“It is all over the Nets. We are having a state funeral in two days. The People are mourning her, and I already miss her.”
“Is-she-dead?” Sanchez asked again.
Ardith said nothing. Captain Vickery said nothing.
Sanchez blew out a long breath in frustration. “Your silence is no answer.”
Ardith shrugged. “It’s the only answer my promise to a dear friend allows.”
Carr motioned to the servant standing nearby. “I think I’ll take that Old Oakfield after all.” Reaching over to his wife, he squeezed her hand and gave her a smile. “I was suspicious when I saw on ONELink yesterday that the bodies of Renata, Karl, and the driver had been sent up to Presidio Station to be autopsied. I thought at the time how odd that was, but now it makes perfect sense. Presidio is Admiral Tovar’s turf. My guess is there were no bodies—the car was on autopilot. Of course, there might be bodies now. It wouldn’t be hard to find three, what with the war and all.”
“But how could all of this be kept secret?” asked Sanchez. “The whole Kaskian Guard must be in on it. That’s well over a hundred people.”
“The Kaskians have all sworn a personal oath of allegiance to the Empress,” said Vickery. “If the scenario you suggest had ever played out, I can guarantee that no member of the Guard would ever betray their oath.”
“The truth is,” added Ardith, “the only people who know things they aren’t supposed to are sitting before me right now.” As the new Empress stared at he and Sanchez, Carr could feel the eyes of the other Kaskians on them as well, even the female domestic who just served his drink. The way she carried herself, he was sure she was a trained soldier first and servant second.
“I have a proposition for you two,” continued Ardith. “I understand you want to emigrate to Earth. Sanchez, you want to be a flight instructor for the EarthFed military, and Carr, you want to excavate Old Earth ruins.”
It was Carr and Sanchez’s turn to trade uncomfortable glances.
“I had Captain Vickery do a little digging of his own,” confessed Ardith. “As he did, your business loan applications popped up. Many applications, but no takers…”
Carr found himself on the defensive. “Banks don’t appreciate the common good that can come from uncovering history. It’s not generally their kind of investment.”
“Look, just skip right to it,” said an impatient Sanchez. “You’re hoping a bribe will buy our silence.”
“Yes I am. I want your silence and your service.”
Sanchez’s eyes narrowed. “Service? Exactly what do you have in mind?”
Ardith moved to a slate sideboard to pour herself a juice. “Channa Maxon left behind some, shall we say, private sources of income that I intend to tap into. So, for the time being, the Imperial household has extra cash. Banks may not appreciate history, Frank, but I do. The Crown is willing to grant you a gift of money—enough to start your archeology business on Earth. Think of me as a silent partner. Shall we say two-hundred thousand dennics?”
Carr nearly choked on a mouthful of whiskey. “You said a grant, not loan?”
“Correct. The money would be yours free and clear—with two conditions. One, the Imperial Museum in Boutwell gets to match any bid on rare artifacts you happen to uncover.”
“Sounds fair enough,” Carr agreed. “As long as we get paid for our work. I want important discoveries to be on public exhibition anyway, not locked away in some private collection. The second condition? You said something about our service.”
Ardith nodded. “You’re both leaving the OMI and Sarissa. I understand why and wish you the best of luck. However, there is a hypergate between Artemis and Sol—you could both be back here quickly if I needed you. I might have reason to call upon your particular skill sets from time to time as special operatives, agents who answer only to me.”
The occasional mission might be fun. It sounded like a good deal to Carr, almost the best of both worlds—literally. Sanchez seemed less enthusiastic, but at least she wasn’t rejecting the deal outright.
“What do you think?” he asked his wife and partner.
“We need some time to discuss it,” Sanchez answered before turning back to Ardith. “What about a few more days here at the palace in that nice suite? And this time, without the guards.”
“Only if you join me for dinner and drinks this evening. I think I’ve won over Carr, but I see I’m going to have to do some more work on you, Etta.”
