by Joe Vasicek
“Well, the sooner you familiarize yourself with the ship, the better. And for your information, once the commandos go into cryo, they’ll be under for most of the voyage. If things go well, that is.”
“And what if things go poorly?”
She shrugged. “The only reason for waking them is if they’re needed for close combat. If we wake them at all, it’ll be to defend ourselves from boarders. So I hope you familiarize yourself with that particular equipment very well, because if something goes wrong once our friends go into cryo, we might not have them when we need them.”
A somber silence fell over the table, contrasting sharply with the noise and laughter all around them.
“That would be a good reason to check the equipment, now, wouldn’t it?” said Mathusael. He tried to smile, but it was hard to bring back the collegial atmosphere after her somber reality check.
“Pour me another one, Chief.” She slid her glass over, and he complied without a word.
“I doubt it’ll come down to that with Deltana as our captain,” said Apollo. “He seems to have a knack for getting out of tight spots.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” said Phoebe. “I don’t think there was a single time he flew us on that drop-ship that I didn’t throw up all over the place.”
“Well, he had a knack for getting into them, too. But he always managed to pull out somehow, which is probably why they made him captain.”
A loud noise at the rear of the cantina made them all turn. It sounded like a brawl in the direction of the door. A silence fell on the room as someone in a flight suit tumbled over a table and fell to the other side.
“Damn pirates!” someone shouted. He raised a drunken fist, but the sharp crack of a blow to the face sent him spinning to the floor.
Mara narrowed her eyes. The alcohol was starting to blur her peripheral vision, but she saw a group of five or six men clustered around a man in a faded gray uniform. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a square chin and a prominent nose. His eyes were like twin laser sights, which he pointed coolly at everyone.
“G-Gulchina,” the drunken man stammered from the floor. “Gulchina’s Marauders.”
The cantina was deathly silent now, with all eyes on the men. The name Gulchina was feared throughout the Outworlds—even at Megiddo Station, Mara had heard tales of their cruel exploits. It was because of pirates like them that the Outworlds had any sort of military to speak of. Every system had at least a modest defense force, if for no other reason than to make the pirates move on and seek easier prey. There was no law in the Outworlds, after all—no law except a white-hot plasma cannon.
“At your service,” said the man in uniform, bowing in mock salutation. His men chuckled. Most of them wore black synthleather vests, though their jumpsuits didn’t look all that different from those worn by the other pilots and starfarers in the cantina. On their belts, though, they all carried knives—some as long as her forearm. She tensed a little as the bouncer stepped forward to disarm them.
“No weapons,” said the man, a burly cyborg with a durasteel prosthetic arm that gleamed in the dim, smoky light. “You’ll have to leave them with me.”
The men drew themselves up in defiance, their hands slipping to their guns and knives as if in preparation to draw. The pirates and the bouncer sized each other up, neither side giving any ground. One wrong twitch, and blood would surely flow.
“You heard him, boys,” said the man in the gray uniform. “Offload.”
He pulled out a gold-plated pistol and handed it to the bouncer. One by one, the other pirates took out their weapons and followed suit. Pretty soon, the man had a small arsenal—more than he could possibly carry. He transferred them to the bar, where the barkeep stowed them out of sight with trembling hands.
“What the hell is this?” Mara muttered under her breath.
“Those are Gulchina’s men,” Mathusael answered, his voice low enough not to carry beyond the table. “The one in gray is Aslan, captain of the Tamerlane. I have no idea what they’re doing here.”
The last pirate had no sooner disarmed than the men at the nearest table rose up and rushed them. The sharp crack of blows filled the smoky cantina. Phoebe screamed, and both Mathusael and Apollo rose to their feet.
“Enough!” Aslan shouted. He raised his fist, and his men pulled back. Only then did Mara see how badly they’d wasted the men who’d rushed them. The outworlders lay heaped on the floor or moaning beneath the metal tables. The bouncer stood off to one side as if unsure what had just happened, and the barkeep was still shouting frantically for everyone to stop. But from the way the others in the cantina kept their distance, it was clear enough that the confrontation was over.
“My friends,” said Aslan, addressing the whole cantina. “Is this any way to treat your fellow comrades?”
“You’re no friends of ours!” someone shouted.
“Yeah! You’re just a pack of murderous bastards!”
“Certainly,” said Aslan, “but we’re your murderous bastards now. Haven’t you seen the new fleet roster? Check, and you’ll find a certain Tamerlane.”
A sinking feeling grew in Mara’s gut. No, she thought, her head spinning.
“Stars of Earth,” Apollo said, looking up from his wrist console. “He’s right.”
“But—but that’s impossible,” someone said nearby as the crowd began to rumble. “We don’t need pirates to fight the Imperials.”
“Your beloved High Command seems to differ,” said Aslan, grinning. “We received our commission just a few standard days ago. It will be our pleasure to fight alongside you.”
With that, he walked over to the bar as the whole cantina stared at him in shocked silence. His men joined him, watching the crowd with shifty eyes, but for his part, Aslan seemed completely unconcerned. Mara returned shakily to her seat, and the others joined her.
