ruthless space captain. If the Traders’ Belt started to think that he was in fact some soft, trust-fund Coalition noble, then his reputation—and his profits—would be ruined.
Although, they already are right about now, aren’t they? El sighed. It wasn’t like he could go back to Charylla and pick up work any time soon. Not with Trader Hogan hunting for his blood. That is, if Charylla even exists anymore…
“Right. Well, this doesn’t change anything.” El straightened his collar in an effort to appear just slightly more in charge. “There’s an old code of honor amongst the noble houses. It states that you don’t go around stabbing them in the back, and so I can’t see that Max would be working against us…”
“That’s rot, and you know it, Captain.” Cassandra surprised him by laughing. “All that the noble houses do is scheme and plot against each other. And either way, both you and Merriman are disgraced. What does he care if he throws another disgraced, disinherited scion to the flames?” She pierced him with that direct stare. “Would you care?”
“Good point.” El sighed. “But still, what proof do you have?”
“This.” Cassandra nodded to Irie, who raised her own armguard to flicker her hands over his controls. The various buttons flashed a dull working green, and then the forearm-mounted device projected a small infographic of spiking and falling blue lines, and the readout of a heart-beat.
“What’s that?” El asked.
“After our meal, Cassandra asked me to initiate a scan of data-space activity, and these are the results.” The woman pointed to the small peaks and valleys of
the blue line. “This is most of the evening, and this—” She indicated the sudden high and violent waves. “—is when we were escorted to bed. Someone sent a lot of sub-quantum messages through data-space when they knew that we were out of the way, and although I can’t read their contents, I can analyze their trajectory.” Irie frowned. “All of those messages were heading straight out of Bruno’s Nebula and toward Coalition space.”
“Maybe Max has some contacts back there?” El tried to reason, but even he knew that it was a thin excuse. Given any other circumstance, what would he normally believe if he didn’t know Max? His shoulders slumped. “Okay, I hear you. So, what’s the plan? Get out of here?”
“Send a message,” Cassandra corrected. “Try to get somewhere where I can send a sub-quantum message to House Archival and then leave. They’ll be able to send someone to bring us in.”
“Fine. You do that.” El nodded. “Irie and Val? You two get to the Mercury and see if you can get her operational again.”
“I can make her operational, Cap, that’s the easy part.” His engineer rolled her eyes. “The hard part is making sure she doesn’t crack like a bad egg as soon as she gets hit by the next intercept missile.”
“I’ll have to make sure that she doesn’t then, won’t I?” El said testily. “Now, go on with you.”
They didn’t move. “And what about you, Captain?” Irie asked.
I need to know for certain that Max is selling us out, the captain thought, feeling that spark of righteous indignation that he remembered so well, because he had seen it in his own father’s eyes many times. I trusted him. I asked for his aid. He fumed.
“Captain?” Irie urged him again.
Valyien Boxed Set 1 Page 8