by K A Carter
Gabren and slimy black-marketers like him were the rotten underbelly of what was a strained but thriving economic power. With the growth of the Federation, factions branched off from the government body like tendrils each creating their own little system. Mercenary groups and Corporations that obtained blank checks that furthered unidentified motives. The most notable being Orcus. A company so influential it had an unknown amount of stations beyond the Kuiper belt. What made them even more dangerous was their stranglehold on the planets and moons past the inner belt. A fact, heads of the company and its subsidiaries through in the Federations face. They had even likely been dealing with alien species before the CPF even had the idea.
Anda butted in abruptly. “Even if they were real tags she would’ve known we weren’t CPF just by looking at us you dopes.”
Everyone knew it was true but Jericho felt it was easier to create a story if at least everything up to the point was the truth; or something like it.
Half a day passed on the Ebon. That’s what was displayed on the internal clock that hung up above the brig entrance. It felt longer. It had gotten to the point that Jericho nearly counted it while battling his sleeplessness. The Ebon was on route to survey a moon just far enough away from Moranthian space. Jericho heard a few ensigns talking about it when they would come in for supplies. One of the first worlds the Federation was surveying for colonization.
In the brig, the crew of the Gilroy sat restlessly anticipating any consequences between imprisonments on a station in the belt, to a work camp on one of the inner planets.
Zen walked in joined by what had to have been her captain. He stood a full two feet taller and wore a similar CPF uniform only his was decorated with honors kin to someone who’d fought in key battles. Battles Jericho remembered as the frontline confrontations with Brink corporations.
His face was a clean-shaven jaw that stuck out. An indentation pressing itself between the bend of his lip and a slithering scar that crawled toward his neck.
As the Captain slowly strolled toward the cell, much of the crew stood. Grim glances caught his eye he stopped and looked at them all. Scud motioned next to Jericho. Jericho ran his eyes running down him like a scanner in a medical bay. The Captain spoke finally. “As I’m sure you know, I am Captain Joris Volland, I do apologize for your confinement to our brig cells.” His words were audacious, like he was mocking their disapproval.
Jericho picked up a solid bar that Morris had broken off of one of the wall mounts and got as close to the force field without burning his face off.
“Bludgeoning the force field will do you no good Alfred Jericho.”
“So, what’s going to happen to my crew? Or do I have to wait another day?” asked Jericho “What will it be guys? Ever wanted to see what it’s like on Enceladus?” Jericho jested.
The crew made fun of it with him bringing laughter to the thought of being sent to one of the most notable prison moons in the belt. They were close nit like that. In the face of what was expected, came an unprecedented request.
“We aren’t going back I’m afraid,” said Volland. He hid a frown under serious eyes.
Jericho gestured in disbelief.
“As I am sure my Commander informed you, we are a science vessel and it is imperative that we keep to our mission parameters,” continued Volland.
“And what’s that mission exactly?” said Scud butting in with a curious query. He joined Jericho closer to the force field.
Volland’s posture changed from distinguished captain to relaxed patron. “We are scouting for potential colonies but our main objective is to run reconnaissance on the Moranthian Empire.”
An answer that shocked Jericho and Scud. It had to be the truth. It made Jericho’s throat tighten and tightness erupt in his chest.
The captain telling the truth was a bad thing. It meant he had nothing to hide. In Jericho’s run-ins in the past with the Federation. All anyone had ever done was lie. At the most, tell half-truths. He didn’t believe there was anything to hide, and that only meant something ominous for the crew.
“I see opportunity here. There is no way to go back to Sol, so you won’t be going to prison. I have an offer for you that can remedy the situation.” Volland’s offer sounded as though there could be a choice, but Jericho knew there wasn’t. Too many of his paths had been wound up with the CPF; he’d taken notice to the ruthless and unrelenting lengths that they would go to in order to get what they want.
It was almost common knowledge. Even marines and cadets that had joined up had the thought lodged in their heads right next to their duties and beliefs. The Federation wanted to be one of those powers in the Galaxy. The ones that had control of enough space that, Like Moranthian space, you wouldn’t go venturing into without knowing what you were doing.
