by L. V. Lloyd
Night Traveller
By
L.V. Lloyd
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All rights reserved by the author, L.V. Lloyd, any unauthorized distribution or selling of this ebook constitutes an infringement of copyright.
Copyright © 2018 L.V. Lloyd
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
Cover by Soniador
Thank you to Aarathi Prakasen and Liz Wheeler for your help with editing.
Any mistakes are, of course, my own.
Dedicated to
All my friends at Wattpad,
for hours of support and encouragement over the years.
Prologue
Asra—night traveller—moved silently through the cold darkness of space, unnoticed for years by almost everyone in the Aurigan space system. It would take 348 years to complete one elliptical journey. In lonely orbit around the binary star system of Menkalinan, it consisted mostly of rock, covered by frozen nitrogen, too cold to interest anyone. However, as the years passed, its trajectory slowly brought it closer to the nearest of the two suns, warming the tiny planet and creating a thin atmosphere as the ice melted, turning the nitrogen into gas. Although the atmosphere was unbreathable by humans, the ice melting made the rock and metals accessible and mining companies began to sit up and take notice.
Asra was over half way on its inward journey when a young scientist, Paulo Caruso, calculated the planet could be made habitable with the aid of an artificial space dome for forty or maybe fifty years, before it drew too close to the sun and the surface became too hot to support life. That was enough for the miners.
The big companies—Poseidon and Tinto—moved in first, scouring the land flat to construct a huge space dome over the top to allow workers a place to live without requiring spacesuits the whole time. Houses were constructed, underground to start with, then more and more above ground as the dome held and people were no longer fearful of the vast storms swirling around them on the outside.
Civic buildings came next; a medical clinic, customs and trade houses, hotels, bars and eateries. Given the essentially transient nature of the place, it tended to attract single men and women; families were reluctant to settle somewhere they were unable to put down roots. So there was no school yet, although nature being what she was, there were a few babies and young children around, as couples and families evolved despite original intentions. In only a few years, Asra ceased to be a miner’s dormitory and became a town.
Chapter One
What an idiot! Callan Rian held his aching head in his hands and moaned softly. He had to cut back on the brandy. After the meeting, he and Dane Trenwith, his business partner and chief pilot, had gone out to celebrate, or commiserate, he wasn’t quite sure which. Whatever it was, Dane had scored the young man with white blond hair they had both fancied for the rest of the night and Callan had had one too many drinks.
What on Earth had he let himself in for? He got shakily to his feet and staggered into the bathroom. Bleary red eyes stared back under a shaggy mop of dark blond hair and his skin was drawn and pasty looking. Ugh. Lucky he hadn’t brought anyone home with him last night, or they would have taken one look at him this morning and run off screaming.
Was that a new crop of wrinkles around his eyes or just the effects of the brandy? His birthday next week would be his thirty-fifth—he wasn’t getting any younger. He splashed cold water over his face and felt marginally more alert. Coffee. He needed a litre of strong coffee. Black. Callan staggered back out into the small kitchen and after mistakenly conjuring up a glass of cold tea, managed to coax a hot cup of coffee out of the refreshment unit. He slurped noisily; there wasn’t anyone to disgust with his loutish behaviour.
Callan thought back to the previous evening.
It seemed the entire unofficial council of Asra had turned up for the meeting. All twenty of them, including the managers of the five major mining companies and Serra Yoshida, the owner of the Rising Sun where the meeting was being held, and purveyor of fine brandy. All of them seemed to want the same thing, to pressure him into calling in the damned Patrol.
Honestly, he couldn’t see the need. His two ships and the ten men and women he kept on as security staff were enough to keep pirates at bay. Asra was a frontier town for gods’ sake, they managed themselves. The last thing they needed was some prissy Patrol officer throwing his weight around, setting up rules and regulations for them all to follow.
“That’s all very well, Callan,” retorted Serra Yoshida, after he had expressed himself rather forcefully on the subject. “You keep the peace well enough when you’re here but half the time you’re out and about with your ships and traders. Those of us based here on Asra need someone we can call on for assistance at any time, someone who’s available permanently.”
“I admit I don’t like the idea of the Patrol poking its nose into my business,” said Ser Keating ponderously, the manager of the second largest mine, “but I can see how they would be useful maintaining law and order in the streets. If they restrict themselves to that, I don’t see the problem.”
“But that is the problem,” Callan protested. “Once you invite them in, they follow their own rules and procedures. They’re out of our control.”
“I think we have to face the fact that Asra is no longer a small community, where everyone knows everyone else,” stated Medic Mia Baraky, firmly. “At last count we have over seven hundred permanents registered with the Clinic and another four or five hundred transients. We need the Patrol, preferably before the situation here becomes unmanageable.”
Callan had grumbled a bit more but it was clear he was in the minority.
“So we’re all agreed then,” Serra Yoshida said decisively, if inaccurately. “We’ll call in the Patrol. There’s just one more thing. We need to formalise our position, elect a chairperson—someone to be in charge of the council and make sure our decisions are carried out. A Governor even, like a proper colony.” She gave a thin smile. “I’d like to nominate Callan Rian for Governor. All those in favour?”
