by Joe Vasicek
“And taking petty jobs instead of fighting the true enemy. Am I right?”
“It was our captain who decided where we would fight,” said Roman, clenching his metal hand into a fist. “And we never took job from the Imperials—never!”
Zura pulled out another cigarette and cupped his hands to light it. “Of course,” he said. “I have no doubt of that, friend. But you have to admit, for all their brazen stupidity, those youngsters possess a passion that we lost ages ago.”
Roman opened his mouth to protest, but the arguments that had made so much sense to him before were ones that he no longer knew how to express. He tried to recall the words he’d used to tell himself, but a wave of drowsiness came over him, and it seemed so much easier to let the affront pass. Yes, let it pass—it would all be so much easier.
The old corporal refilled their glasses. “To the homeworld,” he said, “and may all our other memories die.”
“Yes,” said Roman. “To the homeworld.”
* * * * *
Rina parsed the raw data of the starlane station network like a sponge absorbing water. Information flowed in her and over her and around her, and in her disembodied state of mind she felt herself merging and separating with it as she searched for the relevant information. It felt almost like being stripped down and exposed to the elements, but instead of water and wind and sand, it was lines of code that pelted her—instead of her body, it was her mind and consciousness that had been stripped bare.
She disconnected from the network and gasped for breath, every muscle in her body quivering. The sudden return to her physical senses jarred her so badly that she had to fight the urge to vomit. Her hands and arms shook, and she blinked to clear her cloudy vision. She was on the bridge of a starship of some kind—an old Tajji ship, judging from the design. Several officers were staring at her, and she gradually recognized their faces: the younger one with the broad shoulders and carefully trimmed beard was the pilot, Lieutenant Yuri; the graceful but stern looking woman with the graying hair was the captain, Danica Nova. And the one closest to her, with the half-cyborg face and metal prosthetic arm was the NCO, Sergeant Roman Krikoryan.
“Lieutenant,” said the captain. “Are you feeling all right?”
Rina squinted and rubbed her ear. Everything sounded distant, like it was coming to her through a recording device. Gradually, however, her senses recovered. The nausea began to dissipate, and the twitching of her muscles slowly came under control.
“I’ll be fine,” she said softly.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see the doctor, Lieutenant?”
“No.” She tried to sit up, but the effort proved too much for her, and she fell back down.
“Sergeant, escort her to the medical bay.”
“I think she will be fine, Captain,” said Roman behind her. “She only needs time to rest.”
“In that case, help her to her quarters.”
Roman nodded and put his hand under Rina’s arm. Her natural reflex was to fight him off, but instead, she leaned forward and let him help her to her feet. These weren’t enemies or targets—they were allies.
For the moment, at least.
“I scoured the entire starlane network,” she said, turning to the captain before limping out the door. “No trace of the princess under any of her stolen identities. If she got off at any of the jump stations, the system doesn’t know about it.”
“She probably followed the transport to its final destination,” said Danica. “We’ll make for New Vela VII immediately. Assuming she hasn’t gone underground, the authorities should be able to help us. Good work, Al-Najmi.”
Rina nodded and staggered out the doorway, leaning heavily on Roman for support.
“I am surprised you are still walking,” he said, making conversation as they made their way down the dimly lit corridor. “Very few people could endure direct neural connection as long as you did.”
“How long was I in?” she asked as they rounded a corner.
“Almost twenty minutes—much longer than recommended. But do not worry—I will not tell Doctor Avanadze.”
He chuckled a little and helped her through the hatchway and down the narrow stairwell leading to the level for the officers’ quarters. She followed him wordlessly until they came to her door, which he palmed open for her.
“I’ll be fine,” she muttered. “Just need rest.”
“Even so, it will be best if I stay with you until you have recovered.” He helped her onto her cot, then folded down a chair from the wall and sat down.
