Visions of Peace

by Matthew Sprange

  ‘You sure you got the right co-ordinates here? We looking at the right rock?’

  ‘Sure as I can be. Look, we’ve been out here a week with no luck. Let’s get back to Ganymede, refuel, pick up the latest rumours and try again. We can’t strike out twice in a row, eh?’

  Only twice, thought Aston?

  ‘Go ahead. I’m going to do a few random sweeps. You never know.’

  Ahh, are you certain? You shouldn’t be out here alone. Shouldn’t be fooling around among these rocks.’

  ‘I can handle it. Besides, you know the state this heap of junk is in. If I put into port now, it may never take off again. I need the creds. No two ways about it.’

  Alright. You holler if you run into trouble though. See you back on Ganymede. Over and out.’ Mayfield seemed resigned, and Aston knew he was reluctant to be away from Ganymede for too long, a desire as much to do with a pretty postal clerk on the mining outpost as much as not coping with zero-G for extended periods of time. Aston’s own romantic interests had dissolved quietly some time ago, apparently because of a combination of his general mood and the time he spent in the three bars on the outpost. He was rapidly forming the opinion that all long-term relationships with women were too demanding for someone with his lifestyle.

  He leaned forward to stare out his starboard viewport, watching Mayfield’s shuttle fire its manoeuvring thrusters as it set a course towards Jupiter and its moons. Accelerating gently, it soon disappeared from sight, but his sensor display kept updating the shuttle’s position. That system, at least, worked without fault. Sweeping aside a food wrapper stuck to the edge of the main console, Aston considered a spring clean of his cockpit that, by now, had several wrappers, papers and other assorted objects hanging in the zero-gravity. His workspace might seem a lot less cramped if he did. Would probably be safer too.

  He promised himself a professional valet when he returned to Ganymede. Hell, why not? If he had the credits to fix his other problems, he would have no trouble forking out for that. If he did not strike a find on this trip, then the matter quickly became academic. He plotted a course that would sweep through several likely (for that, read ‘just maybe, possibly’) candidates among this rocky hell and hit the autopilot.

  For the next six hours, Aston slouched in his seat, one leg hooked over the main console. The autopilot took care of the manoeuvring and collision avoidance, leaving him free to monitor sensor and mineral sweep displays, watching for the tell-tale signs of a rich strain of ore that could be mined. Or a fast-moving asteroid the autopilot would not be able to react to in time. Those were rare but, he reflected, might solve his problems if he could not react quick enough either.

  A green alert light began flashing on his console, accompanied by a faint but shrill tone. Irritated by the noise, Aston cancelled the alert and then strained tired eyes to read the incoming data analysis.

  ‘What the hell is . . ?’

  He was trying hard to understand what his computers told him. They just did not make sense. A high concentration of rare materials had been detected on a nearby asteroid, along with an accompanying energy source, faint but definitely present. More interesting was that several of the materials were listed as unknown. Slowly he began to realise that could only mean they were alien in origin. Sitting bolt upright, he focussed his attention on the incoming scans and instructed the autopilot to move closer.

  Aston was soon close enough to see the asteroid out his main viewport. At first, it seemed like any other large rock here slowing spinning on its axis, but he soon spied a large impact crater that was obviously not created by another rock. Dark ejecta spanned its centre, and he spotted the blackened, hard-edged shapes that indicated wreckage.

  It began to dawn on him that not only had he found the remains of a crashed spacecraft, but that it was an alien vessel at that. There had to be something of worth around but he could not fathom what had happened here. Was it just an alien trader who had jumped into system at the transfer point off Io and got lost en route to Earth? Could it be Minbari, a remnant from their genocidal war against humanity? That would be a rare find. Of course, there had also been plenty of League ships involved in the fleet Sheridan had led against President Clark a couple of years ago.

