by Joe Vasicek
“Stop,” said a tall, heavyset man as he rounded the corner. “Hands on the wall.”
Isaac frowned. “What’s thi—”
The man leveled an assault rifle at his chest. “No one sees the captain without getting searched. Now put your hands on the wall, or I’ll blow you away where you stand.”
Isaac complied, his hands shaking so hard that he could barely hold them still. The man searched him roughly, patting down his arms, torso, and legs. Evidently satisfied, he stepped back and grunted.
“Wait here. The captain will see you shortly.”
“How many people are ahead of me?”
The man didn’t answer. Only then did Isaac notice the pistol at the man’s hip and the six-inch blade sheathed on his chest. He also had a cybernetic implant that ran from ear to ear around the back of his head. Probably connects to his neural jacks, too, Isaac thought. If he’s connected to the network, he probably knew I was coming before I stepped off the elevator.
The sound of raucous laughter broke him from his thoughts. It was coming from the doorway of the station master’s office, though Isaac was too far away to get a peek inside. He waited uncomfortably, unsure what to say or do.
“So, have you been here at Gibeon long?” he asked.
The man didn’t answer. Isaac shifted uncomfortably.
“Does Aslan know that I’m here? I didn’t see anyone—”
“I have made the captain aware of your request to meet with him. When he is ready, he will call for you. Until then, don’t give me a reason to dislike you.”
Isaac took the hint and shut up immediately.
For the first time, he wondered if he’d made a mistake in coming to Gibeon. With the pirates in charge of the system, they could do with him as they pleased. What if they didn’t let him leave? What if all he’d done was make it easier for them to kill him and steal his starship?
Leo made it through here, Isaac thought, trying to calm himself. He wouldn’t have advised me to come here if the pirates were just killing people.
He glanced around at the trash-strewn hallway. I hope nobody was killed when they took over. He hadn’t seen any blood so far, but he hadn’t seen many civilians, aside from the controllers in the room down the hallway. Perhaps Gulchina’s men had sold the civilians off as slaves? Isaac shuddered—it was a good thing that Reva was safe on the Medea.
The wait dragged on for several more minutes. Besides the ragged chugging of the station’s overworked ventilators, the only break in the silence was occasional laughter coming from Aslan’s quarters. If the captain was doing any business there, it certainly didn’t sound like it.
At length, the man turned. “The captain will see you now.”
Isaac stepped through the open doorway and frowned at the unexpected sight that greeted him. Lavish rugs were spread out across the floor, their arabesque patterns dazzling to the eye. An ornate wooden table with a mosaic pattern etched across the top sat in the center, with half a dozen reclining couches and divans surrounding it. An opulent spread of gourmet food filled the table: grapes and cheeses, pastries and breads, some kind of rice-and-vegetable mix and a giant slab of some kind of meat. Smoke from a large hookah filled the air, stinging Isaac’s lungs with the the bitter, pungent fragrance. Crimson silks covered the walls, with a curved sword sheathed in a golden scabbard hanging prominently from the far wall.
“Greetings, star wanderer,” boomed the man sitting at the head of the room. “I take it you’re here to pay the protection fee?”
Captain Aslan—if indeed that was him—was a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a silver-streaked beard. His features were sharp, with a hooked nose and a square chin. His dark amber eyes were as piercing as twin lasers. Isaac shifted awkwardly but forced himself to meet the pirate’s gaze.
“T-that’s right,” he said. “Are you the one they call Aslan?”
The other men in the room chuckled at Isaac’s obvious discomfort. “I see my reputation has preceded me,” said Aslan, his eyes never shifting. “Tell me, what have you heard of Captain Aslan of the Tamerlane?”
Unlike the other pirates, Aslan wore a gray military uniform, much like the ones worn by Gaian Imperial officers, except with different insignia. The uniform was slightly faded, but still crisp and clean. The other pirates were dressed like ordinary starfarers, except with guns and knives hanging from their belts. If there was supposed to be any uniformity among them, Isaac couldn’t see it.
“Only that you’re one of Gulchina’s Marauders. I take it she’s out there terrorizing everyone who doesn’t pay?”
Aslan cut off a large chunk of meat with his knife and speared it. “That’s right,” he said, taking a bite. The juices dribbled down the edges of his mouth and into his thick beard.
“Well, I’m willing to pay. How can I be sure you’ll hold up your side of the bargain?”
“You have my word,” said Aslan, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
How much is the word of a pirate worth? Isaac wanted to ask. He kept his mouth shut, though—the last thing he needed was to provoke these people into changing their minds about letting him go.
Aslan set down his knife. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a hoverbot that brought him a datachip. He took the chip and leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees.
“This chip will program your transmitters to emit a distinctive signal that the others have been told to watch for. Activate it every time you make a jump, and we’ll know to steer clear of you. But forget, even once, and we can’t be held responsible for the consequences.”
Of course you’re responsible, Isaac thought. You’re the ones who decided to terrorize this sector of space, after all.
“Very well,” he said. “So now we haggle over the price?”
