by Mark Wandrey
The pair watched the departure from the ship’s tiny galley, which was arranged like many ships that rarely landed on planets. Eating stations and common access terminals were arrayed along the walls and ceilings in a seemingly random manner. The Athal in particular seemed to have little concern for the aesthetics of such an arrangement, giving it an even more chaotic feeling. Sato took it all in with a certain amount of disdain.
He’d been the Winged Hussars chief naval architect for years and took a great deal of pride in the praise he’d gotten from crews and ships’ commanders. The Hussars’ ships were always functional, yet still managed to convey a feeling of homeliness. Further, each ship was subtly different. The Steed-class battlecruisers, in particular—the mainstay of the Winged Hussars’ combat arm—were subtly distinct in their décor. From the types of leather in lounge seats to the colors of trim on the bridge, you could tell which Steed-class you were on just by comparing the details.
Tu-Plik looked like it had rolled off the assembly line exactly as it currently appeared. Probably Izlian, he mentally mused as he examined the details. Besides being one of the strangest races in the galaxy, they were also the largest manufacturer of starships. Their unique biology allowed for rapid production of many rare alloys and some amazing high-pressure fusion-welding techniques. Thousands of starships flowed from Izlian shipyards for every purpose imaginable, including free traders just like Tu-Plik.
The giveaway for Sato was the generic nature of the design. Passageways and pressure doors were all designed with the widest variety of races possible in mind. A purpose-built ship for the Athal wouldn’t have had such large corridors. The fly-like aliens were no larger than medium-sized dogs.
Sato had processed a bulk purchase of cargo tugs from the Izlian during his time with the Hussars. The vessels had arrived with no amenities and the same wide, boring internal layout. The ships were serviceable after Sato sent them through the manufactories for various upgrades and to strip out needless components. Overengineered power systems and underutilized crew spaces was his conclusion.
“Why do you keep looking around and shaking your head?” Rick asked him.
“The ship is an Izlian design,” he explained.
“So? Aren’t half the ships in the galaxy?”
“Precisely,” Sato said and continued his examination.
“Passengers, prepare for acceleration,” an Athal announced over the galley PA system. Sato checked that he was strapped in, and, a few seconds later, one side became down as the ship’s fusion torch kicked in and they accelerated away from Karma Station.
A Tri-V in the galley’s center showed the view astern, where the massive, slowly-rotating hubs of Karma Station began to grow smaller. He watched the scene unfold with a strange sense of déjà vu. How many times had he been to Karma? When he tried to remember, he wasn’t sure.
Leaving the system turned out to take less time than waiting to leave the station. Tu-Plik accelerated to rendezvous with the stargate exactly at its activation. This was the most common method of departure for smaller ships. Why wait around when you can time your arrival for the opening of the stargate?
Rick messed with the Tri-V until it showed a forward view. The huge stargate was looming close, a ring of asteroids equipped with hyperspace shunts and linked to a vast solar array, which powered the shunts. The stargate simply provided an easy way for ships to access hyperspace. Once they passed through the event horizon, it was up to the ship to do the rest and guide itself to a destination.
No warning of the impending transition was given. The stargate flashed, creating a swirling spot of discontinuity which Tu-Plik flew into. As always, Sato felt the instant of obliteration followed by a return to normality. Such a strange sensation. Most Humans found it disquieting, or even deeply disturbing. Some memory of his first trip through hyperspace suggested he’d found it cathartic. But like his first trip to Karma, he couldn’t remember when the other first trip was, either.
“Welcome aboard,” a visitor said, using its wings to fly into the galley now that they were in freefall again. “I’m Ullp; this is my vessel.”
“Thank you for the passage,” Sato said.
“I’m not doing it out of the goodness of my heart,” Ullp replied. The Athal landed on a wall next to the galley autochef and programmed it for some food.
“Then why did you take us on?” Rick asked.
“Several reasons,” Ullp said, taking a plastic bulb full of a greenish paste and moving closer to the Humans. “First, because the credits were hard to resist. My cargo consists of Besquith foodstuffs. I fully expect to be screwed on this run. The bastards are notorious for paying only half the contracted rate, but business is bad right now, with the war against your race.”
Ullp slurped some of the greenish stuff. Sato caught a whiff of it and instantly regretted it. It smelled of sulfurous body waste. “Second, I detest the Mercenary Guild.”
“We aren’t mercs,” Sato said.
Ullp’s head turned slightly toward Rick before moving back. “I doubt that, but your business is your own. However, if you want to sneak onto your own world, no good can come of it. So I’ll help, if only to annoy General Peepo.”
“Thin motivation,” Rick said quietly.
Sato bit his lip and hissed in consternation. Rick had started out as a willing helper and had followed every order Sato gave him. But as time had gone on, the man was more and more acting of his own volition. Fix that. Sato jerked slightly at the thought. No, he thought, I won’t resort to that sort of behavior. The truth was, he had considerable control over not just the Æsir’s system, but Rick as well. It was the nature of the grafting process. He hadn’t told the man, of course. He didn’t need to know. The first time Sato had to use the override, he didn’t know how his traveling companion would react. Badly, in all likelihood.