“So we’re making alliances with pirates now,” she muttered.
“High Command must really be desperate,” Mathusael agreed. “But what else could you expect? With the way they’re commissioning officers left and right, this was something we should have seen coming.”
Apollo nodded. “It was only a matter of time.”
“Just like the next Imperial offensive,” Mara added. “And when things get really desperate, who do you think will be the first to turn on us?”
No one cared to give her an answer.
Surprising Discoveries
“It’s true,” said Katya. “High Command has enlisted a number of private military organizations, including Gulchina’s Marauders.”
“But why?” Mara asked. Her head still rang from the drinks she’d had the night before—she could put them down without too much trouble, but dealing with the hangover was another matter entirely. At least most of the others were still down on New Constantine.
“Because frankly, Commander, the Imperial threat is so great that we need all the help we can get.”
Mara frowned. “Help? What makes High Command think it’s a good idea to trust someone like Gulchina?”
“We don’t have a choice,” said Katya. “But let me assure you, Commander, High Command is being very careful about how they integrate Gulchina’s forces into the fleet. The Tamerlane will play a mostly auxiliary role, and won’t be in direct contact with most of the rest of us. As for Gulchina’s troops, we’ve put them on the Starfire, where they make up no more than ten percent of the total crew complement.”
“That’s still enough to take control of a starship,” said Mara. She thought back to the Battle of Colkhia, where Fourth Platoon had managed to take control of the Starfire almost single-handedly by turning off the artificial gravity and venting most of the Imperial soldiers into space.
“Again, High Command has already taken measures to prevent that. Gulchina’s men are going into cryo even as we speak. They will not be revived until needed.”
I very much doubt that, Mara thought.
* * * * *
&
nbsp; “Ithaca!” Aaron shouted, not caring who else on the ship heard him. “Of all the places to send us—Ithaca!”
Mara frowned. “Ithaca, sir?”
“Yes. The most insignificant system on the far side of the star cluster. They want us to secure it, in case the Imperials take the scenic route.”
He flung up his hands and fell back onto his bed. Mara shifted uneasily.
“Well, that’s still an important route into the New Pleiades.” she said. “It’s a little out of the way, but the Imperials could still—”
“It would take an Imperial battle fleet half a year to navigate through the rifts in that sector, and we’d discover them long before they reached us. The system is practically in the Far Outworlds! Why the hell would the Imperials strike us there?”
“So you want to be on the front when the fighting starts?”
“No,” he said. “That doesn’t matter. With the jump beacon network, I’m sure they’ll get us there as soon as they need us.”
“Then why are you so upset?”
He sighed and sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “How am I supposed to find my brother from Ithaca?”
“You were hoping we’d be sent to the frontier systems so you’d be able to look for him there,” Mara stated, more as a fact than a question. “That’s been your priority ever since you got this commission.”
“Of course it has! What do you expect me to do? Forget about him?”
From the look on her face, he could tell she wasn’t pleased.
“Aaron, this isn’t just about you. There are people depending on you now, not just to get them across the battle zone on a drop-ship, but to get them through this war. You have to look to your command.”
“I know, I know.” But finding my brother is important, too.
Mara took a deep breath and stared out the porthole window. The planetscape glowed yellowish-red as their orbit gradually took them into the shadow zone of the planet’s night side.
“Aaron, I hate to say this, but if we haven’t heard from him by now he’s probably dead. We know the Imperials didn’t take him prisoner, because he managed to jump out before the fighting began. His ship probably broke down and stranded him somewhere in space, and if no one’s picked up his distress signal by now—”
“No!” Aaron shouted, leaping to his feet. “My brother isn’t dead—I know he isn’t!”
“But what if you’re wrong? Aaron, we have to look to the ones who are living—the ones whose lives depend on us now.”
“You only say that because your father is dead. If he were alive and missing right now, you’d do exactly the same as me.”
He regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. Mara drew in a sharp breath, as if he’d punched her in the gut. In some ways, perhaps he had.
“Look, I’m not saying you should stop looking for him. Everyone hopes you find him, myself included. I’m just saying that we have other duties now—duties that have to come first. It’s great to hold onto that hope that he’s still alive, but that can’t define everything you do.”
“What do you know about hope?” he muttered, turning his back to her. “You’re such a staunch pessimist, it’s practically your religion.”
Once again, Aaron regretted his words. He rubbed his eyes and tried to calm down.
“This bickering is getting us nowhere,” said Mara. “You said you’ve received our assignment?”
“Yes. They’re sending us to Ithaca, practically on the other side of the star cluster from where we ought to be.”
“Did they brief you on what we’re supposed to do there?”
Aaron sighed. “Just patrol the local sector for Imperial activity. There’s a rift in the dust clouds nearby that serves as a major trade corridor. The Imperials might send a smaller strike force and try to hit us on two fronts simultaneously.”
“That makes sense,” said Mara. “So we’re supposed to patrol the rift and make sure that doesn’t happen?”
