The Huralon Incident

by E A Wicklund

  “This is the scene after the complete collapse of the secession vote and the total destruction of DPS Qalawun,” said Fleurette. “With only seventy-one percent of citizens voting, far short of the required amount, McGowan Governor Thanh declared the secession vote null and void. Dejected Madkhali soldiers are now returning home under the watchful eyes of the recently-formed Huralon Militia.”

  The crew chief, an immense fellow with a handlebar mustache, switched off the holo and turned to Blanchard and Mallouk. “All right, boys. I am Chief Warrant Officer Dawson. We’re a few minutes from landing and I am now allowed to explain your situations.

  “Well it’s about time,” complained Mallouk. “I’ve been treated most disgracefully! When the Madkhal Senate hears about this, how you’ve treated a Senator’s son, heads will roll.”

  “Shut up, Mallouk.”

  “I—”.

  “Shut up, shut up and listen,” barked Dawson. “Both of you are in a similar situation. Mallouk, the Senate already knows about you since we’ve tried to give you back to them. They said you’re an embarrassment to the nation and, frankly, they don’t want you back.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” squeaked Mallouk. “I am a citizen. An Elite!”

  “I ain’t sayin’ it’s right or wrong son, that’s just what they said. Same for you, Blanchard. Elysium doesn’t want you either. The shrinks on new Chicago analyzed you both and deemed that you both would not accept reeducation and rehabilitation. So we did what we do with any Elysian who is too toxic to be healthy for society.”

  “Toxic?” said Blanchard. “I think you mean forward-thinking.”

  “Shut up Blanchard. We put you both up for auction, and let any nation or planet, willing to accept you as one of their citizens, have you. It’s a first-come, first served deal.”

  Blanchard felt a slight bump as the shuttle finally landed.

  “So,” continued Dawson. “An independent planet named Niflheim has accepted the pair of you.”

  “Well,” said Blanchard. “They’ll be lucky to have me. I have significant administrative skills. I can turn any struggling business around with my guidance in a few short years. Just give me an office and a CXN-90 holosystem and I’ll get to work.” Sure, maybe the planet was independent and arguably backward, but with his skills, he could hack any computer system into taking him off-planet with weeks.

  “Whatever, Blanchard. Say hello to your new home.” Dawson opened the hatch, uncuffed his prisoners, and roughly pushed them both out of the hatch.

  Blanchard fell face first into deep snow. He pulled out of it in time to see the shuttle climbing away before it disappeared into the thick fog.

  “Welcome to Niflheim!” boomed a voice.

  Blanchard turned about to see an enormous fellow, nearly three meters tall, looming over him and Mallouk. He wore a hood, leather and furs, though his powerful arms, easily as thick as Blanchard’s thighs, remained bare. “Uh, hello,” said Blanchard, holding out his wrists. “I suppose you want to ID chip me now?”

  “Chip?” boomed the man, though Blanchard thought he detected a curiously feminine quality in the voice. “No chips, no computers. All those silly things behind you now. In Niflheim, we live like men are supposed to live. You like it here, I promise you!”

  Blanchard felt his guts turn to water. Without a computer to hack, he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

  “Mines?” stammered Mallouk. “Working how?”

  “With picks, of course!” roared the fellow.

  Blanchard felt his knees give way, and he sank down into the snow. It couldn’t get any more awful than this. “You mean like, hard labor?”

  “Oh is not so bad!” boomed the figure, finally pulling back the hood. The face was huge, but unquestionably feminine. “You will have Inga to keep you warm at night.”

  “Mind help me,” shuddered Blanchard. It could get worse.

  Inga snatched the two of them up, one in each arm, as easily as if they were children. “Think how good life will be! Good, hard work in mines all day, feasting on yak stew, then come the sexing. Yes! The sexing all night long. Don’t worry, I like little men, and there is plenty of Inga for both of you!”

  ***

  Aja sat in her stateroom looking forlornly at the half-burned wall hanging. The wall itself had been repaired days ago by maintenance bots; the burns around the blackened hole long since removed. But the cloth hanging was something she had knitted herself, and it was some of her best work.