Rina hadn’t bothered to do much with her quarters. The drab gray walls were completely bare, the desk on the far side completely unused. It was simply a receptacle for her body and her gear, which she had secured by hacking into the lock program and rebuilding it from the ground up. No need for anyone snooping around and finding her skin-suit, or her poison kit, or her customized magnetic bowcaster.
“So you are tribesman from Gaia Nova,” Roman said, breaking the silence yet again. “Which tribe?”
She looked up at him and squinted. “What do you know of the Gaia Novan tribesmen?”
“Many years ago, we had Gaian doctor who was tribesman from the deserts. His family name was Najoumi, I think.”
“Najoumi? What was his name?”
Roman shrugged. “He had a very long name, but we called him Abu Kariym. He was old man—I do not think you know him.”
“Probably not,” said Rina. She leaned back against her pillow and tried to ignore the twitching in her eye.
“How old you were when your planet was slagged?”
Why do you want to know? she almost asked. Instead, she sighed in annoyance and rolled her head to look at him.
“I don’t know. Young. Still a girl.”
He grunted. “I was also very young when my country was destroyed. Not boy, but still young.”
“I thought Tajjur V was slagged only fifteen years ago.”
He looked at her and smiled—a gesture that might have seemed grotesque to some, given that only half of his face still had skin and muscle, but to her it made him seem more human.
“I am not speaking of Hameji invasion,” he said. “Long before, when we were still colony of New Gaian Empire, I became soldier in Tajji revolution. Those who grew up with Gaian occupation do not remember, but we had dreams of independence once. They think it was Hameji who destroyed our homeworld, but it was Gaian Imperials who truly crushed us.”
“Is that why you don’t trust me?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I do not trust you?”
“I assume nobody trusts me, until they give me a sign that they do.”
Her answer made him chuckle. “It is good philosophy. Let me guess: You learned this in Federation underworld?”
“Perhaps.”
“Do not worry—we all must have our secrets. If not for Danica, we would all be criminals now. Perhaps some of us still are.”
He’s trying to draw me out, she realized. Still, he seemed harmless enough for an old cyborg.
“Is that why you joined? For her?”
He nodded. “That is exactly why I joined.”
“You’re close to her, then.”
“Of course,” he said. “She is like my sister. Do you have sister?”
Rina thought back to Jalil and Mira, watching their children play in the sandstone courtyard. They’d looked so happy together, so far from the violence that had become her world these past years. Part of her longed to return to them, but even if she could go back, things would never go back to the way they had been.
“Yes,” she said softly. “One alive, five dead.”
“Because of Hameji?”
She nodded.
Roman reached out and put his hand on her arm. “I am sorry.”
Coming from anyone else, she wouldn’t have believed it. After what he’d told her about his own world, however, she didn’t doubt it.
“I just—I only wish I could see them ag
ain.”
Her own words surprised her. She looked up to gage his reaction. To her surprise, he nodded in understanding.
“I know how you feel,” he said softly. “Long time ago, I also felt this way.”
What changed? she almost asked. Instead, she bit her lip and kept silent.
He nodded and rose to his feet. If you need me, he told her through the datalink implant, do not hesitate to call. With that, he turned and left.
She stared at the ceiling for a long time, lost in her thoughts. When had anyone ever looked after her, or offered her help the way this man had? Not since she was a little girl. It made her wonder—did this mean she was among friends now?
Friends. The word was so foreign to her, she hardly knew the meaning anymore.
* * * * *
Roman palmed the door open with his good hand and stepped back onto the bridge. The purple-blue horizon of New Vela VII arced across the window, the spindly station a few hundred kilometers off the bow. As he entered, Danica turned to him and nodded.
“Ah, Roman, you’re just in time. We’ve just located the princess: She’s on a private shuttlecraft headed for one of the Lagrange stations. How is Al-Najmi?”
“Recovering,” he said, grunting as he took his customary seat next to Yuri. “She will be fine.”
“I hope so. How soon can your men be ready?”
He leaned forward and opened a comm channel from his station on the bridge to the barracks. “Sergeant Gergiev, do you copy?”
