by Henry Vogel
I found the whole group gathered around someone who was sitting on the edge of the fountain and regaling them with some tale or the other. The guy had everyone’s attention, that’s for sure. Becca, especially, watched him with her eyes shining in a way they never did when she looked at me. Tony saw me coming and waved at me. The guy talking turned to see who Tony waved at.
“Sam!” I called. “When did you get in?”
Sam was eighteen and used to be the leader of our little group. He had signed on with a big merchant airship six months back and this was the first anyone had seen of him since. He flashed the big, infectious grin all the girls loved.
“Chris, lad!” Sam always lorded his superior age over us every chance he got. Obviously, six months aloft hadn’t changed that. “They tell me the Navy took you on as an ensign.”
“Aye, sir, that they did,” I replied, puffing up just a bit. A commission in the Navy should be more impressive than a crewman’s berth on a merchantman. If only I could convince my friends of that.
“They must be really hard up for good men if they took you, lad!” Sam delivered the line with a good-natured laugh, but its real purpose was to make sure I understood who was in charge.
“Ha, ha,” I pasted on a smile to show I wasn’t offended. “But, hey, I just got orders for my first real cruise—and wait until you hear what it is!”
“Is it fighting raiders?” Becca asked, her tone short.
“No, but it is-”
“Then shut up and sit down,” she said, turning her shining eyes away from me. “Sam was just telling us about a raider attack on their ship.”
“Really? Well, I’m all ears.” I plopped down next to Tony, unable to get any closer than that to Becca.
Sam gave me a hard stare for a second and then returned to his story. I wondered what the stare meant, but I figured it out pretty quickly. Sam told an exciting story filled with swarming raider ships and fancy airship maneuvers. Of scrambling through the ship’s lines as the raiders rained crossbow fire on his ship. And, of course, culminating in a harrowing battle to repel boarders.
I’ll give Sam top marks as a storyteller. He had great timing and played up the gallantry of the rest of the crew, but he was certainly the hero of the piece. You could tell because he downplayed his part even while always managing to land right in the middle of the action every time. I was even pretty certain there was some small nugget of truth to the story—probably the bit about fleeing from raiders. But anyone with airship training—especially airship combat training—could tell he was making most of it up.
The stare was a warning not to ruin his moment. So I just listened and made all of the appropriate noises at all of the appropriate times. I didn’t even say anything when, upon wrapping up the story, Sam and Becca walked off arm-in-arm.
“That was some story, huh, Chris?” Tony asked as I watched the pair walk away.
“What?” I looked back, belatedly catching Tony’s question. “Yeah. It was quite a story.”
“Well?” Tony asked.
“Well what?” I replied.
“You said something about orders. Are you going after raiders or something exciting like that?”
“Better! The Vanguard is part of the escort for Princess Callan’s inspection of the galactic research stations.”
The look of anticipation on Tony’s face vanished completely. “Oh. Well, I’m sure you’ll manage to learn all sorts of galactic stuff. And you’re bound to get a chance to see Her Highness in person. I can see getting excited about that.”
The others were already drifting away, obviously sharing Tony’s opinion of my upcoming mission. I’m sure it will be a big moment to see our beautiful princess in person—not to mention our greatest hero, David Rice—but it wasn’t like I would actually get a chance to talk to them or anything. Lowly ensigns don’t get those opportunities. Just as lowly ensigns don’t get the chance to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with the famous Captain Rice. And it’s not like an inspection tour will require any fighting. I mean, who would be foolish enough to attack three Mordanian airships-of-the-line, not to mention an expedition led by David Rice?
No, I wasn’t going to come back with stories to rival Sam’s lies. And I obviously wasn’t going to find Becca waiting anxiously for my safe return.
CHAPTER FOUR
David
I awoke suddenly as something leapt upon me. As another weight landed on my stomach, I risked a glance at Callan. Through tousled raven hair, one green eye cracked open and surveyed the scene. With a groan, she pulled the covers up over her head.