“That, or wait for High Command to order us back when the real fighting begins. Honestly, I think the only danger in that sector is the pirates—and from what I understand, even they’re on our side now.”
“Or so they would have us believe,” she muttered. “You heard about Gulchina’s Marauders?”
“Yeah. Mathusael messaged me about it. Said it caused a fistfight in that planetside cantina you guys went to.” I wish I could have seen that.
Mara nodded and rubbed her head. He realized that her eyes were bloodshot.
“Got a bit of a hangover, eh? I was wondering why you looked like you made planetfall face-first without a heat shield. Not that I can blame you—I doubt there’ll be anything to drink at Ithaca except the local moonshine.”
“I knew going down there was a mistake.”
“Nonsense,” he said, chuckling. “It’s good to spend a little down time with the crew. I almost went down there with you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m glad you did the responsible thing and stayed for your briefing.”
“No, I mean after the briefing. That only lasted about an hour.”
Mara frowned. “If the briefing only kept you for a few hours, what else were you doing?”
“What do you think? I was combing the local database with Lieutenant Thetana for any sign of my brother. We managed to get through most of it yesterday, and I finished the rest on my own this upshift.”
From the expression on Mara’s face, her headache seemed to be getting worse.
“Do you really have to keep looking for him, Aaron? Is there no way you’ll accept that he’s gone?”
Aaron took a deep breath before answering. “Let me put it this way, Mara: If I had to give up my rank, my command, and everything else this war has given me, I would do it in a heartbeat just to hear his voice and know that he’s still alive.”
She nodded. For a long moment they stood together in silence, staring at the darkening planetscape below.
“Well,” said Mara, “I’d better see to my duties, then. I take it we’re leaving for Ithaca at the earliest opportunity?”
“That’s right. There’s nothing else for us here.”
Mara nodded and left. At least they could agree on that.
* * * * *
It didn’t take more than a standard week to get from Troya to Ithaca, even though it lay on the far side of the New Pleiades. The jump beacon network allowed them to hop from star to star without any of the unpredictable drift that came from normal FTL travel. That was the only real advantage that the outworlders had over the Imperials, though Mara doubted it would be enough to turn the tide of the war. At Colkhia, she’d seen what could happen when a jump beacon failed, and she was sure that it was only a matter of time before one of them failed again.
Aaron was right about Ithaca being practically in the middle of nowhere. The system’s sole station orbited a crater-marred world so unremarkable that there were more defense satellites in orbit than starships, nav-buoys, and sublight haulers combined. The station itself was small enough to qualify as an outpost rather than a colony. Even though the Merope-7 was only a light frigate, it took up all the space on the station’s tiny docking arm.
“The edge of civilization isn’t too far from here,” Mathusael mused as they finished their docking maneuvers. “Just the other side of that cloud, and it’s a whole lot of uncharted nothing, with an occasional forgotten colony.”
“There’s not much on this side of the cloud either, Chief,” said Mara. “Not unless living on that rock appeals to you.”
The groan of metal on metal through the bulkheads announced that the docking clamps had latched on. A moment later, Apollo confirmed as much.
“We’re docked, Captain.”
“Very good, Vulcana. Power down sublight engines, but keep the jump drives on reserve. I want enough charge to jump out in a hurry if we need to.”
The only way that’s going to happen is if the fleet calls us out to the front, Mara thought sil
ently. For the Imperials to strike us this far out, they would really have to be desperate.
With their work done, most of the crew disembarked. It wasn’t long before they started trickling back, though, bored by the station’s meager recreational options. Several of them went to the Merope-7’s dream center to entertain themselves with the simulators. Mara herself didn’t have the neural jacks or implants necessary to plug in, but most of the crew had been starfarers and star wanderers before enlisting, so they were all experienced with dream worlds.
This created a problem, though, when Pallas and his commando team needed to use the dream center for their training. They came to her after running laps around Ithaca Station’s rimside corridor, still sweaty from the exercise.
“Who let the engineering crew into the dream center?” Pallas asked in his characteristically terse fashion.
Tall and dark-skinned, he wore a black beret with a pair of cybernetic shades. As a sharpshooter, he kept his eyes protected as much as possible. Mara understood why, but it still aggravated her whenever she had to talk with him.
“Sorry, Sergeant,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ll clear the deck immediately.”
Pallas and his commandos followed her without a word. Their faces were either guarded or expressionless, or perhaps both—it was difficult to tell. Mara didn’t envy them their job. They trained almost twenty-four hours a day, doing military exercises in the dream simulators while their bodies slept. Out of curiosity, Mara had watched some of the footage from the exercises, and what she’d seen had been sobering. The simulators were so realistic, she doubted that the commandos would be able to tell the difference if they were ever called on.
That could have been me, she thought as the commandos settled into the ergonomic seats and slid the dream monitors over their heads. A few moments later, their bodies went eerily unconscious as the simulations began. Mara could only imagine what violent acts they were doing in the simulated reality as their bodies lay limp and unresponsive in the physical one.