  Filtering out background noise to locate the energy signature, Aston found it again near the edge of the crater. Switching to manual control, he carefully manoeuvred his shuttle to match the asteroid’s spiralling motion and then descended slowly. He brought his exterior cameras online and focussed them downwards. It was not long before Aston smiled in delight at the oddly shaped capsule he found within the crosshairs of the signature reading, apparently still intact. Continuing the shuttle’s descent to the asteroid’s surface, he watched his altitude reading tick away the distance until he was just a couple of metres above the capsule. Extending the shuttle’s loading claws, he skilfully snatched the alien object on his first try and retracted it into his hold.

  Performing a further sweep to ensure nothing else immediately worthwhile was present in the crash zone, he moved the shuttle away from the asteroid. He noted the rock’s position and motion in his personal log but registered nothing official in his flight record. Though he could claim salvage rights on the crash site, he knew that would do him little good once the other desperate shuttle pilots on Ganymede heard about this discovery. By keeping quiet he risked the unlikely chance of someone else finding the site and staking a claim. On the other hand, he could always return for a thorough search beneath the crater in the hopes of finding more valuable items. With the credits he hoped to get for alien technology, he might be able to afford equipment that would make such scans easy. This might even mark a turning point in Aston’s career, from prospector to salvager!

  As his shuttle manoeuvred out of the asteroid belt and began the long journey back to Ganymede, Aston unbuckled himself from his seat and floated to the hatchway at the rear of the cockpit. Passing through, he continued to float down the shuttle’s main and only corridor to a hatch in the floor that led to the cargo bay. Lowering himself downwards, Aston ducked his head under the low ceiling as he pushed off again and floated towards the capsule.

  That the alien object was dark green and of a very smooth metal, was as much as he could tell. There were no obvious controls or entry points, though dark markings down one side might well have been writing of some description. Aston shook his head as he slowly realised he could not even begin to understand what the scrawls meant. Several smooth but short humps were dotted around the capsule like blisters, and one end was slightly flattened and elongated, suggesting an arrowhead shape to him. Aston knew he was out of his depth in trying to determine what this object was, not to mention what it might actually be used for.

  He dared not try brokering a deal on Ganymede itself, as he would get a mere fraction of what it was worth. Whatever the capsule was, it had to be worth a fortune--it just had to. Aston had paid his dues of bad luck lately, and now it was his turn for a break.

  If Ganymede was not the place for business, Aston had a vague thought of where else he could go. Mayfield had family scattered throughout the Earth Alliance. Perhaps he could help Aston get in touch with the kind of person needed to fence this alien cargo.

  Chapter Two

  May 14th 2263, Tuzanor, Minbar

  Walking purposefully down the corridors of the Tuzanor spaceport, Michael Shaw felt ten feet tall. He had been wearing the Minbari-woven robes of the Anla’Shok for some time now, but today he truly felt right in them for the first time. The morning had seen his graduation, and he now bore the title ‘Ranger’ with some considerable pride. Not ego, he reminded himself. After the year-long training regime, one encompassing the very limits of his physical, mental and spiritual capabilities, he had more than earned the right to wear the robes. People on the outside, civilians, might idolise the Rangers as he once did, but only those who had been through the same training could truly understand what it meant to be one of the Anla’Shok. He just
hoped that his dark hair, recently cropped almost to the skull, did not make him look like a raw, untrained recruit.

  This new appearance followed the eradication of his facial hair that Shaw had maintained throughout Ranger training. It seemed like a whim this morning, but as he thought about it, Shaw had come came to believe it was an outward expression of the spiritual change he had undergone upon graduation. Then again, maybe the insistence of Minbari tutors to consider the spiritual aspect of all actions had ingrained itself into his psyche, and he was in fact simply tired of spending more time grooming than simple hygiene demanded. He certainly hoped that, by this time, vanity was behind him.

  Karen had mocked his new look that morning, saying he gave the impression of a Ranger just about to enter training, not one who had graduated. She left less than an hour after that last meeting, bound for old League space, though she had not known exactly where.