“Maybe it is thin,” Ullp admitted, “but what recourse do you have?”
“We’re your passengers,” Sato said quickly. “We’re paying you well, sure; however, your ship is still your ship. I only hope you act with our best interests at heart.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” Ullp said. “We’ll see what the situation is in the Sol system when we get there.”
“Just know this,” Rick said. “Betray us at your own peril.”
Dammit, Sato silently cursed.
“I acknowledge you are an unknown factor,” Ullp said, “but I’m confident you are no real threat to my ship and crew.” The alien buzzed toward the door.
“You would be in error,” Rick replied quietly. The captain either didn’t hear him or decided not to reply.
“Was that really necessary?” Sato asked.
“Call it a word to the wise,” Rick said. “Ullp’s motivations are more than he’s saying. My autonomic sensors confirm this much. He’s nervous about something.”
“He’s smuggling two Humans with forged identifications,” Sato reminded him. Rick didn’t have anything more to say on the matter, and Sato decided it was best to just let it go. There were too many other things to think about, such as what they were going to do if their insertion onto Earth failed.
I wish I knew why I was so nervous about returning to Earth, while simultaneously feeling it’s essential to go there.
* * *
The time in hyperspace passed slowly for Rick, mostly because there was so little to do. His pinplants were full of every imaginable movie and music, but everything he watched came with the feeling of déjà vu. Often in his memory he found himself eating pizza and drinking soda pop with someone whose name he couldn’t remember.
Like living on any ship, Sato and Rick adjusted to the vessel’s schedule. With so many thousands of races in the galaxy, eons ago it was decided a ‘standard’ day was an amalgamation of all those racial day/night cycles. Rick learned about the system when signing up with the Winged Hussars. It was a classic situation where nobody was happy, and everyone got screwed. Many races simply ignored the averaging system
, which suggested a 24.2-hour day, 7-day week, and used whatever their own race preferred. However, their computers, linked with the various guilds, did use the standard.
The Athal operated on a short day, only 14 hours long. Rick decided ignoring their schedule was a mistake, especially in the precarious situation they found themselves, so he adopted their schedule. Seven on, seven off for a couple Athal weeks was manageable. The more he experimented with his new pinplants and armor, the more amazed he was.
Using the pinplants and armor system, Rick adjusted his mental chemistry so it felt ‘normal.’ The system was intuitive, as well, providing prompts to warn that more than 100 hours in such a system could resort in either negative psychological consequences, or chemical dependency.
Well, that’s handy.
After a couple days, he also became aware of the armor’s stores of chemicals it used to synthesize complex compounds and keep his biological parts alive and healthy. Sato had again outdone himself by including the innate ability to utilize a wide variety of common elements to make those base chemicals. If Rick was forced to live as a half-Human cyborg, at least Sato had made it relatively easy.
Nemo’s bud was likewise easy to care for. Nemo had stocked the bud’s habitat with plenty of Wrogul nutrients, though the bud enjoyed sampling some foods they created from the room’s autochef. It amused itself by reading on a slate, soaring around the room with jets of air, or watching its Human companions. Rick occasionally forgot it was even there, until a blob of water floated over and globbed onto him or his clothes. The bud was less than fastidious about its water leaking around.
They made sure they were in the galley at the beginning of the last ship’s watch before hyperspace emergence when the captain, Ullp, came in. He didn’t seem surprised to find them, either.
“Do you have a plan for us?” Sato asked. “I assume we aren’t going to wait in our stateroom?”
“You are correct,” Ullp replied. “Even though I have cargo for the system, the picket ships have been randomly searching inbound transports.”
“So there’s smuggling going on,” Rick noted.
“Without a doubt,” Ullp said. The translator didn’t convey a lot of emotional details of the Athal language, but Rick was pretty sure the statement held irony. “We’re going to hide you in the engineering spaces, where casual sensors won’t pick you up.”
Rick and Sato had already discussed Nemo’s bud privately. Based on readings Sato had taken of the bud’s travel module, it was already well shielded. They hadn’t told Ullp about it and didn’t plan to. It looked like nothing more than a heavy-duty cargo transport container. Shielded, sure, but if you were paying someone to smuggle you, wasn’t it expected that you wanted secrecy?
“We want a comms link with you so we’re aware of what’s going on,” Rick insisted.
“Any comms can be intercepted,” Ullp complained.
“Not if it’s hardwired,” Sato pointed out.
“You have a point. I’ll arrange it.”
Two hours later they were being shown to their hiding space. Rick guessed it had once held some piece of equipment for the ship, though it was now a neatly outlined empty area behind an access panel. It had been carefully lined with closed-cell foam and included a rack of four universal respirators and straps which could be configured for any race. The Athal engineer who’d opened the cover pointed with a hand.
“Those are the secondary hyperspace power relays,” he explained. “They’re directly linked to the fusion plant, so even in normal space, there’s live plasma only a meter away.”
“You’d have to be inside the ship to pick up something there,” Sato said, nodding. “Good place to smuggle something.”
“Or someone,” the engineer agreed.