  A tone sounded in her mind. Her Zephyr system had received a priority transmission from Ringside—IS-3 headquarters. The communication arrived quickly, but that was no surprise. She felt thankful that Huralon possessed so many hyperline transit points. The permanent wormholes permitted instantaneous transit to and from a specific location in space. Huralon had connections to Madkhal, Elysium, and Inouye in the McGowan Star group, making it a hub of super-fast mail drone communications and shipping. That’s what made the star system so influential over McGowan politics. What happened in Huralon, usually also happened in the other five stars as well.

  Here it is, she breathed, as she located the message. Though she hated naval combat, she had no plans to leave McCray’s side. If IS-3 intended to send her to another duty station, she planned to retire, and take McCray with her. At last, she’d found real love, and woe betide anyone who expected her to let that go.

  She opened the message and sent the signal to a thimble-sized holoprojector on the desk before her. A holoscreen, a meter cubed, opened up with the face Bartholomew Quartermain. His face look lined. Dark rings under his eyes proved he hadn’t been sleeping. His body’s nanites could have erased these physical blemishes in seconds, but only if he gave them a conscious command. That he hadn’t done so spoke volumes.

  “Jaguar,” said Quartermain. “I’m very happy that you made it through that feckstorm in Huralon.”

  “Then you could at least smile,” Aja murmured to the recording. The rumor in IS-3 was, Quartermain only ever smiled because his nanos had been programmed to make his face do it.

  “This communication is classified Alpha-Four. I know you’re not cleared for that level, but feck it. I’m sending this to you anyway. I hope you can accept my sincerest apologies, Aja. You weren’t supposed to be within light years of a naval battle. There wasn’t supposed to be a fight at all. It’s true that you were supposed to capture Stephen Mallouk in order to draw in Marcus Mallouk. We knew the Senator would use it as a pretense to make a planet-grab on Huralon, and by extension, all of McGowan.”

  Quartermain lit a pipe and puffed angrily on it, applying too much force as he exhaled. This was something Aja had never seen him do.

  “There was supposed to be a large battlegroup, crouching invisibly in hyperspace, at the edges of Huralon,” continued the spymaster. “As soon as Qalawun showed up, the battlegroup would return to normal space, move in, and capture the battlecruiser with overwhelming numbers. We needed the intel on the new Nassar design, but we wanted the Senator out of play even more. You and McCray should have been long gone by then. We didn’t expect an actual secession vote and definitely no landings. So, again, I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

  Aja nodded. She figured something had gone wrong. It was uncharacteristic. This was the first Quartermain op she’d seen that went pear-shaped.

  Quartermain removed his tie and tossed it on the desk, something the always properly attired man wouldn’t normally do. Something was off about him. Aja narrowed her eyes. “What are you really trying to tell me, Chief?”

  Being a recording, Quartermain didn’t answer. “Truth is, I got played, Aja; played by a damned bureaucrat, though he paid a terrible price for it.” He shook his head, lips pursed. “I’ve lost my edge, hanging around these administrative types. As of now, I am retiring.”

  Aja groaned, “No, no, don’t do it Chief. It’s just one slip up and it’s hardly all your fault.” She couldn’t imagine life in IS-3 without her long-time me
ntor at the helm.

  “Don’t you worry, Aja.” Quartermain shook his head. “I’ve gotten soft here in New Chicago, and I feel like shit. I’m taking some time to see the sights, relax a little, and then I’m getting back to my roots. I’ve got plans. I’ll stay in touch if that’s all right.” He leaned back and puffed gently this time, pausing as if to reflect. “About you and McCray: I think you make a good team. I want to you to remain with Springbok. There’s a major feckstorm coming, I can feel it. We’ll need you two behind the lines and causing mayhem for our enemies.”

  “Thank the Mind,” breathed Aja. Her mentor always knew how to read her. That he could get the true measure of things from hundreds of light years away, proved to her the old spymaster still had the chops, no matter what he may think right now.

  “Meanwhile, I’ll be in touch. You haven’t seen the last of me. Quartermain out.”