  Intimate relationships between trainees in the Ranger programme were not encouraged and, in fact, tutors seemed to do everything they could to dissuade them. The Anla’Shok were not a monastic order by any means, but the training process was very intensive, operating on all levels of body and mind. The effect of Anla’Shok training on his personality and outlook had stunned Shaw--who would never have thought a year ago he would be able to speak Minbari, allegedly one of the hardest languages in the galaxy to master? However, the insular training for the Anla’Shok tended to turn amorous feelings towards other trainees. Karen was not the only human female in his group, but she was the one he had come to admire the most, at a very early stage. Quick-minded, she always had a comical turn of phrase whenever the training began to wear on the hopefuls, motivating the others without becoming the group clown. Her chin-length dark hair framed her face beautifully, though it was always tied up during training hours, and her high, well-defined cheekbones lent an air that Shaw considered classical.

  However passionate they became in the quieter moments, and there were few enough of those, Shaw knew it was not love. But it had been welcome. They had promised to keep in touch, though with a galaxy this large and a Ranger likely to see most of it in his life, it was possible they had said goodbye for good.

  Minbari paced this corridor, going about their solemn duties whatever their caste, but few fellow aliens were present. Even now, when Minbar had become became the centre of Sheridan’s Interstellar Alliance, the spaceport was less eclectic than those on other worlds. The Minbari might be one of the leading governments of the ISA and, by their standards, have become more open in their dealing with alien races, but they still enjoyed a healthy separation from the rest of the galaxy. Shaw knew of the bond between human and Minbari that led to the two sharing the duties of the Anla’Shok during the Shadow War, but it had taken a move of unbelievable proportions, once Minbari culture was understood, to open the ranks of the Rangers to other races. The change was necessary if the Rangers were to act as peacekeepers throughout the galaxy, and in Shaw’s own class there had been two Brakiri and an Abbai, though Minbari and humans still formed the bulk of entrants. Even after more than a year of this new open policy, the older tutors struggled to cope with the needs of species other than their own.

  Finding the terminal station, Shaw turned from the main corridor and walked briskly to the waiting area. Between two stained glass windows commemorating the battle of Coriana 6, the main window looking out onto the terminal’s landing area towered above him. On other occasions, Shaw had marvelled at Minbari architecture and their willingness to build structures for creatures a thousand feet tall, but on this very special day his attention was wholly consumed by the craft that lay motionless on the landing pad. Even stationary, it looked fast and poised for action.

  As a trainee, Shaw had endured long lessons designed to familiarise him with the control systems and capabilities of the White Star. Today was different. He would enter this ship, White Star 31, as no mere trainee but a fully fledged Ranger. He would be second-in-command and well on his way to a White Star of his own. He had dreamed of that day for some time. His heart raced to think of it, roaming the galaxy in command of one of the most advanced vessels in existence, righting wrongs and bringing peace wherever he travelled. That, above all else, was surely what it meant to be a Ranger. Karen would have understood.

  Shaw knew that other Rangers, particularly Minbari, would spend this time in quiet meditation until they were summoned aboard the ship. He shrugged to himself. There would be time for meditation later. Instead, Shaw continued to gaze at the ship, idly fiddling with the retracted Denn’Bok fighting pike at his belt. His eyes swept across the graceful lines of the White Star, from its sharp spearheaded nose containing the powerful neutron laser, back across its curved hull. He continued past the double wings that held molecular pulsars capable of shredding the heaviest armour, then on to the tapered aft section containing the gravitic drive systems that gave the vessel its unprecedented manoeuvrability and speed, as well as comfortable artificial gravity for the crew without the rotating sections that Earth ships still tended to use. Everything about the White Star spoke of potential. Potential speed, potential destruction, potential power. As a Ranger, Shaw would be tested to the limit when commanding a ship such as this, concentrating that power into the most critical points where it would do the most good. This ship could alter the course of history--and had done so already, several times.

  Shaw had no idea how long he had been staring at the ship before a chime sounded and a female Minbari voice announced that he was expected on White Star 31 immediately. Taking a deep breath, Shaw turned and headed toward the landing area. The time to prove his tutors’ faith in him had arrived. Time to prove he was worthy of the Anla’Shok.