“Aye!” The ragged chorus was almost unanimous. Nobody wanted the job.
Callan still couldn’t quite believe it; just like that he had become the damn Governor. Governor. The very word made him feel as if had to turn respectable, start wearing a dark grey singlesuit instead of drawstring pants and a coloured shirt. Cut his hair. He’d probably have to cut down on the drinking and carousing too, though mind you, at the moment that didn’t seem such a bad idea.
He drained the last mouthful of coffee and stepped into the tiny shower.
Governor, eh? He knew his first job would be to contact the Patrol headquarters on Capella and request an officer to come to Asra to set up an outpost. He could only hope they’d send him someone reasonable, who could look the other way when he had to and not try and change things too much. Someone who wouldn’t get in his way.
Chapter Two
“You’re sending me where, sir?” Lieutenant Mike Oliver stared at Captain Foster, the man who held his fate in his short stubby fingers. Foster’s hands were soft and pale, matching the rest of him. His round stomach strained against his uniform and his second chin rested uncomfortably on his collar. He didn’t look as if he had left his desk in years, let alone ventured out of headquarters on any sort of active service.
Mike was certain he could have run rings around him in the field, but Foster was wearing a Captain’s uniform which was all that counted at the moment.
Surely he had misheard.
“Asra. You’re going to Asra for the next twelve months.” Captain Foster smiled cosily. “Think of it as an opportunity, Lieutenant.”
“But sir, I applied for a ship’s position,” Mike protested, only just holding back the word ‘again,’ fighting a gut-searing disappointment. He had been so proud when he attained the rank of First Lieutenant a month ago, excited that this time, surely, he would get a ship’s position. He had applied with each previous promotion, only to be told each time that there were no current vacancies but that he was really needed on Bast, on Moonta, or on Capella. Everywhere apparently, except where he really wanted to be, on a space ship.
Ever since he was a child, he had dreamed of flying; that’s why he had joined the Patrol in the first place. “I know the P112 Pilar has a vacancy...” his voice trailed off as Foster shook his head.
“Sorry, Lieutenant, but that’s been filled already.”
Mike bit his lip. It hadn’t been filled an hour ago, let alone a week ago when he had applied.
“Can I ask, sir, is this anything to do with the fact that I’m homosexual, an om?” he asked stiffly.
Foster raised an eyebrow. “That would be discrimination, Lieutenant,” he reprimanded softly. “As I said, think of this as an opportunity. Do well on this assignment and I’m sure you’ll be able to get a ship’s position, eventually.” He smiled dismissively.
“Once you reach Asra, you’re to report directly to the new Governor, Ser Callan Rian. Your job will be to establish a Patrol outpost there. You’ll liaise with Ser Rian about the most suitable location for the post. You’ll have access to a small line of credit when you arrive so you can hire local labour to get the station up and running and make any modifications required to the premises. While you’re setting things up, you should also make an assessment of the number of staff required to operate effectively. Until then, you’ll be the only Patrol officer on Asra.” Foster smiled again, but only his lips moved, his eyes remained coldly watchful. “You’re booked on the Voyager, it departs in two days. That will be all, Lieutenant.”
Two days later, Lieutenant Oliver disembarked from the Voyager’s shuttle, unsuccessfully battling his resentment about being there at all. He went through the small Arrivals room, passing quickly through the essential bio screen and registration of intent to reside, and found himself looking up at the pale blue dome which covered the whole town. Most people didn’t want to look out at constant storms so the dome had been lined with an opaque blue, representing a sky many of them had never seen in person. He surveyed the small group of people hovering outside the Arrivals room and pasted a smile on his face as a well-dressed older woman came forward.
“Lieutenant Oliver?” she asked in a low, pleasant voice. She wore a bright yellow singlesuit, with soft-soled boots in a slightly darker shade. There was a small hologram of a rising sun on her left shoulder. Her short hair was dyed silver with gold tips.
They shook hands as he nodded. “I’m Serra Yoshida,” the woman introduced herself. “I own the Rising Sun hotel. You’ll be staying there until you find a place of your own. Oh, and by the way, the council will pay half of your account while you are at the hotel.”
“Thank you, Serra. Have you been on Asra long?” he enquired politely as he fell into step beside her, his back pack slung over one shoulder.
“This will be my fifth year,” she answered. “I was one of the first settlers. There were only about fifty permanents when I built the hotel, but lots of transients of course, with the mining.” The hotel was only a few blocks away and they walked side by side past a series of identical plasfoam buildings. Serra Yoshida nodded toward them. “Self-contained apartments, for those who plan to stay on Asra for more than a couple of days. There are a few family houses on the outskirts—these are really just for singles.”
Mike stared at them, trying not to feel depressed. Grey and box-like as they were, he told himself, they were far bigger than the quarters he would have been allocated on a ship.
“How many inhabitants do you have at the moment?” he asked.
