by K A Carter
The marines gathered around the airlock with some of the other staff. Out the bulkhead window next to it, Nario caught a view of a portion of the Skyrift. It had five dock levels. The lower docks were for the largest ships. If it were too large, the ship had to hold at a farther orbit. The star system’s traffic, once past the LPSD, was immense. When the Venture had passed through unaccompanied, cargo freighters, food and garbage scows dotted the scape of the system; distant but still keen to the eye. The economy was bustling to say the least.
The marines were still glancing out the window when the airlock sprang open. The Skyrift was full to the edges with passengers going down and coming up from Brios. twenty cities, twenty waiting sectors. Everyone slowly joined the crowds shifting left and right. Nario trailed behind with Rhion to observe. Species they had never seen before; droids heading in directions with conviction. They were pleasantly surprised at the diversity. Aliens both big and small, with multiple appendages and all bearing their own distinct differences. Merchants, Diplomats, Mercenary Groups, even a few occult resembling pedestrians. The Skyrift was a hub of economic sovereign.
If this is what the Skyrift is like, I can’t imagine what it’s like on Brios. The thought had run through Nario’s mind and was reasonable to say Rhion’s as well. It made him more eager to get down to Saraya, the booming capital metropolis. Boarding sector four was where it was. Nario was stopped in his tracks by the waiting sector entrance. The group was greeted by a lanky amphibian; gills lined his neck. He had a grace to his posture and spoke gently. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ambassador - “the batrachian paused as if it was a stutter. Nario finished for him. “Dios-Lobin. It’s great to be here...” he smiled slightly unsure if the being could see his expression. “I am Thoram Chal. I have been assigned as an advisor to you by the Thane of Saraya.” He grinned with an amiable nature. The staff and the marines took seats by the Rift boarding area. Rhion motioned back to Nario and Thoram, attentive to the conversation.
“There is much you must know before interacting with members of the Lanx Diplomatic Alliance.” Thoram began. He placed a three-fingered palm on Nario’s right shoulder guiding him slightly closer to the shuttle. “Much of which we will discuss over a welcoming dine at my establishment.”
Rhion trailed behind them, a look of concern stuck in an awkward facial expression. He spoke his mind, even when out of line. “Why an advisor? Do all diplomatic negotiations require someone to hold our hand?” said Rhion. Thoram widened the space between him and the two. “I assure that the government of Saraya, and more importantly, Brios has only the desire to form a mutually beneficial agreement and offer a seat within this Republic.”
Nario gave an expression that likely came off as welcoming to the thought Underneath, he brewed with worry. Despite excessively realistic virtual training on the matter, conversing with an alien species was frightening in some sort of way. Not alike war. Nario knew war and wasn’t afraid of it. It was the vast unknown he was due to experience. It was why he studied as best he could. Unbeknown to Thoram, Nario had read up on Zurian culture, biology, and military. Given that they were a part of the Federation data archives, the information was still in the works, however he hadn’t found any word on Zurian diplomatic leisure dining.
“Upon arrival, the Thane of Saraya has arranged quarters for you and your constituents.” Nario nodded affirmatively as he joined his group boarding the shuttle down. “I look forward to long term communication ambassador.” Thoram added.
The doors closed in front of them. Seats riddled the both sides of the shuttle. Before everyone knew it, it shot out of the dock towards the bright blue surface.
“Like being back on a Navy fighter, right Coates?” a boyish voice spoke that didn’t match the long-haired belle that sat across from Nario. It was one of the marines. Nario’s eyes were slightly fixed on her.
“Damn right, takes me back” said Private First Class Rubiko. He shook his hand in a weird gesture. It was Martian and meant ‘for sure’. Grunts and chuckles came from the marines directed at the hard-feature marine. The shuttle down got a bit shakier. Nario summed it up to the shuttle entering the lower atmosphere. Out a small oval shape window blue tint permeated the cabin as sunlight.