“Not quite,” said Aslan. He glanced at his men, who chuckled as they passed the hookah among themselves. “First, I want to ask you some questions.”
Isaac swallowed. “What sort of questions?”
Aslan’s eyes locked onto him like a targeting computer. “Your name is Isaac Deltana, and your ship is the Medea, yes?”
“That’s right.”
“Your birth star is in the Oriana Cluster, but your ship carries a Pleiadian name.”
“My great-grandfather’s birth star wasn’t far from here.”
Aslan rubbed his hands together and squinted. “Bethel Station’s records don’t show that you’ve ever passed through here before. Is this your first time in the Shiloh Rift?”
“How did you get access to those records? I thought—”
“I’ll ask the questions. Is this or is this not your first time passing through this sector?”
Isaac glanced at the other men, all of whom were staring at him now. He felt a bead of sweat drip down the side of his forehead.
“Yes, it is.”
“Then what is your business here, exactly?”
“I-I’m trying to escape the war. Things are a lot worse in the frontier systems than I bargained for.”
“But why come this way, and not through the more lucrative trade ports in the New Pleiades? You’re a star wanderer, not a refugee.”
“I’m leaving for the Far Outworlds,” Isaac lied. “The situation is just too tense out here.”
Aslan’s lips narrowed. “One last question: Are you affiliated with the Resistance?”
He’s after something, Isaac realized. But what?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I came to the New Pleiades just a few months ago, through the Esperanzia-Vulcana corridor. Things were going well enough until the Imperials invaded. The whole star cluster is a war zone now, and I want no part of it. I just want to get back to the Far Outworlds where I belong.”
For several moments, no one in the room said anything. Aslan eyed him with naked suspicion. He’s not buying it, Isaac thought, shifting nervously on his feet.
“Very well,” Aslan said at length. “I d
on’t take kindly to being lied to, but you seem like you’re hardly worth the effort.” He leaned back, and the other pirates relaxed as well.
“If you’d like to see my itinerary, I can get that to you. It’s still subject to change, of course, depending on local prices, but—”
“You’d tell a pirate which ports you plan to visit? Ha! You’re lucky that Gulchina has us on a leash.”
“I-I take it that won’t be necessary, then?”
“Yep. Sorry to disappoint you, kid, but it’s not worth the trouble to hunt you down.”
Thank goodness, Isaac thought, barely masking his relief. Even if the pirates stole everything in his cargo hold, it would be worth it if it meant safe passage.
“Very well, Captain Aslan. What’s your price?”
* * * * *
Reva hated waiting alone while Isaac disembarked on the station. “Bad men”? What was that supposed to mean? Did he think that she couldn’t fend for herself? She sighed and paced the tiny cabin—even if it had only been a few hours since they left the last port, she still hated being stuck on this tiny starship.
That begged the question, though, of how was she going to get around on her own. Without Isaac, there wasn’t much she could do. She didn’t speak the language, didn’t understand the culture, and the social norms were so obviously unlike anything she was used to that she didn’t trust herself to figure them all out by herself. As much as she hated to admit it, she was dependent on him for practically everything.
That’s got to change, she told herself. The last thing she wanted was to end up as his little pet, living on his ship while he traveled from star to star.
But where else could she go? That question loomed over everything like a shadow. She had no home to return to—everyone she loved was gone. She would have to build a new life for herself somehow, but how could she do that when she was starting from nothing? If all it meant was learning a new language, it wouldn’t be a problem. But making a new place for herself in this vast, lonely universe—that was going to be hard.
A sound in the airlock snapped her out of her thoughts. She stopped pacing and glanced down the short corridor. It sounded as if someone was coming in, but several seconds passed and the door didn’t open.
She frowned. Was that Isaac? If so, why hadn’t he come in yet?
Another sound came, this one like a faint scraping noise. It wasn’t coming from the door itself but from the bulkhead just next to it. Reva walked over and pressed her ear against the door, trying to figure out what it was.
That was when she heard the voices. Two men, talking loudly.
Bad men, she thought, the hair on her arms prickling. Is this what Isaac warned me about? A chill ran down her back, making her shiver in the cool cabin air.
There was nowhere on the ship to hide, nowhere that they couldn’t easily find her. And as for weapons, she didn’t know of any. She looked around quickly just to make sure, only to come away with nothing.
But the men hadn’t entered the ship yet. They’d gotten past the first airlock door, but they hadn’t managed to break through the second. Were they trying to hack it, then? So long as they couldn’t open the door, Reva was safe.
Maybe I can scare them off, she thought. If they don’t think anyone’s in here, maybe that’s all it will take.
“Hey!” she shouted, banging on the door with her fist. “Hey, what are you doing? You want me to come out there and shoot you? I will, dammit! I will!”
She pounded on the solid metal airlock again and again. The mysterious noises stopped immediately, but she kept it up, her heart beating almost as hard as her fists. As adrenaline surged through her veins, she shouted even louder.
“Get out of here, you bastards! Get out!”