“I copy. What’s the situation?”
“We have located princess. Suit up your men—light armor only.”
“Understood. Ready to roll in five.”
Roman turned and nodded to Danica. Behind them, the bridge door hissed open and Corporal Tajjashvili stepped inside.
“You summoned me, Captain?” he asked, saluting.
“Yes, Corporal,” she said. “We have located the princess and are about to conduct a boarding operation to retrieve her. She’s in a private civilian shuttlecraft currently heading for one of the Lagrangian points. The local authorities have given us the shut-down code and authorized us to intercept, but I want you standing by with your fighter wing in case anything goes wrong.”
“Understood.” He took his seat in the back of the room, at the fighter control station. An array of dozens of holoscreens surrounded him, most of them blank while the fighter drones were inactive.
Roman leaned back in his chair and yawned. The men were going to be very happy once they pulled back into port with that fat bonus. It was always nice to get a job like this, between the life-and-death commando missions that punctuated the long stretches of uneventful tedium.
As his mind drifted from thoughts of the mission, he found himself gazing out the window at the planet below. New Vela VII was remarkably pretty for an ice giant, the blue methane clouds of the upper atmosphere mingling with the swirling shades of purple to create a gorgeous veined effect. It was beautiful, certainly, but not nearly as beautiful as the deep blue oceans and green-brown lands of Tajjur V.
“Do you have the coordinates, Avanadze?” Danica asked, taking her seat in the captain’s chair.
“Yes, Captain,” said Yuri. “They’re plugged in and ready to go.”
“Good. Wait for jump on my mark.”
Danica leaned over and activated the ship-wide intercom. “Attention all hands, this is the captain speaking. We are making jump in twenty seconds. Secure all stations and prepare for maneuvers. Raise the alert level to mark two.”
She switched off the intercom and looked each of the men on the bridge in the eye. “I know you may think that this has been an easy job,” she said, “and perhaps that’s true. But I also want you all to know that it isn’t over until we’ve safely returned the girl to her guardians. Until then, I expect you all to be ready for anything.”
“Captain,” said Roman, saluting. The others followed suit.
Danica nodded and turned to face the forward window. “Take us out, Avanadze.”
“Yes, Captain,” said Yuri. He began keying a series of commands on the keypad in front of him. “Making jump in three, two, one …”
Roman shut down his sensory implants and temporarily switched off his physical consciousness. He’d been through hundreds of jumps before, but it had gotten harder on him in his old age. For a brief moment, he felt as if he were in a white room without a floor, walls, or ceiling, but then his consciousness shifted back to his body, and he was back on the bridge, staring out the window at a starfield that remained largely unchanged.
“Jump complete,” said Yuri. “Sensors detect a small spacecraft fifty kilometers off the starboard bow. Codes check out—it’s the princess.”
“Excellent,” said Danica. “Begin docking maneuvers. Roman, have your men stand by for boarding.”
“Acknowledged,” said Roman. He lifted his hand to the keypad, but before he could activate the comm channel, an alarm went off near the front of the ship.
Danica frowned. “What is that?”
“An incoming ship,” said Yuri, eyes glued to his instruments. “Less than a hundred kilometers off, moving to intercept the shuttlecraft. Its codes don’t correspond to any civilian ship, but—Captain, I think it’s Hameji!”
“Increase throttle and prepare for combat maneuvers,” said Danica. “In the meantime, try to hail them. Tajjashvili, launch fighter drones.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Roman, get the men below-decks to the high-gee coffins. I’m putting the ship on level four combat alert.”
“Understood, Captain,” said Roman. He punched the key that switched on the alarms below decks—his men were trained to get to the protective coffins in a matter of seconds. The only one below decks who didn’t have the training was the Gaian girl, but he had little doubt she’d figure it out on her own.
“Captain,” said Yuri, “the Hameji craft is firing on us—three waves of projectile missiles, incoming at high speed.”