“Brios, sensational vacation spots and leisure dining? Rhion read the headliner to an infonet cast. He held a small hand terminal up, the screen projected onto his face as he read off it. “Sounds more like a resort than a political capital.” He added.
Nario took glances at his terminal and shrugged. “There’s something about this system,” said Nario.
“My guess is they don’t play nice, so you have to let me have your back down there D.L.” Rhion responded.
Nario nodded but didn’t speak. His mind still fluttered with his next move, and what the dinner held in store for him.
It’d been a couple months since they had taken flight from Mars. Four months since then had been pulled from active duty before that. They were carefully selected, not based on accomplishments but rather on each psych profile. Much of the staff were navy brats that thought the xenopolicy expansion a good way to get some stamps on their records. The more the Federation expanded, the more jobs there’d likely be. Nario considered them all to be useless. Aside from a couple of marines, he didn’t see any point in having around most of the others.
The shuttle slowed almost to a stop and finally clamped down on a docking pad. Its cargo bay-like doors opened to a sunny utopian sighting. Nario squinted his eyes as though they were bothered by the light. He took assertive steps off the shuttle while the marines and staff followed.
“This is the docking bay of Saraya?” Rhion’s head wobbled looking around. “Looks a hell of a lot better than Navy docks back home.”
Nario strolled slowly toward the doors ahead. At the top of it were characters that were definitely not human. Likely some sort of Zurian dialect. It took a moment for Nario’s HUD to decipher what it meant. Saraya Riftport Docking Area. The contacts in his eyes were freshly programmed and had a bit of an irritated glow about them.
Inside, the Docking Area was less exposed than the lift pad yet still glamorous in a foreign way. The group walked a short distance to an exit. A large hovering lander waited with another green-gilled being standing at the door just barely touching the pad floor.
“Right this way ambassador,” said the amphibian. “I’ve been assigned to bring you to your quarters and after that anywhere else you so wish to go.”
Nario boarded stuttering his steps. Inside was a glamourous layout. Contrasting materials and colors filled the cabin that appeared foreign to anything he had seen before. Granted this was his first interactions with an alien race.
Arriving at the quarters was a relief yet bared forthcoming stress. A flight in the lander was quick. So quick that if you looked down for too long you missed the gentle horizons and surprisingly calm ocean views that were dotted by the tiniest spots of rocky land. Despite the beautiful view. Large winged animals flying around the lower sky made it an uneasy experience only landing would subside.
Inside the compound like walls was a labyrinth of corridors that all connected and consisted of staircases placed in conspicuous places. The halls were lit with red tinted lights and had flour white floor lights to compliment. At the right of the first hall was a staircase that lead to a master room. “Upstairs is your room ambassador, I trust it will be to your liking,” said an apparent worker.
Nario gave a wave of his hand behind him and made his way up to the room. The doors opened by way of motion sensor. A large bed sat opposite to the wall-sized window; it was only a foot off the ground. He through his bags at the side of it stripping off the tidy uniform. He got down to his shirt, before falling back on the bed; it was purposeful. Nario’s arms laid spread across the bed. He could keep his eyes from shuttering until a close.
What should’ve been hours later, arrived rather quickly. Nario’s sleep was jolted by an unpleasant notification ring from his hand
terminal. He sluggishly sat up and reached into the duffle that laid by the side of the bed. Rhion was messaging him with a schedule. It included a haul back to Federal space. It was typical of the life he had started; everything mapped out right to the very end. Perpetual travel. Somewhere along the line he knew he would eventually grow tired of it. For now, it was a new experience; one that gave him concealed power in the federation and was prescribed by the Chancellor himself. Why that was the case, baffled even him. There were likely a handful of more suitable ambassadors and politicians that had made a career of it. Maybe that’s what made him standout. He was seasoned by war and brought a different perspective.