  Aja leaned back, watching the vacant holo in shock and wonderment. That went much better than she had expected. It only took a few heartbeats before the end of the message and a call from McCray to arrive.

  “Hey beautiful,” said McCray. “There’s a place on Hikonojo and everybody is raving about their kubideh…”

  Aja felt her mouth watering. The thought of roasted, spiced ground beef and rice reminded her she hadn’t eaten in a while. “Say no more, my man.”

  Chapter 33

  McCray and Aja walked through the throngs of people gathered at one of Hikonojo Port’s many viewing windows. Such large and thick crowds rarely formed just to look at a ship, but this one held a special place in the hearts of Huralon’s populace. The people at the windows murmured in awe and shock at the horrible wounds sustained by Precious Jade, the Hero Ship of Huralon. McCray had ensured that anything revealing Precious Jade/Springbok’s classified features has been covered up enroute; a job relatively easily done as most of the vessel’s construction duplicated a merchant clipper.

  That still left horrific, unrepaired gashes in her hull. Onlookers pointed at the gaping wound in her flank, a gap so large repair shuttles traveled in and out of it with ease. The missing aft hyperengine caused the most consternation. Sparks no longer burst from severed power conduits, but the mass of twisted support beams and electrical cables as thick as a human body still inspired amazed gasps.

  “How did they ever survive that?” said a woman, taking selfies before the scene with her portable holocam.

  “They wouldn’t have if Captain Callaway hadn’t arrived to save her,” said a fellow in passing. “It’s a good thing he took command of that Black Ship. Otherwise, this crew would have been atomized.”

  McCray and Aja couldn’t help but share a smile at the things they overheard. Once again, the savior of the day was the fictional Captain Callaway. According to the news stories, the heavy cruiser commander returned to Huralon after—with only marginal legality—taking command of a Black Ship. He returned and discovered the huge DPS Qalawun red-handed whilst attacking an unarmed merchant.

  Bravely, the maverick captain had hurled the requisitioned ship into harm’s way. After interposing itself between Jade and Qalawun, the ship took significant damage yet still destroyed the far larger battlecruiser. After ensuring the grateful crew of the merchant was safe, Callaway’s Black Ship limped away to an undisclosed naval base. The Precious Jade, also badly wounded but able to make way, broadcast the critical news that turned popular opinion around, saving Huralon and the entire McGowan Star Group from the machiavellian attempt to annex it.

  McCray and Aja squeezed through the crowds that flocked in from Huralon III and other planets in the star group to see the heroic merchant ship that risked all for them. Some of the crowd pressing in to see the vessel carried signs reading, “You Saved Us!” and “Mind Save the Hero Ship!” Most of the revelers and many members of the press flowed to the boarding tubes, hoping to meet members of the crew. They would never see them, of course. Every member of Springbok’s crew, except senior officers, had been sequestered in specially setup compartments within Hikonojo with all of its finest entertainments for the heroes. Springbok was a classified vessel before the Battle of Huralon but much more so after the battle. The Admiralty couldn’t risk any member of the crew drunkenly telling anyone how ‘Precious Jade’ really survived.

  The two rode a lift up a few levels to a secured area reserved for Springbok’s crew. To their surprise, the viewports overlooking their battered ship were empty. The secured compartments, arranged by IS-3, boasted some of the best entertainments in Hikonojo Port. Apparently, everyone on liberty departed to partake in IS-3’s hospitality.

  They stood side-by-side as they gazed at the ship’s horrific injuries. Some of the stylish red and gold livery had turned charcoal gray around the laser strikes. The nanites controlling the dynamic skin of the ship had been destroyed by the searing heat of the lasers and secondary explosions. It gave the appearance of bruising around a living creature’s wounds.

  “Your beautiful ship, Vann,” sighed Aja. “She got beat up bad.”

  “I know. I feel anxious, like I’m looking at a family member in the operating room.”

  “What happens to her now? They won’t, uh…”

  “Scrap her? Mind, no! She’ll be fine,” said McCray, squeezing her waist gently. “She’ll be repaired in a few months and back in fighting trim.”

  “Really? With all that damage?”

