by DG SIDNA
That fricken view.
Eventually a server comes to me. I hope Beckett gave me a worthy spending account, because I plan to drink and dine the government of Tegana into poverty. With a press of my thumb on his black card, I order a Mahshadi coffee, whatever that is, and without irony, butternut squash ravioli.
Maybe Captain Gernsback had excellent tastes as well.
While I wait for my food, I fidget with the ring I'm wearing before realizing that Careena never asked for Hecate back. I have a hard time imagining her as some highly trained super spy, hunting down criminals across time and space, when she can't even remember that she's left one of the most powerful devices known to humankind with a befuddled teenager.
At my table is a small, simple tablet. Every table seems to have one. At first I can't figure out how to get mine to come on. And I'm horrified to ask for help. Not that I'd mind another opportunity to chat up the bartender, mind you, but I really don't want to come off looking like some rural peasant who wandered onto a glitzy starship by mistake.
Fortunately, it doesn't take me long to realize that, like Careena's ring, the tablet responds to thoughts. I need only send a mental signal and the screen lights up. Once that is figured out, the rest comes easy, too easy in fact. It's almost unnerving. The tablet seems to know what I'm going to ask for before I do. I try to ignore any implications that might have for free will, mainly because I don't want to see what the tablet has to say on the topic.
Luckily for me, there's no end to what other information is available. I'm enthralled for hours, which is easy to do when you're on a starship and there's no indication of day or night. I'm also pretty sure I'm violating one of Careena's ministry's fancy directives by reading up on the last thousand years of human history, but I reason that, since from my perspective those laws haven't been written yet, they don't really apply to me.
Two whiskeys, two coffees, and a nap later, I'm still on the couch reading. I've completely forgotten about Careena. But that's okay, because these future encyclopedia articles are fascinating. Nerd heaven.
As best as I can figure out, sometime in the 2200's a federation of nations on Earth bombarded hundreds of uninhabited worlds with what they called seed engines. These were satellites the size of aircraft carriers, each containing self-replicating robots the size of army ants.
Only goldilocks planets were selected, planets the right size for Earth-like gravity and the right distance from their stars for a hospitable climate. Additionally, each seed engine had a kill switch that would send it into the nearest star should long range sensors and cameras aboard detect life upon approach. Humanity wanted to be good neighbors and not continue their long tradition as ruthless colonizers.
Once arriving on a world, the tiny, solar-powered, insect-like robots mined the planetary surface for the raw materials needed to create massive atmospheric converters the size of cities. Depending on the conditions at the time of arrival, the process to make the atmosphere habitable could take as little as two decades to as long as several centuries.
The seed engines also contained genetically modified lichens to do some of the conversion work, along with an array of specially adapted plant life to introduce when ready. After the planet was made livable, those giant atmospheric converters would tear themselves down and reconstruct themselves as ready-made settlements, ghost towns dozens of light years from Earth, simply awaiting human arrival.
Initially, interplanetary travel was limited by the speed of light. Settlers during those earliest years were frozen in stasis and undertook journeys of tens to hundreds of years to reach their destinations, knowing full well that they'd never see Earth again. But the spirit to know the stars, to push on to the next frontier, to touch the feet of the gods, was baked into humanity's DNA.
Faster than light travel was pioneered in the mid-2300's, leading to a precarious situation where some of the earliest settlers sent to the furthest colonies arrived after younger generations with faster ships had already been calling those planets home for decades.
Now, in the year 3021, humanity inhabited almost four hundred worlds in fifty-four different mandates, with another six hundred planets in the seeding the process.
Even so, the Milky Way is so indescribably large that no human has yet been to the other side of the galaxy, though some wide-eyed pioneers have illegally shot themselves in that direction, frozen in stasis, making a slingshot around the galactic core, destined to wake up after many centuries of space flight, should they be fortunate enough to wake up at all.
More locally, I begin to read about this little corner of the galaxy, the Ghent Mandate. Many of the colonies here are now centuries old. Each planet is home to dozens of city-states, each has developed their own histories, their own cultures, their own unique identities. Their populations, meanwhile, run into the hundreds of millions.
As Careena had told me, the peoples here are many generations removed from the pioneering forefathers and foremothers of yesteryear. In truth, their titles as outer colonies have long ago been seceded to newer, younger worlds further out there on the horizon.
Unable to put my tablet down, I delve into the topic of aliens, before noticing a real, live alien standing alone at the bar. I call over, perhaps buzzed still from that last whiskey. "Lieutenant Chimat," I say. "Join me for a drink?"
The stocky alien man with his bark skin and ivory chin horn walks over but shakes his head as he places a hand over what I assume to be his stomach. "I'm sorry, ma'am. The fermentation does not agree with my anatomy."
"That's too bad," I tell him. "I'm sure the captain wouldn't mind you having a little fun while you spy on me."
"Spying, ma'am?"
"I saw you hanging around sickbay too."
"Only to ensure your safety."
"I'm sure." I put down my tablet. "So if you can't drink, what is it your people do for fun?"