“Daddy! Daddy! Wake up, Daddy!” Two bright green eyes peered at me through equally tousled raven hair from no more than six inches away.
“Don’t be so loud, Anne!” Five-year-old Rob’s head appeared next to my daughter’s. “Mommy’s sleeping.”
Callan’s arms snaked around Rob and pulled him into a hug. “Mommy was sleeping—until the two cutest raiders on Aashla woke her up.”
Rob gave his mother a pained expression. “Anne is cute. Uncle Martin says I’m dashing.”
Callan laughed. “Well, if Martin says it, it must be true. My apologies, dashing raider Rob.”
Anne gave me a serious look. “Can I still be cute?”
I caught Anne’s sides and lifted her above me. “You’ll always be cute to me, honey.”
“Is it time to go in the spaceship yet?” Rob asked, still snuggled against Callan.
“What time is it?” Callan asked.
“Almost six o’clock,” Rob replied. “Aunt Sandra told us to let you sleep late this morning.”
Anne held her arms out to me, so I brought her down into a hug. “Yeah, we’ve been waiting forever to come wake you up! And I’m hungry.”
I sat up, throwing aside the covers on my side of the bed. “Well, why don’t the two of you get dressed. I’ll take you down for some breakfast and we’ll let mommy get some beauty rest.”
Anne crossed her arms and glared at me. “Mommy doesn’t need sleep to be beautiful!”
I tapped the end of Anne’s nose. “You’re right, Little One. Sleep just helps her stay beautiful. Now come on you two.”
Callan was up and dressed by the time the three of us came back from breakfast. She took over watching the children while I shaved and dressed for the day. We spent the next two hours making sure everything the kids would need or desperately want was packed. It was good we checked, too, since Anne’s favorite stuffed tammar was still in her bed and Rob’s treasured toy spaceship was under a pile of toy soldiers.
Eventually, Sandra and Harris—his first name is Terrance, but not even my sister uses it—showed up. The couple looked disgustingly well-rested.
Sandra cocked an eyebrow at the scene. “I told them to let you sleep late.”
“Oh they did,” Callan said, flashing an evil smile at the couple. “They didn’t wake us up until nearly six.”
“Don’t worry, though,” I added. “Once they get over the excitement of being on a spaceship with their aunt and uncle, I’m sure they’ll let the two of you sleep even later than that!”
The next hour and a half passed quickly as we saw to loading the children’s things onto the shuttle, gave them time to wish farewell to their grandparents—King Edwar and Queen Elaina to the rest of the kingdom—and then got in our own farewells.
“You two behave yourselves for Aunt Sandra and Uncle Harris, okay?” Callan said, hugging them in each in turn.
“And give Grandmama and Granddaddy Rice a big hug and a kiss from me,” I added. “Your mother and I will come join you before you know it.”
Arms around each other, Callan and I waved until the shuttle flew out of sight.
For the next two days, Callan and I tried to adjust to life without the children. It was easy at night, as we could relax in each other’s embrace without worrying about a child’s cry disturbing us. In the mornings, we found ourselves waking up at six o’clock even without energetic bundles leaping o
n us.
During daylight hours, we reviewed our plans for an inspection tour of Terran Federation facilities on Aashla. Inspections are an important of the oversight provision in our aid agreement with the Federation. Callan and I alternate tours with Rupor and Heidi, from neighboring Tarteg, so at least one person born in the Federation is present during every inspection.
Finally, we double-checked right of passage documents from every kingdom on our flight path. Satisfied everything was in order, I piloted our small airship into the bright blue sky above Morda. Three Mordanian warships—the real reason the rights of passage were so important—formed up around us and we set course for the first inspection site.