“I’ve dispatched squads to the other three systems, but you falling into our range couldn’t have been timed better. I’d prefer not to stretch my staff too thin.”
While Volland went on, Jericho shook his head downward. For a moment, it felt like the worst sickness. One that spread from the gut to every limb and gave a faint headache that wouldn’t go away. It was the worst good news. His crew was alive and not in the hands of pirates or worse, but the Federation was difficult to deal with. From Jericho’s point of view, they were no better than the corporations that profited off of the inhabitants outside of the grip of the CPF. The government, the corporations, mercenaries; when it all came down to tactics and beliefs, each were one and the same.
“So, we do what? Watch them from the inside? Moranthians hate humans, don’t they?” asked Jericho. He raised his hands in shrug.
What have we got to lose? Jericho imagined himself saying it to his crew but believed that they had run with him long enough to know he carried out business with the same kind of attitude. It had gotten them to this point which was something. Only in most of those cases he had the luxury of asking their opinion. Not this time around. Whether any of them wanted to or not, they were pawns for the Federation. With one move, Jericho and the rest of them had traded certain death for a chance with a price.
“They don’t hate us. To the Empire, we can’t be trusted,” said Volland. He gestured Zen to the controls.” Unlike the corporations, the Federation has no desire to be persuaded with the grandeur of currency and trade – not yet anyway. We refuse to buy our way in. So, it will take a longer process to establish communication.”
“Doesn’t get more freelance than this,” said Scud. It sounded like a joke but really wasn’t and he thoroughly showed his uneasy feelings about it.
The force field vanished suddenly, and out walked the thin, narrow built captain.
“If you come through on this agreement, we can forget that this run in ever happened,” added Joris, his words pompous once interpreted.
In the hangar bay, was a long row of small ships. Shortly in the distance, were shuttles like the one the boarding party used to get to the Gilroy. Jericho stood in front of an obscurely black vessel. Unlike the others, the paint was dark with white lines in angles on it. Geometric shapes that, to his eye, didn’t correspond to anything in particular. At least to nothing that he could notice at the moment. It was an unusual ship and didn’t fit the profile for any ship of the federation. Almost too much detail had gone into the apparent careful crafting that had clearly gone into it. Extensively architected as though a handful of scientists mulled over every inch until it was a work of art. Someone spent time with it. It wasn’t some stock body. A prototype maybe.
“This is going to be your ship,” said Captain Volland. “Your new ship.”
Still unsettled with thoughts of disbelief and a discontentment for the situation, Jericho clinched his hands pacing slowly like he was examining more of the ship. He wasn’t really paying attention to it; he had Gideon and Freya for that. He turned back to look at Volland, almost mimicking his posture in the act. “Why?” he said.
Volland inched closer, the assortment of badges on his left
shoulder concealed by his posture.as he perched his shoulders back. “I hardly think that is relevant.”
“Where’d you get the ship?” asked Jericho.
“It’s an experimental model class. Most of its flight data is unknown. It was…confiscated” Volland replied.
“We found it,” Commander Zen strutted in. Raven-colored hair resting on her shoulders. No more bun, no more uniform. She wore casual clothes made of the faux-fiber the uniforms were made out of. Some fledgling attempt to blend in. “It was docked on Regulus Station in orbit of Jupiter. No transponder tags, no crew, no ship data that wasn’t encrypted - “
Jericho eyes panned, like watching the most intricate visual; he kept his eyes on the ship. It was interestingly sinister in appearance. Likely a prototype built by money hungry corporate extremists. He felt as though he wasn’t being told the whole truth. How could someone so cut-from-the-clay as Volland come across a corporate prototype; it seemed at bit too coincidental.
“You didn’t think I was going to let you stroll off with this ship without putting some fail safes in place, did you?” said Captain Volland.
Jericho knew that was coming, no way there would be an opportunity to escape so he didn’t bother to argue with the man. He seemed too intelligent, too calm, and far too calculating to bother with.