Sanchez gave a small smile. “I think you might. I still have some questions. For instance, if Renata’s assassination was all a ruse to get rid of Maxon, then why didn’t she just return after Maxon was dealt with?”
Ardith started to respond, but Carr cut in. “Maybe she didn’t want to come back.”
His words surprised Sanchez. “What do you mean?”
“Renata may have had enough—enough of politics and scheming, enough of making decisions on whether people lived or died. Maybe she was tired of carrying a burden so huge that it grinds a person down to nothing. It could be that she just wanted to run away and start a new life,” he said, smiling at his mate. “You know, like you and I want to do.”
Carr looked over to his new Sovereign and could sense the tears forming behind Ardith’s resolute eyes. He knew he had guessed correctly.
“Actually, um—Your Majesty,” said Sanchez, using her title for the first time, “tonight after dinner, I’d like for you to tell us more about her.”
“Her?”
“About Renata Darracott. Not Renata the politician or the empress—I want to hear about the woman herself.”
“I’d be happy to,” said Ardith with a warm smile. “She was an amazing lady. A noble lady…”
29: Homeward
Heavy cruiser Tempest
Sanctuary star system
Smiles and nods greeted Chaz Pettigrew as he made his way toward Captain Nyondo’s stateroom. Walking through the passageways of the ship, he observed the same thing on the face of each crewmember he passed—a deep sense of relief.
The past three days had seen around-the-clock activity aboard Tempest. The crew and their new Lytori associates worked diligently to patch-up the spaceship as best they could. The damaged armor plating was finally repaired, as was the portside shield projector. The androids also removed the last of the Lytori computer code from the ship’s systems, or at least that’s what the humans had been assured.
Despite the Lytori’s remarkably alien appearance, most of Tempest’s crew accepted them in a spirit of friendship. For the crewmembers who were uncomfortable with large mantis-like alien androids moving about on their ship, even they were resigned to the practicality of cooperation. It was all for the greater good, and for the Sarissans that meant only one thing—going home.
As preparations continued, Pettigrew and several of his officers paid a visit to the Lytori flagship, Heshke. Before the human social call, air had to be pumped into the sections of the battleship which were on their itinerary. Even though the androids took great pride on modeling their behavior after their organic creators, during spaceflight they reverted to their more mechanized nature. The strategic luxury of traveling without the need of artificial atmosphere was too good to pass up.
Heshke was a beautiful vessel in its own way, but like the Massang ship Pettigrew had inspected weeks ago, the Lytori design was so foreign that much of it was difficult to comprehend. Captain Sulla conducted the tour herself, and although he tried not to anthropomorphize the aliens, Pettigrew could hear the obvious pride in Sulla’s voice as she showed them around.
There was also an edge to Sulla that wasn’t present during their initial meeting. Despite her generally good manners toward the humans, Sulla made no secret that she thought her leader was taking the Lytori ship and crew on a fool’s errand. She very politely expressed to Pettigrew that she didn’t think the humans could be of much help against the Massang.
As the Lytori captain played tour guide, her Sarissan counterpart
was overseeing the initiation of hypersleep for eighty-three crewmembers. Nyondo walked around the main shuttlebay as med techs and the ship AI prepared to inject drugs and lower temperatures inside the hypersleep chambers spread out on the flight deck. Moving among the cryogenic compartments, Nyondo mingled with the sleepbound crew, shaking hands and making jokes to calm jittery nerves.
At least the Sleeping Beauties had gotten through last night and the unsavory task of bowel prep, during which ship toilet facilities and juvenile humor ran at red-line levels. Even so, it took the better part of the day to prepare half the crew for their long-term slumber during the journey back to Sarissa.
When Pettigrew arrived at Nyondo’s quarters, he found her at her desk fighting a ship commander’s greatest foe—endless paperwork.
“One hundred-fifty light-years from headquarters, and it just keeps coming,” she moaned. “During that call we made to Admiral Tovar, Central Command sent through about a million forms on a sub-channel. It will take me the entire return trip to finish it all.”