The next three weeks passed without incident. We inspected four sites and found encouraging signs of progress at each site. The fifth site on our tour was new to us. It was a desert research station and they’d been unpacking when Rupor and Heidi toured six months ago. So you can imagine our surprise when we reached its location and found nothing but a collection of abandoned prefabricated buildings.
Doors swung in the gentle breeze, creaking and scraping from the sand gumming up the hinges. We found nothing but drifting sand and dark brown splatters inside of the buildings. I thought the splatters were long-dried blood and sent for the ship’s doctor.
Our careful search turned up no indication of what had happened to the station. Even the worst of disasters leave behind some kind of evidence and this one was no different. Three hours into our search, a shout arose from one of the naval parties.
Rushing to their location, we found the four airman gathered around a grisly sight. A desiccated hand jutted up from the ground.
A too-young ensign—he looked like he didn’t need to shave more than once a month—swept an arm over the area around the exposed hand. “One of the men noticed the ground here wasn’t packed as hard as you’d expect in a desert. He poked around with his sword and unearthed the hand”
“You have an alert crew,” I said, squatting down and examining the hand. “Get a team out here with shovels and let’s see who or what else is buried here.”
Behind me, I heard a minor commotion as some of the airmen tried to stop Callan from joining me. “Not a fit sight for a lady” and similar other phrases floated my way. There was no doubt this crew had never traveled with my wife before.
“You’re wasting your time, gentlemen,” I called without looking up, “and we’ll all live longer, happier lives if you accept the inevitable now.”
A pair of small boots stepped into my peripheral vision. A lilting voice completely at odds with the scene before me asked, “You’ve sent for a team of diggers?”
“Yep. One thing I can’t understand is why this grave was so hard to spot. In a desert like this, disturbed ground is usually visible for years.”
“Couldn’t wind speed the process?” Callan asked.
“Yes, but it would have to be a very strong wind—stronger than you normally find in this desert.” I stood and looked around. Seeing nothing unexpected, I said, “Maybe a sandstorm swept through the area. Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now.”
The Ensign returned and stood on the other side of me. I didn’t look up but was certain I’d find a young man struggling to keep his eyes on the ground and off of Callan. “Trog attack, do you think, sir?”
I shook my head. “Trogs don’t bury the dead. They’d either leave the bodies where they fell or, if the men fought well enough to earn their respect, the trogs would have cremated the remains.”
“Perhaps a disease of some sort with the last survivor burying the dead?” mused the young man.
“You’re over-thinking it, Ensign,” Callan said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Chances are these men were killed by other men who buried the bodies to hide their actions for as long as possible.”
“But who would want to kill innocent researchers?” the Ensign asked. “Desert tribesmen? Raiders?”
I stood and stepped back as men arrived with shovels. “Or a member of the research team.”
“But they’re galactics, sir!”
I exchanged a glance with Callan. Some people—especially young people—thought of galactic citizens as some form of an improved species of humanity.
“They’re still just people, Ensign.”
“People like you, sir.”
Callan took my arm. “Also people like Caudill and the band of pirates who crashed here six years ago. And every kind of person in between those extremes.”
The Ensign didn’t appear ready to give up his cherished notion of galactic superiority but also chose not to argue with the heir to his country’s throne and her transplanted-galactic husband. He covered his uncertainty by issuing mostly unnecessary instructions to the team of diggers.
Just as the men uncovered the first body, the expedition’s surgeon, Dr. Mach, arrived. He spent the next fifteen minutes examining what was left of the first three bodies before speaking to Callan and me.
“I’ll have to examine each of the bodies as they’re uncovered, but these three people had their throats cut.” He removed his spectacles and cleaned them absently. “Murdered in their sleep, I’d guess.”
“What makes you say that, Doctor?” Callan asked.
“The wounds are too straight and clean. You only get that kind of wound if the victim isn’t struggling.” Putting his specs on again, Mach looked back at the mass grave. “How many people were on this research expedition?”
I checked the paperwork. “Eight men and four women.”