Later the sun set, and with it, night came. It was a light show above the clouds due to the excessive traffic around the skyrift. The shuttle emissions skidded across the sky leaving blue-green streaks in rows of threes corresponding to the engine pylons. Nario paid no mind to the flying animals in between the lights while getting dressed aside the window. It overlooked an infinite sea in the distance glistening with refracting artificial light and gentle but unsteady motion.
In the middle of zipping his uniform up, a pleasant hailing sound came from an unearthed com system that rested next to the window. “Ambassador Dios-Lobin, Thoram would like you to join him in the dining hall.” It sounded like the Zurian that had greeted him at the entrance of the compound but his voice was much more welcoming. “Would you need any assistance finding it?” he added.
“No, thank you.” Nario replied to the com system. He took offense to the comment whether or not it was meant that way.
Back downstairs his staff and the marines weren’t in sight, Only Rhion lingered around the common area just outside the dining hall. His hand terminal hung in his thick fingers. As Nario walked by, the two gave a friendly exchange of glances and nods. Rhion wasn’t invited but wanted to keep tabs anyway. He saw the look on his friend’s face; one of concern.
The dining hall doors opened up to a fancy décor. Nario couldn’t help but to admire the room as he took a seat. Thoram sat just a couple seats away at the table built for eight. Each seat was thin enough to notice that it was built for a Zurian narrow posture. Waiters brought out trays that were a mixture of traditional Zurian dishes, and to Nario’s surprise, dishes he’d seen back in the home system. One of them sat a plate down in front of him. He leaned his nose to it and smelled the warm and delightful aroma of cooked steak. Seasoned, he thought. “How is it that you get this from half way across the quadrant?” Nario exaggerated the distance. His tone pensive.
“Lanx is one of the richest republics. Through protein replication, through sequencing can produce almost any organic product.” said Thoram. “A technology we would surely share in good faith.”
Thoram wasn’t speaking like an advisor. He sounded like someone trying to convince an untutored human with the perks of forming alliances. One thing was certain given the records provided, the Lanx Republic rivaled the largest of factions in the known galaxy by sheer numbers. Aside from an established coalition military, mercenary groups and outsourced black ops corporations the three-autonomous species making up the republic were profiting off of each other quite nicely.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m here then” said Nario pragmatically, he hid it under a light voice.
“An important thing to note is that you will be in the company of a committee when you sit down with the Viceroy of Phobetor and the Consul of Son-Hedra,” replied Thoram.
Nario shifted in his seat curiously and squinted his eyes in a thoughtful manner. “Who is the appointed for Brios? You don’t have an elected ambassador?” asked Nario.
“You’re right we don’t, but I will be accompanying you.” He gestured his hand as if he had given up information he’d prefer not to tell.
“I thought you were just an advisor,” Nario had fumbled over his food with his fork and slid it aside. “Who are you really?” Nario had an inkling that he was perceived as just a pawn Thoram had expected the Federation to send, which is why he was sent. An alliance that spanned past the boundaries of the Kuiper belt seemed too good to be true. Over centuries the relations between the Federation and the Brink alone could not be forged. Thoram’s dance around useful information on the Zuri involvement, made Nario skittish.
“I am,” Thoram paused for a moment. “Executive Director of Lanx Republic foreign policy.” He showed a hint of pride.
Nario grunted at a loss for words. His expression showing a thought process going on in his mind. “So, you’re the one in charge?”
Chapter 4: Jericho
The Gilroy growled with background noise. It was the sound of dead metal. It was a term only salvagers used or knew about for that matter. The floor panels by the airlock made unsettling clicking noises. Jericho draped a duffle over a thin shoulder; the same one holding a remote airlock device. On its screen was the toggle to the airlock. Scud had programmed it in case of necessity. All systems were finally down, leaving it as the only option.
By the time the crew were standing and heard the docking tube sink into place. A thorough knock came from beyond the airlock door. A signal to stand back. It was hard and clear and couldn’t have been done with a hand. They’re armed, thought Jericho. It had to have been the butt of an assault rifle banging against dead metal.