Rick and Sato floated in and got comfortable. The engineer waited patiently until they were ready. “Good?” he asked.
“Good,” Sato agreed, and they were sealed in. He turned to Rick. “You can get us out of here if necessary?”
“Easily,” Rick assured him. They’d both brought a small duffel bag. The captain had said to bring any active power devices that might give away the presence of passengers. However, Sato had added the spacesuit attachments to his old uniform.
The Winged Hussars duty uniform was more complicated and versatile than simple appearances suggested, with nano-weave reinforcements, heating/cooling mesh, and the ability to add attachments of gloves, boots, and a bubble helmet. With those basic additions, the wearer could survive in space for a few minutes. Add an optional LSU, a life support unit that was only the size of a thermos, and that time extended to an hour.
Using Rick’s systems, it extended even further. For his part, the Æsir armor could support him in space for weeks if he were careful.
Ullp was kind enough to give them both a running commentary on what was happening, as well as a single data channel including rudimentary telemetry data. Tu-Plik precipitated out of hyperspace, accompanied by the customary falling sensation, and the sensors immediately showed nearby warships.
“Newly arrived ship, identify yourself,” came over the comms immediately.
“Athal free trader Tu-Plik,” Ullp replied. “Transmitting identification.”
“Maki,” Sato said in response to the picket ship’s voice they could hear.
“Cargo?” the Maki picket asked.
“Supplies for deployed mercenary forces. Transmitting manifest.”
Rick and Sato watched the basic telemetry. Four ships were close by. It looked like three frigates and a cruiser. Rick guessed there were likely many more vessels close enough to respond if the Maki raised an alarm.
“They’re scanning us,” Ullp said casually, for his hidden passengers’ benefit.
“You sure they can’t find us?” Rick asked.
“Unless the captain orders the power system shut down, the Maki would have to be pretty specific in any search to find us.”
It was all over in less than a minute.
“Tu-Plik, you will proceed to Earth orbit, parking position Theta-Two, and await further instructions. Welcome to the Sol system.”
“Roger, proceeding to orbit. Thanks.” They felt a slight acceleration, slowly growing toward a full G. “All good,” Ullp said to them. “We’ll keep you there for now. It’s only four hours to Earth orbit at this acceleration. They won’t want to transfer this cargo via shuttles, so they will probably want us to set down. I don’t know where, though.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sato replied. “Anywhere on Earth is sufficient.”
Rick would have liked to see Earth from space. Their rudimentary data feed didn’t provide cameras. Instead it was four hours to orbit, as Ullp had said, and another three waiting for a landing assignment.
“Sao Paulo,” Ullp eventually said. “Isn’t that your planet’s capital?”
“Sort of,” Sato confirmed. “It’s the Earth Republic seat.”
“Whatever,” Ullp said. “We’ll be down in a few minutes. Once we’re on the glide path, I’ll have the engineering staff get you out.”
“Won’t there be any groundside security?” Rick asked.
“No,” Ullp said. “I don’t think they’ll bother.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to see for yourself.”
Once Tu-Plik had dropped through the upper atmosphere and was using its nominal aerodynamic surfaces to fly toward the starport, engineers showed up and got Rick and Sato out. The pair was escorted to their stateroom, where they bundled up their remaining possessions and got the bud’s module ready to move. One of the engineers glanced at the container but didn’t say anything. It appeared Athal didn’t possess an overabundance of curiosity.
As the ship fired its descent engines and began to land, they were in the main cargo hold surrounded by massive, refrigerated shipping containers full of raw meat. From what Rick knew, the Besquith preferred their food still living. He suspected shipping living prey animals was a lot more expensive,
and complicated.
Despite its massive size—and the fact that it rarely set down on a planet—Tu-Plik landed smoothly, and the cargo door began to lower. Rick stepped ahead of Sato, just in case the captain decided to pull something. As the afternoon sun began to flood in and Rick was able to adjust his sensors to the view outside, he understood why the captain wasn’t concerned about more inspections. “My god,” he said.
“What?” Sato asked.
“The city looks destroyed.”
The two walked to the edge of the ramp and looked out over what had once been the most beautiful city in South America. Vast swathes of concrete in the starport were gouged and blackened. Buildings in every direction were shattered, and a few looked melted. The air carried the unmistakable smell of smoldering fires and filth.
“What happened?” Sato asked.
Ullp had come up behind them. The Athal pointed to the side, where the stoic outline of five giant humanoid figures towered. “Raknar,” he said. “You Humans have started using Raknar.”
“Then how is the Mercenary Guild still in control?” Sato asked.
“I don’t know all the details,” Ullp said. “And frankly, I don’t care. I’m going to unload this cargo and get as far from your star system as fast as I can. So if you can pay me…”
“Of course,” Sato said and handed the captain a single 100,000 credit chit. “Our thanks.”
“Mine as well,” Ullp said. “I’ll offer prayers for you and your planet.”
Sato nodded absently and began walking down the ramp. Rick easily picked up the bud’s container, as well as both their duffel bags, and followed. As Ullp had said, nobody came to see who was in the ship. Sao Paulo was a graveyard.
* * * * *
Chapter Six