“Why don’t you and Her Highness find a comfortable place to wait? I’ll bring my results to you once I’m done here.” He glanced at the Ensign, pale-faced and swallowing hard at the sight taking shape before him. Lowering his voice, Mach added, “Perhaps you could find something to occupy young Marlow’s mind, sir? I’m confident the men will find a way to finish digging without his instructions.”
“I’ll take care of the Ensign,” Callan said, releasing my arm. “Don’t let him drop me, darling.”
Callan took two steps toward the Ensign then brought an arm to her forehead. “Oh dear, my head is spinning!”
Drawn by her voice, Marlow turned toward Callan—just in time to catch her as she gracefully tumbled into him.
“Your Highness!” the lad managed to exclaim before catching her. Eyes wide, Marlow turned imploring eyes toward the doctor and me.
Mach pretended to take Callan’s pulse before using that most amazing medical procedure—the pat on the wrist. “I’m afraid the heat has affected Her Highness. Marlow, take the princess back to her airship. A little water and rest and she’ll be just fine.”
Marlow looked back and forth between Mach and me. “But shouldn’t Captain Rice-”
“I have things to discuss with the good Captain before he can return. I know you would prefer to stay, Ensign, but your duty to our future queen outweighs your duty here.” Mach gently turned Marlow to our ship. “Do stay with her until she releases you. There’s a good lad.”
Callan winked at us as she let Marlow lead her back to our ship.
Watching them go, Mach added, “He’s a good lad and as smart as they come at that age, but I’m not sure he has the constitution for Navy life.” Turning back to me, the doctor asked, “Shouldn’t there be a lot of confusing equipment around here? Devices and widgets and all those other technical things these unfortunate souls needed to perform their research?”
“That’s been uppermost in my mind ever since we landed, Doctor.” I pointed toward the largest of prefabricated buildings. “Most of their equipment should have been in there, but it’s empty.”
“Did they have any galactic-style weapons? From what I’ve heard, I could readily see someone killing for those.”
“No, Federation law expressly forbids bringing those to worlds such as Aashla. That wouldn’t stop some people, but the previous inspection didn’t find anything. Rupor and Heidi are thorough, so I doubt they overlooked anything.” I pulled out the e
quipment manifest and read through it. “I suppose it’s possible someone could make something dangerous out of all of this stuff. I’m not an engineer, though, so can only guess.”
“What are your plans, Captain Rice?”
“I’ll send one ship to the nearest Federation consulate to report this crime. The rest depends on what we dig up.”
Two hours later we had our answer. We found the bodies of seven men and three women in the mass grave. As the sun sank beneath the horizon, the expedition’s chaplain held a service for the dead. I tried to pay attention and show proper respect for the dead, but my mind kept returning to the one truly important question I had.
Were the missing man and woman responsible for the murders? If so, what plans did they have for the missing equipment and where did they go with it? Whatever covered the mass grave would have also wiped away any tracks left by the pair, but I didn’t imagine they could go very far in this inhospitable land.
A somber mood lay over us as the officers gathered for dinner with Callan and me. Inspection escort duty was a popular assignment, with interesting sights to see and people from the stars to meet. Not to mention giving them a chance to travel and interact with the beautiful heir to their country’s throne. Unfortunately, this trip wasn’t following the traditional script.
“How do you wish to proceed, Your Highness?” Captain Jorson, the commander of the escort squadron, asked.
“We’ve got to get word to the Federation,” Callan responded, “and try to find the two missing members of the scientific expedition.”
Jorson grimaced. “Contacting the Federation would be a trivial matter if they would send us some of their communication devices. I can understand the ban on weapons, but-”
“There are excellent reasons for those prohibitions, Captain,” Callan said. “Pardon me for interrupting, but imagine a band of raiders equipped with comms. Or the navy of one of Aashla’s less savory rulers. The level of coordination such devices allow would go a long way to offsetting advantages in training and equipment.”