  The boarding ramp at the front of the White Star beckoned him into the belly of the ship and a female Minbari, wearing the grey robes of the Religious Caste, waited patiently for him at its foot. Returning the slow bow of respect, Shaw followed the Minbari up the ramp and through the corridors of the ship, climbing higher as they made their way to the bridge. The White Star was not a large ship by most military standards, but the designers had considered crew comfort an important factor. A heavy degree of automation eliminated the need for extra crew, allowing more room for those who did serve on board. A White Star could be piloted by a single well-trained individual even in combat situations, though the ship would never be at its best. The overall benefit was that White Stars could remain on station in the remotest areas of the galaxy for months at a time without crew fatigue setting in. With gravitic drive systems, artificial gravity for the crew further extended the time that could be spent on board without constant returns to a base station. Shaw had heard stories of older warships in the Earth Alliance that lacked even rotating crew sections to provide gravity, and entire missions were once flown in zero-G with crew either strapped to their stations or floating freely from one section to another. The entire Dilgar War had been fought in this way. It had to have been hell serving on those ships, Shaw thought. Funny how history can give such perspectives. Personally speaking, he was glad to be living in the here and now.

  The bridge was just as Shaw remembered from his field examinations and countless hours spent in the simulation suites in the ISA Headquarters, though most of his training had taken place in a Rangers’ camp on a remote world in the Mofaka system within the Drazi Freehold. Two helmsmen sat at the forward-most point of the bridge, just below the main viewport. Behind them in the centre was the Captain’s chair, flanked by the weapons control and interior systems stations. To the rear and sides of this central area were scattered other stations: sensors, analysis, navigation and communications. All were arranged in slightly off-centre and off-line positions that seemed at first strange to human eyes, but which became oddly pleasing in an aesthetic sense over time, as did much that was built by Minbari. Most positions on these ships were crewed by Minbari of the Religious Caste, a state of affairs that had arisen from politics within the Federation during the Shadow War, with a
single senior Ranger in command as Captain. White Star 31 was no exception, and Shaw’s Captain, Ranger Sabine Badeau, turned from where she stood in front of the viewport to receive him.

  Sabine Badeau was short and well proportioned with the physical toning common to smaller women. Her lengthy dark hair was tied up and descended well below her shoulders. Shaw was struck by her face, which even with her current neutral expression, seemed to imply both open friendship and mischief. Not that he was fooled in the least, for Shaw had studied her record as soon as he learned of his assignment earlier in the day. She was a veteran of the Shadow War and had taken took part in the great battle at Coriana 6, the system that had seen the exodus of the Old Ones from the galaxy. This was a woman who was extremely capable, and she had his immediate respect.

  ‘Mr. Shaw, welcome aboard,’ she said in a quiet but steady voice that carried across the entire bridge. ‘I trust you will find everything you need once you have a chance to settle in.

  ‘Thank you, Captain. I am honoured to have been assigned to a ship like White Star 31.’

  ‘The Intrepide. You will find most human captains give their White Stars ad hoc names. The Minbari numbering system is efficient but lacks soul. You are familiar with your orders?’

  ‘I believe so, Captain,’ he replied. ‘I am to assist you in all missions undertaken by White Star 31--the Intrepide--following your direction at all times.’

  Badeau looked thoughtfully at Shaw for a brief second, appearing to consider something before speaking. ‘I will be setting a variety of tasks for you throughout our missions and will monitor your behaviour accordingly. All actions of merit and incompetence will be noted in my report to the Anla’Shok.’

  She caught a brief look of worry on his face. ‘You thought you had graduated and were now a full Ranger, eh?’ she asked, a small smile on her face. ‘Well, that is mostly true. Your training has earned you the right to call yourself a Ranger, and the crew of this ship will treat you as such. However, my report will determine how you serve the Anla’Shok in the future--if at all. Now, if you have gotten this far, can I assume it is your desire to work in the field and gain a command of your own?’