“The burdens of command—I know them well, Captain Nyondo. Your only escape might be to climb into one of those coffins in the main shuttlebay and sleep for the next six months.”
“Tempting,” she replied, stretching her arms and twisting her head left, then right. “I am tired.”
“Speaking of the sleepers, is everyone tucked in down below?”
“Everyone but you,” she said pointedly. “Still going to ignore orders?” Pettigrew was supposed to have spent the voyage home in hypersleep, with Nyondo as the only crew member to remain awake for the entire journey, but the Commodore had decided to alter the plan.
“Circumstances have changed. I can’t go into the Chill now. As senior officer, it’s my duty to deal with Marius while he’s aboard. Besides, having both you and Mullenhoff awake as we travel home, well, that’s a lot of Arimaa matches for me to win.”
Nyondo was not amused. Pettigrew waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Look, if Central Command doesn’t like it, they can add it to my list of court-martial offenses.”
“You shouldn’t joke about that.”
“Let’s see,” Pettigrew said, glancing upward in mock concentration. “I was duped by the Massang, I let one of my ships get destroyed, I sent a communication to an enemy vessel offering to surrender—they’ll really sink their teeth into that one. Oh, and I also initiated a communication that allowed Tempest’s computer files to be breached. Have I left anything out?”
“Yes,” she said walking to the basin to splash some water on her face. “You kept us all alive.”
“Well, you know how things are in board reviews—that won’t count for much.”
As he watched her reach for a towel, Pettigrew’s eyes wandered to Nyondo’s sleeping area. A half-dozen empty beer containers were lined up on a night stand beside her bed, with a few more laying on the floor.
“Getting an early start on your return trip beer rations?” he asked gently.
“I—I’ve had trouble sleeping.”
“Sunny, when you first came aboard Tempest, you didn’t even drink.”
“I was just a naive shipdriver then,” she answered while looking into the wall mirror above the basin. “I had never commanded anything. I had never known this level of responsibility. I had never been forced to kill members of my own crew to save my ship.”
Pettigrew searched for something reassuring to say, knowing how lame the truth often sounded.
“I’ve lost people under my command—people special to me and people special to others. You will never forget, but for what it’s worth, time will ease the pain—a little.”
Nyondo flicked some lint off the shoulder of her uniform, stood up straight, and turned away from the mirror. “I know,” she said walking to the stateroom door. “Don’t worry about me, I’m all right. Drinking isn’t the answer anyway. No matter how much I drink, I can’t get Kuypers’ scream out of my head. Shall we go to the bridge?”
* * * *
“All systems are green, ma’am,” reported Lieutenant Cahill, filling in for the hibernating Paruzzi. With half the crew now in the Chill, the bridge seemed very empty, even on the verge of a major maneuver—the jump to hyperspace, the jump to home.
“Confirm with the other vessels in the fleet, Mr. Cahill,” ordered Nyondo.
The turbolift doors opened in the center of the bridge, and the Lytori leader, Marius stepped out followed by Commander Mullenhoff.
“Admiral on the Bridge!” announced Mullenhoff in a stout voice, prompting the few spacers on deck to snap to a formal stance, including Pettigrew and Nyondo.
Marius seemed momentarily at a loss for words but adapted quickly. “Thank you. Please resume your activities, everyone.
“An auspicious day, Pettigrew,” proclaimed the hexapodal android as he assumed a sitting positon to the Commodore’s left. “And the beginning of a great adventure.”
“I just hope it’s not a waste of your time, Marius. As I’ve explained, my people can be mighty stubborn. They often refuse to accept the most obvious fact because it doesn’t fit in with their personal belief system. Many of them won’t acknowledge that there’s a threat because they won’t want to get involved.”
The alien made some clicking sounds, what Pettigrew had come to accept as the equivalent of Lytori laughter. “And as I have told you,” said the broad-faced Marius. “Given the chance, I can be very persuasive.”