“Seven hundred and eighty one permanents, at last count,” Serra Yoshida replied. “Asra has now reached the point where we can consider ourselves a town, a colony even, not just an outpost. That’s why we’ve asked the Patrol for assistance with law and order.” She looked sideways at him and cleared her throat. “I should probably tell you that not everyone was happy about our decision. We’ve been looking after ourselves since the dome was constructed and some people can’t see the need to change that.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, Ser Rian is one of the chief culprits. He runs a private security firm and he’s been pretty much used to doing things his own way. Still,” she smiled briskly, “I’m sure you’ll be able to deal with that!”
Great, thought Mike. The Governor, the man who was supposed to help him get established, didn’t want him there. However, instead of making him feel even more depressed, the fact that he had an adversary to face made him feel slightly better. He squared his shoulders. He was a Patrol Lieutenant and he had a job to do. No-one, not even the Governor of this mudball planet in the middle of nowhere, was going to stop him.
Lost in his own thoughts for a moment, the Lieutenant realised his companion had halted in front of an open space that appeared to be dotted with tables and chairs made out of liquid grey metal. Four people in dark grey singlesuits were seated together, sipping drinks out of large glasses with little coloured umbrellas in them. A human bartender stood under a small hut in the centre, surrounded by waist high refreshment units and four slender poles held up a roof resembling a mesh of plant fronds.
Serra Yoshida waved her wristcom and a bright yellow circle just over a metre in diameter appeared in the ground in front of her. “Welcome to the Rising Sun,” she announced with a smile. “This is our ‘roof’ bar.” She stepped onto the circle and gestured for him to join her. The circle descended slowly beneath the surface. “Most of the hotel is underground,” she explained. “It was one of the first buildings constructed and they weren’t too sure how successful the dome would be at that stage. Now of course, new buildings are built on the surface, but I quite like being underground. It’s a novel experience for most of my guests.”
The disc descended gradually to the floor below, and Mike found himself in a large reception room complete with a young female receptionist coming forward to greet them.
“Welcome to the Rising Sun, Ser,” she smiled professionally.
“This is Lieutenant Oliver, Lisa,” Serra Yoshida introduced him. “Would you show him his room please, in a minute?”
She turned back to Mike. “I’ve arranged for you to see Serra Tepper and Ser Paolo here in about an hour. They are both members of the council. Serra Tepper owns the building we think might be suitable for your Patrol Station and Paolo can help with any modifications you need.” She glanced at her wristcom and frowned briefly. “Ser Rian was supposed to be here to welcome you too, but he’s been called away. Never mind, I’m sure the rest of us will be able to answer any queries you have.”
“Thank you, Serra, that’s very helpful of you.” Mike hadn’t missed the significance of the frown. Was the Governor deliberately avoiding him? Hoping that he’d go away if he ignored him? He smiled to himself. He was quite looking forward to going head to head with Rian when they finally met. Politely, of course.
Chapter Three
Callan Rian hadn’t deliberately set out to avoid the new Patrol man, but he hadn’t made any effort to seek him out, either. An unexpected trip to Capella to check out a new piece of surveillance technology had taken a couple of days and then things had just seemed to crop up that required his personal attention. And today was his birthday. He wasn’t doing any business on his birthday, at least nothing that required him to dress in a singlesuit and look serious and official.
Tonight Dane had organised a “surprise” party for him at the Rising Sun.
Callan fully intended to wear his most flamboyant outfit—purple shimmersilk pants with a shocking pink sleeveless vest to be precise—and drink a lot of very expensive brandy. And if the oh-so-straight Patrol officer happened to turn up and didn’t like it, well that would be just too damn bad.
He had heard from Serra Yoshida that the Lieutenant had agreed with the council’s choice of building for the Patrol Station. Why wouldn’t he? It was pretty much perfect, located in the centre of the commercial sector, only a block away in fact from the Rising Sun. As an added bonus, it had a small apartment attached to one side which could serve as accommodation for the officer in charge. Already most of the modifications required had been completed, including a couple of cells in the basement. He wondered how long it would be before the Lieutenant had his first prisoner. Probably some poor bastard caught without a licence for something or other, he sneered to himself.
Callan hoped Lieutenant whatever-his-name-was had already moved out of the Rising Sun. The last thing he wanted was for the Patrol man to crash his party, try and introduce himself, talk business even. He pulled a face. Admittedly it would be—possibly—his own fault if he did. He should really have made an effort to see him before now, gotten the whole annoying business over and done with. Oh well, thought Callan optimistically, it was unlikely he’d run into the Lieutenant at a social event; he was probably waiting for Callan to set up a formal meeting. In any event it was time to stop worrying and get dressed or he’d be late for his own party.
Dane Trenwith watched Callan enter the room, instantly becoming the centre of attention of the small crowd of friends and well-wishers. Callan looked hot tonight, he thought with a wry grin. He’d tried to convince him the purple shimmersilk was over the top but Callan had ignored him and for once Callan had been right. It was a dark purple, almost black and the slippery material showed the shape of his strong thighs only too well. He had changed the colour of his hair to match his trousers and it hung thick and glossy to his shoulders. Dane sighed unconsciously. There were times, like now for instance, when he wished they were still lovers as well as business partners.