“Zen will accompany you, and report directly back to me; make sure you’re playing nice,” he added. A grin to curl the hairs on everyone’s arms erupted from his less than sallow profile.
“Is there enough room for that?” Jericho murmured sarcastically.
Inside the ship, it was even more unusual. It almost seemed bigger than what the outside portrayed. Unlike the Gilroy, the ship didn’t have a bridge with a captain’s seat and a bunch of panels. In its place, rested thick dual cockpit seats with an auxiliary seat to the right of it that no one would really end up using. Maybe Jericho, if the time called for it. The ship was high-tech. Unlike most ships, it had no use for a bridge. No dual navigation monitors or multiple sensor relays; each constantly being monitored. By the looks of it, it would have to be all in one place. two large seats were low-bearing with mounted plates that hung in front of them which displayed the interfaces.
“I think it’ll fit us captain, this cockpit is practically built for racing freighters,” said Freya. She sat in the left seat cycling through ship-log data with the swipe of her hand on the console. It illuminated her rosy cheeks. There wasn’t much to look at.
Keon, the boy, sat next to her looking at his terminal. He was deadpanned, his eyes scanning the screen. To Jericho’s knowledge, he had never flown anything or knew what controlled what in a cockpit, but it was clear that he wanted to figure it out.
“Good to go Ki?” asked Jericho.
Keon nodded with a subtle tremble. Before – back when the team was at least moderately successful – Keon had stowed away off of Titan. It was one of the few times Jericho had gone back for jobs, only to wind up with a young boy in his lap he couldn’t bring himself to drop off.
Keon had always been nervous in a way. He had seen too much too quick. An orphan boy from Titan. Like Jericho, he had seen atrocities that did something to him. A faded scar under his left eye told a story of street fights and rough upbringing.
Scud scurried around in the engine room trying to get acquainted with the new environment. Gideon stood next to the warp drive. They were studying it. The warp drive was pulsating with purple fluorescence and it stood vertically running from the middle of the engineering room into the bulkhead ceiling. A construct around it kept the radiation at bay, at least that’s what Jericho assumed.
Jericho wasn’t just jarred by the unfamiliarity of it all, but the ship was so far advanced to what he was used to, it was like figuring out how a street magician pulled a magic trick. The rogue ship’s bulkhead on all four decks were lit up with luminescent lights lining the inside. A stern contrast to its exterior. It consisted of a medical bay on the same deck as the engine room. The supplies in it enough to treat a battalion of men. Mellor was sitting at a desk facing the back wall. Almost as clean as if it were just tidied up before he got there, but it wasn’t. Mellor was one of those guys that only figured out how to patch people up from not having the money to go to a fancy fed funded hospital. He grew up with an awkward bunch. He didn’t like talking about those years.
On the central operating deck, Anda stood at a terminal with inquisitive eyes looking at the hologram screen. Jericho walked up and wrapped a lanky arm around her, pulling her in for a half-effort hug. She didn’t resist, but rather embraced.
“This whole thing is fucked up Al,” said Anda, as lush brown hair wafted off the shoulder of the Captain as she rested her head on it.
“There’s no right way to go about this. I just need everyone not to panic. I have to think of a way out.” Jericho replied sounding sincere.
It brought out a small smile out of Anda. “Have you named her yet?” she said. Jericho shook his head and placed his on top of Anda’s. “I have something in mind.”
Chapter 5: S’tiri
Coldness swept into the cavern. Mist, like the waterfall being blown in by an unforeseeable force. Sogul Clune’s face throbbed with rage. He wavered his eyes along the lines of Elassi soldiers with their guns pointed at them. He clinched a bulky fist under his white armor; it was marked with scuffs from the hands up to the shoulders already. Donas was the closest to the scaly stranger. He inched unnoticeably closer to him.
The reptilian-like creature snapped his vision towards Donas, taking note that he had made moves toward him. He raised an unusual looking weapon up at him. He clicked on it like scrolling through settings on the weapon and shot one single pulse as Donas. It vibrated between all their bodies flinging Donas to the ground motionless.