She screamed until her voice was hoarse and her breath ragged. Part of her wished she had a gun, just to calm her nerves down enough to think straight. But the other part knew that if she had one, she’d have opened that door with her gun blasting.
With shaky hands, she pressed her ear against the door again. Nothing. Either the men were silent, waiting for her to leave to resume her work, or they had fled.
She sat there for almost fifteen minutes, breathing heavy as she listened through the airlock. Cold sweat dribbled down the back of her neck, making her shiver. Her imagination raced with what the men might do to her if they found her. Defenseless, powerless, and alone—was it any wonder she was scared?
They’re not there, she thought to herself. Surely, they must be gone. But there was only one way to know for sure, and that was the thing that terrified her the most of all: opening the airlock with the possibility that someone in there might be waiting to kill her.
She considered it for only a split second before deciding not to. Isaac would be back soon, and he would know how to take care of the situation better than she did.
With that decided, she returned to the cabin. Arms and hands shaking, she pulled a butter knife out from among the eating utensils and sat on the couch facing the door. The knife would probably be useless in a fight, but it gave her a small sense of comfort—just enough to push back the fear.
She waited, watching the airlock like a sentry-bot. In just a little while, Isaac would be back, but until then she could not afford to let her guard down. She hoped he came back soon.
* * * * *
Isaac’s nerves relaxed a little as he stepped back onto the Medea. The negotiations had gone as poorly as he’d expected, but they’d managed to settle on a deal and the pirates seemed to be sticking to it. That was all that mattered. The only thing he had left to do was unload the cargo and get the hell out of this place.
He stepped into the cabin only to find Reva huddled behind the table, glaring at him with a butter knife gripped tightly in one hand. He frowned—had she gone crazy? What was going on?
“It’s just me,” he said, holding up his hands. “Are you all right?”
Reva sighed and leaned back, dropping the knife with a clatter to the tabletop. Whatever she’d been upset about, it was fine now.
Isaac stared at her for a moment, not sure how to take it. She was still an enigma to him. Even if she learned the language, he doubted he’d ever fully understand her. As always, she was nude, though her full-body tattoos almost gave the illusion that she was wearing something. Almost, but not quite.
As much as he wanted to find out what the matter with her was, now was not the time. They had to get out before the pirates changed their minds about the deal. With the airlock door shut firmly behind him, he walked quickly into the cockpit and sat down in his brother’s chair, pulling up the controls for the unloading arm.
“Docking control, this is the Medea, unloading one ton of consumer goods at receiving bay A9 as per our registered transaction with the Tamerlane. Standing by for approval.”
“Copy,” came the voice of the controller, a tired middle-aged woman this time. “You may unload, Medea.”
Isaac toggled the bay doors, which opened in a couple minutes. The receiving bay took a bit longer, probably because they had to reclaim the air first. There was no sense venting all that valuable oxygen into space. While the station got ready to receive his cargo, he leaned over and double checked the nav-computer. The jump drives were charged at eighty percent and the coordinates were set for a short two hundred light-hour jump into the rift. All he had to do was undock.
As he worked, Reva stepped into the cockpit and stood next to him. “Bad men?” she asked, pointing up at the station.
“Yes,” said Isaac. “Very bad men.” On the dorsal video feed, the hangar doors for cargo bay A9 slid silently open. It took about half a minute for them to finish, and by that time he had already brought the unloading arm into position.
“Why bad?”
“Because,” he said, his attention focused elsewhere. “Bad men, pirates. Steal ship, kill us all. That’s why they’re bad.”
“What means ‘steal’?” she asked, genuinely curious. Outside, the docking
arm connected with the container carrying the goods and slowly lifted it out.
“It means to take something that’s not yours,” said Isaac. “If I want starship, I take starship. Starship is not mine, but I take it anyway.”
“Steal means take?”
“Yes.”
Reva was silent for a moment, giving Isaac some time to work on the task at hand. The difficult part was done—the ship’s AI could handle maneuvering the load into position. All he had to do was babysit.
“You steal me, then?”
“What?” he asked, frowning. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Why would you say that?”
“Steal means take. You take me starship. You show me you take.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I stole you. You were alone, and the station was dead. We rescued you. If we stole you, you wouldn’t be free.”
“‘Free’?”
“Yes, free.” Though he had to admit that from her perspective, it probably didn’t feel that way.
Outside, the load exited the Medea’s cargo hold and began the long journey up to bay A9. The arm moved it slowly, due to the container’s mass. In zero gravity, it didn’t weigh anything, but once it got going it would be very difficult to stop.
“Just—just trust me, okay? I am not a bad man. I’m here to help you. Once you’re ready, you’ll be free to go wherever you want. Okay?”
“Isaac not bad man,” she said, nodding. It was clear that that was the only thing she’d understood.
“Yes. I am not a bad man. Trust me.”
“‘Trust’?”
“Yes. It’s—it’s hard to explain.”
When the load was halfway to the station, Isaac released it. Then, with the ship AI folding the arm back into the cargo bay, he switched seats and prepared to undock.
“Medea, this is docking control. Is something wrong? Your load is drifting free.”