  “Of course. She sailed well enough to get us home, didn’t she? She’s not that bad off. Anyway, you’d be surprised at what the yard dogs can do. I’ve seen ships mangled far worse come away from the yards looking brand new.”

  “So they’ve got a spare hyperengine laying around? Those things are the size of office buildings.”

  McCray chuckled. “No, of course not. They’ll ‘grow’ the engine.”

  “Grow?”

  “Clouds of nanites, big clouds, will do most of the work. Tugs will haul in ingots of raw material, and the nanites will use it to build a new engine in situ. If you watched the process, it would look like Springbok was growing a new limb.”

  Aja grimaced. “I don’t think I’d like that. I’ve grown limbs back twice so far. Watching it made me nauseous.”

  McCray smiled. “We’ll have to find something else to do instead.”

  Aja reached up and slipped her arms around his neck. “I know this amazing botanical garden down on Huralon. They’ve got these flowering trees with blooms two meters across. Big enough to hide in.” She gave him a smokey look. “We could hide in the blossoms and do dirty things.”

  “Why should we hide? No one would care.”

  “It’s funner that way. It’s like peekaboo...with benefits.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have time for that,” said a voice.

  The lovers disentangled abruptly, and McCray snapped a parade-ground salute. “I’m sorry, Admiral. I didn’t see you.”

  Admiral Gaatz chuckled and haphazardly returned the salute. “The day Ms. Coopersmith can’t command her man’s attention will be a sad one. As you were. Uh. But not quite like that.”

  McCray shared a laugh with his mentor and shook the Admiral’s hand. “Good to see you, sir.”

  The tall officer towered over the two as he heaved a happy sigh. “You’ve done a fine job out here, Evander. Positively brilliant.” He tossed his chin toward Springbok. “Though next time we give you a brand new toy, let’s not break it straightaway, shall we?”

  “I’ll give it my all, sir.”

  “Stay away from battlecruisers and you’ll do fine.” He turned to look over Springbok at length. “I’m still amazed you survived. Springbok is full of amazing technology, but in the end, she’s still only an armed merchant. You did some mighty fine sailing to take on one of the DPM’s newest ships and win.”

  McCray cleared his throat. He still wasn’t sure how much he should say about the Naeridae, or to whom. “We had a little help.”

  “I know you did,” said Gaatz, leaning a hand on the viewing port. �
�I’m pretty good at reading after-action reports. I’m even better at reading what’s not in them. That’s possibly the first time anyone has ever used the Naeridae as a weapon in battle.”

  McCray’s mouth fell open. How many people knew about this?

  Gaatz grinned, “The Admiralty has known about them for more than a century, Captain. Once you make Admiral, you’ll get the official word, too. We made that agreement with the Guild for a reason. We don’t have to look like a bunch of crackpots talking about space monsters, and the Guild keeps our ships out of trouble.”

  McCray winced at Aja’s look. He still hadn’t told her the truth. It seemed the discussion over lunch would have a new subject. Aja wouldn’t let him get away with keeping that secret much longer.

  “Just do me a favor,” continued Gaatz. “Don’t make a habit out of torturing the poor creatures. The ES has enough enemies as it is. We don’t know how intelligent the Naeridae are, and we don’t want to find out by poking them too much. Plus, I’d hate to report you to the Animal Rights Commission.”

  The group shared a laugh until Aja said, “Springbok really can be repaired, sir?”

  “Absolutely,” said Gaatz. “But not here. There’s not nearly enough yard dogs in Hikonojo with Alpha security clearance. You’ll be shipping out to the Hephaestus Yards in two days. So if you want to play peekaboo in the flowers, you’d better hurry.”

  Aja blushed and looked away. McCray patted her waist gently, attempting a sympathetic gesture. Most Elysians enjoyed a fairly open-minded sexuality, to the point where sex in public attracted no more attention than chalk art on the sidewalk. But McCray knew that for a minority like Aja, raised on a conservative-minded planet, sex was viewed as a largely private thrill.

  “We’ll get her back up and sailing soon, sir,” said McCray, changing subject on Aja’s behalf.

  “You’d better. We need her back out here on the fringes. I have a feeling we’ll be needing your special services soon.”