Chimat takes a seat on the edge of an armchair next to me. His face has lit up. "Oh, we Thanes are excellent caretakers. If you entered a typical Thanish home, you would be amazed, absolutely amazed, at the array of vegetation you would find."
"So... you grow plants?"
"Yes, ma'am. A joy to watch!"
"That's... something, I guess."
Chimat beams with excitement. "Actually, you'd be happy to know that one of the most treasured possessions on all of Thane was a plant we imported centuries ago from your Earth."
"I think I can guess. Orchids?"
"No."
I try again. "Roses?"
"Oh gosh no, ugly things those. Don't you think so?"
"What then?"
"These are a type of ambulatory vegetation."
"Ambulatory?"
"Yes. I believe you call them cats."
I lean back on my sofa. "Ah. I guess some things never change. Though if you met my mom's cat, Mr. Kerfluffle, you might change your opinion about cats."
Chimat's eyes widen. "Why, ma'am, that is a most brilliant name."
"My mom certainly thinks so." I try to change topics. "So are you married, Lieutenant?"
Again the little alien man lights up with enthusiasm. "About that. You see on Thane—"
I have to cut him off. Something is happening outside the window. I point toward space. "Hey, look. The stars aren't moving. I think we've stopped."
Chimat's expression turns to one of immediate concern. He looks down to the left, as if listening to a voice in his head. He stands. "I apologize, I must leave you."
"Why? What's happened?" I ask.
His solid black eyes blink twice.
It's the first time I've seen him blink.
Finally he tells me. "The Stellar Pearl has been sabotaged."
SEVEN
I am left alone on my couch with a sudden sense of worry. I should return to sickbay and warn Careena; it can't be a coincidence that the Stellar Pearl's engines have been wrecked, stranding the ship adrift in dead space. Whoever is after Careena may have followed us here. I collect mys
elf.
That's when the first explosion rocks the ship.
It comes from somewhere far off, but it's enough to rattle the chandeliers and knock a few bottles off the shelves. The lounge becomes deathly quiet as the patrons stop their conversations and look around at one another with worried glances. Most have only now realized we stopped.
"What was that?" someone asks.
"We've struck an asteroid, maybe," another offers.
By the second explosion, however, it's clear that the ship is under attack. Several of the guests approach the windows, hoping to see what's happening.
I stand to get my own view. Off starboard is a long dark vessel, roughly equal in size to the Stellar Pearl but somehow more menacing. It's hull is husky and battered with age, like a rusted ocean vessel barely seaworthy. There's a decidedly industrial aesthetic to its architecture.
A crew member approaches the window and stops alongside me to get a look. She's young, in a neatly pressed uniform. She's South Asian maybe, though in truth there's a great deal of ambiguity in the faces of the people of the future. Fortunately, she knows a thing or two about ships. "It's a mining dreadnought," she says to me.
"Who are they?" I ask.
"Hard to say. Pirates maybe. But I can tell you that's a very old ship and those blasters they're firing are designed to break rock, not pierce reinforced hull. They can knock us around, but unless they have something else up their sleeves, Captain Gernsback is going to blow them out of the stars. We may not be a proper warship, but we still got some pep in our punch."
Almost on cue, the Stellar Pearl returns fire with a battery of cannons. The back-and-forth volleys are not unlike 18th Century frigates trading cannon fire on the high seas.
The Stellar Pearl shakes with every hit she takes but remains steady. The same can't be said for the mining dreadnought, which is taking unsustainable damage. While the shots themselves travel too fast to register, each time they strike, they light up the enemy ship. Entire sections and compartments are blown into space. But the pirate ship continues to fire.
"She can take a tight slap, I give her that," the woman says.
Even so, something seems off. I may not be from this time period, but I have my intuition. I turn to the crew woman. "Don't you think something is wrong here? They must have known they were outmatched. I can't believe space pirates are that stupid."
The crew woman shrugs. "Could be they're desperate, maybe. Could be an end of days cult. You can never know what those fanatics are thinking. But it looks like it's over."
She's right. As quickly as the skirmish had started, it was finished. The mining dreadnought, now powerless, turns dark and drifts lazily into the cold oblivion of space. Without a nearby sun to illuminate it, the vessel is nearly invisible in the darkness. The patrons of the bar watch the ship drift for long moments, as if a great and wild animal has been put down.
"Were we damaged?" someone asks the crew woman.
"Only our sensor array," she answers. "Got blown to hell, unfortunately. Lucky shot, I reckon."
"Great," someone else chimes in. "So not only are we dead in space, but we're blind as a bat."
"There's no need to worry, sir. The Tegan Defense Force has been notified. They have a patrol ship less than three hours away."
"A lot can happen in three hours," a mother barks.
"The situation is under control," the crew woman says. I feel a little bad for her; she's the only figure of authority in the room. She goes on, "I suggest you all return to your rooms. Updates will come shortly. For now, all you need to know is that their ship has been disabled and their saboteur has already been apprehended. It was a clever stunt, but it failed. We'll have the engines running soon and a military escort, there will be no further problems."
There's some more back-and-forth arguing, and a deluge of questions for the poor woman, but I ignore it all. Instead, I walk over to the window. Something catches my attention. The stars in one region of space are distorted, like wet paint slightly streaked. It's strange, I can't explain it. I place my hand on the window and feel a low hum. Our engines? But our engines have been cut. It has to be something else.