Donas is dead, thought S’tiri. His blue brows crinkled like something pushing in between them. It was anger. Rage that seemed to coincide with Clune’s posture. With the three of them left and Donas laying stale, the wind picked up exponentially. A ping sound began to come from Z’oni’s beacon she had activated. She gave a bittersweet smirk. Not a second after a hard vibration came from above in the scape of the cavern. One happened, then another, and another. It was a bombardment on the location by an A’tai cruiser in orbit.
As pieces and clumps of rocks rumbled down, bright lights appeared and an engine whistled from behind the waterfall. It was a Viper transport ship that hovered through; water washed over it as bullet fire from Elassi soldiers began to bombard the front side. The pilot’s cannons cycled through an array of ordinance and shot out at the soldiers furthest from S’tiri.
Z’oni through up black shadow decoys that distracted the soldiers closest to her. She didn’t bother to go for her weapons. With one run, she attacked the soldiers, breaking limbs with A’tai trained martial arts. With the last couple Elassi, she stripped one of their weapons away and broke his neck simultaneously shooting at the other, killing him.
Clune grunted as he took thick armored fists to a group of Elassi, knocking some of them into each other.
S’tiri rushed at the scaly opponent but was flung back by a hard thump in the chest. He had been shot but his eyes were still open. Right before his eyes, the creature had vanished behind falling debris of the cavern.
Slow to get up, S’tiri picked up the flimsy body of Donas. The armor made the carry harder to bare even with his own armor still powered on.
The cavern began to collapse as the group rushed onto the transport. It was A’tai grade, and likely came straight out of orbit. Drops of water rippled over it as it skated over air back out beneath the waterfall.
On the Viper, Z’oni strutted up to the cockpit. “Hail the Risu’ti right now!” she said, removing garments damaged from the fight. A moment later a slick-eared Irinan popped up on the cockpit display. “What the hell was that Admiral?” She said in an effusively loud tone. It was out of character for an agent of the A’tai.
The Admiral shifted his expre
ssion from insipid to a harder visage. “You signaled a beacon for support, I told you before you left this Cruiser that if it was required, I’d level the whole moon.” His accent mimicked Z’oni’s in a crispier fashion; he was a highborn as well.
The response left Z’oni silent with a glare back at him. She responded after a moment of silence. “Good thing we didn’t die then. We have a lot of information to go over.” She replied, her tone sarcastic but factual.
The briefing room on the Cruiser was rather small, with a large holo-desk in the middle that displayed a 3D hologram of Marhal. A battle was still going on down on the surface. Z’oni restlessly paced back and forth between two consoles at the edge of the holo-desk. Doors opened at the far side of the room and in walked the Admiral with a deck hand at his side. The deck hand made his way to a console closest and pulled up a cam feed from Z’oni’s uniform badge. It was a still of the scaly leader of the Elassi, whom no one had to guess wasn’t Elassi.
“Z’oni motioned over to the Admiral. “Admiral T’sul, you need to tell me exactly what is going on.” She said sternly. The Admiral forwarded her attention to the still feed of her cam. “This is Malazatr, we don’t know much about him aside the fact that he is a commander of a large portion of the Draul Armada,” he replied pointing with a pinkish finger.
Z’oni looked puzzled at the picture.
T’sul explained, “The Draul are a brutal reptillian species that have been gaining control in on the outer rim of most known regions. Nothing else is known about them according to our info-probes. But they are dangerous.”
Z’oni nodded as if she understood, but only had more questions. “Then what puts him in our sector, leading a bunch of Jalaks Elassi.” Referring to the Elassi as Jalaks. It was a derogatory word for Elassi; Z’oni was losing her professionalism slowly but surely.
The med-bay was dark and had minimal lighting at the treatment beds. S’tiri’s eyes fluttered open revealing a rather glowingly beautiful Z’oni at the bedside. Her arms were crossed. How long had she been standing there? he thought.