Cahill spoke up from the XO station. “All ships are ready, Captain. The gas miners are slaved to our hyperspace controls, and Captain Sulla is prepared to jump Heshke on your order.”
“Very well, Mr. Cahill,” said Nyondo, turning to Pettigrew. “Commodore, on your command.”
Tempest would reach the Artemis system in six standard months. They would bring with them proof of a dangerous new enemy and the first of what would hopefully be many new friends. For better or worse, Chaz Pettigrew and his crew had kicked open the galactic door.
Centuries ago, humans were forced to look beyond the borders of their nation-states and the solitary Blue Planet upon which they dwelt. Soon, humankind would again be confronted with inevitable and irresistible change. They would have to consider a universe beyond their starholds and the Renaissance Sector, beyond humanity itself. It would be a difficult transition, but Pettigrew had no doubt that his people would survive and perhaps even flourish in the new reality. After all, the alternative was too horrible to contemplate.
“Captain Nyondo, take us home.”
30: Another Sun
One year later
2573 CE
Planet Earth
The morning light slowly crept across the floor and climbed into their bed. Tossing off a sheet, the woman let the warmth of the sunshine tumble over her naked body and soak deep into her blood and bones. It felt good to start each day in Sol’s embrace.
A man stirred next to her. “Good morning,” he said softly as he turned onto his side. Reaching out, he ran a hand across her thigh and up her body until it came to rest, cupping her right breast.
She placed her own hand on the back of his. “Somebody woke up in a frisky mood.”
“That would be me,” he answered, sliding closer.
“Remember that we’re meeting the Captain for breakfast this morning down at the cove,” she managed to say between the first few kisses.
He pressed his body firmly against her. “We might be a few minutes late.”
“You always do this. How many times have we kept people waiting ‘a few more minutes?’”
“And it was worth it every time.”
As he nibbled at her neck, the warmth of the morning sun on her skin and the feel of his touch stirred her own passion.
“You’re right,” she said, reaching around her husband’s back and pulling him tight. “We might be a few minutes late.”
* * * *
By mid-morning, the town of New Brisbane was bathed in sunlight, something the locals here on the ea
stern coast of Australia had in abundance. The area had grown rapidly since she and her spouse migrated here almost ten months ago. At that time, there were barely three thousand people living in the settlement. The population had more than doubled since then, and many of the townsfolk were out and about today.
Three centuries ago, before the original inhabitants of Earth faded from the planet, this part of Australia was referred to as Queensland. There was some personal irony there which she and her husband had to keep to themselves. The original city of Brisbane was a hundred kilometers down the coast. Today, it stood deserted. In time, archeologists would sift through it, then demolition crews would level the remains so that another town could rebuild on the same site.
This pattern was pretty much the same for human beings. You live your life and leave some fleeting reminders of your time in the universe, and then you die and your spot in the cosmos is taken by someone else. Such was the cycle of existence.
The woman knew about such things. She had already lived and died once.
Walking through town, every shop window they passed showed her a reflection of the new person she had become. Cosmetic surgery and gene therapy had given her a broader nose and thicker lips, as well as lush brown hair which she wore at shoulder length. The woman was still adjusting to her new face. “It’s growing on me,” she always joked to her husband.
Her mate’s appearance had changed as well. A broader jawline was covered at the moment by a stubble beard. Blue eyes replaced brown ones and now looked out from under a slick shaven head. A different appearance to be sure, but he was still the man she loved.
New Brisbane was starting to attract tourists, something many of the locals weren’t pleased about. The sidewalks were more crowded than usual today, with some out-of-towners here for one last beach holiday before the days of summer passed by.
“I do hope we haven’t missed the Captain,” she said, holding her husband’s hand as they made the turn onto a wide boardwalk.
Overlooking what the locals called Cooper’s Cove, a dozen brightly colored buildings lined a wooden walkway at the water’s edge. The businesses were mostly curio shops and eateries. Three establishments down, on the veranda of a breakfast place called the Ruff Surf Café, an older gentleman waved to the couple.
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