“Get a plasma screen up and make evasive maneuvers. Tajjashvili, how are our fighter drones?”
“Deployed and ready for action,” said Zura. The display screens surrounding his chair had all come to life, and scrolled every few seconds between the camera feeds of the various drone fighters.
“Target the enemy craft’s guns and engines. I don’t want them getting away.”
“Yes, Captain. Consider it done.”
Outside the window, the starfield flashed as the plasma bursts intercepted the incoming projectiles. Roman’s stomach twisted as the ship banked and rolled to avoid a collision, but the gravitic dampers and his own cybernetic countermeasures dulled the effect.
“Captain!” said Yuri. “The Hameji craft is moving rapidly on an intercept course. Only twenty seconds before they close the gap.”
Danica swore, while Roman glanced down at his display screens to make sure his men were secure. All the coffins near the combat airlock were occupied, as well as three others in the crew quarters and sickbay—Maia, Mikhail, and Rina. He turned to the captain.
“The men are secure,” he reported. “Ready for combat maneuvers.”
“We’re too late,” said Danica. “If that gunboat wants to take out the princess, there’s nothing we can do.”
“Then let us assume they only wish to capture her.”
She nodded. “Yuri, get us over there double quick. Tajjashvili, I want every fighter wing focused on that ship. Keep me apprised as the situation develops.”
“I hear you, Captain. Forty-five seconds to intercept.”
“That’s not enough. We need more resources out there—more resources.”
“The Hameji craft is slowing, but not enough to initiate docking procedures,” said Yuri. “It’s launching some sort of—is that a harpoon cable?”
“What do you see, Avanadze? Stay with me?”
“It’s a harpoon cable, all right. Making impact with the shuttlecraft now. Just a few seconds and it’ll—” He stopped and fr
owned.
“Avanadze? Lieutenant, what’s happening?”
“Stars of Earth,” the Lieutenant cursed, slamming his fist against his chair’s armrest. “That Hameji bastard just jumped out of local space—and he’s taken the shuttlecraft with him.”
A somber silence fell over the room. Only the distant rumbling of the engines and the ever present hum of the ventilators broke it.
Danica sighed. “Ready the jump beacons, then, and loop the replay sequence for playback. If it’s a small craft, it can’t have gone far. Prepare to make pursuit.”
“Pursuit?” said Yuri, frowning. “How can we possibly pursue them in deep space?”
“A ship that small has to throttle its reactor in order to service dual jump drives,” said Danica. “If we pepper the sector with jump beacons to interdict them, we can use our higher energy capacity to catch them. It’s like a high-stakes shell game, where we’re the ones running the show.”
“Against a Hameji strike team.”
His comment made Roman chuckle, but Danica only nodded. “Yes,” she said, “against a Hameji strike team.”
“Time to earn our pay,” said Roman. He grunted and rose to his feet, giving Danica a quick salute before leaving the bridge.
Chapter 8
Hikaru moaned as she gradually regained consciousness. Her body felt sore, her stomach nauseous. She tried to pull her arms down to rub her eyes, but her hands were bound to something over her head. Her feet were bound at the ankles and tied to a post, so he couldn’t stand up. She opened her eyes and blinked, but the lights were so bright that she couldn’t see anything.
Gradually, however, her vision adjusted. She was in the hold of a ship—no, in a bunkroom of some kind. Her ankles were tied to a foothold at the base of the bunk, her wrists to a handhold on the opposite wall. The metal floor beneath her was cold and hard, and the thin fabric of her skirt did nothing to cushion her from it.
What happened to me? she wondered, trying to recall the events that had brought her to this place. She had been in the private shuttlecraft listening to music when a strange clanging noise had sounded in the bulkheads, followed by the gut-wrenching sensation of jumpspace. She’d gotten a little nervous and tried to fiddle with the shuttle’s manual controls, but the next she knew the airlock door hissed open and the room filled with a sickly-sweet green mist. Moments later, she’d passed out.