With one click of the terminal the airlock sprung open at a slow pace. Jericho slid the terminal into a side pocket of the duffle. Before the doors could finish widening, marines belted out commands to the crew. “Hands up! Drop everything! Don’t move!” Multiple marines yelled out contradicting requests leaving the crew to confusion. The crew stood still, only a few of them actually raising their hands.
Fucking kids, all of them, thought the Captain. His hands were raised but only partially; as if to display a reluctance.
Out of the airlock walked a short, stocky woman. Her hands gripped behind her back like royalty walking through castle halls. The marines and the woman, wore darkly tinted helmets that sat on top of thinly woven dark-blue vacuum suits. Compact air scrubbers mounted on their backs, no larger than a knapsack. The marines waved carbines around like metallic extensions of themselves.
“I am Commander Zen, who is the Captain of this vessel?” her voice sounded like needles scratching paper producing a distinct static. An effect most certainly caused by the microphone link on the suit.
“I’m Captain Jericho of the Gilroy, this is my crew,” said the Captain, short of breath.
Zen’s helmet shifted from left to right and back as if she were taking a mental portrait of everyone on board. “I suppose we arrived just in time,” she said. “round them up.”
Onboard the Ebon, Jericho and the crew sat in a wall-wide brig cell secured with a force field. On the other side, guards stood by the entrance. Commander Zen was at the controls to the force field, her hands still clinched behind her back. It was a habit or more accurately, a state of mind from what Jericho could tell.
“We picked up your distress call just outside of the Kitalpha,” said Zen as she motioned away from the controls; a dark bun of hair in a federation issued fashion revealed as she moved. She turned back towards them. She was younger than Jericho had expected, compared to himself especially. The federation vac-suit’s mics didn’t do any justice for accurate vocal representations.
“Well there was no need to put us in the brig, we appreciate the rescue,” said Jericho, he masked the concern in his face with a smile and a friendly posture. Scud couldn’t hide it as well. He stood next to Jericho, his hands on his hips.
“It was necessary,” Zen stated. “This is a science vessel, and we are in very close proximity to Moranth. That distress beacon very well could’ve alerted them that there are Federation vessels infringing on their space,” she sighed. “And considering you aren’t actually a part of the Federation, why don’t you tell me what you are truly doing here?” Zen held out a module that was on the Gilroy.
The federal transponder, thought Jericho.
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Scud and Jericho exchanged a glance at each other, looking back at Freya who sat on a bench to the right of them. In the back of his mind, he knew that it was a high probability that they would find it. It was even more likely Zen knew he had fake tags when she first picked up the signal. Jericho spared no time, he knew lying to the Federation only meant more consequences.
“What is the issue with being in Moranthian space? The Empire isn’t really an enemy of the Alliance” Mellor conjectured.
Zen nodded her head at the truth. “Yes, and it isn’t exactly an ally either,” she added.
“We’re salvagers. Our ship was damaged by some kind of rigged salvage. Pirates were probably on the way to make slaves out of all of us had you not come.” Jericho interjected.
“Yeah thanks for that,” added the smiley Freya.
“Don’t thank me yet,” said Zen giving off a sinister grin that couldn’t have come across more serious. She started her way back to the exit.
“What now? You lock up a dozen hard working honest people?!” said Jericho, his words turned into yelling as Commander Zen began walking back towards the brig doors. They closed behind her.
“On a scale from one to dead Cap’n, how shit canned are we?” said Scud, looking at his captain for any response. Jericho shrugged his shoulders with a look of burden. It made him look down. Moments of silence settled over the crew while most of them shifted in their seats. Keon folding his legs on the cell bench, nearly falling asleep on his own knees.
“That damn Gabren, sold us some piece of shit transponder tags,” Freya broke the silence.
“If we ever get out of this, we’ll need to pay a visit to Europa and tighten him up real good” Scud added. His words were firm. Scud was no stranger to roughing up people.