"Does anyone else hear that?" I ask.
The crew woman turns, sees the distortion, and shouts. "Miss! Get away from the window!"
Too late. A perfect circle in the center of the window, the size of a doorway, explodes into a million fragments of glass, throwing me backwards across the floor.
I climb to my knees, prepared to be sucked out into the coldness of space, which is what always happens in my dad's sci-fi movies—but when I look up, there's a vessel the size of a sailing yacht attached to the hull like one of those creepy sucker fish. Its own hull is cloaked in some sort of stealth material, showing the stars behind it, making it nearly invisible to the human eye. Perhaps the Stellar Pearl's sensors could have detected it, but as the young woman just said, they've been blown to hell.
The dreadnought was only a distraction.
All out once, several men step out of the opening. They are serious and dangerous looking, armed with rifles and dressed in black. A few are tattooed. The leader of the group, however, is the one who makes the greatest impression on me.
"It's the Red Man," someone nearby whispers.
His name fits. He's burly, with a wide chest and fingers like knotted steel. His eyes are smeared carelessly with dark mascara. Blood red scripts are tattooed along the right side of his bald scalp. He wears black like the others, but the shoulders of his long trench coat are decorated with the red fur of some wild animal.
It's his beard, however, from which he receives his moniker; red like fire, all grease and tight, angry curls. It hangs to the base of his neck, trimmed with great square edges. He possesses the presence of a biblical king. And the icy stare of a heartless and indifferent god.
In the silence of his arrival, he eyes everyone in the room, one after another, slowly and deliberately taking us all in. He caresses his beard with mighty fingers, many of which are adorned with large rings. When his eyes finally make their way to me, my soul shakes.
He then speaks in a battered voice. "There's hell. There's darkness. There's the sulfurous pit. None of these compare to me. Cross me and I will burn you. Move against me and I will scald you. Defy me and I will consume you."
Without saying more, he leaves the lounge with his entourage. There's a purpose in their step that sends shivers down my back. Two of his men remain behind to watch us. We are hostages now—and it goes without saying that we will be executed without hesitation the moment Captain Gernsback attempts a move against this Red Man.
I have to warn Careena that they're coming for her, but I don't know how. The two guards corral us into the center of the lounge, forcing us on our knees while we wait out this confrontation. They carry ugly rifles and pace back and forth impatiently. At least one of them is clearly high on some sort of future chemical. His face is a mask of anger and boredom.
A woman in front of me whispers to her boyfriend. "What do they want?"
The nastier of the two guards strikes the boyfriend with the butt of his rifle. "Quiet!"
The young man drops to the floor like a sack of rocks, despite having said nothing. The guard smiles at the woman, exposing rows of rotten teeth filed into points. No one speaks after that.
Minutes pass like hours as we wait in silence. A thousand thoughts are flooding through my mind. I start to notice everyone's shoes. Why shoes? What's wrong with my brain? I look toward the exit. There's no way I can get out to warn Careena. She's on her own. I think we all are.
The man with bad teeth catches me looking toward the door. He's been leering at me—how long, I'm not sure. I immediately look down to my knees but it's too late. His boredom is the most dangerous thing in the room. And now I've caught his attention.
"What, our company ain't good enough for you, luv?" he says mockingly. "You got somewhere better to be?"
I shake my head without looking up.
I'm in trouble and I know it.
He walks over and caresses my curly hair with the back of his hand.
My skin crawls.
"Are you angel, luv?"
I stammer. "No, sir."
"Good. Then no one will care what we do with you."
Without warning he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me to my feet. Everyone watches but there's nothing anyone can do to help me. They can only look on in horror and thank whatever gods still remain in this world that it wasn't they who caught this man's attention.
He marches me toward the washroom. I try to resist but his grip on my head is like iron. Tears of pain flood my vision.
The other guard shoots a worried glance. "Tyson, what the hell are you doing?"
"What's it look like, mate?"
"He'll kill you."
This man that holds me, Tyson, eyes his companion with utter contempt. "Then we shan't tell him. Because then he'd kill us both. And don't worry, I'll save you some if that's what you want. Now bugger off."
I beg this other man to intervene with my eyes. I see the disapproval in his face. He's a thief, yes, ruthless even, and perhaps some part of him enjoys directing his pain and anger at the wealthy and the elite who travel the galaxy in their shining starships filled with every luxury imaginable. But he's not this.
Please, I beg.
But in return in his eyes is only cowardice.
My fate sealed, I'm forced into the washroom by Tyson. We're alone now. My heart is racing like a frightened rabbit. He still has me by the hair and the pain is like hot steel on my scalp. I can feel the grime of his fingers, the flakes of blood falling on my head from fingernails he's gnawed down to stubs.
I can see both of us in the washroom mirror as well, can see the twisted lines of his face. What I see scares me. It isn't lust. I'm not even sure it's sexual. To him I'm not a person. I'm a proxy for a lifetime of rejection and humiliation, an empty vessel to fill with all his worst thoughts.